#and if anyone ever found out about that she would die of embarrassment

[phoenix-and-found-family]

Excuse you, The Handler from hit series I Expect You To Die is an offical silly goober

He refers to them sometimes as "Agent [Tag Name]" because it makes him smile, and sometimes it lines up with the agent names of agents he's had in the past, and he hugs them all when he's having a panic attack thank you for your time

Controversial opinion but I think The Handler from hit series I Expect You To Die would refer to his squishmallows by their tag name.

And Agent Phoenix would give them completely different, silly names.

As would Juniper, but only after forgetting the tag name and the new name changes every time due to forgetting.

[sleeplessdove]

— bubble pop electric !

♡ perv!dealer! e. williams x fem! reader

synopsis: you’re at the drive in with your new dealer, what could go wrong?

a/n: just a writing warm up im sorry

warnings: not proofread we die like laura palmer, dealer ellie, weed usage, heavy intoxication kink, perv behavior, stalking somewhat, public sex, degrading, praising, pet names, toxic ellie my beloved, dubious consent, fingering (r! receiving), loser ass ellie, sorta scent kink i guess, manipulation, sex while intoxicated, mentions of further sex lol maybe a pt 2 is coming, probably lots more so proceed with caution !!!

wc: 5k

The sound of your ringtone echoed through your bedroom, making you perk up from where you were seated on your bed. 

She’s right on time, 7:30 on the dot ! 

You hadn’t been expecting her to show up when she had said she would, as your friends that bought their weed supply from Ellie often complained that she showed up whenever she wanted. Then again, she also swore she didn’t do drop offs for anyone and yet she had immediately offered to stop by your place to deliver everything you had asked for. 

She had joked with you over text that it was only because you were a first time customer, she had to make a good impression after all. 

Either way, you weren’t one to question good things so you quickly scrambled out of your bed before texting her that you would be out in a second. 

You tucked your cash into your waistband with shaking fingers, your nerves tingling as you made your way towards the front door with long strides. 

Fuck, why were you so nervous? It’s not like you were doing anything inherently wrong— you just wanted to relax and stop bumming off your other friends' joints by ensuring you had your own stuff to smoke. 

Maybe it was Ellie’s reputation, as you had barely interacted with her besides the small nod she’d give you when she spotted you at parties of mutual friends. She kept to herself for the most part, but that didn’t stop you from hearing about how she was fucking half the girls at the college you both attended. 

And from what you heard, she was good at what she did with those other women. It wasn’t at all hard to believe, as she had a certain way about her that drew you in and you were sure many others felt the same. When she texted you back, even just asking you to specify what exactly you wanted to buy from her, you found yourself smiling at your phone. 

It was the little nicknames, the way she seemed genuinely interested in giving you the best experience possible as a first time buyer. But you had to reason with yourself, reminding yourself that she was just trying to make a sale so of course she was going to be a little sweet on you. 

Even with a rational mind, you couldn’t help but take in a shaky breath as you stepped out into the cool air of the night, spotting Ellie’s car not too far away. You gave a small nervous wave as you walked towards your car before you silently cursed yourself for the embarrassing gesture. 

Despite it, you opened the passenger door of her car and got in, just as she had told you to do over text. Immediately, you picked up on the scent of weed— good weed clinging to the air along with the warm scent of whatever expensive cologne she was wearing. The smell seemed to calm your nerves enough that you were able to give a soft smile. 

“Hey, thanks for coming by. I fucked up my tires last week and you know how expensive that is so I’ve just been—“ you begin to ramble due to how anxious you feel, but when your eyes flicker towards her amused expression you quickly cut yourself off. 

“Sorry” you say with a small laugh, placing your hands on your lap and smoothing out the material of your skirt to soothe yourself. Ellie is quick to shake her head, offering you a smile that makes the corner of her eyes crinkle ever so slightly . 

“What’re you apologizing for, sweet girl?” she questions, all too relaxed. The pet name alone had you feeling dizzy with unexpected emotions. You only give a slight shrug of your shoulders, attempting to appear just as relaxed as Ellie does. “Uhm– I just, I mean you don’t care about that stuff” you mutter with a sheepish smile, fumbling with your skirt for a moment before you pull out the cash you had been saving for this very occasion. 

You hold it out to her as if it were some sort of peace offering, but Ellie lightly shakes her head and pushes your hand away gently, rejecting the money you had saved up for weeks. “You think I don’t care?” she questions, blatantly ignoring the fact that she was  supposed to be your dealer and nothing more. The odd question makes you falter for a moment, unsure of how you’re meant to respond. 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just don’t think you wanna hear me rambling on” you mutter, your voice far softer than intended. Although it seems as if you picked the correct answer, as Ellie’s grin only seems to widen. “It’s important for me to care about my customers, isn’t it?” she jokes, pleased with herself as she watches you relax in the slightest bit from her playful tone. “I guess so” you say with a breathy laugh, feeling the tension in your body slowly melting away. 

“Is this not enough or…?” you begin, looking down at the money that was still held loosely in your hand, as if you were expecting her to tell you that her prices had suddenly gone up. “First time customer means you get it for free” she says smoothly, reaching into the backseat to grab the baggy she had made just for you. An assortment of homemade edibles and prerolls filled the baby pink baggie she had placed them in, although you had only requested prerolls. 

Your eyes were wide as you looked between her and the goods she had prepared just for you, as if you were a deer with headlights staring back at you. From what you had heard, Ellie didn’t fuck around when it came to her money. She wanted on time payments or even payments in advance, she was a business woman after all. It was hard for you to fathom such a concept, as you were unused to such kindness, especially from someone with her reputation. 

But despite your lack of knowledge of her, Ellie knew all about you. She had spent months slowly befriending your friends just so you would feel comfortable enough to buy from her. Not that she liked selling to any of your friends, but she would do anything to get closer to you. There was no rhyme or reason for her infatuation, and she chose not to question the way she felt about you. 

“I couldn’t– I mean, I can’t” you begin, shaking your head but Ellie is quick to cut you off. “I just want you to test it out, don’t worry about it” she says in a voice that leaves no room for argument. You wanted to object, but you knew there was no point at all. So you simply tuck the cash back in your waistband, offering her a bright smile. 

“You’re not like people say you are” you say without even thinking, inwardly cringing at your choice of words the second you register what you had said to her. She doesn’t seem offended, although she raised a curious brow. “What do people say I’m like?” she questions, not at all seeming offended. 

Ellie knew she had a rather harsh personality with others, but she hadn’t expected that information to reach you. It was as if her plot was falling apart right before her eyes, and yet she had to keep up her laid back facade. “Mm, I don’t know. You’re just– different than what they say” you respond, not really wanting to explain to her that everyone called her a bitch and those who didn’t only spoke highly of her because they had slept with her. 

She doesn’t press the issue, nodding a bit and thanking god that you weren’t threatened by her presence like you used to be. Before you even get the chance to pluck the baggie from her hands, she speaks up once more. 

“You got someone to smoke this with? S’ pretty strong… and if you need someone to make sure you don’t go overboard or anything–” she begins, and you could swear for a moment her voice cracks from nerves. She is so concerned with your wellbeing and for whatever reason it made you blush, your face growing warmer with each passing second. “My place is kind of a mess right now” you tell her in a somewhat disappointed voice, as some part of you ached to be alone with her for a while longer, even if it was just because she didn’t want you to end up greening out. 

“Well we could go to that shitty drive-in downtown, just so you don’t have to be alone” she offers, her fingers lightly tapping against her thigh in a rhythmic manner. “But no pressure, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me but I don’t mean it like that” she lies through her teeth, knowing damn well she had spent the last few weeks fucking herself with her eyes squeezed shut, the image of you held tightly in her mind. 

But you didn’t know that, so who cares? 

You nod quickly, trying to pretend you weren’t discouraged by her comment, as some part of you wanted her to take you to the drive-in with the intention of getting in your pants. “I know, I know. But yeah, why not? I heard they’re playing the original Romeo and Juliet tonight” you say, buckling your seatbelt as she starts up the engine. Ellie couldn’t care less about what they’re playing tonight, all she cares about is getting you alone. 

Ellie had placed the baggie of goods onto your lap before she began driving, to ensure that you didn’t think she was trying to withhold it from you. You kept it grasped tightly in your hands, as if it were a lifeline as your mind raced at a mile a minute. Her music played faintly, some old rap you recognized but made no comment on since the silence between the two of you was comfortable enough. 

All the while, Ellie was trying to collect her own thoughts, as she couldn’t afford to fuck this up after she had worked so hard just to get here. But based on how you were humming along to the music ever so softly, she could tell you weren’t as apprehensive about her as you once were and that helped put her mind to rest. 

Ellie refuses to let you pay even when she has to get the tickets for the movie and you try not to make a fuss about it, doing your best to accept her acts of kindness. By the time the two of you reached the drive-in, the movie was already halfway through but fortunately there was barely anyone else there so Ellie quickly found a spot to park. As she shifted the parking gear into place, she let out a relaxed sigh and glances over to you. 

She takes a moment to simply analyze your delicate features, the way your lips part in awe as the tragic film plays out before you, your attention already on the screen despite only being there for a few moments. With a light nudge, she managed to get your attention back on her so that she could speak to you directly. 

“We should get in the backseat, just so no one sees us smoking n’ it’s more comfortable, so you can enjoy your movie” she states as if it were basic knowledge, and before you can even think her words over, your body begins to move on its own as you step out of the car only to open the back door and slide in there instead. You can’t help but think of how thoughtful she is, how kind she is. This was enough for you to reason that she had no other intentions other than ensuring your safety, although your heart continued to pound in your chest as she settled in the backseat with you. 

She already had a lighter ready, gripped tightly in one hand before she extended her free hand to you, silently prompting you to give her one of the prerolls she had made just for you. You open up the baggie, marveling at the soft baby pink color of the rolling paper she had used for your order. 

As you give it to her, your hands brush against each other and you can feel just how warm she is, a stark contrast to your cool skin. You have to make an effort to not shiver at the contact, the simple act making your mind grow a bit fuzzy.. It was either that or the fact that the scent of weed was already thick in the air the second she lit it for you, along with a hint of something else that took you a moment to put your finger on. 

“Is that lavender?” you question, your head tilting with curiosity as you watch Ellie take a small puff of the joint to make sure it would burn properly before she held it out for you to take. “Smells good, hm? Makes it a little easier to smoke when you roll with lavender, smoother to smoke, at least I think so” she mutters with a slight shrug, trying to ignore the way just watching you take a shaky inhale makes her need for you grow stronger. 

She knew you had smoked before, but not enough to really be a regular at it. This was shown in the way you let out a weak cough, your cheeks growing rosy in the slightest bit. Often, Ellie would dread smoking with inexperienced people but with you, she was in heaven. “S’ good, really good” you huff between your coughs and your voice was truthful despite it all. Lavender was one of the most soothing scents to you, and it helped you relax before taking a few more hits. 

You think for a moment that as good as the smoke is, you’re not really feeling a high that was different from anything else you were used to. That was until you tried to hand Ellie the joint, and you realized your hand was trembling to the point where she had to wrap a firm hand around your wrist so that she could steady you enough to take it from you. 

You have to bury the burning sensation of embarrassment, as you hadn’t taken her warning seriously when she had told you just how strong her stuff was. But the feel of her strong hand wrapping around your wrist only seems to add to the dizzy feeling blossoming within your mind, a pleased sigh falling from your lips as her touch grounds you as much as it possibly can, considering you’re already out of it. 

“Poor baby” she coos in an all too sweet tone that only muddles your mind further. She takes a few hits with ease, her lungs being adjusted to the aching burn that would spread throughout her lungs. You can only watch her with hazy eyes, the realization that you’re alone with someone you had kept in the back of your mind for months suddenly making you feel overwhelmed. Your eyes flicker back towards the movie that continues to play, the smoke bleeding through the windows since Ellie had opened them just enough to make sure she didn’t completely hot box her car. 

Ellie can sense your anxiousness and it makes her heart ache in the most pathetic way. You were completely gone, but Ellie needed you to be a little more pliant if she wanted to be able to get what she wanted. So she brought the joint to your lips, her own hand steady and calm. 

“Just a few more hits for me, sweet girl. You can do it, can’t you?” she asks in a warm tone, easing you into the idea of following her every command. Some part of her is worried she is asking for too much too fast, but you eagerly wrap your lips around the filter of the joint without the slightest bit of hesitation. 

Even with your scrambled mind, you knew that you wanted to please Ellie. You needed to make her proud of you, although you’re unsure why this is such a necessity. But in the midst of your high, you don’t think to question it at all. To you, she is simply being kind and considerate, such a far cry from the other people you knew. 

The fresh hits burn even more, and Ellie is quick to soothe your coughing fit by gently rubbing circles on your back. The smallest touch had goosebumps rising on your skin and you desperately craved more contact, yet you were too fearful to ask for it. So you remain as still as a statue, praying that this isn’t some weed induced hallucination. 

Your muscles begin to relax and Ellie begrudgingly pulls her hand away, not wanting to overwhelm you further. But the moment her warmth is gone, you let out a pitiful whine. It’s breathy and sounds borderline pornographic, as if she had just pulled her fucking strap out of you or something. 

It was a simple touch, and yet it was all that mattered to you in that moment. For the first time ever, Ellie is unsure of what move to make next. She has to play her cards right, lest she scare you off. So she simply watches the way you sway in your seat, your eyes red and half lidded as you look at her with a heartbroken expression due to her no longer touching you. 

“Look at you, so dumb n’ sweet” she coos, her voice making a mockery of the affection she felt towards you. The tone she uses with you is so gentle that you don’t even recognize the degrading words, simply shivering with pleasure as she blows smoke straight into your face before stubbing out the small bit of the joint that is left into an ashtray she had in the car for her cigarette habit. 

Some part of your brain knows that you are too out of it, the world around you spinning far too fast for your liking. And yet, there is nowhere in the world you’d rather be. “You think m’ sweet?” you question, a soft laugh tumbling from your lips. 

Ellie can’t believe that you had chosen to focus on that part of her sentence when she had just called you dumb without any remorse. God, you were everything she wanted and more. 

She nods her head slightly, the weed making her heart beat faster than usual as she slowly inched closer to you in the backseat. The sound of the movie acted as background noise, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt Ellie’s breath fanning against your neck in the slightest. 

Her breathing pattern had changed, short inhales with longer exhales as she tried to wrap her mind around the fact that you had willingly smoked over the limit you were comfortable with just to please her. “Course’ I do. Sweetest little thing I’ve ever met in this god forsaken town” she mutters, pressing a feather light kiss to your neck. 

It was enough to make you shiver, a lazy grin on your lips because in your confused mind, you were the luckiest person in the world. Free weed and the hottest girl at your college was worshipping you as if you were something holy was not how you expected your usual Friday night to play out, yet here you were. 

Ellie was choosing to take her time with you, her senses heightened enough that she can pick up on every bit of your perfume. The intoxicating scent of lavender, jasmine, and vanilla swirled in her mind and left her desperate to be as close to you as possible. 

Her strong hand grips your waist, pulling you closer to her own body until you can feel her rapid heartbeat fluttering beneath her skin due to your bodies being flush tight against one another. “Just relax, baby. No need to think when m’ here, alright? Let all those thoughts fade away n’ focus on being here with me” she whispers, her other hand sliding down your body until she can ease it between your thighs. 

She thanks whatever higher power there is that you aren’t wearing any shorts under your little skirt, her fingers coming into contact with your panties that were embarrassingly wet. Ellie uses two fingers to trace the damp patch on the cotton material, soft curses falling from her rosy lips as she watched your brows knit with a mix of confusion and pleasure. 

“Doing so good for me, aren’t you? I knew you’d be so well behaved” she hums, her voice shaky and breathless as she eases her fingers upwards until she can feel your puffy clit through your panties. 

With slow, almost reverent motions, she rubs your aching bud through the soft material. The sensation enveloped your entire body, leaving you to moan weakly as she pushes your thighs apart a bit further just to see how willing you are. 

She is pleased to find that you let her manhandle you into the position she wants without question, your hazy mind far more focused on what your cunt wants. As much as she loves watching your expression of ecstasy, she needs to taste you on her tongue, to memorize every last inch of your mouth so that no one knows you as well as she does. 

As her fingers continue to move against your panties, she captures your lips in a kiss that reflects the need she has been harboring for months. It’s not rough, slower than her usual method of kissing. It is as if she is praising your body through the way she touches you, her tongue as smooth as velvet as it dances along your own. 

With you so lost in the kiss, she uses the opportunity to push the thin material of your panties to the side so she can properly rub your aching clit. It’s filthy how wet you are, her fingers sticky with your arousal after a few seconds of her intimate touch. As much as you are relieved by the contact, it also feels like it is consuming you completely. 

You can’t help but whine against her lips, your shaky hand weakly grasping her wrist in an attempt to pull her hand away from your dripping cunt. But Ellie refuses to yield, unbothered by your pleas for her to slow down. 

“I’m going easy on you, silly girl. It must be all that weed getting in your head, making you imagine things” she muses. She was practically blaming you for how worked up you were, as if she wasn’t the one rubbing your clit at a maddeningly slow pace. 

The sick part was that you truly believed her, you genuinely thought that someone like Ellie knew more than you did. You were the one who had smoked so much and you wanted her touch, so what right did you have to complain about it? 

“More” you plead breathlessly, tears welling in your reddened eyes and quickly spilling down your soft cheeks. It was as if you had no control over your body, and it was running based on pure primal instinct. 

The sight of your tears only turns Ellie on more, her own cunt aching for stimulation. But all she cares about is getting you off, so she shushes you ever so gently before easing one of her fingers into your pussy. 

Your body tenses from the intrusion, hiccups leaving your parted lips as she sinks her finger into your gooey, pliant cunt. Your walls are slick with arousal and Ellie wishes with every fiber of her being that she could sink her strap into you and give you what you really wanted but her fingers would have to do for now. 

“Thaaaat’s it. Look at this pretty little cunt, taking me so well” she praises, kissing the corner of your lips before easing a few kisses down your jaw. Her dirty words seem so romantic when you’re in such a fuzzy state of mind and you are just so pleased that she is giving you so much attention. 

Your hands are restless, tugging at Ellie’s shirt— although you’re unsure if you’re trying to pull her closer or push her away. “Can’t do it, can’t!” you cry, only for her to add a second finger into your slick hole. She pumps her fingers at a slow pace, not feeling the need to be rough because she knows the feeling is intense enough as is. 

You are left to squeeze your thighs together, the pleasure bordering on pain due to how quickly everything is happening. “But you’re doing so well, angel. You wanted more, didn’t you? Did you lie to me, hm?” she questions, questioning you as if she wasn’t the perv who was fucking some sweet girl in the back of her car. 

The question makes you shake your head feverishly, not wanting her to think lowly of you. “No, I promise. S’ just a lot, never ever— mm fuck, never felt like this before” you whisper, your voice unsteady. Her fingers stretched you open perfectly, her thumb still focusing on tracing small circles over your clit. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know. No one has ever taken care of you properly, huh? Those stupid girls you sleep with don’t know how to please a precious thing like you” she says in a syrupy sweet tone that only serves to dumb you down further. 

You nod your head, unsure what you’re even saying anymore. You couldn’t care less, not when she’s curling her fingers inside you just enough to hit the perfect spot. Her fingers thrust against the spongy spot, her own cunt clenching around nothing as she watches you rut against her hand. 

“Gonna cum, gonna— mmf” you try to warn her, as you were not used to finishing so quickly. But your warning doesn’t cause her to slow down in the slightest, she simply keeps her pace as she licks a long stripe up your neck before connecting your lips to hers once more. 

She swallows every single one of your cries as your cream gathers at the base of her fingers, a lewd white ring of your essence marking her as yours. Ellie can feel her ego grow three sizes as she feels your cunt clamp down on her fingers like a silken vice, evidence of your release all over her hand. 

Ellie helps you ride out your orgasm, lazily pumping her fingers deep into your cunt until you pull away from the kiss just to whine that you can’t go any further. Since she had gotten what she wanted, she finally eases her fingers out of you and brings them to her lips instead. 

She keeps her eyes focused on your fucked out expression, watching your chest heave as she sucks her fingers clean. The taste of you leaves her moaning, as it was saccharine and everything she had imagined it to be. 

You are still lost in the haze of your high, your nerve endings seeming to tingle all over as you try to even out your breathing. The effects of the weed haven’t eased up and so you give Ellie a bashful grin, still so shy in her presence despite what had happened. 

The sight of you still behaving so sweetly pleases her in a way she can’t describe, as the purity of your heart seems to only draw her closer. Without missing a beat, she tugs your underwear back in place and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“You wanna make me feel good too, don’t you?” she asks softly, her fingers absentmindedly toying with your hair. It’s not a demand at all, as she simply wants to see what state of mind you’re in. 

Much to her satisfaction, you slowly nod your head after you take a moment to register her words. “Wanna make you feel good” you babble, repeating her words as if you were nothing more than a mindless doll. 

“Atta’ girl” she praises instantly, using gentle movements to help you sit up properly but letting you remain close to her. “How bout’ we go back to my place, just for a bit. We can smoke some more once we’re there and then I’ll let you touch me” she offers, acting casual about it so that you remained in your pliant headspace. 

The offer of being able to go to her house causes you to instinctively nod your head, an eager grin on your lips as you take notice of the windows that were fogged up despite being opened up just a bit. “Pretty please” you beg in a voice that makes Ellie’s heart stutter for a moment or two because she knew she was about to spend the rest of the night either rubbing your slick cunts together or simply letting you eat her out so that you can learn how to properly please her. 

Maybe both if you were awake long enough, although she was sure that after another round the weed would have you out like a light. 

As the credits of the movie begin to roll, she helps you get back into the passenger seat, even buckling your seatbelt for you and giving you one last gentle kiss before she got in the driver's seat. You were still in a daze and thanks to how strong the weed was, Ellie knew she would have you all to herself for the rest of the night. 

[norrisainz33]

stroints || ls18

summary: you attend your first ever grand prix as lance's partner and he has a great season opening weekend!

pairing: lance stroll x nonfamous!reader

fc & warnings: none & slightly suggestive at the end. you are responsible for the content you consume!

requested: yes! thank you so much for your request xx

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

ynuser has posted to their story 🔒

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chloestroll: wait i love them both. i say wear the white on race day and blue on quali day

ynuser: ooooo good idea! i was considering wearing some aston merch on sunday and one of these on saturday but maybe i do what you said instead

chloestroll: oh i mean aston merch would be cute af too

ynuser: hmmmmmmm too many decisions here bc i also have this super cute jean set that maybe i’ll wear on race day instead ugh idek

lilyzneimer: either way you're going to outshine everyone you're radiant

ynuser: thank you baby girl 😭

lance_stroll: trying not to drool over how fcking gorgeous you are

ynuser: lance stopppp 😭😭

lance_stroll: it’s true!! i’ve somehow bagged the most beautiful girl in the entire world

ynuser: you’re such a sweet talker

lance_stroll: 🤷🏻‍♂️

lilymhe: the white top is to die for pls that one

ynuser: thank you for the input doll

yourbff: hear me out. white top with that gorgeous big gold necklace our favorite man got you

ynuser: no because you’re so right. that’s it! that’s the fit for quali!

flavy_barla: omg personally i'd pick the lace top

ynuser: yesss i think it 100% is the winner

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liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, user8, user9, user10 and 18,188 others

f1gossip: is this lance stroll’s lucky charm? meet lance’s new partner, y/n y/l/n, who is making her race day debut! the couple's romance has been the talk of the town ever since those sizzling new year's eve photos were spotted on chloe stroll’s story. will y/n be the secret weapon aston martin’s been waiting for this season? only time will tell!

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user1: oh….. she’s literally so pretty?

user2: cut the tapes! ive seen enough! shes my new favorite wag

user3: god i hope she brings lancey good luck. he needs it fr

user7: no he really does. i just want the best for him this season

user4: did y'all see the way shes wearing an L necklace

user1: stop im too fragile for this

user5: WHO is this diva

user2: if u find out lmk! i just tried to scroll her insta and its private but she seems so normal

user5: lowkey... i think she is just a normal girl... i found her linkedin and she out here having a full time job

user2: this has to be rage bait... shes living my dream

user5: no truly. im so jealous but also im rooting for her?

user6: why did i not know about her sooner?! do we think lance can fight?

user8: he can't fight us all!

user33: no one cares abt her or stroll

user1: the hate is so forced gtfo

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yourbff: you gotta warn a girl before posting something as scary as that first slide (i say this with love)

ynuser: SCERAMING hes just a goofy lil guy

yourbff: if you say so girly pop

chloestroll: leo and i are curled up and ready to watch uncle lancey bring it home!

ynuser: omg even little leo is watching?! its his first race too <3

chloestroll: we gotta support our favorite uncle!!!!

astonmartinf1: send us that first pic im begging

ynuser: only if you agree to post it on every social media channel you have

astonmartinf1: he's not gonna like that... but for you.... anything xxoo

ynuser: admin you are my favorite

astonmartinf1: and you're mine but don't tell anyone i said that

lilymhe: adjusting to the paddock life?

ynuser: kind of? every time i breath a camera takes another picture of me. i'm terrified they're going to get something embarrassing

lilymhe: hahahaha i mean odds are high that they will. remember what i said and just try to ignore them and act natural. i swear the media can smell fear

ynuser: that must be why they're always around. im sure im radiating it

lilymhe: deep breaths y/n/n its ok

lance_stroll: WHY

ynuser: omg get off ur phone you have a race to score points in

ynuser: oh now you wanna leave me on read ok

flavy.barla: if you need someones hand to squeeze through the the first few laps... you know where to find me babe

ynuser: no i literally am on my way. they haven't even finished the formation lap and i'm going to throw up

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liked by chloestroll, estebanocon, ynuser, astonmartinf1, boss, scottyjames31, yourbff, flavy.barla and 897,443 others

lance_stroll: a fantastic start to the season! thank you to the team and everyone who worked so hard over the off season to get this car where it is. lets keep this momentum going!!

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user1: a double exclamation???? you must be over the moon my stoic king

ynuser: stroints!!!!!! this calls for a celebration

lance_stroll: yes it does ;)

estebanocon: wait count flavy and i in to this celebration??

flavy.barla: yes please!!!

ynuser: well duhhhh

user5: need photo evidence of this party so bad. f1gossip im counting on you

user2: yayyyyyy lance!!!!

chloestroll: leo and i are so proud of you

scottyjames31: thats our favorite uncle right there!

lance_stroll: love you guys 🤍

user18: y/n made the win photo dump im crying. she's def his good luck charm, i hope she comes to every race

astonmartinf1: well done lance! 💚

user22: thats our goat!! can't help but notice you're ahead of that horse team in the standings... lets keep that going boy

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, user8, user9, user10 and 22,258 others

f1gossip: because you all asked so nicely and we couldn't not deliver..... we got some intel that a certain driver, his new partner, their friends and a few other drivers are out celebrating the start of the season in melbourne this evening

view all comments

user1: AHHHHHH MAN

user5: my goat! you always pull through. idk how u got eyes everywhere

f1gossip: and thats a secret ill never tell xx

user3: WOW lance looks good af im about to start drooling..

user4: y/n one lucky girl thats for dam sure

user5: no genuinely i am so envious

user6: i just fell to my knees in a walmart parking lot

user12: lance i was unfamiliar with your game

user18: esteban and alex are there too so cuteeeeee

user22: he needed this

ynuser has posted to their story 🔒

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yourbff: girl get off that phone! I am SICKENED by the last photo

ynuser: god forbid a girl have hobbies

yourbff: you right. my bad ms pillow princess

lance_stroll: hheheeh you're so pretty

ynuser: eheheh no you

lance_stroll: i can hear you giggling from the bathroom

ynuser: you caught me

lance_stroll: get back out here

ynuser: yes sir

chloestroll: looks like you guys had a good night.. not sure i needed to see that last photo tho

ynuser: the best night!!! had to make sure to properly celebrate a great start to the season! and yeah sorry pls look scroll away and pretend you didnt see it

chloestroll: hahaaha well i hope next time scotty and i are there with you guys to celebrate together!

ynuser: ugh yes i hope so too 🤍🤍

flavy.barla: petite fille!!!! ohhh thank you for letting este and i tag along this evening i had a blast

ynuser: you are literally always allowed to tag along my love. i seriously am obsessed with you

flavy.barla: feeling is mutual. lets run away together

ynuser: done

lilymhe: petition for us to party after every race together pls you are literally the most fun

ynuser: omg stop YOU are the most fun! but yes ofc lets hang out and do everything together plssssss

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

a/n: thank you sm for reading!! likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated.

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[luffydotcom]

Ok I might die requesting this /j (it's just embarrassing.

But can you write Luffy x reader but they both like each other and they're oblivious to it. Reader also has something that's very special to her like a weapon that the crew knows to leave alone but one day Luffy asks for it and she gives it to him like she hasn't fought someone over it.

(is it weird to request something that has been rejected by somebody else?😔)

anon, you don't have to ever worry about something being embarrassing on my account!! and it's not weird at all!! i did what i could with this, i hope it's enough!! and sorry for the wait, i was on vacation and only just got back haha.. OK ENOUGH YAP FROM ME

safe in your hands (luffy x reader)

pairings: luffy x gn! reader warnings: none! word count: 656

you and luffy had been stepping around each other for what felt like months now, utterly oblivious to your feelings for each other. despite knowing each other very well, you always failed to notice the other's true feelings.

despite your love and trust for the crew, the love and trust for luffy you kept was much more. you would feel safe trusting him with your life, but also afraid to trust him with your feelings. would he be happy? upset? surprised? annoyed?

luffy is just so damn unpredictable sometimes. the fact that you can't anticipate how he would react makes you want to hide your feelings all the more.

sitting against the mast of the sunny, you turn around your dagger in your right hand, your eyes squinting as you observe the various scratches it's collected over the years. you've had it for a very long time, years before you even joined the strawhats.

once usopp found it on your bedside whilst looking for you and he was about to touch it, before you entered the room and sharply snapped at him to keep his hands away. seeing his alarmed expression, you hastily apologised and explained that you never let anyone touch it because of how precious it is to you. it's saved you hundreds of times, and you can't bear to ever lose it.

as your fingers trace over the blade gently, you feel a thump in front of you as luffy sits down to join you.

"why do you always carry that around? we're not in battle right now," he asks, leaning forward towards you.

"just because i do," you say, your eyes attempting to drift away after seeing how close he is to you.

luffy nods, not understanding why you're speaking so cryptically, but finding it strangely endearing. he can't help smiling as he looks at your features as you're concentrating on what you're holding. then he looks at the dagger itself, noticing all the different marks covering the blade.

he remembers when you first joined the crew, you would always be double and triple checking if it was on you in case it was lost. and it certainly wasn't as scarred as it is now. have you really been through that many battles together with him?

"hey, can i hold it?" luffy's eyes shine at you as he looks up from your weapon.

you blink in surprise, taken slightly off-balance by the sudden question. but then you do something you never imagined you would do - you simply hand it to him without a word.

luffy takes it in his hands as if it's glass. your mouth drops slightly - you've never seen him be this careful with anything before. as you're about to comment, you hear a nearby voice.

"LUFFY!! that's y/n's, you know you shouldn't be touching that!" nami folds her arms as she crosses over to luffy to take the dagger, until she notices you. "y/n? didn't you see that luffy has your dagger?"

"yeah i know... i actually gave it to him." you breathe out, as nami's expression turns to surprise.

"really? are you sure you trust luffy with something as important as that?" she cocks an eyebrow.

you both turn around as you hear the galley door opening. usopp enters, his eyes falling to what luffy's holding as he sits opposite you. "hey, luffy! you can't -" before he can finish his sentence, you wave your hand to let him know it's OK.

"seriously? it's so cool-looking, but not even i was allowed to touch it..." usopp sulks as he stands over luffy. "luffy, you're lucky y/n trusts you that much."

"why not? it's not like i'd ever break something that important!" luffy says as he hands your weapon back to you carefully. usopp and nami share suspicious glances.

"it's alright, i believe you," you nudge luffy playfully as you slide your dagger back into its scabbard.

© luffydotcom

[glittervame]

"I've got some skills other than Quidditch"

Fred Weasley x Y/n

Warning: Smut +18 MDI, Wrap it before you tap it, idk it's just smut. happy birthday Fred

He didn't even mean to drink it, the aphrodisiac; the drinks got messed up during one of his and George's pranks on a group of Hufflepuffs. But here he was, Fred Weasley, Gryffindor Quidditch player and all-around joker, with a raging boner and a mouthwatering desire he couldn't control.

The hoodie was the only thing he could grab before he bolted out of the Three Broomsticks, his face hot and his heart racing. The streets of Hogsmeade were crowded with students from all houses, the cobblestones slipping under his shaking legs. He had to find someplace to hide, to let the potion do its thing before someone recognized him.

He'd managed to sneak away from the rest of the Gryffindor students and had hidden in the shadows of an alleyway, hoping to find some semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos. But fate had other plans.

Y/n stumbled into the alley, her eyes wide with surprise when she saw him, her Slytherin robes fluttering in the cold breeze. The rivalry between their houses was palpable, but the potion was stronger, and Fred's eyes wandered down her body with a hunger that had nothing to do with the Snitch.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, her voice filled with accusation. But then she took a step closer, and he saw the curiosity in her gaze, the way her pupils dilated. "What's wrong with you?"

Fred could feel the potion thickening his voice as he mumbled, "I need… I need some…help."

Y/n's eyes widened even more, and she took another step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. "What kind of help?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he reached out and pulled her into the alley with him, his hands fumbling at the fastenings of his trousers. He was so embarrassed he could die, but the potion didn't care about his dignity.

"You're not… you're not going to tell anyone, right?" he stuttered, his mind racing with the embarrassment of his current predicament.

Y/n chuckled, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Your secret's safe with me," she murmured, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

Y/n's hand closed around him, and the world tilted on its axis. She was warm and soft, and Fred couldn't believe he was standing in a Hogsmeade alley with a Slytherin girl about to do something that would make his mother faint if she ever found out. But he couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the potion, couldn't stop himself from groaning her name.

The hoodie was all he had to hide his identity, and he used it well, pulling it down to cover his face as she dropped to her knees. The fabric was rough against his skin, but it was also a comforting barrier, allowing him to forget who he was, who she was, and just focus on the sensations.

He could feel his resolve slipping as the potion's effects took hold, turning their rivalry into something… more. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, and all he could focus on was the feeling of her mouth on him, the way her eyes looked up at him with a mix of challenge and hunger.

"You… you're so…" he gasped, unable to form coherent words.

Her mouth was hot and wet, and she took him in like she'd been waiting for this moment all her life. He felt the magic of the potion swirl around them, mixing with the desire that had been building between them all year. They had been eyeing each other across the Quidditch pitch, sniping and teasing, but now, it was all heat and need.

Fred leaned against the wall, his hands in her hair, guiding her as she took him deeper, her eyes looking up at him through the gap in the hoodie.

Y/n smirked around his length, her eyes never leaving his. She enjoyed the power she had over him, the way he trembled at her touch. She knew he'd never admit it, but she could tell he enjoyed it too.

The alleyway was cold, but Fred's body was on fire. He was lost in the sensations, his hips moving involuntarily as she took him deeper. The sound of her mouth and the occasional gasp from his own was the only noise in the otherwise quiet street.

The tension in his body built until it was unbearable, and he had to hold onto the wall to keep from falling apart.

And then it was over, and he was panting and trembling, and she was standing up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, looking at him with a smug satisfaction that was all too Slytherin.

"Feel better?" she asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

"You know, Fred," Y/n began, a smug smile playing on her lips as she straddled him, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "I've always wondered what you'd look like when you're not throwing pranks or causing trouble for everyone." Her fingers curled around his length, stroking him in a way that made his eyes roll back into his head and his body arch off the bed.

Fred's hands roamed her body, tracing the lines of her waist and hips before settling on her breasts. He felt her nipples pebble under his touch, the sensitive skin reacting to the light caress. His own arousal was evident, his erection pressing against her inner thigh as she leaned forward, her breath hot against his neck.

"Cute, am I?" he murmured, a hint of challenge in his voice. "You're the one who's begging for more, Sweetheart."

Y/n smirked, leaning back to give him a better view of herself. She reached down and took his length in her hand, stroking it gently before guiding it to her entrance. "Is that so?" she whispered, sinking down onto him in one smooth motion.

The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of heat and pressure that had Fred arching his back and biting his lower lip. He could feel her wetness coating him, her inner walls tightening around him as she began to move. Her movements were slow and deliberate, as if she wanted to savor every second of their contact.

"Fuck, Y/n," he groaned, his hands gripping the bedcovers. "You're so…so…"

"Good?" she supplied, a wicked glint in her eye. "I know."

Fred's eyes rolled back in his head as she picked up the pace, her breasts bouncing with the motion. She leaned back, giving him a view that was nothing short of mesmerizing. The sweat glistened on her skin, and the look of concentration on her face was almost as arousing as the sensations she was creating within him.

"Look at me, Fred," she murmured, her voice husky with desire. "Look at how much you want this."

He did as she asked, meeting her gaze. It was like staring into a pool of molten chocolate, and he was drowning in it. His eyes glazed over as she picked up the pace, her hips moving faster, grinding down on him with each thrust.

"Look at how far you get," She mumbles, tracing the stomach bulge. "All the way riiiiight here." She squeezes around him as she taps the highest point.

Her words were a balm to his bruised ego from the Quidditch match. He had never felt more desired or more alive than he did at that moment. He watched as she leaned back, her hair cascading over her shoulders like a dark waterfall. The moonlight caught the beads of sweat on her skin, making her glow.

Loosing was not an option for him, whether it came to Quidditch or to making products for his business with his brother, but as he lays there with Y/n on top of him, he can't help but feel a mix of pleasure and surprise. Her eyes gleam with a sly satisfaction as she leans down, whispering those words into his ear. He's panting, his heart racing from the exhilaration of the situation match, but now it's racing for an entirely different reason.

"Cum for me, Fred," she urged, her voice a sultry purr. "Let me see you fall apart."

With a guttural groan, Fred felt his body responding to Y/n's taunts, his cheeks flushing a deep red as he came, pleasure flooding through him. She sat atop him, her thighs tight around his waist, riding him through the last spasms of his orgasm.

Finally, she threw her head back and cried out, her body shuddering with the force of her own climax. The sound echoed through the room, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine.

"That," Fred managed to say, his voice hoarse, "was definitely worth losing a Quidditch match for."

Y/n chuckled, collapsing onto his chest. "Good to know I've got some skills other than Quidditch."

[estellan0vella]

The Secret Sound of Us: B.C Bang Chan x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 18.5K

CW:  Sexual Content, Implied and referenced sexual activity, Anxiety and Mental Health, Injury and Medical Treatment, Suicidal Ideation (Discussions about wanting to die out of embarrassment)(Multiple exaggerated jokes and comments from Y/N about throwing herself into the Han River), Threats of Violence, Accidental Voyeurism, Dramatic references to gagging and dry heaving

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

It’s mid-afternoon in Seoul, and the sun is spilling golden light through the partially closed blinds of Felix’s bedroom at the Alpha Phi frat house. Felix’s triple monitor setup hums quietly, Attack on Titan playing across all three screens in a chaotic mosaic of Titans and dramatic stares.

You’re lying on Felix’s bed, limbs tangled between Felix and Jisung like a mess of lazy cats, all three of you bundled in pyjamas you probably should’ve washed a couple nights ago. You’re in your favourite Spiderman pyjama trousers, a black cropped camisole that’s more spaghetti strap than actual shirt, and the matching Spiderman slippers that make the softest little thump-thump sounds on the floor when you walk. 

Jisung’s got on his Garfield pyjama trousers and a white vest that’s already stained with something suspiciously orange. His matching Garfield slippers, slightly too big, keep falling off his feet and hitting the floor with soft plops. And Felix, because he’s Felix, is wrapped in Hello Kitty pyjama trousers and a pink vest that reads A Slay Gay in glittery cursive. 

You’ve been rewatching Attack on Titan for the sixth time, but really, no one’s watching anymore. You’re jotting down more lines for your latest song, working on your fifth verse and your handwriting’s getting a little messy from the constant motion of Jisung’s foot bouncing against your knee.

“Okay, but like, Miche? The fucking shoulders on that man? He could carry me, my emotional baggage, my unresolved trauma, my dead body, fucking everything.”

Felix snorts, not looking up from his phone. “You say that about every man with biceps.”

“And I’ll keep saying it,” Jisung says, offended. “I’m a simple guy. Give me a tragic backstory and tree-trunk arms and I’m done for.”

You laugh and close your notebook with a little thud, tossing it on Felix’s desk. “I’m all for women being independent, you know, like, strong as fuck, but I would be Levi’s housewife in an instant. I’d be in an apron, barefoot, making stew or some shit.”

Jisung props himself up on one elbow, raising a brow. “Always in a little summer dress to get fucked?”

You shrug. “Absolutely.”

“Respect.”

You giggle, pushing Jisung’s leg slightly off your lap to sit up straighter. “Forget the men. You know where it’s at? Hange. The most beautiful 2D they I’ve ever seen. And Nanaba could punch me and I’d say thank you.”

Jisung makes a gasping sound, rolling onto his stomach and grabbing your hand for another fist bump. “As another proud pansexual, you’re so fucking right. Hange is unhinged and sexy, and Nanaba? The power. The femininity. The rage. She’s mother.”

Felix hums. “As a fully gay man, I think I could get it up for Hange. Androgynous icon. They could wreck my shit.”

You cackle, burying your face in your hands. “God, Felix.”

“I’m just being honest!” he says, throwing a pillow at your shoulder. “I’m sexually liberated.”

Jisung sits up suddenly, eyes lighting up. “So, Y/N, is takeout on you tonight?”

“Why would it be on me? Is it because I’m a woman? That’s sexist.”

Felix boos dramatically, flinging both arms around you. “Booooo! Boo this misogynist!”

Jisung holds up his hands. “No! No, it’s because you have a steady income! Secret Sound Programme, remember?”

“Shhh! Someone could hear you!”

“Bitch, you can sing. Embrace it! I do. I make it everyone’s problem that I’m musically gifted and chose to pursue journalism instead.”

“I’d die if anyone besides you two found out it was me,” 

Felix rubs your back in circles. “Because you’re super shy, super shy.”

Jisung sings, “But wait a minute while I make you mine, make you mine!”

Felix looks at Jisung and says, “That was very gay of us.”

Jisung pretends to gag. “Ugh. Disgusting. Queerness.”

“Look, if I was ever gonna make money off singing, what I’d do is sing my songs for some girl who can’t sing, and she’d lip-sync on stage and I would be happily rich and anonymous.”

Felix gasps. “Like Milli Vanilli?”

You nod vigorously. “Exactly.”

Jisung blinks. “Hello? Incheon boy here? Born in Korea, raised in Korea and Malaysia? What the actual fuck is a Milli Vanilli?”

Felix gasps, sitting upright. “Oh my GOD. You unwesternised gremlin. It was a scandal! A SCANDAL none of us were even alive for, and yet, the drama remains!”

Jisung’s eyes widen. “What happened?!”

“Okay, picture this. Two hot dudes. They can’t sing for shit, right? But they LOOK like they could. So the record label’s like, boom, we got something. They get actual singers to do the vocals, but the hot dudes are the faces of the band. They win a Grammy. A fucking Grammy. And then BOOM. Exposed. The whole world finds out they didn’t sing a single goddamn note.”

“I want to do that but, like, smartly. So I don’t get caught. I will forever remain anonymous. Singing. Rich. In a house full of plants. While someone else takes my credit. That’s my life goal, I think.”

Felix sighs dramatically and leans back again. “You and your fucking plants.”

“They’re not just plants,” you say quickly, voice rising with the speed of your ramble. “They’re emotional support organisms. Like, I can’t talk to people. But I can talk to my string of turtles. And my monstera is so fucking pretty. I have one that’s growing a fenestrated leaf for the first time and I almost cried when I saw it because I’ve had it since freshman orientation and it didn’t even like me for six months and now it’s thriving and I’m like, that’s growth, literally and figuratively-”

“Jesus,” Jisung says, watching you with wide eyes. “You and I are the same person. I talked to my fucking desk cactus during midterms.”

“Don’t shit on emotional support foliage,”

Felix is giggling again, the kind of giggle that makes his shoulders shake. “You two have negative common sense between you. I swear to god.”

“Not true,” you say, poking his side. “We have a combined IQ of, like, a lot.”

Jisung raises a brow. “Name three bones in the human body.”

“Funnybone,” you say.

“Dick bone,” Jisung adds.

“Backbone,” Felix finishes, high-fiving both of you.

“See?” you say proudly. “Fucking geniuses.”

“Oh, Y/N,” Felix says, way too brightly, “time for your fucking medicine.”

“Noooooo,” you whine, already kicking your legs like a toddler. “I don’t want to do the drops. They make my eye feel weird. It’s like, cold and stingy and too fucking clinical. And my eye keeps twitching. And I hate people touching my eye. And it always feels like they’re gonna poke it into the back of my skull-”

Jisung snorts. “Jesus, you sound like you’re describing a horror movie. It’s just eyedrops.”

“Just eyedrops?” you squeak, sitting up suddenly. “Jisung. I have to get these fucking things four times a day, and you remember how I got this, right? Or were you too drunk to retain any memory of my tragic fucking trauma?”

“Okay, that’s dramatic, even for you,” Jisung teases, booping your nose.

“Let the girl be dramatic, she hit her face on the fucking kitchen counter!” Felix says, already reaching towards his desk where he keeps your dexamethasone drops. “You were drunk off your ass. You tripped over your own fucking Spiderman slipper and just BAM! Counter to the face. You slid down like a character in a video game. It was horrifying and honestly kind of graceful"

“It was not graceful. It was traumatic. I couldn’t even see out of my right eye, and then Minho had to drive me to the hospital because you two fuckers were useless.”

“That’s fair,” Jisung admits. “I was, like, seventeen tequila shots deep. I thought the inside of the freezer was a portal to Narnia.”

“And I passed out on the beanbag and woke up covered in Cheeto dust,” Felix adds casually, shaking the eye drop bottle. “You should be thankful Minho was sober. That man is, like, terrifyingly competent.”

You remember it vividly. Waking up on the kitchen floor, half-blind in your right eye, your face throbbing, Felix trying to pour water on your head like that would fix a head injury. Jisung trying to google how to heal a busted eye with a spoon and a towel. And Minho who came storming in with his hair still damp from a shower and calmly said, “Get in the car,” like a fucking protagonist in a thriller. 

Then at the hospital, he held your hand while the emergency ophthalmologist examined you, and by held your hand, you mean he pinned your arms down because you wouldn’t stop flailing and trying to escape. 

“Minho had to physically restrain me while they looked at my eye,” 

“And now we have to restrain you while we put in your drops,” Felix says cheerily, already climbing over Jisung to get closer. “This is a group effort.”

“No! Noooo!” you cry, trying to scoot backwards off the bed, but Jisung grabs your ankles and yanks you back with a victorious shout, laughing his ass off as you flail.

“Get the arms!” 

Jisung throws a leg over your thighs and pins you down, giggling madly while Felix straddles your chest. 

This is not hygienic! I have RIGHTS! I hate you both!”

Felix frowns. “Fuck, she’s twitching again. I can’t get a clean shot. Her eye’s moving around like she’s being electrocuted.”

“I’m nervous! My eye is vulnerable and wet and you’re attacking it with chemicals!”

“We need backup,” Jisung announces solemnly, grabbing his phone and texting at the speed of light. “Summoning the Eye Drop Task Force.”

“Oh god,” you whisper as the door slams open.

First comes Hyunjin, looking freshly moisturized and vaguely annoyed, shirtless in grey sweatpants and blinking like he just woke up from a nap. “Is it time?”

“Yep,” Jisung grins.

Jeongin waltzes in wearing a silk robe and sipping a protein shake and Seungmin trails in behind him, yawning, phone still in hand, dressed in all black like he’s attending a funeral, and mutters, “I had just started a game.”

Finally, Changbin storms in, cracking his knuckles like he’s ready to brawl. “Is the patient resisting again?”

“Okay, Jeongin, you’re on eye duty,” Felix commands like a general. “Hyunjin and Seungmin, arms. Changbin, head stabilization. Let’s do this.”

“I swear to god-” you begin, but then it’s too late. Suddenly, you’re being held down like a lab rat, Jeongin climbing over you with his perfectly manicured fingers prying your eyelids apart.

“Holy fuck, why is her eye twitching so much?” Jeongin asks, squinting at your face. “It’s like trying to hold open a possessed clam.”

Felix dives in with the bottle, tongue poking out in concentration. He angles it just right, and plop. “Got it!”

“IT’S COLD. IT’S IN MY FUCKING BRAIN. I CAN TASTE IT THROUGH MY SINUSES.”

“Side effect,” Seungmin says dryly, already letting go of your arm and stepping back.

“Goddamn,” Changbin says, brushing off his hands. “You put up a fight. That was like wrestling a raccoon.”

“Do raccoons scream about injustice and cry while getting medical treatment?” 

“Only the very dramatic ones,” Jeongin says, patting your head.

As the boys file out, muttering things like “good luck with the next dose” and “text if she tries to bolt next time,” Jisung flops back on the bed beside you, breathless.

“You know what I need?” he says, staring at the ceiling. “I need a nap.”

“Me too”

The two of you immediately curl up together like a pair of exhausted kittens, dragging the blanket up to your chins. Felix sighs loudly, clearly pretending to be annoyed, but you can hear the fondness in his voice. “Oh my god, you two nap more than my halmeoni. It’s three in the fucking afternoon.”

“Naps help with anxiety,”

“And the crushing weight of existing in late-stage capitalism,” 

The kitchen is quieter than usual for a mid-afternoon at the Alpha Phi frat house, save for the occasional distant shout of "FUCKING HEADSHOT!" echoing from the game room next door. 

That can only mean one thing, Felix is gaming. And if Jisung isn’t glued to Felix, then there’s a one-hundred-percent chance he and you are currently passed out upstairs in Felix’s bed, dead to the world. 

Chan sits alone at the kitchen island, hunched over his laptop, his elbows planted on either side of his black over-ear headphones as he scrolls through the Secret Sound Programme submission list. He’s been at it for over an hour now, the audio files blurring together, some decent, some good, a few outright painful, but none of them have what he needs.

The request he submitted for this batch was specific, a cover of Good Day by IU. A notoriously difficult song because of those three high notes. Chan knows exactly what he wants, and it’s not mediocrity. 

And then he sees it. #8847.

The number jumps out like it’s glowing, not because of anything on the screen, but because he knows it. He’s heard this one before. Not this exact file, but this submitter. This voice. This goddamn voice.

Chan clicks and the sound that pours through his headphones is nothing short of magic. He exhales sharply, sitting back like the wind just got knocked out of him. It’s not forced. It’s not shaky. It’s confident without sounding cocky, emotional without being overdone.

From behind him, there’s the steady sound of chopping. Minho is at the stove, stirring a pot of guksu jangguk with his usual laser focus. His hair is pulled back with a makeup headband with little cat ears perched on top. 

Minho doesn’t look up. “You’re listening to your singing Cinderella again, aren’t you?”

“How the fuck do you always know?”

“You get that same dumb dreamy look every time,” Minho says, flicking sesame seeds into the pot. “Like you’re in a Disney movie and the forest animals are about to start harmonizing.”

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, yeah. I am. But listen to this.”

He yanks the headphone jack out of his laptop and hits play again, letting the voice fill the kitchen.

Minho finally pauses, tilting his head as he listens. “Damn. That’s a good voice.”

Chan shakes his head. “That’s not a good voice. That’s perfection. This girl should be an idol. Not getting paid like twenty thousand won a clip to sing anonymously for my student projects.”

Minho gives him a sideways glance, smirking. “You’re in love with a voice. What if she’s ugly?”

“What the fuck, Min?”

“I’m just saying. Someone with a voice like that could still look like she crawled out of a fucking swamp.”

Chan stares at him in horror. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

Minho shrugs. “I’m concerned. My objectively attractive friend is developing a parasocial crush on an anonymous voice. And if this girl turns out to be fugly, and you fall in love and make ugly babies, I will have to lock them in a cupboard when I babysit. I’ll feed them, I’m not a fucking monster, but it’ll be with a slingshot because I’m not trying to have their ugly asses within eyesight.”

“You’re fucking insane.”

“I’m serious,” Minho says, pointing a wooden spoon at him. “No one in this frat is allowed to have ugly babies. Everyone in Alpha Phi? Hot as fuck. It’s not a coincidence.”

Chan laughs, running a hand through his hair. “So you're saying we’re hot by design?”

“Yes!” Minho slams the spoon down with emphasis. “You think Seungmin’s still here because he’s our future lawyer? No. It’s because he is photogenic as shit. You, me, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, Jeongin, we’re a fucking visual lineup. This is curated beauty. It must be preserved.”

“You’re ranting about eugenics right now. You’re cancelled. You’re done.”

“I’m not saying we sterilize ugly people,” Minho says, like that somehow makes it better. “I’m just saying ugly people should fuck other ugly people. And beautiful people should fuck beautiful people. Like you. And oh, I don’t know. Off the top of my head. Y/N. Just as an example. For the sake of argument.”

Chan doesn’t say anything for a moment because his brain is suddenly glitching between two very inconvenient truths. One, he has a stupid, growing crush on you. You, the anxious, soft-voiced, ramble-prone botany major who trips over nothing and drinks tea out of mugs shaped like frogs. Two, he’s also falling in love with a voice, this anonymous, elusive voice from the Secret Sound Programme that keeps showing up in his project folders and sounding like a dream.

“I mean, think about it,” Minho continues, now ladling broth into little bowls for later. “You and Y/N would make the most disgustingly pretty kids. The kind of babies that get sponsorship deals before they can talk. And she’s sweet. She’d probably grow an entire herb garden for their baby food. You’d write lullabies. It’d be domestic as fuck.”

Chan groans and drops his head onto the counter. “Can you not?”

“I’m just helping,”

“You’re matchmaking with my crush on a person I barely talk to,” Chan mumbles into the granite.

Minho laughs and drops a pair of chopsticks beside him. “Eat your soup and stop fantasizing about your mystery songbird. She probably has four teeth and a criminal record.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Chan mutters, “You’re lucky your food is good,” and starts eating.

But even as he sips the warm, rich broth, the voice lingers in his head. That smooth, almost haunting clarity, the way she hits those notes like it’s effortless. Like she was born to do it. And something in his chest aches, not just from musical admiration, but something... deeper. He tells himself it’s professional curiosity. That’s what he always says.

But part of him wants to find her. And another part wonders what he’ll do if she’s not who he imagined at all.

The music department hallway is buzzing in that quiet kind of way. Chan’s on his way to the studio he booked out for the next few hours, planning to layer some beats and maybe work on that track he’s had in his head all week, the one meant for the mystery vocalist who’s been haunting his laptop like some siren made of MP3 files and vocal perfection. 

He’s brought to a dead stop by a shriek so loud it makes him jump, followed by someone yelling, “Just keep your eye open! You need your drops!”

There’s another, more dramatic shriek, and then a loud laugh, one that sounds very familiar.

Chan’s head turns immediately, brow furrowed, and a second later, the door to one of the Secret Sound recording rooms swings open. Out tumble you and Jisung, both laughing, you blinking rapidly and wiping at your right eye while Jisung pumps both fists in the air.

Chan watches the scene unfold like a confused bystander caught in the weirdest flash mob ever. His brain is already spinning, because that’s the studio for Secret Sound students only. No one’s supposed to know who’s in there. The program is built on anonymity. 

Singers submit under ID numbers, files get encrypted, and only the admins know who’s behind which voice. Even the production majors working with the clips get no names, no faces. It’s been the most creatively exciting part of his projects recently, this total mystery.

And now he’s staring at the two people he least expected walking straight out of that studio.

You blink up at him, your right eye still a little red and watery. “Oh, hey Chan! We, uh- Hi!”

Jisung jumps in, saving you without hesitation. “Hey! Didn’t know you were gonna be here! Haha, yeah, we were just doing some stuff."

Chan blinks. “Were you just in the Secret Sound studio?”

Jisung nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, totally. I needed some extra cash. Figured I’d lend my angelic vocals to the student masses.”

You make a little squeak of a noise beside him and try to smile. “I just tagged along. Moral support. Very moral. Supportive. Morally supportive.”

Chan looks between the two of you. You’re wearing a dark blue cropped denim jacket layered over a black lace bralette, the jacket sleeves pushed halfway up your forearms. Your high-waisted denim mini skirt barely skims your thighs, and your thigh-high black boots are so well-fitted it’s almost unfair. A small black handbag dangles from your shoulder, your fingers clutching it like a lifeline. 

Jisung’s coordinated to match you, dark blue button-up shirt and pants covered in white stars, a chunky silver chain around his neck, a black crossbody bag slung across his chest, and white high-tops scuffed in a way that screams style and chaos in equal measure. He always looks like he’s about to perform or rob a very fashionable store.

“Oh, cool. I didn’t know you guys were part of Secret Sound. Obviously. Considering the secret part.”

You laugh nervously, clutching your bag tighter. “Oh no, uh, not me. Just Jisung. I can’t even sing. And if I did, which I don’t, I wouldn’t do it publicly. Even secretly. That’s not- Anyway, I was just here to support Ji, because he, um, gets nervous. Not that he needs to. Because he’s amazing. But support is good.”

“Uh huh, yep. Just me singing. Not Y/N. I just needed support hitting the high notes and who better than Y/N, right?”

Chan tries not to raise an eyebrow. “Right. Well, good for you, Ji. Maybe now you can stop making a point of belting Defying Gravity during your late-night showers.”

“And deny my fellow frat housemates the pleasure of my high notes? That’s a hate crime.”

You giggle beside him, and Chan’s heart does this stupid little lurch in his chest that he immediately pretends not to notice. You always laugh like you’re surprised by it, like the sound escaped you on accident. It’s adorable in a way that really shouldn’t affect him as much as it does.

You tap Jisung’s arm gently. “Ji, we have that thing, remember?”

“Oh! Right! Yes, the thing. The very important thing. Top secret.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “What thing?”

“We’re working on a present,” Jisung says, grabbing your hand and dragging you a step backwards. “For Felix. He’s been feeling kind of homesick lately.”

Chan blinks. “Need help? I know the feeling.”

Jisung waves a hand. “Nah, it’s cool. I’ll text you if we need backup. Y/N’s Aussie too, so she’s got, like, all the outback wisdom stored in her brain.”

You nod, eyes wide and innocent. “Yup. Koalas. Kangaroos. Tim Tams. Deeply ingrained generational trauma. The whole shebang.”

Chan laughs softly despite himself. “Sounds very authentic.”

“We try,” Jisung says brightly, already half-turning to go. “Anyway, gotta dash! Bye!”

You offer a tiny wave and a breathless smile. “Bye, Chan.”

You barely make it halfway down the hallway before you’re spiralling. Jisung keeps pace beside you effortlessly, hands shoved into the pockets of his star-covered pants, but he’s watching you from the corner of his eye with increasing amusement and a hint of concern. You, on the other hand, are mid-freak-out.

“Oh my fucking god. He knows. I know he knows. He looked at me. Like actually looked. He’s going to figure it out. He’s going to fucking figure it out and I’m going to have to fake my death. I’ll jump into the Han River. With rocks in my pockets. And bricks. Around my ankles. And maybe a couple of dumbbells, just to be sure.”

Jisung snorts. “Little dramatic.”

“I am serious, Jisung! Dead. Serious. Nice knowing you. Tell Felix he can have all my skirts. And thigh-high boots. He can have the whole fucking closet. The two of you can split it. You’ve both got the waists and the legs for it, make sure it goes to good use. But also, listen to me. This part’s important.”

He nods solemnly, lips twitching. “Go on.”

“If I die and you use an ugly picture of me for any memorial posts, I swear to fucking god I will haunt you. Forever. I’ll be one of those sad suicide ghosts, dripping water all over your stuff and whispering your name in the middle of the night.”

“Oh my god-”

“And I’ll do it when you’re trying to fuck Felix,” you continue without pause. “Like literally when you’re mid-thrust. I’ll pop up out of the closet, soaking wet, mascara dripping down my cheeks, looking like the Babadook’s depressed sister. You will never get hard again. I will be a phantom boner killer for the rest of your goddamn life. Not even the little blue pill will save you.”

Jisung stops walking. “Okay, first of all, how fucking dare you use the words phantom boner killer like that in public. Second of all, I love you, but what the actual shit is wrong with your brain?”

You inhale like you’re about to start again, but he holds up both hands.

“No, wait, don’t answer that. I already know. You’ve got anxiety and imagination trauma, it’s a potent fucking combo. But listen, I have a plan.”

“Go on.”

Jisung steps closer like he’s about to whisper state secrets. “If Chan starts getting close to figuring out that you’re one of the Secret Sound students, we’ll redirect.”

“To what?” you ask slowly.

“To someone else,” he says confidently. “Someone more obvious. Someone who could very realistically be a musical mystery girl. Someone who’s already obsessed with him. You know who I’m talking about.”

You blink. “Please don’t say-”

“Eunjung,” he says with a wicked grin. “That girl from the theatre department who’s been foaming at the mouth for Chan since the start of the semester.”

“Oh god,” you groan. “You want to Cinderella Story him.”

“Yes,” he says immediately.

“The one with Lucy Hale?”

He nods again, all enthusiasm. “Absolutely. That one was a fucking masterpiece.”

You bite your lip. “It might actually work.”

He beams. “It will work. It’s flawless. And if he does find out, don’t worry. I’ll cause a scandal so big, Chan’ll be too busy trying to fix the frat’s PR image to even remember what his name is.”

You blink. “Scandal?”

“Oh yeah,” he says, eyes gleaming. “I’ll wear a skirt. No panties. To the next frat party.”

You choke. “You what?!”

“I’ll show everyone the Jischlong,” he declares proudly. “I’ll twirl. I’ll bend over. I’ll dance on the fucking beer pong table. Chan’ll spend weeks managing the fallout.  He’ll be too busy for fucking anything else.”

“You are completely unhinged.”

“Thank you,” he says, bowing slightly. “I do it all for you, my sweet spooky suicide ghost.”

“I cannot believe this is the plan.”

“It’s foolproof. Either he doesn’t figure it out, or he does and is immediately hit with a flash of thigh and psychological damage so intense, he forgets what music is.”

The Alpha Phi kitchen is bathed in the kind of dim, flickering light that only comes from a single overhead bulb deciding whether or not to give up. It’s 2 a.m., the hour where everything feels a little fuzzy around the edges and the air itself hums like it’s trying to lull you into sleep, except none of you are going to sleep anytime soon. 

There’s an open tub of cookie dough ice cream in the middle of the island with three spoons shoved haphazardly inside, and a half-empty bottle of red wine sitting next to it. Felix is nursing his glass like a suburban housewife, perfectly manicured fingers holding the stem delicately as he stares at you and Jisung like you’ve just shat in the wine.

“I love you both with my whole fucking heart,” Felix says, pausing dramatically. “Y/N, you’re my platonic soulmate, my twin flame, my own piece of Sydney that I smuggled into Korea with me like an emotional support kangaroo. And Jisung, you’re my boyfriend with the fluffiest hair I’ve ever buried my face in, and I love you and your beautiful, girthy, wide, fat cock that my ass has literally shaped to at this point-”

“What the actual fuck-”

“-but,” Felix continues smoothly, “that is the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard in my entire life. You want to Cinderella Story Chan?”

Jisung blinks at him, wide-eyed. “Yeah!”

“We didn’t say it was a good plan. Jisung said it was a plan. I never committed verbally. Or emotionally.”

Felix closes his eyes like he’s praying to some higher power to give him strength. “It is hands down the worst idea you two have had. And that’s a high fucking bar. You two are complete pabos.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Jisung pouts.

“No, it’s not,” Felix says flatly. “Chan would figure it out in less than twenty-four hours. He’d sniff out the bullshit before Eunjung even opens her mouth. And what if he asks her to sing? What if she sounds like a fucking dying cat?”

“She’s a theatre major!” Jisung says defensively. “She has to be able to sing!”

“Not if she’s just focusing on acting,” Felix snaps. “If she wanted to sing, she’d be in musical theatre. She’s probably never hit a high note in her fucking life. If you put her up as the mystery voice and she opens her mouth and starts croaking like a frog with laryngitis, Chan will know.”

You press the side of your face to the countertop dramatically. “I’m going to die.”

“No, you’re not, we’ll think of something else.”

Felix huffs, taking another sip of his wine. “Back to the drawing board then.”

You groan. “The problem is, like, Chan is way too hot for me. Like, not even a little. Like full-blown fictional-level hot. He’s a twelve. I’m a five. Maybe. And that’s without the uveitis. With it, I’m probably a three. Or a very solid haunted Victorian child, which might get me points with the goth community, but Chan is not goth-”

Felix doesn’t even let you finish. He whacks you on the arm with the back of his hand and glares. “Don’t talk shit about my best friend.”

Jisung slaps your other arm with the flat of his spoon. “You’re hot as fuck! Stop saying weird shit like that!”

You flinch. “I bruise easily!”

“And I will keep bruising you if you keep talking about yourself like that,” Felix threatens, jabbing a finger into your forehead. “You’re hot. You’re smart. You’re kind. You’re so pretty it makes me want to shove you into traffic sometimes, just to balance the universe.”

“Wow. Okay. Love you too, I guess?”

Jisung nods solemnly. “You are the sexiest haunted Victorian child I’ve ever seen, and if Chan doesn’t think so, then he’s an idiot. Or blind. Or possibly both. In which case, you’ll still have us and your uveitis, and honestly, that’s a powerful trio.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm, and you feel the beginnings of a smile creeping in despite the lingering self-pity. “It’s not about being hot, though. He’s so talented. He’s focused. He’s the head of Alpha Phi. And he produces these tracks that sound like actual professional shit. Real question here. What the fuck kind of situation is this?”

“Honestly? If Chan’s already sampled one of your recordings, Y/N, he’s going to figure out it’s you no matter what fucking teen movie you two try to rip off.”

You suck in a sharp breath like you’ve just been stabbed in the chest with a very small, very accurate knife. “Fuck, okay, well, that’s like completely within the realm of realistic thought, and I get it, I totally get it. I just- I was really hoping that the level of sheer insanity in the plan might buy me some kind of cosmic protection, you know? Like, surely no one is this stupid and therefore I would be safe.”

Felix points at you. “That’s the problem. You are that stupid. You and this idiot.” He nods toward Jisung, who salutes like this is a badge of honour.

“Maybe he hasn’t heard any of mine.”

“That’s the spirit!” 

Jisung straightens in his chair like he’s just been struck by divine inspiration. “What if we try She’s the Man?”

Felix and Jisung both squint at you, scanning your face like they’re trying to solve a very intense mathematical equation. Felix frowns. “She couldn’t play being a man. Too pretty.”

You snort, disbelieving. “Okay, you’re just saying that because you love me.”

“Yeah, and I have eyes,” Felix says. “Look at you.”

“But Felix,” Jisung argues, turning to his boyfriend. “You’re too pretty to be a man and you are an actual man with a dick and balls, which I have seen and can certify are there.”

“But I speak and it gives it away. My voice is deep as shit. Y/N is prettier in a softer way, it’s not the same vibe. She couldn’t pull off being a dude in disguise. So, next idea.”

Jisung hums, poking the side of the ice cream tub with his spoon. “Okay, Parent Trap?”

Felix doesn’t even hesitate. “Pass. She’d panic and confess within thirty seconds of opening her mouth.”

“Fair,” you admit.

“Okay, okay, Juno?”

You look him dead in the eye. “I’m not getting pregnant for a bit. Next.”

“Boooooo! Boring! Do it for the plot!”

“Imagine me with excess hormones,” you say, eyes wide. “Imagine that. I can barely survive my period. You want me to throw pregnancy hormones into this already delicate soup of dysfunction?”

Felix shudders. “Next.”

Jisung doesn’t miss a beat. “Camp Rock?”

Felix squints. “Literally nothing about that is secret. She just shows the back of her head.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, “and then fully turns around with a weird leg position. What part of that was meant to be a secret identity?”

“She was brave!” Jisung defends, mouth full of melted cookie dough.

“She was an idiot,” Felix says. “Next.”

Jisung sighs, flopping his arm over your shoulder dramatically. “Hannah Montana. Next time we go to the studio, we stick you in a wig.”

“Not bad.”

“Not bad at all.”

Jisung perks up. “You guys agree with me?”

Felix points at his boyfriend. “Mark this moment. Write it down. We agreed with Jisung.”

You’re already spiralling again, tapping your spoon nervously against your leg. “What kind of wig, though? Like full blonde? Should we do highlights? A bob cut?”

“Okay, you need to chill,” Felix says, clapping a hand over your mouth. “Let me handle the disguise.”

You nod under his palm, and he releases you with a sigh.

“We can dress her in something she’d never fucking wear,” he says, already in stylist mode. “Slap a face mask on, sunglasses, a cap, something that screams undercover idol. Give her some weird clothes, maybe fake lashes or a beauty mark somewhere. Something to throw him off. Make her a whole new bitch.”

You squint. “Can we call her something? Like, an alter ego name?”

Jisung leans in. “Ooh, what about Aurora Borealis?”

Felix frowns. “That’s not a name, that’s a natural phenomenon.”

“Exactly,” Jisung whispers dramatically.

You’re halfway through another sip of wine when the idea finally settles in, and then you mutter, “And if that doesn’t work, suicide.”

“WHY IS THAT YOUR GO-TO AT ANY MINOR INCONVENIENCE?!”

"Because it’s failproof!”

Jisung throws his head back and groans. “Oddly, I feel like you’d fail at suicide.”

“I would, I’d trip on the way to the bridge. Or fall in and somehow end up winning a local swimming competition instead.”

Felix is on his feet now, pacing dramatically like a lecturer at the edge of a breakdown. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard you say that shit since we were thirteen? Thirteen! The first time was after that goddamn school assembly about mental health, and you stood up after and went, ‘If I ever have to ask for help, just let me walk into the sea with rocks in my pocket.’”

“I meant it,” you say solemnly, twirling your spoon.

Felix throws his arms in the air. “And I’ve had SEVEN YEARS OF THIS SHIT. Seven! It’s 2025 now, and I’m still getting suicide monologues at two in the fucking morning over boys and bad ideas and whether or not you have too many freckles on your nose-”

“I do,” 

“You do not!” 

You’re giggling now and Jisung is cackling beside you, cheeks flushed, his arm around your shoulder as you both sway gently like seaweed in the tide of your collective nonsense.

“I swear to god, if I have to listen to one more fake death plan involving rivers or ghosts or you becoming a vengeful spirit just because someone looked at you too long, I’m going to walk into the Han River myself.”

You lean your head on Jisung’s shoulder and smile. “You’d miss me.”

“I’d haunt you,”

You sigh, eyes closing briefly. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” he mutters, but he’s already reaching across the table to top off your wine.

You, Felix and Jisung walk through the halls of the music department like you’re part of a covert black-ops mission. Your boots click-clack sharply on the linoleum, tall stiletto heels echoing like war drums. The leather trousers are so tight you can practically hear them scream for mercy with every step, and your bandeau crop top is small enough to be considered legally insignificant. The red, black, and white racer jacket swishes slightly as you walk, its colours bold against your all-black base. The red wig sits perfectly under your black cap. A black surgical face mask hides the lower half of your face, and oversized black sunglasses obscure your eyes entirely. 

Behind you, Jisung walks like he owns the floor, a fitted black long-sleeve shirt hugging his lean frame, silver chain glinting around his neck. His black cargo pants hang low on his hips and the way his boots stomp makes it sound like he’s daring someone to challenge his drip. Felix is all sharp contrast in his white jacket over a black crop top, baggy black cargos making his tiny waist look even smaller, white Converse practically glowing against the dull floor tiles.

“This is fucking perfect,” Felix whispers. “Thank god for my leather trousers, huh?”

“Her ass looks better in them than yours does.”

Felix doesn’t even blink. “True.”

“Can we please not talk about my ass? I’m sweating in places I didn’t know I could sweat.”

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” Felix whispers dramatically.

The hallway bends around to the left, and the Secret Sound studios come into view and unfortunately, so does Chan. His black hoodie is pulled up over his beanie, and he’s wearing those black joggers that hang off his hips like a threat. He’s looking down at his phone until he hears your boots and lifts his head. The smile he gives when he spots Felix and Jisung is soft and lazy, and your stomach twists into a knot.

“Oh hey, Lix, Ji,” Chan greets, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Who’s your friend?”

You freeze. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. Jisung, ever the chaotic saviour, jumps in without hesitation.

“She’s in my journalism course!” he blurts, a little too loudly. “Yeah, she, uh, doesn’t talk much. Kind of shy. She had this really bad car accident like, last year? Or maybe earlier this year. Definitely recent. Yeah. It, uh, left her with this big facial scar and- Uh- she doesn’t like to show her face in public. Also, she lost her left eye. So that’s why she’s got the sunglasses. And the mask. And the hat. You know, protection. From the sun. And from stares. She’s really private. So we’re just helping her feel normal. And, you know, supporting her. Because she’s super talented and- yeah.”

Felix just nods solemnly and hooks his thumb into the waistband of his pants. “Yeah. She’s got some serious vocal chops. Real hidden gem kind of vibe.”

Chan nods slowly, face unreadable. “Oh, wow. Shit. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Jisung winces dramatically. “Yeah, it was rough. She doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Chan tilts his head. “So, where’s Y/N?”

Felix groans like he’s been asked to recount a war story. “She has a botany assignment. I tried to convince her to leave it till the last minute but nooooo. Plants are more important than human connection.”

Chan laughs softly. “Sounds like her.”

“Tragically,” Felix agrees, folding his arms.

“So,” Chan gestures vaguely toward you. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“Mina,” Felix says immediately.

Jisung nods too quickly. “Yeah, Mina. Yep. That’s her name. Mina. Choi Mina"

Chan smiles again, soft. “Well, nice to meet you, Mina.”

You nod. Just a nod. One slow, single dip of your head. You don’t trust your voice. You don’t trust your limbs. You don’t trust any of your senses right now because you are absolutely, violently unprepared for this backstory and this name and the absolute nerve Jisung had to throw in facial disfigurement. You were prepared to pretend to be anonymous. Not a one-eyed, scarred tragedy heroine.

Felix grabs your arm, all but yanking you toward the booth door. “Okay, well, time’s ticking, gotta get her in there before her nerves kick in.”

Jisung reaches around Chan like he’s diffusing a bomb and shoves the studio door open. “Yeah, she gets real jittery if she waits too long.”

And before Chan can say another word, the two of them hustle you into the studio like a pair of overly invested stage moms and slam the door shut behind them. You’re barely upright, your heart thudding so loud you think you might pass out.

“What the fuck was that?!”

Felix looks unbothered, already fussing with the mic stand. “Mina has range.”

“I panicked.”

“Jisung, you said I lost my eye in a car crash!”

“You do have uveitis!”

“Which is not the same thing!”

“Details!” Jisung waves you off. “You were brilliant.”

Felix spins to face you, grinning like a proud parent. “You’re a star.”

“I want to die.”

Felix pats your shoulder. “Not until we get this track down. Come on, Mina. Let’s get to work.”

Chan stands outside the Secret Sound studio like he’s rooted to the goddamn floor, still staring at the door Jisung and Felix just dragged Mina through. The last thing he expected when he showed up to grab some gear and check his booking schedule was to be slammed in the face with a brand new mystery. He’s not sure if he should be suspicious, confused, or maybe just concerned. 

He’s about to leave, finally pulling himself away from the door, when he hears it. A voice. Soft at first. Just a breath. Then it sharpens, strengthens. Builds. His chest goes still. Because that voice, he knows that voice. It’s her. His secret singer.

Chan leans closer to the door, straining to hear every note like it might change something in him. His hand lifts slowly, resting against the frame. The song flows and when it hits the high, delicate bridge, it fucking soars. His heart clenches. His mouth goes dry. He knows this performance. He knows this voice like he knows his heartbeat.

But instead of the satisfaction he thought he’d feel when he finally found her, something cold settles in his gut. Something bitter.

He thought it was you. 

He hoped it was you.

He can’t even pinpoint when it started, when his mind began attaching the fantasy voice to your face, your laugh, your nervous little rambles. The secret hope grew slowly, secretly, like a weed he let take root in a corner of his heart he didn’t want to acknowledge. Maybe it was the way you speak in metaphors when you’re tired and off-guard. Or maybe it was just wishful fucking thinking. Whatever it was, it’s shattered now. Because Mina isn’t you.

Chan turns away from the door and starts walking down the hall, trying to shrug off the disappointment that clings to him. He tells himself not to be dramatic. That he didn’t know anything for sure. That he never asked. Never had proof. Just a dumb fucking crush and a voice he romanticized until his heart made up its own conclusions.

The walk back to the Alpha Phi house is slow, not because his legs are tired, but because his thoughts won’t shut the fuck up. He’s spiralling just a little, in that annoying way where he knows he’s being irrational but can’t stop himself anyway.

When he finally steps into the frat house, the smell of food smacks him in the face like a warm, comforting punch. He finds Minho in the kitchen, hair pushed back with his cat-ear headband that he only ever wears when he’s deep into chef mode. He’s flipping kimchi pancakes in one pan and sautéing bulgogi in another.

“I know who my singing Cinderella is,” 

Minho doesn’t turn. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Chan sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Someone on Jisung’s journalism course. Felix said her name’s Mina. Choi Mina”

Minho finally looks up from the pan, raising a brow. “Why so glum, sugar plum?”

Chan leans his elbows on the counter. “I thought it was Y/N.”

Minho pauses mid-flip, then carefully turns the pancake and drops the spatula onto a paper towel. “Oh.”

“I mean, it was dumb,” Chan says quickly. “Wishful thinking. I just, I don’t know, I thought maybe- Fuck, I don’t know what I thought. I’m being fucking dramatic. Forget it.”

“No, no, we don’t suppress feelings here. We just drown them in oil and carbs.”

Chan chuckles weakly and watches as Minho plates the bulgogi with clinical precision.

“So,” Minho says casually, “what’s the deal with this Mina girl?”

Chan exhales again, digging his fingers into his hair. “She was in a bad car accident. Got facial scars. Lost an eye. Doesn’t talk much. Jisung said she’s shy, keeps to herself, covers up a lot. Sunglasses, mask, all that.”

Minho hums. “Poor girl.”

“Yeah,” Chan mutters. “She didn’t speak, just nodded. And then Lix and Ji shoved her in the booth like they were hiding stolen art or something.”

Minho finally brings the plate over and drops it in front of Chan, followed by a smaller one with kimchi pancakes stacked high. “Y/N wasn’t with them?” 

“Nah,” Chan says, grabbing his chopsticks. “Felix said she had a botany assignment. Tried to convince her to skip it but she’s a total nerd about her plants.”

Minho makes a noncommittal sound and reaches for his chopsticks, twirling them slowly between his fingers.

Chan digs in, groaning at the first bite. “Jesus fuck, Minho. You’re a blessing.”

“I know,” Minho says, but his tone’s distracted.

He watches Chan eat for a minute, silent. Something about the story doesn’t sit right. Felix and Jisung show up with some girl no one’s ever heard of before, conveniently while you’re busy. A mystery girl who’s all covered up and shy and also just so happens to be the voice Chan’s been obsessed with. A girl with a damaged eye, no less. 

Minho knows you. Has watched you wrestle Jisung to the ground to avoid eyedrops. Has watched the way you fluster when anyone compliments your handwriting, how you trip over your words and apologize for existing when someone looks at you too long. A

and one thing Minho prides himself on more than anything else is his nose for bullshit. And this is Grade-A, top-tier, gourmet bullshit. 

But he doesn’t say anything. Not yet. He’ll get the truth. He’ll waterboard Jisung if he has to. Strap Felix to a chair and interrogate him like it’s a fucking spy movie. Whatever it takes.

For now, he watches Chan shovel bulgogi into his mouth with zero grace and reaches over to pinch his nose. Chan grunts. “What the fuck?!”

“Eat faster. You sound sad. Sadness is a symptom of hunger. We’re treating it.”

“I’m gonna choke.”

“You’re gonna heal.”

Chan glares at him but keeps eating.

Minho doesn’t let his expression waver. But inside, he’s already planning. If Mina’s who he thinks she is, if you’re the girl behind the voice, then shit’s about to get messy. But Minho lives for messy.

It’s around 6 p.m. when you, Felix, and Jisung fully abandon any concept of productivity and end up flopping in a tangled, colourful heap on Felix’s bed. 

All three of you are dressed in matching Minion pyjama pants. The pants are an eye-burning bright yellow with Minions printed all over them, and the fabric is already pilling, but you love them. You and Felix are both in cropped blue camisoles, and Jisung is wearing a yellow pyjama top to complete the horrifying aesthetic. And somehow, the three of you have ended up deep in a very serious, absolutely unhinged debate about terminal velocity.

“I’m telling you, humans have to fall at, like, 120 miles per hour to die. It’s basic physics.”

You nod solemnly in agreement with Jisung. “That’s why it’s called terminal velocity. Like, terminal. Like death. You fall that fast, you die. Anything under that, you’re probably fine. Maybe a broken ankle, but, like, alive.”

“Thank you! Y/N gets it. Someone here has a brain.”

Felix, perched at the head of the bed with his knees drawn to his chest and a hand pressed to his temple like he’s nursing a migraine, looks completely done. “You two are the reason the educational system is collapsing. That is not what terminal velocity means. Terminal velocity is the maximum speed an object can fall through air, like, due to drag and gravity. It has nothing to do with whether you die or not. Galileo is fucking weeping right now. Newton just rolled over in his grave. You’re killing science with your mouth words.”

You frown, raising your head just slightly. “But like, if terminal means death-”

“It doesn’t!” Felix groans.

Jisung throws a hand in the air. “It’s terminal. Terminal velocity. Ergo, the velocity at which you get terminally fucked.”

“So just so we’re on the same page, what you two have essentially just said to me is that if I fall from the top of Lotte Tower and I fall at 119 miles per hour, I’ll be totally fine. But if I hit 120? Instant death?”

You and Jisung nod, completely in sync, like two cult members agreeing with their charismatic, chaotic leader.

Felix groans into his hands. “This is so fucking bleak. It’s tragic, really. I’m dating a man who thinks drag equals death and my best friend genuinely believes physics works on horror movie logic.”

You sit up a bit more, crossing your legs awkwardly on the mattress. “Okay, but isn’t it possible that, like, there’s a speed where the body just shuts down? Where your organs go nope and everything just gives up?”

Felix is mid-scream when the door swings open and Minho steps in, shutting the door behind him with a click, his presence immediately shifting the energy and he looks like he’s about to ruin your lives.

“Important conversation happening. Do not interrupt. Y/N and I are proving Felix wrong with scientific fact.”

“You’re not. You’re both aggressively wrong. You’re big stinky pabos. I am right. Me. The only person in this room who apparently paid a slither of attention during physics.”

Minho walks over slowly, arms folded. “Jisung,” he says calmly. “You would have mentioned ages ago if some girl on your investigative journalism course got mangled in a car crash.”

You, Jisung, and Felix all turn your heads toward Minho at the exact same time, in perfect sync, like the three heads of a hydra all swivelling to face the knight who just stumbled into their cave.

“Okay, what the fuck, that was creepy as shit. Never do that again. But seriously.” He narrows his eyes, and now he’s not looking at Jisung anymore. He’s looking at you.

“Who is Choi Mina?”

Your stomach drops through the floor. You can’t breathe for a second. Your fingers curl around the Minion blanket on your lap and you’re suddenly very aware that Minho’s eyes are cutting through your entire soul.

His gaze slides from you to Jisung. Then to Felix. All three of you press your lips together like it’ll stop the truth from spilling out on its own.

Jisung crumbles like a soggy wafer, like the full intensity of Minho’s bullshit detector has melted every last ounce of resistance in his body. 

“Okay! Fine! Fuck, I’ll talk, Jesus!” he blurts out. “Fuck, okay, yes, we lied, we’ve been lying, it was a whole thing, a whole complicated spiralling thing that started like, not even on purpose! I mean it sort of was, but also not in a like, malicious way!”

Felix groans into his pillow. You pull your knees to your chest, eyes wide with guilt and panic and the beginnings of a spiralling anxiety attack, because Minho hasn’t blinked once.

“So,” Jisung continues, flailing like he’s conducting his own confession, “We were coming out of the Secret Sound studio, me and Y/N, because she had just finished recording something and I was there for moral support, which I provide often and generously by the way, and we ran into Chan in the hallway. It was just bad luck or maybe karma, I don’t know, I still think I’m a good person but that’s subjective at this point! Anyway! Chan saw us, right? And we panicked, obviously, because the whole point is anonymity and mystery and intrigue or whatever, so I, being the genius that I am, said to Y/N, hey, what if we Cinderella Story this shit? And she was like, bet. Let’s go.”

You bury your face in your hands as Jisung barrels forward with the energy of a man who’s been holding in a secret for far too long.

“But then,” he goes on, “later that night we were drinking wine and brainstorming more movie plots and Felix said the Cinderella Story plan was stupid, and I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but it hurt my feelings a little. So I started considering other movies! Like, She’s the Man, but Y/N’s too pretty to be a convincing guy and her voice is too soft and nice and Felix pointed that out, and then I considered Juno, but she wouldn’t get pregnant for the plot, which I still think is kinda selfish-”

“Jisung,” Minho snaps.

“Right! Sorry! So anyway, we landed on Hannah Montana, and next thing we know, Y/N’s in a red wig, black cap, black face mask, and sunglasses, looking like she's on the run from Dispatch. Chan sees us again, and I panic and come up with the whole backstory on the spot! Car crash, facial scar, lost eye, emotional trauma, super shy, boom, instant mystique. And Felix-”

“I picked the name. Mina just sounded right.”

Jisung points at him. “Exactly! So now we’ve got Mina, tragic backstory girl, and it worked! Or it seemed like it did. And that’s all. That’s the whole fucked up tale. There was never any malicious intent. Just wine, anxiety, and a collective lack of fucking common sense!”

Minho is quiet for a full beat and when he finally speaks, it’s not the reaction you expect. “Why don’t you want Chan to find out?”

“It’s not just Chan,” you say, your voice too soft and a little shaky. “I don’t want anyone to find out. Like, at all. Chan’s just the most likely to figure it out. But he probably hasn’t even heard my recordings. So maybe he never even got mine. It’s fine. I like being invisible. It’s safe. It’s comfortable. I don’t want to give that up just because I opened my mouth and sang into a mic in a soundproof booth. That wasn’t the point.”

“Well,” Minho says slowly, “your fucking ridiculous plan worked. Chan’s obsessed. Like, full-on emotionally attached. He now thinks his obsession-causing recordings came from some beautiful, broken girl who survived a car crash and lost an eye. You know what that means?”

You say nothing. Just stare at him like he’s got a knife pressed to your anxiety.

“It means,” Minho continues, “he’s not just curious anymore. He’s invested. You could’ve just left it. Let the anonymity do its fucking job. Maybe he’d connect the dots, maybe not. But now you’ve given him a whole fucking tragedy. He thinks his muse is someone who’s been through hell.”

“Oh my god, I’m the worst person alive.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Honestly, Y/N, from what Chan said about meeting Mina, well, you, but you know what I mean, you didn’t actually say anything. You stood there in silence. So really? This is all Jisung and Felix’s fault.”

Felix sits up straight. “Excuse the fuck out of me?!”

“You’re right! You’re so right. Jisung made up the car crash story on the spot! And Felix named me! You guys humanised me!”

“Oh, fuck you! I gave you a name because he asked! What was I supposed to say? Oh, this is our mute mystery friend with no identity? That would’ve been worse!”

“And I panicked!” Jisung huffs. “Chan looked at me and my whole brain fried! I thought I was doing improv under pressure! You try lying to Chan’s face when he’s smiling at you like he trusts you not to be full of shit!”

“You are full of shit!” Minho snaps.

“We’re all full of shit!” Felix throws his hands up. “This whole fucking situation is made of shit! We’re in a pyramid of lies built entirely on drama and zero fucking logic!”

“I want to die.”

“You’re not allowed,” Jisung says, nudging you. “You need to finish recording those lyrics next week.”

Felix glares. “And if we’re going down, we’re all going down together. I am not taking the fall alone for this melodramatic novella of fuckery.”

Minho crosses his arms. “You’re all idiots.”

“Well, I’m back to the plan of tossing myself into the Han River. I think the timeline’s sped up. I was giving it, like, two to three working days, but honestly? It’s giving now. Where are my shoes? Someone find my shoes.”

“Oh god, she’s spiralling! Felix, she’s spiralling again!”

“It’s always fucking suicide,” Felix says, voice deadpan. “We should get her some therapy. Honestly, we should get you therapy while we’re at it, Ji.”

“You’re gonna be a ghost with anterior uveitis,” Jisung says, pointing at you like that’s the real tragedy here. “That’s what they’ll find in your autopsy report. Drowned with a funky eye. That’s your legacy. That’s what’s going in the newspapers. Local uni girl found dead in the Han River, had one weird eye and a Minion obsession.”

You gasp and dramatically press a hand to your chest. “That’s not my legacy! I refuse! I need a hot outfit, a white dress, something that makes a statement. So that if a scuba diver finds me or a fisherman pulls me out or whatever, at least I look iconic. I’m not dying in these fucking Minion pyjamas, that would be so embarrassing. There’s no dignity in death when you’ve got Stuart smiling on your left thigh.”

Felix snorts into a pillow, trying not to laugh but completely failing. “Okay, but if you do go, can I have your Minion pants? I’ll wear them every year on your death anniversary. With a crop top and a single tear.”

“You may,” 

“And I’ll give a speech,” Jisung adds, one hand over his heart. “Something like, She faked an entire identity, and the weight of it crushed her. She wore Minion pants but died a main character.”

You start waving your hands, speaking too fast for your own brain. “The dress needs to be white, yes, but with, like, delicate beading. Floor-length with a train, but not too dramatic. Maybe a halter neckline? Or something backless. And it needs to cling in just the right places. I want the police divers to be like, Wow, this corpse slayed. Like tragic but hot. People should look at my photo and say, I wish I died that pretty. And my makeup has to be waterproof, because if I’m being dragged out of a river and my eyeliner’s smudged-”

Felix makes a strangled sound. “Please. Please stop planning your corpse glam.”

“I need bricks,” you continue, barely pausing for breath. “And rocks. Big ones. I need to not resurface. I can’t just be floating like some half-assed corpse on day two. It has to be dramatic. Final. Someone find me something heavy. Where are my fucking shoes?”

Minho’s hand appears from seemingly nowhere and plants firmly on your shoulder, shoving you back down with just enough force to make you collapse backwards onto Felix’s bed with a whine and a flail of your limbs.

“You’re not drowning yourself, pabo,”

“I have a new plan, I attempt to fight Changbin. There’s no way I make it out of that situation alive. He’s built like a prize stud bull”

“Okay, solid,” Jisung nods, immediately supportive. “We just throw you at him like bait and let him finish you.”

“Or,” you continue, gesturing wildly now, “I go and just annoy Seungmin for, like, a second. That’s all it’ll take. One second. He’ll smite me where I stand. No hesitation. His words will be so cutting I’ll disintegrate on the spot. Where is Seungmin?”

Minho sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seungmin won’t smite you. He thinks of you like a little chick. Like, all fragile and in need of protection.”

You pause, blinking. “So back to the Changbin plan.”

“Tell him he’s not as babygirl as he thinks he is. That’ll do it.”

Felix groans. “You guys are so fucking stupid.”

You flop back onto the bed, arm flung over your face. “Well, make sure I’m wearing something good when I go. White dress. Beaded. A little mystery.”

“I’m going to actually call a therapist,” Felix mutters.

“Make it a group session,” Jisung says, flopping dramatically across your legs.

Minho just watches the three of you with the most unimpressed look on his face, arms crossed like he’s trying to decide whether to lecture or lobotomize the entire room. “You’re all getting matching straitjackets.”

“I’ll bedazzle mine,” Felix offers.

Jisung nods. “Mine needs room for snacks.”

The evening drags itself forward in the sluggish, golden way only post-dinner fatigue can manage. The bulgogi had melted in Chan’s mouth, the kimchi pancakes were crispy and just sour enough, and the fried garlic rice hit the kind of spot that made grown men emotional. 

But Chan doesn’t feel comforted. Not really.  And Minho had vanished upstairs immediately after dinner with a vague-ass, suspicious line about needing to rearrange the bookshelf in his closet, which was definitely code for something potentially illegal and inhumane.

Chan’s still chewing on the bitterness of the day. His stupid, fucking idealistic brain had been so certain, so sure it was you. He let himself believe it. That his crush on the girl who somehow made spiralling anxiety endearing could collide with the obsession he had for the voice that kept showing up in his tracks like it belonged there. One big messy crush. That’s what he wanted. Something easy. Something real. But then there was Mina. 

He sighs, heavy and sharp, and makes his way back to campus on autopilot. His feet lead him toward the music building, into the quieter corridors, until he’s standing in front of the Secret Sound studio again. He shouldn’t be here. 

The room’s still faintly warm from the last session, and there’s a faint scent of shampoo lingering in the air, something sweet and floral that tickles the back of his memory. He squints in the low light, blinking slowly, and then he sees it. A notebook on the desk. It’s covered in stickers, most of them are Attack on Titan characters, Levi, Jean, some tiny chibi versions of Mikasa and Armin in the margins. There’s even a foil sticker of mullet Jean near the top that looks like it’s been peeled off and restuck about six times.

The notebook looks familiar. Chan furrows his brows, steps closer, and picks it up gently. He flips it open without even meaning to.

The pages are chaos. Swirls of lyrics and scrawled lines, some crossed out with violent strokes, others underlined or starred or circled multiple times. Doodles in the corners, little ghosts, vines, hearts, the occasional eyeball. He reads the first full set of lyrics he lands on, and his stomach clenches. It’s like reading a heart laid bare. And they’re good. Like, insanely good. He flips again. Another song. Then another.

He keeps flipping. Page after page. And then he hits the front. The inside of the front cover has three lines of writing scrawled in different colours. The first is small, neat, and in the upper right-hand corner: L/N Y/N. His stomach lurches.

The second is messier, written in dark green marker with little stars around it, Jisung Was Here!! and he underlined was three times, the idiot.

The third is written in pink gel pen, all glittery and slightly smudged, Felix is the best friend EVER and this is a legally binding statement <3.

Chan stares at the names like they’ve personally betrayed him. Because that’s your name. This is your notebook. He knew he’d seen it before. You carry it around all the fucking time. It’s always poking out of your tote bag or lying on top of your textbooks. He’s seen it on Felix's desk, in your lap, on your knees when you’re curled up next to Jisung like a cat. 

Taped onto the inside cover, right next to the names, are two Polaroids. One of them is old and slightly faded, corners curling, dated to 2010. A tiny six-year-old you grinning next to a matching six-year-old Felix, both of you with your front teeth missing and holding hands, standing in some park somewhere in what has to be Australia. The caption underneath, in pink glitter pen, just says: Look at these ICONS.

The second photo is newer. You’re on Jisung and Felix’s shoulders at a frat party a few months ago, dressed as Velma from Scooby-Doo. Felix is Fred, Jisung is in a full purple Daphne outfit, purple dress, wig and all. Your arms are in the air like you’re the queen of the world, and they’re both grinning up at you like you hung the fucking moon.

Chan flips back through the pages, faster now, like he’s desperate for confirmation. And he gets it. Notes for the song he requested complete with scribbles of ideas and reminders. There, at the top of the margin, is your Secret Sound ID number. 

Chan knows that number because it’s the ID connected to the voice he’s been building his entire fucking sound library around for the past six months.

There is no car crash victim. No scarred, mysterious girl who sings like she’s bleeding and holds her pain in silence. It’s you, the anxious, rambling, messy girl who’s always talking about soil acidity and carries around homemade iced coffee in mismatched tumblers. It’s you. 

Chan yanks out his phone with trembling fingers and hits Minho’s contact. His thumb stabs the call button and he paces the studio like a man with way too much adrenaline and not enough places to put it. 

Minho picks up on the second ring. “What?”

“The singer, it’s been Y/N this whole fucking time.”

There’s a pause. Then the shuffling of movement on the other end. “Give me a moment, I’m with them right now.”

Chan starts pacing faster, his footsteps echoing slightly off the walls. “What do you mean you’re with them right now?”

Minho pulls the phone away from his mouth but doesn’t hang up. Chan hears it all, clearly as if he’s in the room. “He knows,”

There’s a sharp gasp, your gasp, and then immediate chaos.

“Y/N, no! You have so much to live for, don’t jump in the Han River!” 

“Grab her before she can get out of the house!” 

“We should section her!” 

Chan stares at his phone in disbelief, then presses it closer to his ear, heart climbing higher into his throat.

Minho comes back on the line, sounding like he’s just wrestled a small animal. “It’s bad over here, man. You should get here fast.”

“Y/N! Get your head back inside! Do not jump out the window! Jisung, don’t join her!”

“What the fuck, Jisung?!”

Chan spins on his heel and bolts from the studio, not bothering to turn off the lights or shut the door. “I’m on my way.”

“Y/N! Jisung! Both of you get back in the window right now! Mommy Minho is putting his fucking foot down!”

Chan sprints across the campus, shoving his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he runs. He can hear everything, the crashing, the rustling, someone stomping, and then-

“Oh my god! She’s stripping! Her tits are out!”

“Y/N!” 

“I am not dying in minion pyjamas! Felix, you have a perfectly nice white dress! I’m putting it on!”

“This is a hate crime! I’m gay and you showed me titties! Wait! When did you get your nipples pierced?!”

“A few months ago! I got drunk and Seungmin took me! Jisung, zip me up!”

“Okay!”

Chan’s lungs are burning but he keeps running. He cuts across the central quad, barely looking where he’s going. Someone almost crashes into him and he swerves around them without slowing down, phone still wedged tight against his ear.

“Why do you look better in my dress than I do?!” 

“Because I have perky boobs and pierced nipples! Now find me a cinderblock to tie around my ankle for launching myself into the Han River!”

“All zipped up!” Jisung says with the energy of a man who thinks this is somehow helpful. “You look hot! Very tragic sexy corpse ready!”

“Great! Now get me to the Han River!”

Chan nearly chokes on a breath. He can’t tell if this is a fever dream or just your usual level of absolutely unhinged behaviour but turned up to eleven.

“What the fuck is happening over there?” 

Minho doesn’t even answer. He doesn’t even seem to remember he’s still on the phone, because the yelling continues without a single update for Chan.

“Stop trying to open the window again! I swear to god, Y/N, I will tie you to this fucking bedpost myself.”

"You got piercings and didn’t tell me?! We’ve been getting changed in front of each other for months and you just hid them like you've got some kind of nipple shame?!”

“I was gonna tell you! But then you were busy baking and the moment never came up and also I forgot!”

“Who the fuck is throwing hangers?!” 

“I’m accessorising! She needs a choker! Something slutty but dramatic!”

“I have a silver one with a dagger charm!” 

“Yes! Give me that!”

Chan is breathless now, sprinting past the convenience store near the frat house, nearly slipping on the pavement.

“Where the fuck is the dagger necklace?!” 

“In my second drawer under the mesh tops!” Felix replies. “Move the leather harness!”

“You own a leather harness?!” Minho shouts.

“Multiple! Don’t judge me!”

Chan is still breathing hard when he bolts up the frat house stairs, his sneakers pounding against the steps like a fucking war drum. His chest is tight, his heart slamming like it’s trying to punch through his ribs, but none of that matters, because the noise coming from Felix’s room is escalating. 

He hears yelling. Thudding. Something crashing. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t knock, just grabs the handle and throws the door open like he’s kicking down the gates of hell.

The chaos hits him like a brick wall.

Jisung is crouched near the window, fluffing the skirt of Felix’s silky white party dress like he’s prepping a bride for a high fashion shoot, except this bride is you, standing on the bed, barefoot, hair a frizzy mess, tugging aggressively at the ends to give it volume. 

The dress hugs you perfectly, clinging to your body like it was tailored for you. Your lips are glossy and a little puffy from nerves, your eyes are wide with panic, and the straps of the dress are slightly askew from being yanked on too fast. There’s a silver choker tight around your neck, a tiny dagger charm resting just above your collarbone.

The moment your eyes land on Chan, something wild flickers in them. He watches the shift in your expression, recognition, fear, and then sudden, chaotic resolve.

Minho moves like a fucking linebacker. He lunges across the room and tackles you mid-air, dragging you down just before your knees hit the windowsill. Jisung leaps on top of him. Felix dives a second later, all three of them crashing into a chaotic, grunting pile of limbs and screaming. You let out a muffled yelp as they all collapse on top of you, pinning you to the floor.

“Oh my god! Ow! Jisung, that's my face!” 

Minho is flat on top of your chest, arms wrapped around your shoulders. Jisung is splayed on top of Minho, one leg thrown over his back like he’s making himself comfortable. Felix, somehow, ends up at the very top of the pile, half-sliding down Jisung’s side and shouting something about wrinkles in his trousers.

You squirm beneath them, your voice straining. “This is another way to die. I see the light. It’s that scene where Levi says ‘Two fingers is all I need.’ Heaven is glorious. Let me go.”

“We’re killing her!” 

Chan grabs your wrists and yanks you up, dragging you out from under the pile of bodies like you’re some half-conscious ragdoll. You gasp when the air hits your lungs again, your legs flailing and the skirt of the dress riding up mid-rescue. Chan catches you just before you hit the floor.

You jerk away from him the second your feet hit the ground.

“Wait, Y/N-” 

You bolt from the room like a deer being hunted, barefoot and breathless, heart pounding so hard it makes your vision tunnel. You don’t even think. You just run. Because there’s only one room in this house that represents safety. One room you know you won’t be followed into unless invited. And Seungmin? Seungmin is order. Stability. Rationality. Seungmin is your last hope.

You skid around the hallway corner and slam into his bedroom door, shoving it open so hard it bounces off the wall behind it.

Seungmin looks up from his laptop, one brow raised. He’s wearing glasses and a big hoodie that says CIVIL LAW IS SEXY. There’s a cup of tea on his desk and he has lo-fi beats playing softly from his speakers.

“I need sanctuary.”

“Did you commit a felony?”

“I committed emotional fraud,” you say. “Please, don’t ask questions.”

You slam the door shut behind you and throw yourself into his bed, diving under the covers like you’re burrowing to hide from the shame monster. 

Seungmin turns his chair and stares at the mountain of blankets you’ve become. “So, who do I have to sue?”

“Me. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. I’m going to become an international embarrassment.”

He sighs and climbs into the bed next to you, grabbing the edge of the blanket and tugging it back until your face peeks out. He wraps the blanket tighter around you, burrito-style, tucking it in at the sides like he’s swaddling a baby.

“Okay, start from the beginning.”

You do. Between wheezes and dramatic sighs and occasional gasps for air, you tell him everything. You tell him about Secret Sound and how you never told anyone but Felix and Jisung. You tell him about how you started submitting stuff anonymously, how you thought you’d stay invisible. You tell him how you walked out of the studio with Jisung, only to run into Chan himself. 

You tell him about the panic, the Hannah Montana inspiration, the wig, the name, the backstory Jisung invented like a gremlin on five Red Bulls. You tell him how Minho figured it out. How he confronted you. And how, somehow, Chan found out too.

“I was fine!” you exclaim. “I was so fine! It was anonymous! I could be fucking mysterious and tragic and safe! I didn’t want anyone to know it was me! And now Chan knows! And I’m not even wearing a bra!”

Seungmin strokes your hair gently. “You’re also not wearing shoes or dignity.”

“Thank you,” 

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I’m spiralling.”

“Clearly.”

You hiccup and stare at the ceiling. “What if he hates me?”

“He doesn’t.”

“What if he does?”

“He doesn’t.”

“What if he sues me for emotional damage?”

“I’ll represent you. I’m only charging five thousand an hour.”

“You’re my emotional support friend, not my lawyer!”

“Not anymore.”

You groan and shove your face into his chest. “Just let me die. In peace. In your bed.”

Seungmin pulls the blanket tighter around you and sighs. “I swear to god, you dramatic little fungus, you’re going to be fine. You just need to breathe and stop inventing new ways to traumatise your friends.”

“I didn’t invent them. I just accidentally implemented them.”

He rests his chin on your head. “And you’re gonna fix it. But first, you’re going to stay in here, breathe, and stop stripping in front of people.”

You nod miserably and in that tiny, warm room, swaddled in blankets and humiliation, you let yourself believe that it might be okay. Eventually. Maybe. If you survive this next hour.

For the next two weeks, the Alpha Phi frat house becomes a battlefield. A holy sanctuary of peace violently guarded by one very sleep-deprived, very unhinged civil law major. Seungmin doesn’t just put up metaphorical walls, no, he becomes the wall. The moment Chan tries to make even the slightest approach toward you, Seungmin is there. Always. 

It begins subtly. A casual lean across your body when you’re seated on the couch. A suspiciously timed accidental door closing before Chan enters a room you’re already in. But it escalates. Fast.

By day three, Seungmin is pulling a travel-sized can of hairspray from the sleeve of his hoodie and flicking a lighter beneath it to create a two-foot fireball in Chan’s direction. Chan nearly drops his protein shake in horror as a streak of flame wooshes past his face and scorches the wall.

“What the actual fuck, Seungmin?!” 

Seungmin raises the can calmly. “Back the fuck off.”

And he does.

The frat house enters an era of quiet warfare. Everyone learns quickly. If you see a glint of silver and hear the hiss of aerosol, turn and run. Seungmin is not above arson to protect you, and he makes that clear every single day.

He shadows you everywhere. Not in a creepy way, more like in an overbearing, extremely overprotective way, which for Seungmin, is just another day of the week. You can’t pee without him hovering by the door. He has a notebook of your eyedrop times. He knows which mug is your favourite and which brand of hot chocolate calms you down fastest. Your anxiety is high, like a constant, heart-thumping, shoulder-tensing high, and Seungmin sees the signs before you even open your mouth.

You don’t go back to your dorm. Not once. Seungmin had demanded that you stay in his room after the Chan incident, and when you’d tried to protest about being a burden and how your dorm room was fine, he’d shut it down immediately.

“You’ll spiral alone,” he’d said, deadpan. “and then I’ll have to drag your limp, dissociating body back here anyway. Skip the middleman.”

And that was that.

Seungmin even sent Changbin, who was still halfway through his dinner, to your dorm to pack a bag for you. Big mistake. Changbin, sweet, buff, confused Changbin, shows up thirty minutes later with a gym duffle filled with four hoodies, a single tube of lip balm, three pens, one slipper, and a fucking black lace thong.

Seungmin stares into the bag for ten full seconds. “What the fuck is this?”

Changbin blinks. “You said comfy shit-”

“A lacy thong?” Seungmin holds it up with two fingers like it’s biohazardous. “This isn’t comfort, this is slutty depression. I meant halmeoni panties, dumbass.”

“I WAS TRYING TO HELP!” 

“She’s fragile, not trying to get dicked down by a ghost.”

After that, Seungmin makes a very detailed packing list for the next trip. He writes it in Sharpie on Changbin’s arm.

Changbin also gets daily plant duty. Every morning at nine a.m., without fail, Changbin goes to your dorm, sends a photo of each plant to Seungmin for inspection, waters them under exact supervision via video call, and sends back one final image of your dorm door locked tight. He’s never been more afraid of messing up in his life.

But the worst of it? The worst of it is eyedrop hour.

Four times a day, every day, you need them. Dexamethasone, right eye, two drops, four times a day, minimum. But you’re a twitchy, dramatic mess about it. And Seungmin is militant. So he enlists help.

The task force includes Changbin, shoulder duty, Hyunjin the head stabiliser, Felix the eyelid pryer, Jisung and Jeongin, the leg wranglers, and of course, Seungmin himself, the drop master. It’s a full fucking operation. They call it Operation Eyeball. 

“She’s kicking again!” 

“Jesus fuck, she almost bit me!” 

“Y/N, breathe!” 

Felix has his pinky wedged under your eyelid. “I’m doing the lord’s work!”

And then two tiny, icy cold drops of medicine hit your eye. 

“I hate everyone,” you whisper from beneath the pile.

They roll off you, one by one, and Seungmin adjusts your blanket burrito back into place like nothing just happened.

Eight days in, Felix and Jisung finally crack. They corner you in the kitchen with ice cream and puppy eyes. They sit you down and talk gently. About Chan. About maybe, just maybe, talking to him. They try to be careful, try not to push. Try to remind you that Chan is probably spiralling too.

And that’s the moment Seungmin comes in, sees the scene, and hisses like a feral raccoon before he lunges.

Jisung yelps and throws himself over the back of the couch.

Felix screams, “SEUNGMIN NO-”

But it’s too late. Seungmin’s already got a hold of Jisung’s hand and bites down hard enough to leave deep crescent marks. “OW OW OW! Fuck!” 

Felix tries to intervene and Seungmin bites him too. Now both of them are nursing identical bite marks and cursing Seungmin’s ancestry in three languages.

From then on, the others give you a wide berth. Well, most of them. Hyunjin and Jeongin get sent in on day eleven. They bring you bubble tea and sneak into Seungmin’s room while he’s brushing his teeth.

“We come in peace,” 

“Please just think about talking to him,” 

Seungmin appears in the doorway, toothbrush in mouth, toothpaste foaming. And in his hand is a fucking frying pan. He doesn’t even say a word. Just starts swinging.

Jeongin yelps, drops the bubble tea and runs. Hyunjin follows, flailing. Seungmin chases them halfway down the stairs, still in his slippers. And you just sit on his bed, wrapped in a blanket, watching it all like you’re at the theatre.

The only one Seungmin doesn’t go after is Minho. No one fucks with Minho. Not even Seungmin. It’s unspoken. But everyone’s pretty sure Minho carries a switchblade in his sock. No one has ever seen the switchblade. But everyone believes it exists. Even Seungmin.

So when Minho strolls into the room, arms crossed, Seungmin sighs, steps aside, and lets him in. Minho doesn’t say much. He sits beside you. Slides you a steaming mug of tea. Restocks your emergency snacks pile on the desk. Tells you dumb stories about the freshmen in his veterinary class who tried to bathe a cat with no gloves. Makes you laugh.

He doesn’t push. Just sits. Breathes with you.

And you finally pick up your lyric notebook again. You stare at the page for hours. Just stare. But eventually, you write one line. Then another.

And Minho sees it. And he nods. Because maybe, just maybe, you’re coming back to yourself. Even if Seungmin has to burn the whole fucking house down to keep you safe while you do it.

Chan is sprawled on the living room couch in that particular state of existential half-consciousness that only Hannah Montana reruns and the weight of two weeks of unresolved romantic frustration can inspire. He stares at the TV blankly, one leg hooked over the back of the couch, hoodie bunched around his stomach, and a bag of crisps slowly going stale on the coffee table next to him.

The sound of a soft knock on the doorframe pulls him out of his spiral. You’re standing there.

Clutching your notebook like it’s your last line of defence between you and the outside world. You’re dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a massive hoodie that swallows you whole. Your hair’s up in a loose bun with a pencil sticking out of it. There’s no makeup on your face. You look soft, sleepy and terrified.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You okay?”

You shake your head almost immediately. “No. No, I’m not. I mean, I’m not dying but also I feel like if I blink wrong I’ll have a meltdown. And also I feel bad. For not talking to you. And the whole Seungmin the bodyguard from hell thing. He might have rabies. I’m kind of concerned.”

Chan lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes soft.

“Anyway,” you ramble on, voice speeding up, “I’m here to talk to you. And the notebook is like my emotional shield. I will be holding it to my chest the whole time. Like soft armour. Don’t judge me.”

Chan nods once, seriously. “I would never judge your emotional armour.”

You cross the room and lower yourself awkwardly onto the beanbag next to the couch, curling your knees up and clutching the notebook so tightly your knuckles crack.

“I’m sorry, I freaked out. Big time. Like, full-on breakdown mode. Because singing- Okay, like, I know I’m good. I’m not trying to be humble. But also attention? Makes me shrivel like cold balls.”

Chan snorts, shoulders shaking with a half-laugh.

You groan and immediately yank your hood up over your head, hiding inside like a turtle retreating into its shell. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “I feel like I’m gonna stroke out every time I submit a piece for assessment. doesn’t matter how confident I am, the moment someone else listens to it, I lose the ability to breathe.”

You push the hood back slightly and peek at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Music’s personal. It’s like ripping your chest open and hoping people like what falls out.”

You blink at him. The room is too quiet, the glow of the TV casting flickers of light across both your faces. Your heart thuds against your ribs.

Chan shifts on the couch and leans forward a little. His voice drops, softer than before. “While we’re getting it all out there, you should know that I have a massive crush on you.”

You freeze. Your eyes go wide. Your brain forgets how to function. He watches you, amused, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Uh oh,” he mutters. “She’s buffering.”

You don’t move. You just keep staring at him.

Chan raises his eyebrows, then smiles wider. “How does a date sound? Just me and you. I’ll book the studio for a few hours. We can get takeout, and wear the comfiest, ugliest clothes we own. No expectations. Just fun.”

You immediately shrink into the hoodie. “Sounds good"

“You okay?”

You stick your hand out of the hoodie hole and give him a shaky thumbs-up.

Chan bursts out laughing. “Does that mean you like me too?”

You don’t respond. You just curl tighter into yourself, holding your notebook up in front of your face like a riot shield, hiding everything except your eyes.

“Oh my god,” he laughs, wheezing. “You’re so shy it’s weaponized.”

You peek out slowly, just enough to see his face. He gets off the couch and moves to crouch in front of you, his eyes twinkling.

You squeak quietly. It’s embarrassing. Your hands fly up to cover your face. Chan immediately loses his balance from laughing too hard and falls on his ass, flopping backwards onto the floor.

You burst out laughing. The kind of laugh that shakes your shoulders and makes your chest ache. “Seeing you fall like that helped actually. That was super embarrassing for you.”

Chan doesn’t even move. He lies there, sprawled out on the floor, arms spread like a starfish, and gives you a thumbs up from the ground. You wipe at your eyes, still giggling, your hoodie bunched up around your neck now. Your notebook rests in your lap like it just witnessed the most awkward rom-com moment in history.

For the first time in weeks, the knot in your chest loosens. Just a little. Just enough.

Chan is seated on the edge of the couch in the Alpha Phi frat house living room, knees spread just slightly, elbows resting on his thighs. His legs are bouncing at different speeds, his left one jittering erratically while the right taps out a steadier rhythm like he’s trying to keep time with the lo-fi beats playing from the TV. He’s already been sitting here for twenty-five minutes. Not that he’s counting. He’s absolutely counting.

He wipes his hands down the front of his grey sweatpants for the third time. They’re soft and slouchy and objectively comfortable, but nothing about him feels relaxed. His black tank top clings to his chest in a way that makes him feel slightly exposed, no matter how casual the outfit was meant to be. He’s freshly showered, hair still a little damp at the ends and fluffed up in the back from nervous towel-drying and pacing. He ran his fingers through it too many times and now his fringe flops crooked over his forehead.

The studio reservation isn’t for another twenty minutes, but he can’t just sit still. The television is on, visuals of Tokyo backstreets and neon lights rolling across the screen as soft instrumental beats play beneath. It’s supposed to be calming. It’s not. Every two seconds, his eyes flick to the stairs. He listens for the sound of footsteps, of soft socked feet on the stairs, of you coming down to meet him.

He reaches for his phone and checks the time again. Six minutes since the last check. He groans and drops his head back against the couch cushion. He’s not even sure what to call this. A not-date-but-totally-a-date. Studio time with takeout. A maybe moment. A crush confession follow-up session.

The second he lets out a sigh through his nose, a shadow falls across the entrance to the living room. Chan looks up, his heart lifting, then slamming straight back into his stomach.

It’s not you. It’s Seungmin. Leaning against the doorframe with the casual air of someone who isn’t holding a large box of rat poison in one hand and a very real, very sharp kitchen knife in the other.

"What the actual fuck?!”

“Pick one.”

Chan squints. “Huh?”

Seungmin lifts both hands slightly. “Rat poison or stab wound. You get to choose how you die. I’m generous like that.”

There’s a moment of complete silence as Chan just stares at him, trying to decide if this is a joke or the start of a true crime documentary.

“Okay,” he says slowly, raising his eyebrows. “Well, context would be super helpful right now.”

Seungmin nods toward the stairs. “If you make her sad. If you so much as look at her wrong. If one single fucking tear falls from her eyeball because of you, I will end your bloodline.”

Chan breathes in deep, drags his hands down his face, then exhales through his teeth. “Cool. awesome. Love that. Love the loyalty. Very mafia of you.”

“Don’t fuck with her, Chan,” Seungmin says, voice completely calm. “She’s been hanging on by one thread and that thread is currently me, a frying pan, and a half-empty bottle of melatonin. I have nothing to lose and a lot of rage.”

“So just one stab wound then?”

“No,” Seungmin says without hesitation. “Multiple. Very slow. Very painful. You’ll bleed out like a little bitch.”

Chan gestures vaguely toward the poison box. “Then I choose poison.”

Seungmin shrugs like that’s a perfectly reasonable choice. “Respect.”

Chan clears his throat. “Okay, but just to confirm, is this like, a hypothetical threat or an actual plan you’re actively working on?”

Seungmin leans forward, knife glinting faintly in the low light. “If you break her heart, I will break your spine.”

Chan swallows hard. “Duly noted.”

Seungmin gestures with the knife again. “Also, in case you thought I was bluffing, I’ve got backup. Jisung, Felix, Changbin, Hyunjin and Jeongin all said they’d help me get rid of your body.”

“And Minho?”

The faintest hint of a smile touches Seungmin’s lips. “He said he gets to go first. Said something about acid and slicing your tendons.”

Chan visibly shudders and Seungmin nods in satisfaction, like he’s just completed a group project early. He starts to turn, pauses, then adds over his shoulder, “She doesn’t know I’m threatening you, by the way. She’s upstairs with Jisung and Felix still freaking out over her hoodie strings being uneven. Figured I’d use the time wisely.”

And then he walks out of the room like he didn’t just casually deliver the most detailed murder threat Chan’s ever received.

Chan sits there in stunned silence. He blinks once. Then again. He leans back against the couch, rubbing his hands down his face again like that will somehow reset his entire nervous system. It doesn’t. He adjusts his tank top, tugging it down slightly like that’ll fix how exposed he feels. 

He glances up at the staircase again, even more nervous than before. Because now, apparently, his ability to hold a date together determines whether or not he gets a knife in the kidney. Or drinks poisoned coffee. Or whatever other horrific plan Seungmin’s got scribbled in his chaotic little planner. 

Chan looks up the second he hears the telltale sound of footsteps on the stairs. Not the heavy thuds of Changbin or the dramatic stomps of Jisung, but the quiet, careful, almost tiptoeing steps that only one person in this house makes like you’re trying not to bother the floor.

And then you appear.

Chan sits up straighter, completely forgetting to breathe for a second. You step into the living room, fidgeting slightly with the drawstrings of your hoodie. You’re wearing a light grey hoodie, the sleeves too long and the hem dipping over your hips. Underneath, he can see the edge of a fitted white crop top, peeking out each time the hoodie shifts. Your wide-leg sweatpants are the same shade of grey, loose and soft, paired with chunky white sneakers that make your legs look longer. 

Your hair falls in soft, loose waves around your face, perfectly tousled like you didn’t try at all, but Chan knows better. He knows you. You definitely tried. There’s the faintest shimmer on your cheekbones and flawless natural makeup that makes you look so glowy it’s honestly kind of unfair.

You stop in the doorway and blink at him, notebook clutched against your stomach like it’s armour again.

“Hey,” you mumble.

Chan smiles and pushes himself to his feet. “Hey. You ready?”

You nod quickly, too quickly. “Yep. definitely. one hundred percent. I’ve never been more ready for anything in my entire life, which sounds like sarcasm but it’s not. I’m just talking a lot because I’m nervous and I’m shutting up now.”

Chan’s grin widens. “Please don’t. I like it.”

You blink, caught off guard, and then offer a shy smile. “Okay.”

The walk across campus is quiet but warm. You walk close enough that your arms brush every few steps. You keep your head ducked slightly, and Chan pretends not to notice how you keep looking up at him, then quickly away like your brain hasn’t caught up with the reality of this actually being a date.

When you reach the studio, Chan unlocks the door and slides the IN USE tab across. You both step inside, and the moment the door shuts behind you, the air feels different, quieter, more intimate, like a bubble. Chan sets his bag down in the corner and turns to you with a smile.

“Okay,” he says. “First things first. Let’s relax. I propose we get all the embarrassing stories out right now. No secrets on the first date.”

You nod, eyes wide, still clutching your notebook. “Okay. I’m warning you, mine are bad.”

“Good,” he laughs, dropping onto one of the padded stools near the console. “I’ll go first. One time, at a party, I was super drunk and accidentally peed on Changbin’s bedroom wall.”

Your mouth drops open and then immediately splits into a grin. “I remember that!”

Chan groans and drops his face into his hands. “Oh god. you were there.”

“Oh, I was there,” you say, laughter bubbling out of you now. “Changbin caught you pants down, in his room, pissing on his wall. I’ve never seen him so horrified.”

“I got lost on the way to the bathroom!” 

“You were yelling that the toilet was too cold!”

“It was a wall, Y/N. A fucking wall. I was hallucinating the porcelain.”

You shake your head, giggling. “That story’s never going to stop being funny.”

“Your turn,” Chan says, pointing at you.

You take a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, mine’s really bad. Like, secondhand embarrassment levels of bad but we’re doing full honesty, right?”

“Yep.”

“Alright,” you say, clutching your notebook tighter. “So one time, Jisung and I were in Hanam. We’d taken the wrong train because we were trying to go to Hongdae and got distracted by a guy playing the saxophone in the station and ended up getting on the wrong train.”

Chan’s brows lift. “Off to a strong start.”

“Yeah, so we’re in Hanam, very much not where we’re supposed to be, and we get off and we’re trying to figure out where the fuck we are when two police officers come up to us.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” you say, nodding seriously. “They said they had some questions and we panic immediately because we’re dumbasses with anxiety. So Jisung starts flapping his hands like he’s trying to summon a weather change and I immediately assume we’re going to prison.”

Chan is already laughing, hand over his mouth.

“And then I start retching.”

Chan’s eyes widen. “Oh no.”

“0h yes,” you say again, mimicking a loud retching noise that makes him wheeze. “like full dry heaving. because I’m so panicked. the officers are trying to calm me down and I’m just there on the sidewalk like-” 

You make another retching noise, louder this time and Chan nearly falls off the stool.

“And then,” you say, giggling now, “Jisung’s anxiety skyrockets because I’m panicking, and that little monster starts retching too. We’re both dry-heaving on the sidewalk like we’re in a horror movie. And the officers are just standing there like ‘What the fuck is happening?’”

“Please tell me someone saved you.”

“Felix, he's my emergency contact. They called him. He got Changbin to drive him all the way down and the officers had to wait with us while we hyperventilated on the pavement.”

Chan’s laughing so hard his eyes are watering. “And what did the officers want?”

“They were just looking for witnesses. Someone stole like eighty-thousand won worth of clothes from a boutique. They just wanted to ask if we’d seen anything.”

Chan wheezes. “And instead they found two retching anxiety goblins.”

You point at him with your pen. “Yes. Anxiety goblins. That's us.”

Chan leans back in his chair, still laughing. “God, I love this.”

You blink. “What?”

“This,” he says, waving a hand between you. “Talking. Laughing. You being an absolute fucking weirdo. It’s the best.”

"Why’d you have to say that? Now I’m all embarrassed again.”

Chan leans forward, chin on his hand, still grinning. “Good. Keep telling me embarrassing shit. I’m collecting stories.”

“Okay. your funeral.”

Two hours later, the studio smells like fried chicken and soy garlic sauce, the floor is covered in empty takeout boxes, and the lights are dimmed low, just the glow of the monitors illuminating the space in soft blue light, and your face glows in it. You haven’t stopped talking in the last five minutes, and Chan hasn’t stopped listening.

“Okay, okay, wait,” you say, licking your thumb clean, “Play that one again. The one that had, like, that weird little echo-y beat before the drop? The one that sounded like you sampled a creepy music box but made it sexy?”

Chan is leaning over his laptop, poking through folders with his brows furrowed, grinning the whole time. “This one?”

You nod quickly, leaning forward to get a better look at the waveform, and you accidentally bump your knee against his thigh. “Yeah! That one! Okay, play it again.”

He does. The eerie little melody starts to roll, delicate and distorted, and you sit forward even more, your eyes locked on the screen like you can somehow see the way the music moves.

“Okay,” you say slowly, “so, like, I don’t know how to explain this without sounding completely batshit, but it’s giving haunted carousel in an abandoned theme park vibes, but like, if you also want to have sex at the same time.”

“You have the weirdest fucking metaphors.”

You grin and shrug, picking up your can of soda and sipping it. “But am I wrong?”

He replays the track again and tilts his head, eyebrows raising. “Actually, now that you say it-”

“I’m just saying, you could easily blend in, like, some harsher drums right before the drop, make it really go from eerie to sexy as hell.”

Chan lets the track run as he slides open his beat pad and pulls up the midi layer. “You mean something like this?” He taps out a rough loop, nothing polished, just rhythm.

“Yes! Yes, exactly! That! It’s got punch but still matches the spooky aesthetic.”

He’s laughing again, but he keeps going, tweaking the reverb slightly and layering it under the drop, adjusting the volume and fade as you rattle off thoughts like your brain’s on overdrive.

“I’m not a producer, obviously,” you say, “but like, I hear things and it just, my brain makes weird little connections. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, but that was- Yeah, that worked.”

Chan leans back, turning his head to look at you fully. “You’re really good at this.”

“I’m not, like, good good. I just say shit and hope it makes sense. Most of the time it doesn’t. Felix and Jisung usually just tell me to shut up. Or they laugh. Sometimes both.”

“Well, they’re idiots. You’ve got a good ear. You should trust that.”

“God, you’re so nice. Why are you so nice? I can’t handle that level of kindness. My system short-circuits. I’m gonna combust. You’re gonna have to scrape my ashes out of this chair.”

Chan’s grin doesn’t fade as he watches you dramatically hide your face in your sleeves, mumbling about combusting and cremation and how your ashes better be scattered somewhere meaningful.

The track continues to loop behind you, eerie and seductive, and you glance up shyly, suddenly very aware that the two of you are alone in a room designed for acoustics and intimacy, the light barely illuminating the planes of Chan’s face as he turns back to his laptop.

He's relaxed. Happy. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, veins visible in his forearms, his fingers flying across the keyboard like muscle memory. The curve of his smile is soft and content, like he’s exactly where he wants to be. He is.

Because this? Right here? This is the best fucking date he’s ever been on.

It’s not just the music, or the food, or even how hilarious you are when you retell stories. It’s not even the way you keep getting excited about the simplest things, like the slider automation on one of his older mixes or the way a particular reverb sounds like a whisper behind the vocals.

It’s just you.

He wants so many more of these. Late nights. Studio sessions. Takeout boxes and wild metaphors and you, in all your chaotic, anxious glory. All of it. Forever, if he can manage it.

It begins, like most of their worst ideas do, with seven idiots coming up with an idea. They’re dressed like they’re in a low-budget spy movie. All black from head to toe, including hoodies, cargo pants, and even knit beanies. They are the least stealthy group in the world. But they’re determined.

Minho said that there was a possibility, however small, that someone needed to be stopped before emotions spiralled out of control or Chan made a fool of himself, which was very likely. And Seungmin was bribed into tagging along by Hyunjin, who promised to let him slap Jeongin if he misstepped even once.

So now, here they are, crouched around the corner from Studio C, breathing heavily from the effort of tiptoeing across two buildings and ducking under a janitor cart on the way.

“Alright,” Minho whispers, eyes narrowed. “Jisung, you peek.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the nosiest. and you’re fast,” Seungmin adds. “If they see you, you can pretend you were having an anxiety episode”

“Do you know how many times I’ve had to use that excuse this semester?”

“It’s believable,” Jeongin shrugs. “You’re jittery as fuck.”

Felix grins and ruffles Jisung’s hair. “You’re our chaos compass, baby. Now go.”

Jisung groans, drags his palms down his face, then begins his approach like he’s infiltrating a mafia hideout. He tiptoes dramatically across the corridor, pressed to the wall, pausing every few steps like there are lasers he needs to avoid. He stops right at the studio door, hand hovering just above the handle.

Jisung takes a deep breath, lowers himself into a squat, then very slowly pushes the door open just a crack. There’s a beat. Then he pulls it shut.

He turns, stumbles backwards like he’s been shot in the chest, one hand slapped over his eyes. He doesn’t say a word. Just makes a strangled whimper and collapses onto his knees, crawling away from the door like he’s being dragged by invisible demons.

“Ji?” 

“What the fuck did you see?” 

Jisung lets out a small, broken sob and covers his eyes with both hands.

“Jisung, what happened?”

Still nothing. Jisung just keeps crawling away, whimpering like a kicked puppy, muttering something incoherent under his breath.

“Jisung, speak, what did you see?”

“What are they doing? Were they kissing? Cuddling? Talking about feelings?”

Jisung doesn’t respond. He just keeps crawling. Faster now. Like a fucking hamster trying to escape its enclosure.

“He’s in shock,” 

“Or he’s being dramatic,”

Felix frowns, worried now. “Jisungie, baby, come on. Breathe. Tell us what you saw.”

Jisung hits the corner of the hallway and turns it like he’s on autopilot, crawling on hands and knees like that scene from The Ring, but more pitiful.

“He’s broken,” 

“Someone reboot him,” 

“I don’t wanna touch him. What if he’s contagious?”

“He’s your boyfriend,” 

“Yeah, but not right now.”

The six of them start following him slowly down the hallway, walking in a group like ducklings behind their broken leader. They keep their voices low, worried about making too much noise and tipping you and Chan off. 

“Oh my god, he’s gone. He’s fucking gone.”

“Someone call a therapist,” 

“Should we just leave him?” 

They follow around the corner as Jisung crawls into an empty classroom and collapses in a heap by the whiteboard, hugging his knees to his chest. He lets out a soft, shuddering breath and presses his face into his arms.

Felix sighs and pulls out his phone. “I’ll go find a juice box and a priest. Whichever one helps first.”

It’s been three months since your first studio date with Chan, and the frat house has never been the same. You and Chan have been official for just over a month now, though the twice-a-week date routine had started long before the actual relationship label.

It became a habit, him showing up outside your dorm with snacks, or you sneaking into the Alpha Phi house with your notebook clutched to your chest and a six-pack of peach iced tea. 

Sometimes it was takeout and movie nights in the studio, other times it was long walks through the greenhouse on campus while you told him facts about moss and carnivorous plants like you were narrating a fucked-up nature documentary.

The others adjusted pretty quickly. Minho was smug about being right. Felix cried when you told him, loud, emotional, dramatic sobs that included declarations like “my baby girl has a boyfriend, oh god, my child is growing up.” Changbin fist-bumped Chan so hard it nearly dislocated his shoulder. Jeongin screamed. Hyunjin made you promise to make a playlist for your makeout sessions. Seungmin demanded weekly updates and swore he’d castrate Chan if you so much as frowned.

But Jisung? Jisung’s been weird. 

Every time he sees the two of you together, his whole body tenses like he’s going through trauma. He’ll stare for exactly three seconds too long and then run in the opposite direction, or he’ll make a high-pitched sound and vanish through the nearest door like a Scooby-Doo character.

At first, you thought it was jealousy. Or maybe some unresolved feelings. But when Felix asked him gently if he was okay, Jisung just whispered “no” and clutched his own head.

Now, three months into domestic bliss, you’re sitting on the kitchen island in the Alpha Phi house, sipping from a mug Chan made for you, extra milky coffee with a swirl of whipped cream and cinnamon on top. Your hoodie is oversized, your sweatpants are comfy, and Chan is standing at the counter buttering a slice of toast.

He turns and looks at you. You raise an eyebrow. “You’re doing the thing again. The thing where you look like you’ve got something to say but you’re scared you’ll get stabbed.”

Chan sighs, sets the knife down, and runs a hand through his hair. “I have to ask him.”

You blink. “Ask who what?”

“Jisung. Why he’s acting like I’ve murdered his pet hamster every time we’re in the same room.”

You snort into your mug. “Oh god, are we finally doing it?”

Chan nods grimly. “It’s time.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He turns and storms out of the kitchen with the kind of dramatic purpose that only Alpha Phi boys seem to possess. You swing your legs gently, sipping your coffee, content to be the peanut gallery as you hear footsteps shuffle, and then-

“Jisung.”

“No.”

“Jisung, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I said no.”

“I haven’t even asked anything yet!”

“I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GONNA ASK.”

You lean slightly to the side, watching Chan corner Jisung near the pantry like a predator about to interrogate a witness. “I just want to know why you’ve been acting like I’m actively stabbing you in the soul every time I hold my girlfriend’s hand.”

Jisung’s shoulders shoot up to his ears. “Because you are.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

Jisung clenches his jaw. You can see the internal struggle like he’s weighing whether or not to ruin his own life.

“I SAW YOU EATING Y/N OUT IN THE STUDIO,” he blurts, voice strained, wobbling on the edge of hysteria.

The silence that follows is the kind that drops like a boulder off a fucking cliff. You freeze, mug halfway to your lips. Chan stares at Jisung like he’s just confessed to war crimes.

“We all went to spy on your first date, okay? It was supposed to be recon! Intel! And they made me peek! THEY MADE ME PEEK.”

You cover your mouth, but it’s too late. The laugh rips out of you like a car backfiring.

Chan’s mouth falls open. “Oh my god.”

Jisung is crying now. “I opened the door. I peeked in. And I saw-” he chokes, covering his mouth. “I saw you tongue-deep-”

You choke on your coffee and Chan bursts out laughing. Full, loud, belly laughter.

“I saw toe curlage, Y/N! TOE! CURLAGE!”

You nearly fall off the island. Chan lurches forward and catches you by the waist, doubling over with laughter, dragging you off the counter and into his arms. 

“I’m never gonna unsee it! His fucking HEAD, Y/N. It was shaking side to side like a bobblehead on steroids! I can't believe you put out on the first date!”

You’re crying now, tears running down your face as Chan laughs into your shoulder. Your knees buckle, and you both sink to the kitchen floor, howling.

Jisung drops to his hands and knees. “THE OTHERS MADE ME DO IT. THOSE SIX FUCKERS!”

You’re gasping for air, curled against Chan’s side as you both lie sprawled on the cold tile, bodies shaking with laughter.

“YOUR TOES CURLED, Y/N! I SAW IT! YOU LOOKED POSSESSED!”

“I’m gonna piss myself! Oh my god, I swear I’m gonna pass out or piss myself, possibly both, someone get a mop.”

Chan has tears running down his face. “He’s crawling, he’s actually crawling, oh fuck, I’m gonna die.”

“I’M CALLING MY THERAPIST! FELIX! FELIX, BABE, THEY’RE BULLYING ME!”

You watch through teary eyes as he scrambles out of the kitchen on all fours like a feral raccoon, sobbing into the floor, shrieking for his boyfriend, his socks sliding against the tile as he crawls at top speed.

And then he’s gone. Just gone.

The house falls silent again, save for your breathless wheezing and Chan’s uncontrollable giggling as you lie there on the floor like two emotionally broken idiots. Your face is damp. Your stomach hurts. Your hair is a mess. And still, you’re laughing.

Chan turns his head to look at you. You’re sprawled on your back, one hand over your chest, eyes squinting up at the ceiling as you try to catch your breath. Your face is glowing, not from makeup, but from joy. Your nose crinkles every time you let out another wheezy laugh, your lips stretched into the kind of grin that’s impossible to fake.

And Chan, lying there on the kitchen floor next to you, thinks you are it. You’re the source of the warmth in his chest and the ache in his cheeks from smiling too much. You’re the voice he wants to hear singing over every track he ever finishes. You’re the reason his playlists sound softer now. The reason his mornings feel brighter and his nights feel easier. You’re everything.

You notice him staring and blink at him, smiling despite the tears in your eyes. “What?”

He just shakes his head, smiling softly.

“Nothing,” he whispers. “you’re just my favourite.”

And in that moment, with your laughter still echoing through the Alpha Phi kitchen and Jisung crying in the hallway somewhere, Chan knows there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than right here with you. 

Forever.

Bang Chan Taglist: @0haerireah0

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101

Proofread by the wonderful @hwangjoanna <3

[scissorcentral]

Abby with a reader who's just •_• bug eyed and silent lmao, very oblivious to everything, always in their own world, but very endearing and sweet to abs <3

Abby with a more silent reader-

warnings- (there aren't really i don't think)

-Abby literally thinks you are the most adorable human being ever. Whenever you space out during group discussions, she literally can't help but laugh to herself before slinging her arm around you and holding you against her until you come back to reality (because of course you're always directly next to her).

-If anyone tries to make little jokes or tease you about your speaking habits or anything about you, she will shut them up so fast you literally won't even have time to notice. It gets a point where nobody even thinks about trying because Abby will either clap back, aiming to destroy their ego, or give them the most insane death glare. Like the type of look that could kill, and it probably could if she tried hard enough.

-You can't help but mess with her fingers and drift off sometimes and she literally will have like hearts in her eyes as she watches you. You're completely silent just running your fingers all over her hands and she will just watch in awe with a soft blush on her cheeks. She's literally enamored by you and whatever you do.

-Whenever you are out on patrol together, she ALWAYS makes sure to keep an eye on you no matter what. She knows you can get a little off track, your mind sometimes wandering causing you to wander a bit to. After her dad's death she refuses to lose you so she makes sure to never let you out of her sight as long as she can help it.

-Sometimes you guys will sneak off and find a building with an accessible roof and you will just sit for hours. Sometimes you guys won't even speak, and other times Abby will talk for the entire time as you listen to every word she says. Sometimes its rant and other times it's some stupid store that sends you both into a fit of giggles. Her main goal is always getting some laughs out of you which she always does, rant or not. She lives for the sound of your laughter.

-Her dream is to be able to see the world through your eyes. How you are able to get through most of your days without talking or talking so little. How you can be so oblivious to things but also so insightful to other things. She is so obsessed with you and how you go about your life. She wishes she could know what it's like, but even though she really can't she does everything in her power to understand you.

-Before you guys got together, Abby had been literally in love with you, but you never noticed her advances. She would get so angry, like screaming into her pillow angry. It would make her so embarrassed how pathetic she'd get but she still continued to try. Eventually you caught on after she had to be so extremely blunt. Now the whole thing is something she just teases you about, but your obliviousness is something she has grown to completely love. It's so cute to her now(it wasn't cute when she was putting her reputation on the line with her extremely obvious advances(well obvious to everyone but you))

-If you ever get lost in your head she's always there to try and ease you out. It becomes a thing she is really good at. Holding you close to her, her thumbs rubbing softly over your skin, light kisses on your temple. It's sweet and something you become incredibly grateful for. You will always show your appreciation by leaving a new coin on her nightstand that you had secretly found on a patrol.

-Abby makes it her fucking mission to see you smile. Whatever she has to do she will do (which can be a little concerning). She thinks your smile is the cutest thing in the world and would literally die to see it once more.

-If anyone in the stadium says legit one negative word about you, she will lose it. Nobody is allowed to talk bad about you. Ever. She is so extremely protective of you. You're her everything. She knows you aren't classified as a "completely normal person" by everyone's else's standards but that's why she loves you so much. The way your eyes will glaze over slightly when you space out, the way you'll just stare at people when they send you a backhanded compliment, and the way she's the only person who gets to hear you speak and even then, it's usually quiet whispers. You've got her completely whipped. You got the Abby Anderson completely and utterly whipped.

notes- Hi. I am actually horrified to post this as I haven't written and posted on Tumblr in multiple years so it's weird to be back. This is such shit, but I hope you do enjoy. To me this writing feels like a fourth grader who just learned a few new vocab words but whatever. I'll probably go back and fix it and add more but I'm still having a crisis from just writing this so we will see. Hope you like it.

(also i didn't know how to word the title but i tried.)

[nyaagolor]

Thinking abt Ace Attorney Social media HCs

Phoenix: Technologically illiterate, doesn’t really know what social media is or how to use it and refuses to learn because the longer he keeps up the bit the funnier it gets

Edgeworth: Doesn’t particularly care for social media, but found out about tumblr through Maya and now has an anonymous Steel Samurai account. His tagging system is meticulous and he has all notifications turned off. He treats it like he does office work. He and Maya are mutuals. Doesn’t have a personal account to speak of

Maya: Runs a semi-popular canon url pink princess and steel samurai fan tumblr. Also has a personal Instagram that’s mostly her eating burgers

Pearl: Didn’t have social media for a long time because of Morgan, but Maya introduced her and she has a very inactive private Instagram. She’s also in charge of the Kurain Village socials, which are very neat and professional

Mia: Was technologically illiterate and died before the social media boom was completely inescapable so nada

Diego: Socials weren’t as big before he fell into a coma and afterwards he doesn’t care too much about his image so he has nothing. HOWEVER, Maya started a twitter called “dead philosopher wisdom” that’s just random Diegoisms. He’s doing NUMBERS on there but is unaware of it because he doesn’t use twitter

Franziska: Knows how social media works because she needs it for her job but doesn’t use it very often. Her account has like 2 posts on it and she mostly uses it to keep track of targets and online paper trails

Kay: Runs an instagram account called “Edgeworth where he shouldn’t be” that’s nothing but silly and embarrassing candids of Edgeworth. Oldbag won’t stop messaging her asking who she is and how she’s getting these pictures

Apollo: Has a twitter with two followers that he uses to retweet and comment on legal academia news. He’s super active on all the law forums and legal advice columns and unfortunately has definitely posted on r/AskALawyer on mutliple occasions. His real claim to fame, though, is the anonymous Instagram he runs for his cat Mikeko. It’s called “The Pawsecutor’s Office” and he dresses up Mikeko like all the prosecutors (Miles Edgepurrth, Clawvier Gavin, Franziska Von Catma, etc) for photoshoots and silly skits. It’s wildly popular and Apollo would die if he were revealed to be behind it

Klavier: Super popular across all platforms and loves being silly online. If Edgeworth saw all the thirst traps he was posting he would prolly have a heart attack

Kristoph: Has a very minimal personal account for professional reasons but his REAL online footprint is the dozens of alternate accounts he uses to cyberstalk people and send his brother hate mail

Athena: Perfectly normal social media user. Has personal accounts that she posts to occasionally with cute photos of what she’s doing. The only person using it correctly

Trucy: Insanely popular on socials for her magic act. Knows how to market herself online better than anyone. She has a smaller personal account where she occasionally posts silly things about the WAA

Blackquill: Ran an edgy anime Tumblr for years before his incarceration and was posting on AO3 a lot. He comes back after his release explaining the break between chapters of his latest fanfiction was due to him being put on death row for seven years and continues posting normally with no mention of his prison sentence ever again. When he finally posts another AMV it’s a joyous day indeed

[futureplayboibunnie]

Aphrodesiacs Pt.10 (Finale)

Miguel O’Hara x fem! spidey! reader

You and Miguel were bitten by the same spider…what could possibly happen?

okay grand finale for y’all. I REALLY BUST MY ASS TO MAKE THIS A LONG JUICY ONE. i was listening to once more to see you by mitski writing this soooo.

NSFW AS ALWAYS 18+

You kicked Miguel out that night.

Yes, it was petty. Yes, it was bitchy. But you really couldn't be around him, not when you had to go to HQ tomorrow. You got a taste of his lifestyle and you found that it was enough.

You didn't want to be a secret side fling but you didn't want to be in a relationship either, you were confused, and being near Miguel never made you clear-headed anyway so you found it very easy to kick him out. He wasn't saying the right things to you and to be honest, you didn't care if it was petty. You wouldn't settle, even if it was Miguel. But then again, it was Miguel- the man that makes you bend to his will, the man that makes your pussy sore and your body ache, the man that can make you cum over and over again until you're biting into the bedsheets. Your mouth went slack at the mere thought. You had to put your foot down, although it felt so fucking good, you wouldn't reduce yourself as someone he fucks from time to time.

You really weren't looking forward to Monday.

-

Monday morning was hell.

But as it approached nightfall, everything became worse.

Miguel was pacing in his office, his trembling fingers rubbing the skin of his forehead. He couldn't work properly, not when you so casually said 'leave' and shut the door in his face. He couldn't lie, it definitely stung, almost like he was being rejected by the popular girl in high school, reducing him to an awkward, idiotic mess in front of a pretty girl. The thought made his eye twitch, embarrassment twinging at his chest. The issue that was heavier than the embarrassment was the frustration and regret, he couldn't help but feel sad about it- but he would much rather die than show it. After all these years of keeping himself hidden, keeping busy with his work, with his role as a leader...he really didn't know how to open up to anyone. The only person he had ever gotten properly close with was you, and that was just sex. He hadn't had an intimate conversation about his true feelings with a woman he wanted before. It was always just about the sex. But with you, it had always felt like it was something more, maybe it was the spider, maybe it wasn't- he just wanted to be...near you. Lyla had heard him humbling to himself, cursing in Spanish. She was looming over him trying to see what was up with him but he just waved her away.

What if you were already fucking someone else? Did you hate him? What if you never spoke to him again? His jealousy over hypothetical scenarios was messing with his head. He frowned. Miguel felt a surge of anxiety and insecurity flow through him.

Miguel won't cost his dignity to approach you first though, it was always a challenge between you two, this cruel dance of death, the constant miscommunication, the back and forth. You were both just as stubborn and as unrelenting as each other.

Maybe if he just gave an excuse to see you, maybe if he had you in front of him he could actually talk about it instead of being a cold, unfeeling monster everyone saw him as. Miguel's face dropped as soon as he thought that, his brows furrowed in misplaced anger. The truth is... he was afraid. Miguel hasn't been afraid since Gabriella disappeared in his arms. Now he was about to lose you too.

He didn't want to risk it, he needed to do something.

Miguel pressed a few buttons on his watch, scrolling down to your name and alerting your watch to come see him. He didn't want to make excuses anymore, he just felt lost and you were the only one to find him, you were the only one to save him from eternal damnation. You were his sin, his haven, it felt...it felt like you were his everything at this point. This weekend gave him a glimpse of heaven and now he was aching for it back, yearning for it like a clawing dog at a closed door.

When you saw the notification on your watch, your lips curled downwards and your face shifted into a grimace. You let out a deep sigh, your face softening a little. Okay, another chance. Another chance to see him. You hated that you wanted to see him, but you just had to. Although you stood by your decision, you still felt a fraction of guilt just kicking him out like that. All you wanted from him was to tell you how he felt, not just about this tension between you but his feelings, your chemistry. If there was a future outside of this, if his heart was ready for it, to be open to love. You were scared to admit it, you didn't want to but you had to....you were falling in love with him. That weekend taught you so much about yourself, but it barely told you anything about him. He was unreadable, unknowable. All he was able to show was anger or frustration. You wanted to know if you were important enough for him to let you in. You just wanted to know him. Not just as Spiderman 2099. Not just as the spider that happened to bite both of you. Just Miguel. The heart he loved from, the brain he thought from. You wanted to love him, but he was so hellbent on pushing you away and you didn't want to force him to want you.

You knew this was a necessity. One last time, one last chance before you decided what you wanted.

Anxiety coursed through your bloodstream but you didn't show it as you finally walked into his office and Miguel felt your presence immediately, like your scent was his sustenance. You walked in confident but it always felt like Miguel saw through you, but you didn't know that, again, he was unreadable.

His eyes pierced through yours, a sad and frustrated look carving into his face, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, he never did. Miguel threw his head back, signaling for you to hop up on his platform. You huffed reluctantly and swung up swiftly. when you landed on your feet next to him, his presence already formed goosebumps on the back of your neck but you were still defensive so you crossed your arms with an intent look.

"You wanted to see me." You say flatly.

“We left things...abruptly.” His voice was low but unconfident, he didn't know how to start, he needed you to take the lead for him.

“Think that was best.” It felt like the words were getting lost in your mouth, you still weren't looking at him and it made Miguel frown. His hand raised to grab your chin softly for you to look up at him and when you did you were met with sad, insecure, guileless eyes.

“Please just...look at me.” His voice was just above a whisper, a plea for something he wasn't sure of. Your mouth opened to speak but your brows just tensed, a moment passing between you as he touched you softly, almost affectionately.

You grabbed his wrist and let his hand fall off of your skin. “What do you want from me, Miguel?” You breathed impatiently.

“Just talk to me cariño.” The softness of his voice contrasted against the frustration on his 1 face, harsh lines of uncertainty and anger played on the softest parts of him, your cold words twisting the knife even further- but he still won't give you the power to hurt him. Miguel wasn't sure if he was capable of letting anyone in, let alone you. The thought slashed through the forefront of his mind and it made his heart hit his gut. He was scrambling for something, his mouth went dry and his hands went numb.

If only he stopped being so self-righteous, so bent on sabotaging everything good in his life. You sighed.

“I don't wanna be some...casual fuck buddy that's of momentary use to you.” A grimace plastered your face as you said it, you didn't want to be reduced to a hole that he fucks from time to time, you wanted him but you're not stupid, you still had your dignity.

Maybe Miguel pried it out of you before, but now you were just irritated. Your hands went to cradle his face, desperate eyes meeting his, searching for an answer but he didn't say anything, his face wasn't giving anything away. “I need more, I want more...” You lean in, lips parting into sullen apprehension, pleading with him to see you. Your fingers rubbed his neck, but this time it was him that was prying your hands off of him.

“What you're asking of me is not something I know.” His utterances were gruff and stern but it was clear he wasn't actively seeking to hurt you, he just never liked articulating how he was feeling, but he wanted to change that- but people don't change overnight.

The sad look on your face just turned into one of surprise defeat.

“Am I not worth trying for?” You breathed and Miguel didn't like the way such a question caught him off guard, it was like his ears were ringing with it, with anxiety...with fear. It's not something he's prepared to deal with, he watched your eyes dim, and your brows raise in disbelief in front of him in real-time and it made him feel even more guilty.

“You're enough for me now.” Miguel lied through his perfect teeth and his answer was making you even more upset, slivers of sadness echoed through him. You let him lie though.

“Then why are you trying to change me?” Your voice faltered a little, and it sent shockwaves down Miguel's spine. He watched as your nose pinched pink like you were about to sniffle in sadness but you kept your guard up, you definitely wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

“I'm not.” He said matter of factly, his face softening for a moment when his fingers brushed a few strands of hair behind your piping hot ear. “Don’t you see? It's you who's changing me.” You felt the depths of his voice scream in sincerity, soft-spoken. His gaze will always be as haunting as it is captivating, the one that makes you feel that you can finally see through him, but it was a beautiful illusion of the bliss he could bring you but never actually could.

“What am I to you, Miguel?” Miguel felt that you were actually withholding your anger from that and even then it still stung, you were still venomous yet harbored a tragic sadness that he couldn't help but feel guilty for. He was making you this miserable and you weren't even in a relationship. The passing thought struck him like lightning. “I know I'm not being fair or rational right now but I want more... need more from you.”

Miguel breathed out in frustration, placing his hands on your shoulders as if to shake some sense into you. “I want to. I want to give you more. I just-“ He forced the words out of him, manning up for the first time other than putting his fists in other people's faces.

He wanted to be good. He wanted to do good for you. But like he told you, he was never a good man to begin with. His lip quivered for a second but he didn't want to be weak in front of you...but you were breaking down his walls, at his door yelling to come in no matter the consequence. It would get you killed. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“Why? I'm not this fragile, breakable object that needs to be kept behind glass at all times. You recruited me, you know I can take care of myself, so why is all that changing now?” You were tired and angry and you just wanted him to want you, to fight for you.

"I'm the one that needs to protect you, no one else can do that but me.” He gritted out, his teeth clenching together.

'”What about me? What if I want to protect you? What if I want to take care of you for once?” That was all you were trying to get across, that you wanted to love him, that you wanted to care for him.

“No.” He said simply.

“So, you can want me but I can't want you? That's such backward logic, Miguel. I just..I want you to know that I care for you, I want you. Not just Spiderman or the aphrodisiacs we've become - you. I want to know you, I just want you to let me in. Why won't you let me do that for you?”

“Because you're mine now!”Miguel's grip on your shoulders tightened. He was practically yelling at this point, he couldn't do this.

As much as he wanted to tell you, the words just died in his mouth. Miguel wanted to cry, he hadn't let a tear shed in so long, and now he was this pent-up ball of emotion that he couldn't even fathom let alone differentiate. He hung his head in between you, his head now facing the floor as his breaths started to turn into heavy pants. “Because you're mine now...I’m the only one that can protect you. But what is that worth when I’m so capable of hurting you. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.” He repeated gently, almost solemnly and all you could do was stare at him wide-eyed, stilling at his unexpected outburst. A tear dripped from his eye, he couldn't face you looking this weak. “I'm supposed to hold it all together, to protect everyone, to keep everyone safe, To keep you safe. I can't be weak, I can't be weak- I have to hold everything together.” He choked out, spluttering and then it all just clenched at his heart:he started quietly sobbing, his head still downcast but his hands softening on your shoulders. Your lips parted in pure unbridled shock, gaping down at him as he fell apart. You really couldn't fathom this, it was all happening so fast.

“I've failed.” Miguel stifled. “I've failed as a leader, a father, a lover. And it's all my fault...I can't hurt anyone else.” Miguel couldn't stop the tears streaming down his face, and then he felt it- your warm touch softly trailing the outside of his face, lifting it up seeing he connected with your sad, eager eyes. That look could make a man fall to his knees, and Miguel honestly felt like it, his knees went limp. Your hand gripped his face as you leaned into his body, he blinked his tears away as his gaze fell on you. Your beautiful face was ashen with sadness and he hated that he was the reason for it. But you were holding him like he was water in your hands. Your soft fingers smoothed away his tears and it was like he was at the altar begging for your forgiveness.

Miguel looked so beautiful. His heart was opening and breaking at the same time and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

Miguel O'Hara was crying out in front of you, red eyes now a subdued hazel that you could fall in forever and never look back. All you wanted was to take care of him like he has for everyone else, to show him that he's worthy of love.

“Look at me...” You tipped his chin up and his lip quivered. “You are not a monster. You are not just Spiderman. You are not what you think you are, I've seen you up close and observed you from afar and this weekend has taught me so much about myself and what I want. All I want is to take care of you, to want you.” You had never been this honest about anything. The sincerity coursing through your body oozed out of every pore, radiating your need to want him. Miguel felt his heart stutter and his face freeze, he clenched his jaw to stop tears from pricking at his eyes as your words hit him like a brick. “Don't be the mask, let it out.” You added quietly. You gripped the back of his neck and placed it on your shoulder, your arms wrapping around him as if you would die if you ever let go.

Miguel stilled and then he melted into your embrace, feeling your warmth, he felt like Icarus being dragged into the relentless flames. Your acceptance of him was almost enthralling. You grasped his head into your hands, your eyes flitting from feature to feature as you felt him quite literally freeze in place-your fingertips were the salve to all wounds, the medicine to all sickness and Miguel was as damaged as can be. The walls he manufactured were nothing but dust between his fingertips, your unshakable will to not let him go, to love him as he is, guilt ridden and desperate, made him feel limp. Miguel's underbite clamped in an attempt to stop crying in front of you like this, to be so vulnerable in front of a woman was as foreign to him as being happy. He hasn't been happy in a long time and now you were here wanting to make him all better.

"You have no idea how much you mean to me.” Your grip on his face tightened as if to show him how serious you were. Miguel sniffled and melted into your warm hands, turning his head slightly to kiss your palm. Silence whipped through the air, the crackling of nothing but each other's breaths keeping you both steady as you tried to find the words to say, and this time you were hellbent on being clear. “The moral ambiguity of your actions doesn't scare me, I feel like you don't understand that. The mistakes you made in your past don't define you. Bad people don't care if they're bad...and I know you're good. In your heart, I know you're good...It's why I love you.”

Miguel's eyes widened a fraction and glazed over twice. He felt his mind turn to white noise but he heard you clear as day, the words falling like scripture. Like you were meant to say it. The words felt so sweet and liberating in your mouth but your heart was plunging further and further down, afraid of his reaction. You loved him. The silence that settled between you was palpable, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from yours.

Miguel didn't say anything, he just grabbed you by the waist with his right arm, pulled you close, and smashed his lips against yours. The tears smeared his face and then dried into his skin. Your kisses were always passionate, but this was like wildfire spreading onto the ocean. A fire in December. Warmth in the darkness. Miguel's tongue seeked to find yours, a soft tangle of lust and tenderness- something that he thought he would never be able to have. He sucked the sadness out of your lips and it felt beautiful.

“Let me take care of you..” You whispered sensually in between kisses and Miguel groaned, his fingers pinching gently into your skin. “Let me love you.” Your soft tender sighs were the glue that seemed to hold him together, he paused, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Are you sure?” He was hesitant, unsure if you were willing to see past all of his mistakes, to love him as he is, to be intimate.

Instead of answering, you pressed your fingers against your watch to form a portal to Miguel's place, to show him that you don't care about anything other than him at this moment, that you were willing to accept him as he is. You weren't afraid of proving it, if you had to you would, and right now you were desperate to prove just how much you wanted him, Miguel's eyes widened when he felt the portal beam right beside you, giving you a soft hazy look as you extended your hand, offering him to take it

“Let me prove it to you.” You whispered and that was enough to do Miguel in.

You were his calling, a siren guiding him through muddy waters. He intertwined his fingers through yours and you felt like your soul was being bound to his with every second your soft touch traced against his. Whenever Miguel's hands were on you, they were calloused and rough, his talons protruding from his fingertips aggressively but this time...it was tender, it felt meaningful- his touch was gentle, the way he was holding your hand and letting you guide him to a fate he wasn't even sure of felt surreal. He just can't leave you alone.

You lead him into the portal as your grasp on him is firm, a warning for him to show that you weren't letting go, not this time. As you both stepped out of the portal into his living room, it sealed behind him and left you both blinking at each other compressed by the thick tension. Thank God for this watch, honestly, it could take anyone anywhere.

“Wait...” He muttered hesitantly as he stopped you in your tracks. Turning around, your gleaming eyes were lasered on him and you shivered into his touch as he put his hands on your waist as a means to stop you from going to the bedroom. His free hand went to cradle your face as his thumb caught on your lip. “Did I hurt you at all? When we fucked did I hurt you?” He murmured sensually and it sent a permanent smattering of goosebumps to dimple all over your heated skin. Miguel's eyes were dim with curiosity and most importantly seriousness.

“No. Never. You never hurt me.” You confirmed and it settled the pace of his beating heart a fraction, but it was always racing when he had his hands on you. “We've fucked but...You’ve never made love to me.” Your voice was honeyed and low, the words slipping from your tongue as you suggested it.

Make love?

Oh, baby, you don’t know what you’re talking about. He doesn’t make love.

All he knew was to fuck. Hard and animalistic. But that wanton scorching look in your eyes, so desperate for him to be gentle, to make you feel wanted. And fuck, he wanted you to feel cherished by him.

He hadn't been so intimate with another woman like this, even with the mother of his own child.

Your eyes were wide, lips wet and eager but not eager in the way that he always knew you to be, you were desperate to show him something new, you were taking control and he was following along. It was refreshing.

His thumb was brushing over those perfect lips, plush and pink with heat and blush. You were so damn beautiful it was haunting.

Your eyes fluttered closed and your sweet mouth pressed against his softly, pecking kisses at his lips as you slung your hands around his neck and rubbed his scalp tenderly. “Let me make love to you…” You breathed low and thick and Miguel felt his cock harden already, he whimpered into your mouth and your brain committed the once-in-a-lifetime sound to memory. You made Miguel O'Hara whimper, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Miguel melted into you, his atoms jumping within his body to the point where he leaned into you so eagerly. You opened your mouth to deepen the passionate kiss, he was going so fast but you placed your hands on his chest. “Go slow baby...Need you to go slow.”

Your low voice shot straight down to the tip of his cock and it pulsated within his suit. Miguel listened to you and his mouth moved slowly, his tongue massaged against yours gently, tasting the mouth he adored. You tasted even sweeter like this- this slow waltz of passion allowed him to savor every second of it. The fact that you were on your tiptoes wanton for his lips made him realize how sincere of a moment this was.

"You're so beautiful it hurts.” He pulled away and breathed raggedly. His words were making you so malleable, so bendy under his will and you wanted nothing more than to please him. It was at this moment that you grabbed his hands laced it between your fingers once again and led him to the bedroom. “On the right.” He said huskily.

You opened the door and Miguel trailed behind you like a lost puppy, eager to follow your every move like he was in a trance. He closed the door behind him and that's when you realized it was going to be a long night. Your hands slipped from his and you took a few steps forward so you were near the foot of his bed: You reached out and quickly turned on his bedside light. You wanted to see his face. Miguel just leaned against the door, watching intently to every microdose, to every fraction of a move you made- waiting for your next move. At this point, you wanted to test him. You let out a soft breath with the part of your lips and felt the zipper of your suit. Miguel tore through your clothes like a knife through hot butter just with the sharpness of his talons, this time you wanted to make this slow and less immediate. Miguel's eyes were fixed on you, eyebrows tensing with a strive he hadn't felt before. The tips of your fingers toyed with your zipper and you pulled it down hesitantly. You hear Miguel let out a short breath when you slide out of your suit, slivers of skin piercing his peripheral with your shimmering glow. The fabric pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, only left in your pretty underwear and bra set. Even subconsciously you were dressing up for Miguel.

He sighed and his eyes fluttered closed when he saw how you looked under the golden glow of his bedside lamp, he saw you perfectly. Your frame was even more beautiful than the last time he gawked at you. His jaw clenched and his teeth gritted when his eyes wandered to your lips. You were biting it and small marks indenting the soft flesh. “Come here..”

Miguel stalked up to you slowly, playing along with you, feeling the gorgeous reality set over him.

You wanted to make love to him, and he wanted to make love to you. To feel you intimately, slowly, passionately. He wanted to take the time to memorize the way you react as he makes you feel good. When he fucked you, he only got flashes, now he wants the whole thing. He was hungry for it.

He was in front of you now, your breath mingling with his, and your eyes flitted from gorgeous feature to feature. Miguel's hand traced up your thigh in barely there touches and you hung your head to watch his ministrations and it felt like you were spellbound by his mysticism. His finger hooked onto the side of your underwear and twirled it gently. “Hmm.” He hummed in a clipped tone and his eyes met yours in a powerful connection. He watched the black of your eyes burst widely, you clearly liked what he was doing.

He was being so gentle with you, so slow. It felt so damn sexy. This waiting. This tension. It felt like the beginning of all of this but…better.

“Tell me, Cariño...What do you want me to do for you?” Miguel whispered as his fingers hooked under your chin to tilt your head back up, he noticed that your lips were already swollen by a few kisses. You were so gorgeous like this, it was inhumane.

“Undress me..” You murmured sweetly but the force of your words seemed more like a diverted beg. Miguel was savoring every second of this torturous process, watching the little twitches of that perfect body of yours under a magnifying glass.

“Hmmm. That what you want?”

"Mhmmm.”

With that, Miguel placed his palms on your back, feeling the straps of your bra as he traced his fingertips over the hooks, teasing you, watching the way your face and body reacted to his barely-there touches. You reveled in it, the uncertainty of the touches he put on you. He finally unhooked your bra, the snaps liberating you as the tension is being relieved bit by bit. You stifled a moan and that sound was so much hotter than a usual moan, you were suppressing it making it clear that you were already getting aroused.

And fucking hell, it was arousing. He wasn't even in you yet. See, before when you and Miguel were yearning for each other, neither of you was thinking straight. All you both needed was to fill each other, Now after that, there was something missing.

This feeling of emotional need was what was missing. This emotional connection and chemistry.

Miguel watched with creased intent eyes as he tugged the pretty bra off you, your breasts bouncing out of its confines. His eyes flicked to yours, one soft palm caressing your chest, that telltale squirm told him everything he needed to know.

“Such a beautiful body, such a pretty face. Like you were made for me Carino.”

“Miguel...” You whimper out slightly.

“What is it, baby?” His voice was gruff and smooth all at once, a velvety mixture of husky and sensuality. It was like he was cooing down at you. “Hmm?” You darted your head down as an indication to strip you of your underwear.

Miguel's lips parted as he understood immediately, his eyes didn't rip away from yours as he slowly bent down to his knees. He hooked his arms around the back of your legs and kept eye contact with you, a surge of arousal washing between you. He planted a few trailing kisses up your thighs and you squirmed into him lime clockwork. His fingers shimmied down your underwear delicately and you stepped out of the flimsy fabric.

“Kiss me.” You say under your breath in such a sweet voice. How could he ever say no to that? The last time he couldn't really remember it, he was so taken over by his primitive instincts that it was all over in flashes-relish every last bit of you.

Miguel let out a sharp breath as his fingers kneaded the soft flesh of the back of your thighs before he cupped the globes of your ass, he was taking his time to feel you, to memorize it all and commit it to memory. Every time he touched your skin, it felt like he was touching God or angel matter. As his mouth placed teasing kisses on your lower stomach his aind was beginning to reel. You were arching into him, your fingers sinking deeper into his hair. He gave you one last look as a confirmation and all he got back was a pretty blushing face with a slack jaw and parted lips. “Need you…” You muttered and that's when his mouth started to suckle on your pussy, his lithe tongue moving up and down and in and out, he was keeping you guessing and it made you all the more frustrated and wet. His nose nudged your swollen clit and it made your body jolt from the aftershock.

“You always taste like heaven incarnate...” he mumbled between licks and all you could do was moan. You were caught off guard when he started to suckle on your clit, his pace was torturous, so slow and you were becoming more and more needy.

“Miguel...Please I-“ You tried to protest but you weren't even sure what you were protesting for and before you could even get off he rose from his knees and wrapped his arms around you, his mouth shutting you up.

Miguel's hands were placed firmly on your ass, squeezing tightly whenever you moaned into his desperate mouth. Your lips were melting into each other and blurring into a slow, wickedly passionate make-out. “It was like my name was supposed to come out of your mouth.” He felt like a teenager about to lose his virginity he was that excited. Your arms hung around his neck and your tongue was so sweet in his mouth, exploring unhurriedly but he knew you were at your threshold- even though he got a taste, you were still reeling from the fact he wouldn't let you finish.

Your mouth unsheathed from his and you both took a beat to gawk at each other. A dark look fell onto Miguel's eyes as he saw your cheeks pink and red with arousal. His hands cradled your pretty face and you looked like a doll in his palms.

“Want me to make love to you, yeah? Make you feel just how deeply I need you?” His voice was strained and low, seduction scraping at his vocal chords and it sent waves of neediness course through your body. The connection your gazes held was a simmering fire that was beating with passion. It was impossible to look away

“Yes." You breathed out sensually, an angelic hazy daze clouding your brain as the word just fell from your lips.

“You're so beautiful, querida.”He kissed your forehead tenderly and your breaths became even more rapid when you felt your legs go limp. He was holding your face like you were a jewel, you leaned your head forward to kiss him on the lips and Miguel just held you back with just the might of his palms. “Easy ángel...” He murmured. “Be patient f’me. You wanted me to make love to you, let me take my time with you then mi amor. Let me feel you.” His easy words just made soft moans roll from your tongue, he was doing a damn good job at making you feel not just wanted but cherished.

Miguel planted a kiss on your temple, you were squirming in his touch, rolling your body onto his. “You know, I haven't been doing well without you...Even after a day, you make me lose my wind with just how badly I need you.” he planted a kiss on your cheek and whispered hotly in your ear. “I got you baby, stay still f’me." He then kissed the corner of your mouth and then fully engulfed your lips with his. You were red hot with anticipation, your senses skyrocketing with every second but the reality was slow and agonizing- it was perfect. You decided to take the lead now, you got Miguel on the bed and he leaned up on the headboard, your head was in between his clothed thighs and you pouted. Miguel quickly rid of the holographic suit and his rock-hard cock sprung free in front of your face. The look on your face was priceless, a mixture of eagerness and seduction- it was a brain fuck.

“Let me taste you too.” Your tone was doused in pure lust and before Miguel's eyes could widen, your tongue stuck out and licked the head of his leaking cock. It wasn't like the first time you gave him head though, this was solely focused on him, no challenges, no teasing, no games. Just making him feel good. You gave kitten licks to his sensitive slit, those barely-there touches already driving him to the sharp edge. Your warm, wet mouth finally covered his tip, suckling gently and swirling him with your tongue, the salty taste of him you craved was already filling up your senses, he tasted so good.

“Mmm..fuck.. you're too good to me, so good f'me.” He let out a strained groan as his head tipped back slightly. You lapped him tenderly, sliding him down your throat, little by little. It felt...loving.

Miguel felt himself still in place when your warm mouth left him hanging, it was you who was prepping him this time. You crawled onto his lap with this innocent glimmer in your eyes, a look that was of mere longing and yearning, a face so eager to please. You settled between his thighs and Miguel's face was steely and serious, he really wanted to show you exactly the kind of love he harbored for you but you had other ideas and Miguel was uncharacteristically allowing you to do whatever you pleased.

“Wanna ride you...” You say softly as your hands massaged at his shoulders and Miguel is already letting out small groans at the slightest bit of contact. You placed your hands on his and guided them to your face, the pads of his fingers traced over your skin and you tilted your head to kiss his palm, then you caught one of his fingers in your mouth, suckling and twirling your tongue around the tip of it softly. Miguel sighed deeply at the pretty sight before you let it go with a pop. “Can I do that for you?” You breathed out.

This all felt so...personal.

Like you were reaching to the darkest depths of who he was and loving him anyway.

It made him burn for you. Miguel's cock was slapping against your stomach, your eyes darted from his face to his length and it made you wet your lips. “Mhmm.” He rasped, his big palms landed on the dip of your waist, helping you guide yourself on him. Before he could though, you leaned in and chastely kissed the tip of his nose, the bridge of his nose, and his forehead. Jesus Christ, it was like you knew exactly how to make him putty in your hands. You gave him a lazy smile as you rose up and eased yourself down on his cock, your pretty pussy swallowed him up entirely like always- even after he's fucked you so many times, he still never got used to how wet and tight your pussy was. Your eyes never broke from his as your tits pressed into his chest, you whined in his ear and his hands burrowed in your soft sweet hair, the strands falling down like a waterfall. "Ah...Mig-“

"Always taking me so well. Do you have any idea just how good you feel, mm?” He grunted out, his big arms wrapping around you entirely, trapping you in him. He was always balls deep inside you, there was no space left between you and that was just how you liked it. “My pretty girl. My beautiful girl. I need you.” He cooed.

You moaned when your hips started subconsciously moving, grinding down on him and making discernable shapes on his cock. Miguel watched you with awe equated to being starstruck, you were bouncing on him and rutting your greedy cunt on him trying to get yourself off on him. “You always- Fuck. Fill me up so good.” You moaned out, your mind all hazy from his brute strength alone, he was forcing you to stay put on his thighs, spending whatever time you needed to please him. Miguel slowed you down as he caught your supple lips with his, it was a desperate kiss that was bursting with flames and then your pace got slower, savoring the kiss. You broke away with a moan and sunk your teeth into his shoulder blades, Miguel's mouth was on the crook of your neck peppering you with the sweet kisses you were aching for, and you felt him inhale the scent of you deeply. His hands apathetically palmed your tits, he rolled the nipples between his nimble fingers, pulling and nipping on them with his teeth and smoothing them with a suckle.

Hm.

He's not known for being kind.

But feeling you like this made him thaw.

Lord, he just wanted to please you, make you feel good and you were just as inclined to do the same thing-bursting each other up with the flames of passion.

“Mmm. Slow yeah? Slow for me. Take your time for me, baby.” He mumbled out through strained pants, you were jerking on him steadily and his eyes tore away from yours to stare at the bulge of your stomach- he was so fucking deep in you it bulged out of your tummy. Miguel's ego skyrocketed at the sight. Fuck, that perfect body of yours would be the death of him. "Look how fuckin deep I am- He pressed the bulge on your stomach and it made your body twitch wildly, you quite literally felt him pulsate inside of you and it made you clench even harder around him. He felt an orgasm approach him, teetering off that blissful edge that tipped between sweet heaven and damning hell.

God, he felt too good, stretching you and bottoming out into you.

When you pressed your forehead against his and whispered “I love you” to him, that was it.

Miguel moaned and rolled you over so that he was on top of you, his legs trapped you in place and his cock was still aching inside you, craving your friction. He weaved his fingers with yours as he pushed in and out of you, Miguel's knuckles turned white as your palm flatted from bliss into the mattress.

He had never done this during sex before, the simple intimacy of hand-holding turned into something so much more consuming. Miguel's figure loomed over you, his eyes piercing and moody, a whirlwind of passion and emotion making his eyes crystal clear than before.

You stared at Miguel.

Miguel stared at you.

Watching each fraction of your body intently, the way your face moved with every thrust, the plush of your cheeks pillowing whenever you whined, the crease of your eyebrows when he hit that spongy spot so deep inside you. The eye contact was driving both of you insane.

“This what you wanted? Me to look after you? Me to take care of you?” He questioned lowly, the strained words coming out in a deep husk. He was deadly serious, it was easy to see when he was glaring at you. That steely resolve melted slightly when you rolled your body against his, your bodies slid together so closely that not even a sheet of paper could fit through.

“Yes, fuck, yes.” You whispered against his lips, your soft breaths were being knocked out of you with a very torturous slow thrust. It made your collision all the more beautiful. Miguel had fucked you so many times during that weekend but this, was otherworldly, this was the true connection, this was lovemaking. He was cherishing you, treating you like pearls and gold in his hands and it made you feel lucky to be alive, The electricity was hot, the gaze you both shared was simmering heat encased with something other than just chemistry.

“I'm not hurting you am I?” He asked inquisitively, his voice cool and suave.

“No, no, no, no, no....No, fuck, you're perfect.” You responded in pleading tandem, your eyes widening with a worrythat he would stop

“I love you, you know that? God, I love you.” He babbled and that's when you felt his thrusts falter and your nerve endings singe, it was like he was taking your beating heart and meddling with it to go faster, to give in.

“I love y-“ Miguel cut off your words with a scorching kiss, his fangs nipped at your lower lip and his teeth bit the supple flesh and pulled back, it snapped back into place and a shaky moan fell from your swollen lips and hs grip on your hands tightened.

You were so close.

This sizzling passion was eating you up alive.

Miguel watched your body react to him and it was a sight created in heaven.

“Miggy...Mig...I'm g'na cum...Just wanna cum for you.” You moaned drunkenly. Miguel's lips captured around your nipple, suckling it and grazing it with his teeth before his eyes latched onto yours again.

“Cum for me baby. Wanna watch you cum for me.” He breathed out raggedly, his gaze dimming and hair in disarray.

Your pussy was so drenched for him as always, but this time you were leaking, the slow pace offering a new and rare kind of satisfaction. When his cock nudged and ground on your clit, you knew you couldn't hold it in anymore. Hot euphoria washed over you in waves, and a new kind of electricity coursed down your thighs anf you soaked his dick in your wetness. “Thaaat's it...I'm right here, I got you.” Miguel fucked you through your mind-altering orgasm.

It was so different. So surreal. When that list final whine fell from your pretty lips, he was already cumming before he could even stop himself. He spread your insides a thick stringy white, spurting out how much you meant to him. His strained pants were soaking your glowing skin, and a thin layer of sweat coated your body in the dim room.

“Shit...”He muttered before your lips collided with his. Your tongue delved into his mouth, taking what he would give you like you were a cat chasing after a mouse. Miguel rolled off of you to your side but his arms were still wrapped around you, your lips still connected in that heady unforgettable kiss. Your hands nestled in his hair, your gentle fingers raking through the strands as you broke away from his mouth and when you looked back into his eyes Miguel's gaze was just as piercing as before.

Miguel stared at you.

You stared back at him.

Your cheeks stained pink as you gave him a lazy fucked out smile. Miguel had the urge to fuck you like that again now. He loved what he had just experienced though. Missionary was so much better like this. It was so much better when he looked into the eyes of the woman he loved. When you kissed him on the forehead and told him you loved him, he knew that this was different.

A sudden wash of defensiveness tightened at his chest. You should've walked away from him. He should've walked away from you...but you didn't and that was a risk in itself, no one knew how it would unfold.

Miguel had his temper.

You were stubborn.

What if- What it-?

Miguel watched you like a lovesick fool, your pretty face warming his cheeks and dimming his eyes. He contemplated you for a moment, your presence, your smile, your warmth.

Was it worth it?

Yes.

He wanted to wake up to you every day, he wanted to take you out to dinner, make you feel special, make you his.

You both just gawked at each other blankly, sweet words filling the sweet atmosphere. All this yearning, all this pining lead up to this.

You were flustered. He was flustered.

You felt so fulfilled, so wanted, so needed by him- it had never been like this with anyone.

Miguel was facing his fears head-on with you by his side. His anxieties were quelled with every moment he spent here with you, he found that your soft breathing and guileless eyes were what was keeping him afloat.

-

Y’ALL I HOPE U LIKED THIS SERIES!!! the amount of support is unbelieveable ilysm! i will be writing an extra bonus chapter for u ;)) iknow i def need to do a masterlist and i will get on it soon i promise (tumblr deleted my old one smh)

taglist (giggles): @thel0velykey190 @scaleniusrm @drefear @mafer383 @i-feel-violated @crowleysthings @avatar-lover @wyvernnest @rowboatweeb @schniti-is-in-the-house ri @d1lf-loverrr @iamv1n @ro99se @nxrdamp @mrssabinecallas @jesmynsjoys @xiylio @leahnicole1219 @reine-sans @tallmanlover @neverlandlostchild @axerrri @frieschan @plzfeedmebread @rorel1a @z0mbiekat @rey26 @stunkbiggu @honeycovered-bandaids @hearttjason @brittney69 @thyroidissues @4imhry @pinkliquor @realalpacorn @dr-skazka @simoniithehomii @aisyakirmann @deezisnotreal @synamonthy @bread6069 @iite-cool @thedevax @soymiguelsesposa @heartthrobinsblog @siidmm @queerponcho @luvingmyships @dhollandhs @kehlanilopez @lyrasdrawer

[owololcat]

Slugcat Dashboard Sim 2 because the last one did some fuckin numbers

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

i think i’m being adopted/hired????????

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

ok to elaborate for the scugs losing their shit in the reblogs, an overseer is following me and pointing arrows with an iterator symbol, it also showed me some pics of the iterator in question and what i think is a whole ass leviathan nest.

but ofc ya know me im the nosiest bitch this side of the distant lakeside, and my fam’s bunch of asshats, so im gonna go help an iterator with an infestation problem seeya in a few cycles bitches

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

foumd fanily

ok but on a serious note hi i’m The Pirate, Seven Seas is my dad now, and if anyone asks i’m a purposed organism

💥 scavslayingchieftain

welcome to the “unexpectedly grew attached to an iterator they helped on a whim” club, sharkboy

👁️ ripples-and-reflections

I was today cycles old when I found out “Spinning Top’s Folly” was based on the life of an actual ancient forced to ascend as a child

anyways I also met the actual echo Spinning Top and I think we're homies now

🪡 slash-srs

Tell her she’s famous!

👁️ ripples-and-reflections

her response…

“OA?! As if I need anything more keeping me here! I get attached to fans easily! Say something embarrassing so they don't like me as much, like that one question I asked about whether or not you excrete!”

🐟 moons-secret-lovechild

nobody:

fucking Spinning Top apparently: do you even shit bro?

👹 iterhater

would it be in bad taste for me to make a ‘born to die world is a fuck’ meme about my creator issues?

⦻ vultureculture-deactivated119023

nah id like and reblog

🌀 ur-getting-eepy

I feel like i’m the only slugcat i know who can do cool shit without being a purposed organism. All I did was make a thingy out of batgrass and a rock and now I can tame lizards without any food by swaying it infront of them.

🐟 moons-secret-lovechild

this is 'descended from a purposed organism gone rogue’ erasure but ur tricks do sound useful so go off ig

🦎 da-littlest-lizor

chat how do I get my iterator to stop making jokes about the time I got so angry I started speaking in lizard

👁️ ripples-and-reflections

ascend them /j

🧿 evil-ripples-and-reflections

ascend them /srs

👁️ ripples-and-reflections

Saint ghostwrote this

🌿 the-saint-official

Normally, I prefer not to stoop to the low of profanity, but I feel it's warranted here. no the fuck i did not

🦎 da-littlest-lizor

there is no way THE Saint found this post this has to be a parody account

🌿 the-saint-official

Does this image convince you otherwise?

🦎 da-littlest-lizor

well yeet my ass into rot and call me pebbles that is the real Saint

👁️ ripples-and-reflections

but then who tf is this doppelganger???????

🧿 evil-ripples-and-reflections

oaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoaoa

🥚heyechoesitsyaboi

every time I see someone unwittingly summon saint onto their posts I can't help but laugh my tail off hes like pm seymour but instead of making you famous he just fucking ascends you

🐁 the-johndoe

Who tf is pm seymour? Is he an iterator or something?

🎮 mav-the-scav

I KNOW the eye-boggle is a display of fear in scavengers but I love sneaking up on my gf just to see her boggle in surprise at me. She says she's fine with me doing it so long as it isn't around her tribemates but she's plotting her revenge against me I can tell

🎮 mav-the-scav

I swear on my MAMA if I didn't love this woman she’d be in the void rn this dumb quillball just dumped a basket of popped bubblefruit on me and my pelt’s all slimy now and she's giving me the smuggest look ever grrr

🌼 fren2all

Normally this is the part where I'd go off on a tangent about why interspecies relationships can be unhealthy, especially with language barriers or intelligence gaps, but this is actually a prime example of a healthy interspecies relationship! Boundaries, lightheartedness, and emotional vulnerability judging by some of op’s previous posts. Good job, you two!

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

liveblogging my messenger mission to the scavs in my iterator’s territory

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

orange lizards

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

poleplant

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

noodlefly i should probably exterminate on my way back up to avoid a repeat of the pebbles incident

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

finally down from the wall!

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

eel lizor

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

lol some idiot dropped a pearl with a pic of an iterator in a fox costume. were they tryna be catboy pebbs 2.0?

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

a lotta lotls holy guac theres like 5 of em

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

o hey @da-littlest-lizor I heard ur iterator was in the local group but didn't think we'd run into eachother

🦎 da-littlest-lizor

hiiii! btw which pebbles incident were u talking bout earlier?

🏴‍☠️ yohohomosexual

Noot mama and a whole bunch of babies got into his chamber once, some iterator even made an edit of the overseer footage adding an arrangement of "Hall of The Scavenger King" but made from noodlefly noises

🦎 da-littlest-lizor

lmao why does literally everything happen to this guy?

[lowkeyhollland]

please please please

peter parker x reader "i beg you don't embarrass me motherfucker" 1k words

“y/n!” your best friend, melanie, ran up to hug you. “and you brought…” her voice trailed off at the end as she gestured to the brunette boy standing next to you. 

“oh! this is peter. he’s my uh,” you stumbled over your words, “friend?” it came out more as a question and you hoped no one noticed how unsure you were. you looked up and saw peter smirk. 

“friends that kiss?” he whispered in your ear and your cheeks flushed red. 

“so nice to meet you, peter! we’ve actually heard so much about you!” melanie pulled you two further into the party where all of your friends were. 

“oh have you now?” peter’s eyebrows quirked up, curious as to what could have been said about him. 

“it’s nothing.” you mumbled and crossed your arms over your body. “now just, don’t embarrass me. please?”

“honey, i could never embarrass you.” peter kissed your cheek and slipped his hand into yours as you two socialized with the rest of the group. 

the lights were flashing in the club as bodies were pressed up against each other. peter had told you that he was gonna grab you drinks and squeezed past the sea of people toward the bar. you continued to dance with your friends, singing along to the music with a smile plastered on your face. 

“where’s your boy?!” one of your friends asks. you looked around the club and realized peter was nowhere to be found. you mentally sighed as he had, once again, disappeared with no warning. 

“he said he wasn’t feeling well,” you lied. “but you know! he’s like irish or something and they’re really good at irish goodbyes. it’s just, uh, in his culture.” you messed with your rings, looking side to side and hoped your friends were drunk enough to not see through your lies. 

“oh!” that was all that came out of all of their mouths. a part of you wanted to rip out peter’s hair for leaving without telling you while the other part just wanted to die from embarrassment. 

you seriously just had to leave again?? 

you texted him and to no avail, there was no response. letting out a frustrated sigh, you continued to dance with your friends to try and forget about the night. 

you took an uber home, not trusting to walk by yourself in the dark. melanie had offered to let you crash at her place, but you politely declined as you didn’t want to be around anyone. 

of course, you just had to fall for peter parker who’s notorious for never being anywhere— ever. and the cherry on top of it all was no matter how many times you texted him calling him a dick tonight, no response. absolutely ghosted. 

you stumbled through your apartment, the whole world still spinning from the amount of shots you took tonight. kicking off your heels, you turned on the lights, revealing a red & blue masked man standing in the middle of your living room. 

“i’m either super drunk right now or spiderman is actually in my house.” you slurred, squinting your eyes as if it would help you see him. he just stood there as you walked up to him. running your hand over his chest, peter’s breath hitched. 

“i, uh,” peter coughed and you pulled your hand away. 

“how did you get in?” 

“your window was unlocked. that isn’t very safe.”

“i live on the tenth floor. what’s gonna happen? a bird trying to attack me?” you snorted. 

“you never know, birds are quite dangerous.” it was hard to see his expression with his mask on and it took everything in you to not pull the mask away. 

“as fun as this would be,” you gestured to him. “i was just ditched tonight and would love to be alone so i can cry in peace.” you opened your window to encourage the masked hero to swing away. “bye spidey.” you waved at him as you walked to your room. 

peter knew it was now or never. he webbed your wrist to pull you back, stumbling as you were buried in his chest. he quickly took off his mask, breathing heavily as you stood there wide eyed. 

“look, i’m so sorry for ditching you tonight. especially with all of your friends.” he started. you didn’t know what to say. peter, your peter, was spiderman. whatthefuck whatthefuck whatthefuck. “and i know you really wanted me there—“

“what the fuck.” you blurted out. peter’s eyebrows furrowed together, confused about your reaction, but his face softened when he really thought about it. 

“oh yeah. i’m spiderman.”

“i can see that.” you bluntly said. “motherfucker, spiderman embarrassed me tonight?! you could have at least told me to leave too so we could make it seem like we were hooking up!” 

“is that still an option?” peter smirked and you smacked his arm. “ow..”

“you literally left me. that’s what you get.”

“i’m really, really sorry. there was a robbery and this guy had a gun and— i’m sorry, y/n. i should have just told you.” his head hung low and you frowned. you lifted his head so you could see his face. there were small bruises and cuts and it made you sad to see him physically hurt. 

“it’s okay. i mean, my boyfriend is literally a superhero. how cooler can i get?” his face lit up and broke into the biggest smile ever. 

“boyfriend?” you smiled back at him and nodded. 

“yeah, boyfriend.” you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, tangling your hands in his hair. his arms still wrapped around your waist as he smiled into the kiss. 

“so is that other option still available?” he asked once you both pulled away, his lips tugging into a smirk. you rolled your eyes and pushed his head away lightly. 

“ask again when you actually stay at an event the entire time when you’re with me.” you started to walk away to your room and he chased after you. 

“aw, c’mon babe. it was a joke!”

[4me2knowandyou2wonder]

Just some MelVik "early days dynamic" brain worms. I had fun writing a scene. no real shipping here actully, just the good ol mel and viktor dynamics we should have gotten 800~ words, writen at like 2am, not reread at all before posting.

----

Viktor’s left leg has fallen asleep. For a while now he had been aware of the slow tingling crawling down his nerves, but he’d finally gotten into a position that let his right leg stop throbbing and found he was unwilling to keep looking for a way to sit that appeased both limbs. It is for this reason that when the lab door loudly swings open Viktor makes no attempt to rise. There is no doubt in his mind that that could only end with him on the floor. He does not know who entered the laboratory, certainly not Jayce—he had left an hour ago, but no matter how open he was to the intruder being a stranger, he was still unprepared for councilor Medarda herself, to sit down on top of his notes. 

“As concentrated on progress as ever I see,” she lulled, dragging the page he’d been staring at from his fingers. 

Once over his initial shock, Viktor snatched the paper back with force and glared at the councilor with flames in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

The counselor at least had the wherewithal to look a little embarrassed after that. “Well, honestly, I am here seeking counsel.” 

“Jayce left two hours ago.”

“I know. I came for you.”

Viktor could keep the indignation from his voice. “Me?”

Councilor Medarda finally removed her butt from Viktor’s desk in favor of pacing about the room. Viktor reluctantly unfolded himself to watch her movements. His legs had very differing opinions about this action. 

“I’m trying to undo an outdated law, but the council is not in my favor.” Viktor wanted to interject with a comment about that but the councilor offered no pause. “For years doctors who are licensed in Piltover have been barred from practicing medicine in the undercity.” 

He was well aware. Viktor focused on her with more interest. Why would she care about doctors being allowed in Zaun? 

“I thought it was an obvious law to over turn.” Her pacing had gotten faster now. “Why are we controlling the movements of our citizens? Wanting to help others across the bridge doesn’t make anyone less capable of medicine! Its—”

“It is because they want the resource for themself,” Viktor interrupted, “and, well, they do not want their doctors to be put in danger.” 

The councilor’s pacing stopped. “You agree with them!” 

Viktor frowned. He wasn’t sure how much he was willing to say. He said it anyway. “Miss Medarda, I have watched friends and family alike die from preventable diseases. Die, just because the available doctors are too scared to work with them. If you are from Zaun, it does not matter if you make it all the way to Piltover. It does not matter if you have the money. This very law scares doctors enough that they will turn me away.” Even while curled over in a rickety wooden chair, his gaze was enough to level her. “Of course I do not agree with the council.” 

“Viktor—”

He let out a sigh and leaded back in his chair. “I simply… understand their flawed minds.” 

“I want to change it.” 

“A noble thought.” He didn’t try to hide his skepticism.

The councilor is suddenly much closer to him. “I was a single vote away from reversing it.” There is a conviction in her voice that intrigues Viktor. “Hoskel is malleable. But he’s scared of change.” 

She pauses long enough Viktor thinks she might be waiting for him to speak. “I-”

“Can you hide a calming agent in a kid’s fidget puzzle?”

There is fire in her eyes. A rueful smile plays over Viktor’s face. “Miss Medarda…” he drawls. “Are you here to ask me to help you drug your fellow counselor, so that you can pass a law?”

The councilor doesn’t recoil. She doesn’t even blink. Unwavering determination. Viktor is faced with a choice. He doesn't like the thought of being used, but a reversal of this jurisdiction could mean everything for hundreds of Zaunite citizens. One trinket is all it would take for him and the counselor to change the dynamics of the whole population.

Viktor wins the staring contest. Councilor Medarda sighs and lets her shoulders fall. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Goodnight, Viktor.” 

“Goodnight, Councilor.” 

He lets her touch the brass handle before calling out. “Are you not going to tell me when the next council meeting is?” 

Councilor Madarda’s head whips around. She is met with the widest, most cunning grin she’s ever seen on Viktor. Her next few breaths come out a bit like she might be laughing, but Viktor cannot be sure. 

“It’s- It's tomorrow evening.”

Viktor pushes his bottom lip up and nods his knocks to the side. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

He picks up his pencil from the desk and turns away. He does not look up again until a closed door muffles the councilor’s footsteps. Perhaps Viktor should play Powerful more often, he concedes, that was fun.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

not so little | t. shouto

✮ tags ; gn!reader, minor age-gap (4 years), sfw

✮ wc ; 1.3k

✮ a/n ; this is not the most original idea ever so sorry but i wanted to write my take on it

"Seriously," Touya leans on the door frame of Natsuo's room, self-satisfied smile on his face "You're crushing on...Shouto? Our Shou-chan?"

You cover your face with despair at your predicament. You can't believe you're actually telling either of them. It wasn't like you were planning too. In what universe would you even think to do that deliberately?

But Natsuo is frighteningly good at grilling you about things when you refuse to tell him. Ever since he found out about your crush, he made it his lifes mission to harass you about it. You were careful, damn it. You didn't even actually tell him, he used to his annoying deductive reasoning to figure it out. You tell Natsuo everything.

He knows about every weird medical problem you've ever had, every partner you've ever dated, and every weird fit of crying you've ever cried in your life. He's your confidant. Your best friend. So he knows there's only two sorts of crushes you couldn't tell him about.

If it was on an ex or if it was on one of his siblings. His first guess was Touya - but he figure you wouldn't be this embarrassed about that since you often wolf whistle at him when you're in the house.

Then he guessed Fuyumi, because you're still embarrassed by how pretty she is. When you said it wasn't her - he was briefly stumped before settling in a shocked silence.

"...Are you crushing on Shouto? Seriously?"

Your embarrassment told him he was right, and now you're sitting in his room and hoping the world will swallow you because you're crushing on your best friends little brother of all things.

In your defense, it wasn't always like this. You didn't see much of the youngest Todoroki at all growing up. He was in his dorms for most of highschool and Natsuo spent most of his early adulthood ducking his parents house entirely. You only met him properly when he turned twenty. They're only living together now for Touya.

You kind of wish they weren't - since it'd save you the trouble of being embarrassed twice. You've been seeing Shouto a lot recently, since you've been coming over to hang out with Natsuo.

Shouto is not the 16 year old boy you always made. He's 22 and he's got tall and lean muscle. He's polite but sweet and strangely - much funnier than you could've ever predicted. He's genuinely very kind but most of all - he's been very direct on telling you that he likes you.

You don't think anyones ever pursued you like this in your life. Both of your last relationships ended amicably but neither of them had been this...direct with you ever. Shouto is very direct, actually. Direct in telling you which honorifics to use, and telling you how nice you look, and saying he misses you often. You've been dismissive. Even you're not so desperate as to openly pursue your friends little brother.

But again, he's not so little anymore. He's taller than you now, and he's got lean muscle. He always smells great. He is incredibly pretty in the fairy prince kind of way. This is by far the worst crush you've ever had to endure in your entire life. You've tried to forget.

But just last week he walked you home after patrols, speaking casually and kindly and good god - what is with the broad-shoulders? When did that even happen?

You want to die. You want to disappear into a black hole. You want to scream and cry. Why you're crushing on a boy 4 years younger than you? Why is Todoroki Shouto of all people make your heart flutter?

"Seriously... I mean I knew he was flirting with you pretty brazenly but," Natsuo looks like he's holding back a grimace. If you weren't holding back tears, you'd hit him "...Shouto? Like...really?"

"Didn't know our little angel was such a casanova. Crazy world we live in."

"Neither of you are helping." You say exasperated. Natsuo leans back on his palms, sighing a little. "Do you think I wanted this?"

"It's not the end of the world," Natsuo offers thoughtfully. You give him a meaningful glare from the corner of his bed but he doesn't budge "I mean..I guess if I got to pick who he dated, you're not at the very bottom of the list."

You kick his side. "That's so backhanded."

"He doesn't want to admit you two are a good match," Touya says thoughtfully, unwrapping candy from his pocket. A habit he picked up trying to quit smoking "He'll be lonely if you date Shouto."

"Shut up, Touya."

You ignore both of them for a minute trying to get your bearings.

"You think we're a good match...?"

Touya laughs hard "Is that all you heard? Poor Natsu, already being abandoned."

Natsuo shoots Touya a glare.

"Touyaaaa," You drag, reaching over to tug on the bottom of his shirt "Elaborate."

"And feed your delusions?" He says, clicking his teeth "Fine. Only because it's funny."

Natsuo hmphs, and you look at him apologetically. You two will have to talk about it later. Touya rolls the candy in his mouth, pulling his shirt up to scratch at his abdomen.

"Dunno. You're like... probably one of the only people who's not gonna treat him weird cause he's a good little hero. That brat... it's probably best for him to date someone normal and civilian-esque. Not like being a hero is the most important thing in the world to him."

You flush a little. This is really, really bad. Natsuo gives you a disapproving look. You look back at him a little softer.

"I won't date him if he's off limits." You offer. Touya coos at you both.

"Well aren't you darling."

Natsuo groans, laying flat on the floor.

"Ugh. It's not like I can just say no. It's enough of a miracle that Shouto is showing interest in anyone. And if he misses out on true love, even if it's," He gives you a sideways glance and shakes his head "Even if it's with you then I can't actually stop it."

"I'll reject him if you tell me too."

"What kind of older brother do you take me for?"

"Yeah, what kind of older brother do you take him for?" Touya mocks, laughing to himself "Aren't you just a saint, Natsu?"

"Touya, I'm gonna throw you out of my room."

"Ooh, someone's mad."

Before Natsuo as a chance to come back, the sound of the door opening from the living room downstairs floats up. Shouto calls out. You feel your heart almost fall out of your ass. Touya, delighted, is the first to reply.

"Shou-chan, we're upstairs."

You make a gesture of violence towards Touya who replies by pretending to jerk off then giving you the middle finger. You don't have time to collect yourself before Shouto is upstairs. He's back from patrols and he's a little sweaty. You feel heat creep-up up your neck.

"Touya-nii, do you still—oh," Shouto smiles soft as he realizes "It's you. I didn't realize you were here."

"I came in after class."

"Alone? You should've asked me to walk home with you."

You flush. Touyas' snickering is not helping you at all.

"Isn't that out of your way?"

"It's fine. I do stuff like that a lot," You're almost disappointed until he tacks on "But it's you so it's alright."

You look up at him wide-eyed. He gives you the ghost of a smile. God you're screwed. Before you can reply, Natsuo clears his throat.

"Go wash up. You stink." He chides. Shouto immediately goes back to being a little brother, nodding his head.

"Okay. Then," He looks at you directly. You're so screwed "I'll be right back."

You wait until Shouto is finally down the hall, listening for the bathroom door to thump shut before falling back into Natsuo's bed. Touya breaks out into a fit of laughter as Natsuo sulks in the corner.

But all of it feels like white noise when you compare it to the sound of your heartbeat, thudding hard in your chest.

[sunsbaby]

❝ when the gun meets the fire ❞

⋆ winchesters + gun .ᐟ reader + lighter .ᐟ reader . .

sam and dean hadn't thought of the possibility that cali and feu would have to meet sometime. seeing as they both resided in the bunker, albeit feu stayed caged up in her room and cali wandered around the bunker like she owned the place. her voice booming throughout the walls, demanding a coke or for dean to help her pick out a pair of boots to wear that day. to which feu let a scowl form on her face at the loudness as she whispered to her collection of lighters.

but, as soon as the two met—it was opposites attract at its finest. feu's fingers grasp onto the backs of cali's dresses while they walk around a crowded area. at a diner if someone got feu's order wrong, cali was up there in an instant.

"she asked very nicely for no pickles and you guys being the rude, disrespectful people you are gave her pickles! fix it now." cali shouted, not caring that everybody and their mother could hear. that girl had no social awareness at all. guns were loud after all. behind her stood feu, no shoes on and scraped up knees—like always—with a cheeky smile on her face.

the once lighter happily munched on her burger with no pickles as the waiter brought over more coke for cali. sam and feu openly judged the two lovebirds sat in front of them as they kissed all over each other in a public space. feus eyes went wide as her mind struggled to comprehend why anyone would enjoy sucking faces with another. she did notice how cali made dean wipe away the burger grease, did she have to do that too?

"sam, do you like doing that to girls as well?" her voice was laced with utter confusion, her brows furrowed as her greasy finger pointed to the couple in front of them kissing.

"feu, please eat your food.." sam was too embarrassed to admit anything, instead he directed her focus back onto the food in front of her; which tasted all the different from the lighter fluid she was used to being fed.

when the boys get caught up in conversation, cali and feu most likely end up zoning out. both girls tracing the marks left on their skin. cali normally only lets herself and dean touch the handprints—he was the one who left them after all—but at times she finds herself calming down more when feu's fingertips lightly dust over them: innocently of course. she was like the little sister the gun never got to have.

cali and feu regularly have sleepovers, that's how cali figured out she could talk to guns. she enjoyed watching feu in her element, allowing her to be herself even in the presence of another; her. feu snuck off once to steal deans other guns so cali could talk some sense into them about how she's the only one he'll ever truly love and the others are just there because she can't be. which dean quickly found out about because cali cannot control her volume at all. feu; however, takes a calmer, sweeter approach talking to the lighters. seeing as they all are doomed to die, but even a little bit of reassurance goes a long way—something she learned.

sunny yaps! A LITTLE AU WHERE LIGHTER!READER AND GUN!READER MEET AND BECOME THE BESTEST OF FRIENDS EVERRR!! COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED PLSS TELL ME IDEAS OR PROMPTS YOU HAVE FOR THESE 2

special tags! @bluemerakis @dulcescorderitas @h8aaz @bejeweledinterludes @daylighted @titsout4jackles

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!

[serxinns]

hey can you do a yandere class 1a x lightfury or nightfury reader bc they can shapeif into a dragon also love ur yan x reader fic

CHILHOOD I REMEMBER WATCHING THAT

Your classmates would be in love like so in love always wanting to pet you in your dragon form also did I mention that you can purr? oh buddy their hearts would be melting!

When you 1st arrived at school you were so nervous about how everyone would treat you like a disgusting horrible beast back in middle school, but surely you were wrong a bunch of students was crowded around bombarding me with questions and that's how your bond with them started

izuku was a dragon geek his new fixation was dragons now he would search up facts and information about dragons, how all eat, what's your blood type, whether are they warm or cold-blooded, everything he even had another notebook dedicated to his dragon research, and when he found out dragons can purr? Oh buddy that was his new fixation and goal but overall izuku is a pretty nice guy whenever you want to talk about stuff he always listens he's a great listener! The 2 of you would rant about your favorite hobbies alllll day

Mina and Ochako would be just all over you like Ochako would love to play with your tail wings and even horns but gently and if you ever made a dragon sound (like growls, purrs, grumbles, etc.) She and Mina would DIE of cuteness and would just pressure you to do it again and again and again until they chased after you and Momo had to step in and scold them, Mina is clingy and protective she always wants to touch, hug, and cuddle, pinch kiss all over you! She would decorate your horns and tail with stickers a BUNCH of stickers is very protective toward you, if someone would degrade you about ur quirk or form from their filthy mouth oh she's gonna clean it alright with her acid!

Shoto is usually calm around you his favorite part of the day is petting you on your head when you shift into a dragon one time when he was petting you, you started to fall asleep and made little soft purrs shoto was flustered and so were you, you begged him not to tell anyone knowing that it was very embarrassing and your classmates would be all over you shoto ofc agreed and reassured you that it wasn't embrassing and even admitted it was kinda cute...

Bakugo and his gang would be the most overbearing, especially with their chaotic behavior! Bakugo at 1st would think you were another extra or just some lizard breath but your high spirit and fierce got his attention and with your quirk, he started throwing a few empty insults forcing you to always be by his side, he occasionally would mess with your horns and mostly your wings, especially during training, kiri and you are sharp teeth besties he is so amazed by your dragon form if you were a famous hero he would be your number one fan! Would ask you to do tricks in your dragon or even let him get on your back so you could have a flying trip whenever you're insecure about something he'll cheer you right up with a hug and a bunch of manly compliments he one time saw you lift a 200-pound weight and he was covering his face red in the face like a high school girl

Sero and Denki are the chaotic duos Denki asks the stupidest questions about dragons and uses cheesy dragon pickup lines while Sero always does the "drag on this ball then" joke every time, Denki is so fascinated with dragons that he always asks A bunch of questions like "can you spit fire" "Did you ever save a princess?" "Is that green dragon on the screen related to you?" While you tried your very best to ask these idiotic questions without smacking the shit out of him with your tail servo, on the other hand, loves to tease your horns, and wings, especially ur tail one time when you and the bakusquad were watching TV sero accidentally stepped on it which made your tail smack the shit outta him in reflex, you kept apologizing repeatedly while Bago and Denki were laughing their asses off

Tsuyu and Takoyami are your animal beds always searching up funny animal facts about each other and laughing I can imagine Dark Shadow trying to flirt with you while you were in your dragon form and Tokoyami is trying to get him to shut up to get a flashlight and kept aiming at him tsuyu on the other hand just wants to cuddle up to you dragon form or not in dragon form she gives you a bunch of head pats and chin scratches, one time she heard you your purr while you were dosing off to sleep and she felt like she heard a beautiful melody but she never admits it tokoyami discovered this and also started to pet you they would go to a secret place where no classmate is there and stop cuddling, spoiling doing everything to hear those cute purrs

[niningtori]

let me into your world | chapter one: my world is mine

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, choi soobin x you

summary: you're a hopeless romantic waiting for your soulmate, but what do you do when you finally find him and he doesn't want you?

genre(s): romance, angst, angst with a happy ending (?), soulmate au

word count: 7.1k

notes: for some reason, i feel SO embarrassed to post this. it was the first series i ever wrote, so it's getting a facelift before seeing the light of day, but it's still a little flabby in some places. bear with me, please! also, shoutout to evie for this layout with the lyrics in the center :') i'm tired of looking at my own uglyass posts so much omg. see ending for more notes!

your soulmate is perfect in every way, or so you've been told, and you're sick of waiting to find out. everyone says meeting your soulmate is like finding the other half you never had, so when the yearning had started when you were a teen, you were eager to find him and put an end to your constant ache. it would be impossible to know who it was until your seal appeared on your skin. where it would land and what it would look like, you weren't sure, but you knew it couldn't come fast enough. in theory, he would complement you in every way. you imagine someone quiet, a little shy, maybe. someone thoughtful, someone patient and understanding. you just hope to god he's everything you wish him to be.

-

beomgyu has had just about enough of soulmate talk, but unfortunately for him, it's inescapable. when he turned 13, the yearning had already started for most of his peers. when his friends asked if he felt similarly, he simply shrugged his shoulders with a smug little grin while musing that he might not even have a soulmate — maybe he was just partnerless. some of his friends, like taehyun and kai, were appalled by this, almost pitying him. half of his heart was missing, after all. some of his other friends, however, were a bit jealous. their reasoning was "it'd be nice to not be chained down by someone you don't even know". he agreed with the latter sentiment, having seen the effects of being chained to somebody firsthand.

he remembers watching his mother wither away. she had loved his father more than anyone, even him, and got scraps of affection in return. they weren't soulmates — her perfect other half had died not long after she met him, but his father became her second and last love. he didn't concern himself with soulmate talk and eventually married beomgyu's mother. they were happy, very happy, until beomgyu was around 10 and his father met his so-called soulmate. he remembers the sheer despair on his mother's face as she found out her husband was leaving seemingly out of nowhere, her life uprooted because of a fucking pattern imprinted on her lover's skin.

they weren't soulmates, but beomgyu watched his mother die a little every day until she finally passed. dying of a broken heart was the only way he could explain what happened to her, and she did all that for a man who wasn't even her soulmate. if soulmates could make you kill someone innocent for your love, he didn't want to find his at all. if love could make you abandon everything you've ever known, well, he simply didn't want to know what it felt like.

-

college is a turning point for you, you feel. you had a good time in high school, but you're nearing the average age of the seal and you're more than prepared to find your special someone. you couldn't know for sure, but you have a feeling none of the boys in your high school were your other half.

"why don't you date just to get some experience?" sumin asks somewhat exasperatedly. you had rejected yet another guy with seemingly good intentions for practically no reason.

"i don't know, i guess i just don't want to waste my time on anybody else when i already know my soulmate is out there waiting on me," you shrug. "i want to save all my firsts for him."

"you're hopeless, you know?" she snorts.

"yeah," you smile, "but he's probably the same way." she teases you good-naturedly for this, but even she agrees that you'll most likely fall for a guy just as hopelessly in love as you are. he wouldn't even have to try very hard — you're willing to put in however much effort it takes to find him and love him unconditionally. all he needs to do is reciprocate and you would do the rest.

-

unfortunately for you, time has passed and you're nearing the end of your time in college with no soulmate in sight. you'd be more upset about it if you weren't so fucking busy with school work and trying to line up a job post-graduation. you're so wound up lately that sumin practically forces you to let loose and go to a house party. needless to say, they aren't particularly your scene. you like to drink just as much as anybody else does, you guess, but that doesn't mean you want to reek of shitty beer, sweat, and premarital sex, which will undoubtedly be the case once you step into a college house party. still, she is as persistent as you are exhausted and you're too defeated to fight.

you're fairly bored after fifteen minutes or so of loitering around all the action, never really joining in on the antics of your friends and all the other party goers unless you absolutely have to. you're absentmindedly kicking around a beer can when it rolls away, straight in front of a couch. you go to kick it again when you look up and see him.

you can't keep your eyes off of him. you've found people attractive before, but he's probably the most beautiful person — maybe even the most beautiful thing — you've ever seen. your heart almost stops when you look at him.

in that moment, the idea that he could be the one blooms in your head and you can't help but stare. you don't how long you keep your eyes locked on him, but he eventually looks up at you and his eyes widen for a split second. you're almost positive he feels what you feel, but not even a moment later, he pulls out what you can only describe as a lascivious smirk as his eyes travel up and down your figure. you feel like meat on display rather than his sacred other half. before you know it, a girl is sliding into his lap and he's turning away from you and planting a heavy kiss on her glossy lips while groping her ass.

"that's beomgyu," sumin says and you're snapped back into reality. "he's really hot, but he's slept with pretty much every girl here."

you're somewhat disappointed before you realize you must be mistaken. there's no way a man like that could be your soulmate. you strangle the bud of hope in your heart mercilessly because your soulmate is somewhere waiting for you and you can't afford to lose him over some pretty boy with community dick.

-

you said you'd avoid him, but beomgyu is the first one you notice when you walk into the first class of your final semester as a college student. his eyes lock with yours and you hurriedly avert your gaze before sliding into the nearest seat.

"hi," a sweet voice from next to you says. you jolt and turn to look at him.

"sorry, i didn't mean to scare you," he laughs.

"it's okay, i'm just a little jumpy, i guess," you grin sheepishly.

"i'm soobin," he smiles and you can see his dimples come out. you briefly wonder if he'd mind if you poked them, but that sounds weird even to you.

you introduce yourself and find you're forgetting all about beomgyu as you and soobin begin to chat. he's funny in a dorky kind of way, and you can't help but giggle at the seemingly unassuming things he says.

-

beomgyu notices you when you first walk in because of course he does, but he sees you sit next to soobin, a guy he met in freshman year, and feels a sense of loss he's never felt before. he watches as you grin and giggle at whatever lame jokes the boy next to you is almost certainly making and his eyes darken. yeonjun, his longtime friend and desk mate, notices his sour mood and asks what's wrong. beomgyu can't really answer that question. even he himself doesn't know why he feels so against you, a stranger, spending time with another guy, but he chalks it up to the fact that he thinks you're hot and would very much like to get in your pants as soon as possible.

he supposes he should have done so when he first saw you, but duty called when one of his frequent flyers sat in his lap and he couldn't very well ignore the way her chest swayed in front of him. he doesn't think about it much more deeply than that. he doesn't want to think about how your eyes seem to indicate that you know him — have known him — and he feels the same way about you. he toys with the idea of maybe asking you if you two knew each other at some point, but deep down, he knows he'd never forget you if he actually had known you before. he tries not to think about why that is.

-

a few weeks into the semester, you've sat next to soobin every day and it's safe to say you have a tiny little crush on him, but you know he's not your soulmate when he rolls his sleeves up one day and you spot a green seal on his wrist. you roll up your own sweater, just to be sure, but there's no pretty green tattoo to match. he spots your empty wrist and the expression on his face looks an awful lot like disappointment.

"i don't really care about that stuff, you know?" he whispers as your professor drones on and on about something you've stopped listening to long ago.

"really?" you ask a little too eagerly before reining yourself back in. what are you doing? you have a soulmate and he's waiting for you.

"really, really," he smiles. you prepare to launch into a long speech about the sanctity of soulmates and how you're waiting devoutly for yours, but instead of pushing the subject any further, he simply turns to the professor again and you're left reeling.

you're pulled back to your senses when the professor announces everyone will be paired up with a partner for an assignment. you and soobin grin at each other and are ready to begin prepping for the project when your professor adds that the partners will be completely random. when he calls soobin's name, your fingers are crossed in hopes that you'll somehow still get lucky, but he ends up pairing him with another classmate named yeonjun. you start getting a sinking feeling, something akin to dread, and you don't know why. clarity overwhelms you when you register that the person your professor opts to pair you with is none other than choi beomgyu.

-

beomgyu is late to your first library appointment together and though you didn't expect anything less from him, you're still annoyed when he arrives nearly 15 minutes after the scheduled time with nothing but a mumbled "sorry" and a cheeky grin.

"it's fine," you offer, but you both know you're irritated. you're a little bit of a pushover by nature and it's like he could immediately sniff it out. he doesn't even make an attempt to seem like he cares, though.

"are you ready to get started?" you ask.

"of course, what are you waiting for?" you roll your eyes at his shamelessness, frustration melting away without you intending for it to. you're kind of shy, but his presence is so comforting, it's like you've known him for years, so you dare to say your next words without much thought.

"you, smartass." he looks a little appalled at your words but he registers it as a joke when he notices the corner of your lips struggling not to pull themselves up, eyes gazing mischievously from beneath your eyelashes. not for the first time, he thinks you're really pretty. but he, not for the first time, says nothing.

-

after a few meet ups, you realize being with beomgyu is easier than you thought it would be. sure, he's incredibly obnoxious, but he's surprisingly easy to talk to. he invites you to his apartment one day and, as if he senses your apprehension before you can even feel it yourself, he states his roommate will be there as well. you try not to read too much into it, but you have a feeling he's implying that he won't make any moves on you. you're grateful for this, but unexpectedly a bit disappointed. as for why that is, you don't venture to guess.

being in his apartment is a new feeling entirely. it feels oddly... intimate somehow when you enter his bedroom and see all of his posters, his messy bed, and some vinyls stacked up against his record player. he nonchalantly puts one on and you gasp when you recognize the song.

"i love this band," you say quickly. his eyebrows raise in interest.

"you like them too?"

"of course i do! i've loved them since i was a teenager," you laugh.

"do you like their newer stuff?"

you wrinkle your nose a little bit at this, your answer evident. he laughs his signature squeaky laugh at this and you can't help but stare in awe at his dimples, like whiskers, appearing on his cheeks. you clear your throat awkwardly and begin to talk about the project.

after a few hours and some really great progress, you find you're a little hungry. you're about to mention this, but beomgyu beats you to the punch.

"i'm starving. want pizza?" you smile when you realize you're on the exact same page.

"thought you'd never ask."

-

you're sitting on his couch now, wolfing down your third piece of pizza while beomgyu slurps the cheese off of his. he's talking about absolutely nothing, but he's still easily drawing more and more laughter out of you with his antics. you tell him to stop because you hate your laugh, but he's addicted to the sound. he wants to keep you laughing. words like "always" and "forever" briefly flicker across his mind, and usually he would force them out with conviction, but he's having such a good time hearing you giggle he can't pay attention to much else. he never says it or gives any indication he feels that way, though. he just tells you "i can't help that i'm so fucking funny and charming and beautiful." you lightly smack the back of his head and he's giggling with you.

things are going remarkably well when his roommate emerges from his room and says a few of his friends will be coming over soon. you don't particularly want to hang around them and you certainly don't want to overstay your welcome, but beomgyu, for reasons unknown, insists that you stick around.

"we can just relax for a bit then get back to work. c'mon, don't you wanna finish this thing?"

"fine, fine, fine. i'll stay." his face lights up at your words and you can't help but blush a little bit at this. why he's so excited, you have no clue. what you also don't know is he has no idea why he's so excited, either.

a few minutes later, a few guys enter the apartment boisterously and you can't help but internally regret sticking around. beomgyu, almost preternaturally, senses how uncomfortable you are and makes an effort to introduce you and include you in conversation. things are going well until one of the guys, whose name you don't know but whose face seems vaguely familiar, makes an offhanded comment.

"y'know, gyu, she's actually very smart. maybe you'll actually pass." the entire group bursts into laughter and joke about his supposed stupidity and laziness.

"he's actually very helpful. i couldn't do this without him," you counter with a little edge to your voice.

"maybe you're not deadweight after all," he says sarcastically. beomgyu just smirks and goes along with it. to the untrained eye, he seems perfectly fine, but to you, he just looks kind of sad. you pull out your phone and decide to text him.

you don't have to laugh if you don't think it's funny

he looks up at you and you nod encouragingly.

it's fine i really am kinda dumb

don't say things you don't mean. you're not their dancing monkey here to entertain them and you're not a fucking punching bag

his heart feels a little sour at this. how did you know he was hurt by their comments, no matter how seemingly harmless they were? even his own friends didn't seem to notice, but somehow, you did. you always seem to notice the little changes within him. like when he's tired and doesn't want to show it, you offer to take breaks or meet another day. or when he's stressed out so you try to wrangle even the smallest of smiles out of him — real ones, that is. he wants to say you're just a thoughtful and perceptive person, but in reality, he thinks it's a little more complicated than that.

-

it's beomgyu's birthday, which should be a happy occasion, but for some reason, you feel like shit. you wonder if it's a mix of anxiety because of the project or maybe because your time in college is coming to the end, but it feels so much more profound than that. you woke up this morning from a fitful sleep and it feels like there's a hole blown through your heart. if you feel like shit, you don't look much better, but you have to meet with beomgyu at his apartment and you can't be late.

"whoa, you look absolutely awful," he muses when he opens the door and sees you with two appalling dark circles under your eyes.

"wow, thanks, asshole," you mumble. you did, indeed, look and feel like utter shit, but being here seems to bring a sense of relief you did not anticipate.

"hey, i'm just kidding, you look pretty," he laughs. he's been saying things like this, lately. you can't deny the way your heart skips a beat, but you shoot down any further thoughts because you know, know, know he sleeps around and you know that seemingly off-the-cuff comments like this are probably part of the reason why he's able to do so as easily as he does. you're not to be trifled with, though, so instead of letting the comment fly off your back as you usually would, your mouth opens before you know it.

"not as pretty as you, beoms," you smirk. you don't know exactly what you expected, but his ears turning a rosy pink isn't it.

"o-okay," he says sheepishly, clearing his throat. you find him criminally endearing in this moment, and for once, you don't mentally slap yourself for it.

"oh yeah. happy birthday!" you say, pulling out a cupcake and decisively putting an end to the awkwardness.

"thanks," he says with a smile before eyeing you suspiciously. "is this poisoned?"

"give it back," you say monotonously and he giggles when you try to snatch it away from him.

"hey, i'm just kidding! thank you!" he says as he takes a bite and his eyes widen in surprise.

"mmm, how'd you know this flavor's my favorite?"

"i dunno, i didn't. i just kinda figured you'd like it," you shrug. you walk towards his coffee table, which is where you all have been working lately, and again he's plagued with the idea that you know him far more deeply than you should.

working with beomgyu usually goes smoothly, but you're exhausted. you're still incredibly sad for no reason, but being with him makes you feel less... empty? you would try to put a name to the feeling, but you're too tired to do so at the moment.

"want some coffee?" he asks as he watches you yawn for the umpteenth time since you've been here.

"please," you say sleepily. he smiles and gets up from the floor as you bury your head in your hands.

beomgyu has been in a relatively good mood since you've been here, and not just because it's his birthday. he can't explain why, but his mouth has pretty much been etched into a curve ever since you got here. he catches a glimpse of his smiling face in the mirror of his living room before opting to fix his hair a little, mindful of how he looks in front of you. when he does this, he feels a rough patch of skin behind his right ear. he's confused when he runs his fingers over it and feels grooves and lines where there shouldn't be.

he quickly pulls out his phone and takes a picture. what he sees horrifies him. a seal. it's pink and delicate, but has a complicated pattern he couldn't even begin to replicate. the day he's been dreading for years has finally come. he stares at the picture before shaking his head and ruffling his hair to cover it again. no. this changes nothing. he won't let this ruin his day — his life.

he moves to the kitchen and begins to prepare your coffee. when he reenters the living room, he hears you lightly snoring with your head resting on the coffee table. he smiles in spite of himself and places the coffee down. he wants to say you look peaceful, but your eyebrows are furrowed like there's something you can't quite figure out.

he chuckles softly to himself before subconsciously pushing your hair out of your face and behind your ear. that's when he sees it. pink like a blooming flower and as complicated in its pattern as the one on his head. he hurriedly pulls his phone out and compares the picture of his seal to the one behind your ear. he already knows, but he has to be completely sure. he's not surprised in the slightest when he comes to the conclusion that they are, indeed, the same.

-

when you awaken, you feel a pit in your stomach and you're genuinely on the verge of tears. someone would think you'd had a nightmare, but you hadn't. you're stuck in a whirlwind of emotions when you're snapped away from them by a soft baritone voice.

"you awake?" beomgyu asks.

"shit, i'm sorry!" you exclaim, wiping the drool off of your face and straightening up your hair. "how long has it been?"

"i dunno, an hour or two?" he says nonchalantly. you sense some resentment in his tone and you feel beyond apologetic.

"god, i'm so sorry. let's just finish this really quick and i'll get going. i'm sure you want to be done with this and celebrate your birthday," you say embarrassedly.

"i already finished it," he says, and even through your sleepiness, you feel his disdain.

"you... finished it? alone?"

"why? do you think i'm not capable of doing it by myself?"

"no! not at all! i just feel bad that you had to do it alone," you exclaim.

"well, it's done. so you can leave now," he says, not without urgency.

"leave? but i —" but what? but i wanted to spend more time with you? that doesn't sound right, but that's what you feel.

"you can leave now," he repeats with disgust that you can't quite understand.

"o-okay. i'll get my stuff and go, but shouldn't we review everything together just in case?"

"i have plans, so no," he says firmly. you have no idea why he's so angry. you want to say it's because he had to finish the project alone while you were knocked out and drooling on his coffee table, but it feels much deeper than that.

"thanks for finishing everything. again, i'm so sorry," you say as you gather your things and head for the door. beomgyu is ready to shut the door behind you when you look back to him and softly say "happy birthday, beoms." and the door slams shut.

-

when you get home, the first thing you do is cry. the pain in your heart is suffocating. you so badly want to know what it is that's causing this seemingly out of nowhere pain, but you can't put your finger on it to save your life. you decide to shower and have another good cry. after you shower, you look in the mirror as you twist your hair up in a towel. your fingertips rub against a rough patch behind your ear when you do so and you're stunned before you register what it is. you take a picture to get a better look at it, but you already kinda know what to expect: a seal.

it's more beautiful than you imagined it'd be, but instead of joy, all you feel is dread. but why? a seal is a happy thing. you should feel relieved to finally have it on you and he should, too. you ponder over this and come to the conclusion that it's not your pain you're feeling, but your soulmate's. you've heard about soulmates feeling each other's emotions before, though it was somewhat rare. the question is: why is he so sad? you don't know how, but you instinctively know it has to do with the seal appearing and it makes you drop to the bathroom floor in tears. this isn't how you wanted it to be. you clutch your chest, willing your heart to stop pounding so hard, but it doesn't.

-

beomgyu has been avoiding you, that much is clear. as to why that is, you have no idea. he used to greet you and strike up conversation, project be damned. you want to think about this more, but the depression you feel makes it hard to think clearly about, well, anything, really. you feel an emptiness you've never known before, and you can't help but feel like being with him would make it better. in a way, you're glad he finished the project alone because you're sure you wouldn't have been able to be much help at all.

when you walk into the class you share, his absence puts you at a loss you don't understand. you remember that soobin is yeonjun's partner and ask him if he knows anything about beomgyu's whereabouts. he shakes his head.

"i don't know the details, but yeonjun said he's been bummed ever since he got his seal."  ever since he got his seal? that means he must have gotten it recently, just like you. the cogs in your brain start to turn and you feel the dread in your stomach again.

"why?” you ask tentatively. 

"i dunno. i think he might not like his soulmate, but he won't talk about it any more than that," he shrugs. "hey, are you okay?"

you nod before touching the seal behind your ear. you feel another pang in your heart. what if... what if he has the same seal? what if... beomgyu is your soulmate?

-

after class, you practically sprint out of the room and to beomgyu's apartment. you pound on his door impatiently and when he doesn't answer, you pound even louder.

"what are you doing here?" he hisses when he swings the door open. you flinch a little, but you're determined to get some answers. you falter when you notice a girl, haphazardly dressed, appearing from behind him.

"who's this, beomie?" she says, voice silky smooth.

"kick rocks," he says simply. she shrugs and makes her way past you while fiddling with her clothes. you don't have to guess what they just got finished doing, and it hurts, hurts, hurts.

"who's that?" you say, eyes glassy.

"what are you doing here?" he asks again, actually a little embarrassed, but never showing an ounce of it. you storm into his apartment and he shuts the door behind you.

"show me your seal," you say determinedly.

"what? no," he answers defensively.

you reach for his long hair to lightly tuck it behind his pierced ears. he wants to stop you, but he can't bear the thought of batting away your hand. he hears you inhale a sharp breath as you see the pink seal behind his ear and he feels his chest becoming heavier and heavier.

"how long have you known?"

"since my birthday," he answers after a slight pause.

"and when were you gonna tell me?"

"probably never," he says truthfully. your hand drops to your side and he subconsciously misses the way your touch felt.

"why?"

"because... because i don't want a soulmate."

"what's so bad about me?" you ask as your lips tremble.

"it's not just you," he sighs. "i've never wanted a soulmate."

"then what's so bad about soulmates?"

"i just don't want one and you can't make me," he snaps and you wince, so he tries again. "look, you're a nice girl and everything, but it's never gonna happen between us, so you need to stop trying."

"even without the seal, i'd still have feelings for you. that's how much you mean to me." he looks a little taken aback by this, as if he never expected to hear those words from you or anyone, really, and it makes your heart ache. "can't you just give me a chance?" you look so earnest right now, but he's almost sadistically dedicated to squashing the sprout of hope that is almost certainly peeking out of you right now.

"no, i can't. you're not my type at all. if we weren't soulmates i'd never even look at you." he's lying but if he's not cruel now, he knows you'll never let go.

"but we are soulmates and you are looking at me right now."

"for god's sake, you're not hearing what i'm saying. i will never love you, alright? i tried to be nice about it but you keep pushing me. you look fucking pathetic right now."

your frown deepens, eyes reddened and hot. as a last ditch effort, you hurriedly say your next words.

"i can feel your pain," you whisper and his eyes widen. "i know you feel it every day. i know you're empty and you need somebody — why can't i be that person? i-i'll be whatever you need me to be." you've taken your heart and served it on a silver platter. all he has to do is hold it.

"because you're not what i need! you're not even what i want!"

the silence that follows will haunt him for the rest of his life. you look so small right now, so fragile. he almost wants to take everything back, but he remembers what soulmates mean and what they can do to a person. he looks at how vulnerable you are, how your heart is bleeding in front of him and how easily he can and will break it. he never wants to give anyone that power over him. no fucking way.

"i can feel your pain," you try again, and before he can reply you continue. "can you at least feel mine?" you look absolutely devastated with your eyebrows furrowed pleadingly, sobs racking your body. you look like you're going to be sick.

"i can't and i don't wanna," he answers flippantly with a shrug and a lopsided smile. "that's how much you mean to me." he knows exactly what to say and how to say it, the way only somebody who really knows you ever can. it's the final nail in the coffin for you. you will lock your heart for him in it and bury it as deep as it'll go.

"i've been waiting for you, you know? always. always." your eyes trail down to his hastily thrown on shirt and hickeys adorning his neck. at this, his jaw clenches and his eyes actually close in shame. you're not sure where your pain ends and his begins, but for the first time, you don't really care. a burning rage fills your heart and your dignity demands to be taken seriously for the first time. you're a doormat, sure, but you won't be anymore. not for him, anyway.

"i don't want to see you anymore. don't you ever fucking talk to me again," you finish and with a spin on your heel you're sprinting towards the door.

-

you are true to your word. when you walk into class after the entire debacle, you don't even spare him a glance. even if you can feel his gaze on you, you remain perfectly unfazed. he asked for this, he thinks. it's the way it should be. still, nothing really consoles him when he sees how tired you look. he can't feel your pain, but he can very well see it, and he wishes he could take it away. he regrets what he said to you, but he knows you'd never give up if he had given you even a sliver of a way out.

you're a good girl, though. a lot of people will come your way if you'll just let them. he feels a pang in his chest when he thinks about what they'll be like. he doesn't like to imagine it very much, but his thoughts wander that way more than he'd like to admit. he can't fathom anyone being good enough for you, really. especially not him.

do you feel the way he hates himself for the way he has to treat you? he doesn't know for sure, but he's pretty convinced when he sees you put your head in your hands, shoulders shaking. soobin quietly asks if you're alright before you bolt out of the room.

-

it's an end of the year house party thrown by soobin's new friend and former project partner, yeonjun. you truly, honest to god, do not want to go, but sumin really wants you to and you feel guilty because you're unsure when you'll see her again after graduation.

you sit almost catatonically as she does your hair and makeup, dressing you as if you're some kind of doll. when she's finished playing dress-up, you have to give credit where it's due. you look like a new person, but you can still feel the rotten old you underneath the shiny veneer, and it doesn't feel very good at all.

you're sitting in a circle, passing a blunt around when someone mentions him. it's innocuous enough, but you still flinch when you hear it. they joke about how he's probably upstairs getting his dick wet with some exchange student who's only here for a semester. you don't think that's true, if only because you can feel the pull and it feels so fucking lonely and isolated there can't possibly be anyone else around him, but it still hurts to hear all the same.

sumin gets blackout drunk fairly quickly, which is nothing new. what is new, however, is how you match her shot for shot and chug for chug. you know in your head that you should stop, but your heart keeps telling you to drown it, drown it, drown it until you can't feel the pull anymore. so you do.

-

"my god, you're drunk!" yeonjun exclaims when you're literally about to fall over and bust your head open.

"i'm not drunk, you're drunk!" you hiccup. he almost laughs before he sees you grip your stomach and gag. he thinks it's the alcohol, but in reality, you feel the loneliness beomgyu felt dissipating and you can only imagine what he's doing to cope. fuck, you didn't want to feel this.

"c'mon, girl. don't throw up here. let's go to the bathroom." he leads you up the stairs into some shitty bathroom that doesn't even have toilet paper. you kneel in front of the toilet and let yourself go, tears marring your carefully crafted makeup.

yeonjun gently grabs your loose hair and twists it into a makeshift ponytail. when he sweeps the last few strands from behind your ears, he sees it. all pretty and pink, ornate but unassuming. the seal you share with beomgyu.

"oh fuck," he says simply. you're drunk, too drunk, but even you know what he means.

"don't... don't look at it," you hiccup as a fresh wave of tears stream down your cheeks. "i want it gone," you whine, futilely scraping at it with your fingernails. in your head, you know it won't do anything. seals are permanent and even a tattoo couldn't cover it — it'd just resurface. in your aching heart, though, the thought of having beomgyu's matching seal makes you sick and you're willing to do almost anything to get it off of you.

"what the fuck is going on here?" a voice you'd recognize from anywhere emerges from the bathroom doorway. soobin. "what happened to you?!"

he's kneeling down to your level and wiping the mascara from under your eyes. yeonjun is still holding your hair back, so it's only a matter of time before the seal catches soobin's eye. it takes him a second to place where exactly he's seen it before, but once he does he murmurs a simple "oh shit."

you'd laugh at the similar reactions from the two boys if you felt anything other than misery at the moment. soobin grabs a rag from god knows where and wets it to tenderly brush around your lips. yeonjun tactfully lets go of your hair and escapes from the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. you sit in silence.

"you know, this is a really bad time," he begins awkwardly, "but i want to remind you that the seal stuff doesn't matter to me. i know it matters to you right now, and that's okay, but it doesn't have to be that way forever." it takes you a minute to really process what he's saying and understand the implication behind his words. once you finally do, you're shocked to say the very least.

"do you still like me when i'm like this?" you say, mouth agape, tongue still heavy from the vomit.

"i do," he replies simply.

"really?"

"really, really."

-

beomgyu knew you felt his pain as soon as you said it, but he didn't know to what extent until he hears you sobbing in the bathroom. the walls are paper thin and you're not exactly quiet, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't straining his ears to ensure he's catching every word. and catch every word he does — even the ones you exchange with soobin — the ones that pierce his heart, and yours, apparently, because you wail when you feel it.

-

being with soobin is simultaneously the hardest and the easiest thing you've ever done. he starts off slowly, as if he's afraid to break you even more than you're already broken. he's patient with you even when you're sad about a certain somebody, and never makes you feel guilty for it.

when you're bawling your eyes out one night and cancel your plans with him, you're surprised to hear a knock on your apartment door, anyway. you look through the peephole and see a familiar figure with a smile on his face. you hurriedly wipe the mascara from under your eyes and pull your hood up to cover your fucked up hair.

"what are you doing here?" you ask once you open the door.

"i was just in the neighborhood and thought you might want some ice cream," he says simply.

you snort. the "neighborhood" in question is a good 20 minutes from his apartment, but you don't ask any questions for fear that he might actually leave.

and so you sit on the living room floor with a movie playing in the background as white noise. you forgo the formalities and both of you are digging into a, frankly, alarmingly large tub of ice cream with nothing but two spoons. he pokes your reddened nose when you eventually start to drift off into space and remember your soulmate doesn't want you. he doesn't ask any questions, either. just boops your nose and you're back to reality and giggling at his childishness.

being with soobin is so easy, so comforting, that when he eventually asks you to be his girlfriend, you say yes.

-

on graduation day, beomgyu feels an excitement he sincerely did not anticipate. sure, he was happy to graduate, but he had no idea he'd be fucking elated. he has no clue why he's so ridiculously excited when he's honestly not even sure what he'll do after college, but when your name is called to collect your diploma and his heart is racing so fast he feels like it might explode, beomgyu comes to a damning realization: it's not his happiness he's feeling... it's yours.

the revelation is fully enforced when he sees you leaving the stage and hugging soobin. he feels your heart skipping a beat when he watches your fingers lacing with the other man's. he can't quite understand it, but the contentment you feel juxtaposes the sadness brewing inside of him. the sense that something is missing feels more palpable than ever. you walk off with soobin, swinging your interlocked hands while he gently brushes his thumb against your fingers. you don't look beomgyu's way even once, and his eyes start to burn when he realizes that image will forever be seared into his head. he has nobody to blame but himself.

-

beomgyu can feel your joy now and it makes him sick. he feels the butterflies in your stomach as you slow dance with soobin. feels your first kiss and the thrums of electricity permeating from your lips to your toes. he even feels your excitement before soobin makes love to you for the first time and the pure bliss that comes after. he feels it all and it's enough to make his stomach churn. he wonders if you can still feel his pain, and on some level, he hopes you do. maybe he's selfish, but it would serve as another reminder that he's bound to you and you to him. it doesn't feel like you can, though. how could you be so happy if you felt even a fraction of the weight on his chest? he's drowning every day and you're out playing first comes love then comes marriage with soobin. he's currently looking at your instagram from a burner account (you blocked him on his main) and he's trying to keep his pain tucked carefully behind his ribs, where his heart is, but it's constantly threatening to overcome him. you look different — not bad — just different. you're glowing now, it seems, and your hair is always down. he has a guess as to why that might be, and it pains him to think about it. this must be the yearning everyone, including you, had felt. he supposes he should be happy that you're happy, but he's never claimed to be a good person, and the sight of a picture of you planting a kiss on soobin's cheek is enough to twist the knife in his chest.

notes pt. 2: hi :,) i hope you all liked this one. if not, i'm sorry :,) my pacing is sooo bad but i'm working on it i swear ( ཀ͝ ∧ ཀ͝ ) feedback is always appreciated!! and yes, there will be a part 2.