#but now it's going to take a Lot of time for him to take any affection from blitz as genuine

[bruhstories]

touch-starved

summary: dante is touch-starved, and he thinks the only way for him to feel something is to get punched by you

pairing: dante x afab!reader | based on the netflix version but definitely canon divergent

warnings: dry humping, unprotected p in v, creampie, degradation kink, very light choking, lots of swearing, kind of soft dom dante and light pain kink if you squint, idiots in love, friends to lovers, bit of praise, fem bodied reader

w/c: ~3.2k

a/n: this is definitely not my best work but it's a warm up ig. lol anyway i absolutely loved the dmc netflix version, and i'm considering getting the games

"Punch me."

Not a question, but an indisputable demand coming from the demon hunter, which made you do a double take, place the barrel of your M4 carbine on the table, and flat-out refuse.

"No."

He snarled, yes, snarled at you, slamming his pistol against the table with a loud bang. You looked up from your own weapon, taken aback by Dante's reaction, concern written all over your face. Was he high??

"Come on, Y/N, just do it. Just one punch, one tiny little punch. I know you want to." His cocky grin did numbers on your nerves, but you still refrained from giving him the satisfaction of hitting him. It’s been years since you met Dante, by this point you were used to his shenanigans.

"Why, though?" You decided to focus on cleaning your weapon, the sharp smell of isopropyl alcohol filling the room.

"Because," Dante groaned, snatching the bottle of liquid from you, causing you to glare daggers at him, "I'm touch starved."

You blinked once, twice, trying your hardest to process both his honesty, and the logistics of his request.

"Why not ask for a hug, then? Or, I don't know, go to therapy?"

"Hah! I'm sure my therapist is gonna have a field day with me! So, my dad, a demon, disappeared without a trace, then my mother and twin brother died, but actually my brother is alive somewhere. My therapist is gonna need a therapist."

"Okay, okay, you made your point. Still, you could just rephrase it. Maybe leave out the demon bit." You wiped the barrel clean before setting it aside.

"I'd rather get punched. Now, please."

"Dante, a punch isn’t gonna solve it. Are you sure you don’t want a hug? I could cook you something. Or we could grab a few beers and watch a movie, or talk about your feelings." You shrugged.

Both of you had done this before — went out for drinks, danced, cooked together, fell asleep together — it was so intimate, almost like you were a couple. But the reality was that you weren’t. Not by a long shot. Unfortunately for you, Dante was protective of you in the way an older brother was. You thought that, perhaps, he missed Vergil so much that you were the closest thing he had to a sibling in years.

"A punch would be less time consuming. Cooome on, babe, just hit me!"

You hated when he called you babe. He called other girls babe, girls that were hot, pretty, girls that were his type, and it was the nickname that made you clench your jaw and purse your lips.

"Ugh, fine!" You sat up, rotated your wrist and flexed your fingers. "Are you sure this is going to help in any way?"

"Positive. Right here." Dante pointed at his cheek.

"What, in your face?"

"You're stalling."

Without a single ounce of hesitation you swung your arm, hitting the demon hunter square in his face, but it caused you more pain than it did him, and you stumbled back, holding your fist in your other hand.

"Son of a fucking bitch!" You cried out in pain, knowing damn well that would happen. Still, you couldn't say no to him. Ever.

"Are you okay?" Dante was visibly concerned — a rare sight since he was always cool and edgy, even when his own life was in danger.

"Fuck no! Feels like I punched a brick wall!" You practically growled at him, gaze quickly softening when you saw the pure look of terror in his eyes. "But hey, nothing a little ice can't fix, right?"

"Right." He nodded and got up, making a beeline for the freezer.

There was no ice in it, but there was a pack of frozen peas somewhere at the bottom of a drawer, which Dante picked up and brought to you. When you reached for it, he, instead, took your sore hand in his, gently pressing the cold legumes onto your knuckles. You winced, instinctively trying to retract your hand, but he held it in place, his fingers wrapped around your wrist to stop you from backing away.

The pain wasn't gone, but it was becoming bearable, and a relieved murmur escaped past your lips, one that sounded closer to a moan than a sigh. Dante's cheeks burned, tinted red with embarrassment and arousal because you were yet another girl in his life who just didn't want to be involved romantically with him. Not that he tried anything with you, because he always thought you deserved better. Sure, he was cocky and flirtatious, but he wasn't a dick. If no one reciprocated the flirting, he didn't push his luck. It was simple. And he wasn’t the type who did one-night stands, despite the rumours. Dante enjoyed having a connection to the people he took to bed, he became sexually attracted to those he knew on a deeper emotional level. But sometimes, when he was really, truly desperate, he would download Tinder and hook up with random girls.

And he reeked of desperation.

"Dante, you can let go of my hand now."  You told him, part of you hoping he wouldn't.

Who could blame you? He was an objectively attractive man, with a charming smile and a body sculpted by the gods themselves. Why would he ever want to get involved with you? Dante was your opposite — he talked, he sang, he danced, he was obnoxious. You were quiet, most of the time, and shy. In fact, when he first met you, he thought you had some form of speech impediment, with your nose in Boccaccio’s The Decameron, a book you stole from the public library because you were much too young to read. That’s when knew you were trouble, just like him.

"Yeah, of course." Dante stepped back. "How's your hand?"

"Better. How are you feeling?"

"Me? Why are you asking?"

"Hello?" You scrunched your nose and frowned. "You wanted me to punch you because you were touch-starved. Did it help?"

"I'll be honest, it felt more like a tickle than anything." He shrugged. "Are you sure you didn't pull your punch?"

There it was, the one thing that turned you from an introvert to a bat-shit crazy bitch — his stupid little mouth that he opened without ever thinking.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You're telling me I risked breaking my bones so you could feel better, only for you to not feel anything? I swear to fucking God, Dante, this is the last time I'm doing anything nice for you."

"Nice? You punched me!" He threw his hands up in exasperation, while your blood boiled inside of you, sending you into a blind rage.

"You asked me to punch you, you maniac! You should've fucked me instead!"

Your eyes widened at the sentence that came out of your mouth without a single thought, mortified at your own stupidity.

"Hugged. I meant hugged. Shit."

"No, no, hold up, you didn't say hugged." Dante tilted his head, one hand rubbing his chin. "Isn't that called a Freudian slip?"

"I- well- how the fuck do you even know what a Freudian slip is?" You tried changing the subject but he didn't bite.

"Google." He closed the gap between the two of you, and for the first time you felt intimidated by him. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

The bluntness of his question, coupled with the sudden change in the pitch of his voice made you feel like a cornered prey. There was no possible way he was serious. But he wasn't wrong — the nature of your jobs made it impossible for either of you to have partners, and besides, you've known each other for years. It was only natural that some form of physical attraction would have developed between you two, right? But why you? Why now? And the worst of all your questions, why not?

You didn’t want to think about how this would ruin almost a decade of friendship. All you could think about was the look of pure lust in his eyes as he held your gaze, and how months upon months of sexual frustrations accumulated inside of you, bubbling and boiling and exploding when you dropped the pack of peas on the floor.

"Yes. I want you to fuck me."

Without a sliver of hesitation, you felt him pick you up with ease, hands roaming up and down his back as he slammed you down onto the table, desperately pushing away all the guns and knives. How thoughtful of him. Your hands slithered under his blood red coat while he tugged at your t-shirt, pulling it over your head to expose your bare breasts to him.

"No bra? Kinky." Dante stopped to take a better look at you.

"Stop talking." You firmly told him, but the chuckle that erupted from your throat betrayed you.

He was the one person you felt most comfortable around, so much so that you didn't feel weirded out by him pressing his lips onto your neck, or his fingertips bruising the plush of your hips, or his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipples. No, it felt natural, too natural, like your skin was made to be touched by him.

With his coat on the floor, you tackled his shirt, effectively tearing it off of him because you were just as desperate as he was, and Dante pulled your body closer to his, your clothed cunt accidentally rubbing against the bulge in his trousers. You were aching from the lack of sex, and you uncontrollably moaned at the tiny bit of friction before mumbling a weak 'sorry.'

"Fuck, don't be. That's actually kind of hot." He shamelessly admitted, and you rose a brow.

"Yeah? Then you wouldn't mind me doing it again?" You chewed on your lower lip, but he could see past the fake innocence when you rolled your hips, frantically and feverishly rubbing your clit through the layers of fabric. "Shit, I could come just from this."

For a split second, Dante wondered if this was all real. What happened to your shyness? How was it possible that his best friend, the quiet, nerdy girl he'd known for such a long time, was worse than any demon he'd ever encountered? Not that he was a saint. Far from it, because when you threw your head back, desperate to climax, his is eyes darkened, black seeping into his sclera. It should've made you afraid, but it had the opposite effect. The thought that he could activate his Devil Trigger and quite literally snap you like a twig turned you on.

"Do it, then." Dante's hand snaked behind the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. "Show me just how needy you are."

Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead as you fucked yourself on the half-demon, fog settling in your brain with each breath, each movement, each beating of your heart. Faster. Harder. Faster. Harder. Faster.

"Oh-" Any sentence you tried to utter stopped in your throat, replaced by a string of whimpers and curses. Whatever you were trying to babble was reduced to incoherent words.

"Well shit, I didn't know you were such a filthy little slut."

"Just- oh- shut up-"

"Hmm, I don't think you really want me to shut up." Dante sneered when you picked up the pace. "I think you like it when I talk like this."

"N-not true!" You yelped as he pinched your nipple, barely doing anything and yet you were a mess already.

"So, you don't want me to call you a fucktoy, then? Bet you're dripping right now. Bet you want me balls deep inside of you."

"Fuck, I'm gonna come!" You proved his point when your entire body quivered under his, mind blank and vision blurry.

"There, there." Dante pressed his lips onto your forehead. "I got you."

The noise of his belt unbuckling made you snap your eyes open, filling you with newfound desire and guilt — poor Dante, his cock was probably aching by now while you had the time of your life. He stepped back, letting his trousers pool at his feet, and you lifted your skirt to peel your panties off. You caught him staring at you, taking the sight in, and what a sight it was — locks of hair fell out of your bun, sticking to your sweaty temples, your legs still shaking from the orgasm, and your cunt dripping wet.

"I'd love to eat you out, babe, but my balls are genuinely gonna explode." He confessed, earning a giggle from you. Even with his eyes pitch black and his Devil Trigger on the verge of activating, Dante was still Dante. And you loved that about him.

"Hurry up and fuck me, then."

"Are you that desperate that you forgot your manners?" He dug his fingertips into the plush of your hips, violently pulling you closer to him.

"Please hurry up and fuck me?" You pouted.

"Good girl, that's better." Dante pushed your leg to the side with his elbow, dragging his cock up and down your slit.

You didn't get the chance to take a look at it, but the tip felt huge, so much so that you gasped, propping yourself on your elbows to see better, and you were not disappointed. In fact, you were concerned. You could not take it.

"Dante, it's not gonna fit."

He shook his head with a half-smile, finding your concern quite cute.

"I'll make it fit."

It was both a promise and a threat, but you trusted him. God, you trusted him with your life. He slowly and gently pushed the tip, your slick more than enough to lubricate his cock, but he stopped every time you looked uncomfortable to make sure you were okay.

"Tell me if it's too much."

"No, you can- it's fine, keep going." You closed your eyes, the discomfort causing you to clench around him instead of relaxing, which made Dande forget how to breathe or think.

But the worst came to a halt when he was fully in, stopping briefly to allow you to accommodate to the size. Your breathing went back to normal soon enough, and the last ounce of pain in your body was swiftly replaced by a surge of electricity when Dante moved, slowly and softly rolling his hips, unable to abstain any longer. And you didn't want him to when his cock filled you up so good, reaching places you didn't even know existed inside of your body. Your fingernails dug into his back, clawing at his skin with desperation and impatience, like you needed more than what he was already giving you.

"See? I told you I’ll make it fit. And you take me so well." Dante said, dragging his mouth over your neck, your scent overloading his senses.

But it just wasn't enough. No matter how painful, you wanted it-

"Harder."

Assertive, demanding, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he pulled back to look at you, as if not believing your request.

"A minute ago, you were wriggling in pain, now you want it harder?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation. "I want it harder, faster, please-"

You were shushed by two digits forcing open your mouth, and you instinctively wrapped your lips around them, sucking obediently.

"You talk too much." He gave you a taste of your own medicine. "Should've known you were just a dumb little cocksleeve."

The degrading words caused you to moan and drool around his fingers, tears welling up in your eyes. Each thrust had you clench tighter, the tip of his ridiculously large cock punishing your cervix. Pain and pleasure bubbled inside of you, sparking through your body as Dante practically ripped his fingers from your mouth, only to wrap them around your throat. He was a hungry man, and you were dinner — arching your back to get closer, deeper, you fucked yourself on his cock with his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, and he revelled in your worship.

"Shit, you like it when it hurts, don't you?" He whispered, squeezing harder while you nodded eagerly. "Of course you do."

Of course you did. How could you not when he fucked you so good that your dignity and modesty were long forgotten? When Dante stripped you of your decency to bring out the worst in you? You felt your second orgasm build up, causing you to twitch under him, eyes rolling back as you slipped your hands under his arms, holding on for dear life.

"Again- gonna come again, Dante! Fuck!"

"Atta girl." He held your quivering body, his own hips stuttering, brutally thrusting into you with raw, animalistic passion.

You came undone on his cock, fingers carding through his hair, pushing away white locks to look at his pretty eyes while his arm slithered under your lower back to both support you and bring you closer to him. Dante was close, his throbbing cock still stretching your sore cunt out. He bucked his hips, splitting you open while you latched your arms around his neck, tits pressed against his chest and your lips ghosting over his earlobe.

"Almost there, babe." Dante promised. "You're doing so well." He pulled back, nearly on edge, but you squeezed your legs tighter around his waist.

"Don't pull out." You demanded, and that was enough to help him reach enlightenment.

He filled you up, and when he did pull out, watching his cum slowly leak out of you, you could've sworn he whispered 'marry me' under his breath. Surely it was just the brain fog, or the post-orgasm high. Your whole body was numb, and you stumbled into Dante's arms when you tried to get down from the table, muscles sore and aching.

"You wanna get pizza?" He nonchalantly asked, as if he didn't just fuck his best friend.

"I- shouldn't we talk about this?" You avoided looking into his eyes, opting to stare at the floor instead.

"About what?"

God, he was either insufferably oblivious or remarkably good at pretending.

"Us." You sighed.

"What's there to talk about?" Dante's fingers found your chin, and he gently lifted it up, forcing you to look at him.

"Don't make this harder for me, please. You know things won’t be the same now. We’re not in a relationship and-"

"I don't follow." Confusion was written all over his face. "Do you not want to be my girlfriend?"

"Girl- I- hold up, what? Do you want me to be your girlfriend?" You tilted your head, baffled by his question, because of course you wanted to. You just never had the guts to admit that you like him. It was even more shocking that he liked you back. Wasn’t this all just a one-time thing?

"I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious when I fucked you. What, you thought I nut and dip? That I shoot a load and go back on the road? That I cum n go?"

"Wow, please never use those euphemisms ever again." You cringed at his words, trying your best to hide the smile that crept on your lips.

"Christ, babe, you know I don't do one-night stands unless I’m really desperate. And here I thought you were my best friend. Guess I was wrong." Dante gasped, dramatically feigning offence by placing a hand on his chest.

"I’m not your best friend anymore." You said, voice serious and cold, and his charade was quickly replaced by actual worry and offence. "I'm your girlfriend now. And your best friend."

"Okay, I was genuinely concerned. Fuck you." He flipped you off and you sneered.

"You already did."

"Wait, that's my line!"

"Skill issue."

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-One

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, stress + anxiety, strong language, lots of big brother max

Notes — I'm making a moodboard for their apartment as we speak.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

Chapter 21 (Italy—Sochi)

The hotel room was still dark, the light being kept out by the heavy curtains, when he slipped back inside after his morning run with Jon.

She was exactly where he’d left her; curled up on the bed, her knees tucked under her chin, arms wrapped tight around herself. Like she was trying to fold herself down to nothing.

Lando kicked off his shoes without a word. He climbed onto the bed fully dressed, crawling up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his forehead to the curve of her spine. His body was warm, grounding.

“I’m here, baby,” he whispered, voice barely more than a breath. “You’re okay. I’m okay.”

She exhaled, shaky and thin, and Lando tightened his arms around her, one hand splaying wide across her stomach, the other slipping under her hoodie to find the bare skin of her hip. Skin to skin. Just breathing together for a while.

She didn’t say anything. 

Time blurred, slow and syrupy around them. When she finally rolled over to face him, he shifted back just enough to meet her eyes. She pressed her hand to his chest, right over his heart, feeling the steady rhythm of it. Real and alive.

“I hate this part,” she muttered, voice rough from disuse.

Lando smiled. That quiet, steady smile he only ever gave her. "I know, baby,” he said, voice low but sure. “But it matters, yeah? It’s part of you, so we take care of it. No questions."

Her throat went tight, but she nodded anyway.

Then, almost shyly, he shifted, reaching for something under the bed. "I was gonna show you after media day," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a little sheepish. "But... maybe now’s better."

She blinked, caught off guard, as he pulled his helmet out and held it out to her.

At first glance, it looked the same; the familiar colours, the design she knew better than the back of her own hand. Green and blue, his logo on the side. 

But as she tilted it in her hands, the light caught something new, tucked just beneath the visor line, subtle but unmistakable.

A tiny, hand-drawn ‘Amelia’. Barely visible unless you knew where to look.

Her breath hitched.

“I, uh...” Lando’s voice cracked a little, and he gave a helpless little shrug. “Wanted you with me. Even when I’m out there alone.”

Amelia pressed her lips together, hard. She could already taste the salt of her own tears.

She traced the tiny letter with a fingertip, reverent. “You’re not allowed to crash anymore,” she said thickly, trying for a smile.

He gave a breath of a laugh, forehead dropping to hers. “Deal.”

They lay like that for a long time. He puts the helmet back on the floor. She closes her eyes and lets herself feel it — Safe. Together.

— 

Lando followed a strict diet plan.

That plan did not involve pancakes, especially not the kind drowning in syrup and butter.

Amelia, on the other hand, followed no such diet, and all she wanted was a towering stack of them. Golden, fluffy, dripping with syrup, maybe even a pat of melting butter sliding down the sides.

She sat at the little table in their hotel suite, staring at Lando with a deepening frown, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Was it rude?

Cruel, even?

To crave his favourite breakfast food right in front of him, knowing he couldn’t have any? 

He caught her staring, raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

She hesitated, dragging her spoon around the rim of her empty coffee cup. “I really want pancakes,” she mumbled.

A beat. Then Lando laughed, soft and disbelieving, reaching across the table to tug at her sleeve. “Get them then, babe. I don’t mind.”

She shook her head a little too quickly. “No. You can’t have any. Feels mean.”

His smile faltered, confusion creasing his brow. “Amelia, it’s not mean. I swear. I’m fine.”

But she still looked miserable, like she was stuck in a fight with herself she couldn’t win. Her hands twisted in the hem of her hoodie, and her chest rose in a tight, frustrated breath she couldn’t seem to let go.

Lando’s heart ached at the sight of her, working herself up over something as silly as pancakes.

He stood up, coming around the table, crouching down in front of her. His hands found hers, stilling their nervous fidgeting.

“Alright,” he said gently. “No pancakes. Let’s go get smoothies instead before we head to the track. Just me and you.”

She nodded wetly, blinking hard. “Okay.”

“Good girl,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Go get dressed. I’ll call the concierge service.”

—

At the track, she was still holding her berry smoothie, tight between both hands, when she wandered into Max’s garage.

Max turned to look at her, a familiar gruffness to his expression, but something softer beneath it. In his hands, he was holding a takeout box.

“Your boyfriend thinks I’m a breakfast service now,” he said, deadpan, lifting the box a little. The scent of pancakes hit her almost immediately. Warm. Sweet. Comforting.

Amelia blinked. “He— what?”

Max huffed a quiet laugh, not sounding mad at all. “Told me you wanted pancakes. Said if he couldn’t get them for you himself, he’d get me to do it.” He shoved the box at her, almost awkwardly. “Here. Before they get cold.”

Amelia blinked down at the box, then back up at Max.

She opened it carefully, the smell of syrup and butter blooming up to meet her. Her throat tightened again, but this time for a completely different reason.

Max caught the wobbly look on her face and groaned. “Don’t cry,” he said, gruffly. “It’s just pancakes, meisje.”

She laughed, watery and embarrassed, and Max rolled his eyes like it was all terribly inconvenient for him, but he nudged a stool toward her with his foot anyway.

“Sit,” he ordered. “Eat.” When she hesitated, he gave her a look. The one he usually reserved for the engineers when they said something particularly stupid over the radio. “I didn’t carry them all the way through the paddock for you to just stare at them.”

She giggled, sliding onto the stool, picking up the fork tucked into the side of the box. She took a bite, chewing obediently under Max’s piercing watch.

Only then did he seem to relax, folding his arms across his chest.

There was a long moment where neither of them said anything. Just the low background noise of the garage coming to life, the clatter of tyre trolleys and the buzz of chatter. Finally, Amelia set the fork down, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I’m not just crying over pancakes, you know,” she said quietly, not quite looking at him.

Max tilted his head, like he already knew but wasn’t going to make her say it unless she wanted to.

She sniffed.

“It’s just...” Amelia tugged at the sleeve of her jacket, her voice low and strained. “After Lando’s crash, and yours, and…” She trailed off, pressing her lips together, trying to make the words line up properly in her head before they left her mouth. “I don’t believe in luck.” Her tone was almost reverent in its certainty, like she was reciting a law. “It’s not real. It’s just a human attempt to impose meaning on random variables. A way to feel like we have control when we don’t.” She sucked in a breath, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve again. “But even knowing that... it still feels like we’re running out of it.”

Max was quiet for a beat.

Then he sighed and knocked his elbow gently against her arm. “You’re allowed to be anxious. After everything.”

She gave him a weak smile.

“I feel weak,” she admitted.

“You’re not,” Max said immediately, firm enough that she almost believed it. “You care. That’s not weak.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing around like he didn’t want to make a big deal of it. “We’re all a little fucked up about it, Amelia. You just show it more. That’s not an awful thing.”

She blinked hard, willing herself not to cry again.

“Eat your pancakes,” Max added, gruff again. “Otherwise I’m telling Lando you’re wasting his favourite food, and then he’ll be the one crying.”

Amelia laughed, properly this time, and picked up the fork again.

Max looked pleased with himself in that deeply annoying older brother way.

— 

Amelia sat cross-legged on a bench in the paddock, arms folded as she watched Lando and Daniel make fools of themselves in front of the McLaren social media intern. They were filming some ridiculous challenge; Lando was pretending to dodge invisible obstacles, flailing around in his usual dramatic style while Daniel egged him on.

It didn’t take long before her dad appeared next to her, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at the two drivers. “What are they doing?” He asked. 

Amelia glanced up at him. “Pretending to be professional athletes.”

Zak shook his head with a quiet laugh and leaned back against the bench. His eyes softened as he looked at her. “How’s the move going?”

She shrugged. “Good. Slow. We’ve got the keys, so the place is ours, but back-to-back races make it difficult to find time to actually get there and sort everything out.”

He nodded, listening intently. “You had the decorators in?”

Amelia gave him a quick nod. “Yeah. And the furniture’s all set up. It’s ready to move in, but… I don’t know. I feel like I’m going to want to move some things around, you know? Maybe air it out before we spend the first night there.”

“Hows the rent?” Zak asked, his voice taking on that dad-like curiosity.

Amelia blinked. “Rent?”

Her dad looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Yeah, honey. I was going to ask if you needed any help—”

She cut him off with a small, exasperated laugh. “No. No rent. Lando bought it.”

Zak froze, blinking at her like he hadn’t quite heard right. “Wait, what?”

Amelia gave him a look, more confused than anything. She was sure she hadn’t mumbled. “I said, Lando bought it.”

“I heard you.” Zak’s voice shifted, a sudden tension in his expression. “Did you… did you split it?”

Amelia let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “As if. I paid for breakfast the other day and he properly went off at me. He hates it when I spend my money. He knows that I have money — Max pays me really well, but it doesn’t seem to matter.” She shrugged. 

Her dad let out a long breath. “Well… I’m happy for you, honey. I’m glad you’ve found a place to call your own, even if you’re gonna be living in a different country.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “You can visit. And we’ll still be at the same races most of the year anyway.”

Zak glanced back at her, eyes flickering between Lando and her. “I didn’t realise it was this serious between you two,” he said quietly. “I mean, I know Lando has money, but… buying an apartment? That’s...”

Amelia met his eyes with a gentle, knowing smile. “Yeah, it’s serious, Dad. It has been a while now, almost two years.” 

Her dad’s expression softened, though the anxiety in his face lingered. “I just want to make sure you’re both okay. That’s all.”

“We’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about us. We’ve got this handled.”

“Yeah, well… I’m still your dad.” He pulled her into a side hug, his voice softening. “Just make sure he takes care of you.”

“He does,” she replied simply.

“Good.” He nodded, then winced as his drivers collided in a heap on the ground. “Jesus.”

Amelia made a face. “He’s getting better at the whole ‘responsible adult’ thing. This... this is just a relapse.”

Her dad chuckled. “If you say so. Just—promise me one thing.”

“What?” She blinked at him, curious.

“Don’t elope. You’re both,” he winced. ”Way too young to get married.” 

She paused, the thought of Lando giving her a ring, of wearing a silky white dress, of saying ‘I do,’ and being his in every way, even in the eyes of the law, flashing in her mind. No more waiting for permission to visit him in medical. “Okay. Sure.” She said. 

— 

Max was pacing back and forth in the motorhome, the floor creaking slightly with each heavy step as he muttered to himself. His hands were clenched into fists, and his jaw was tight with frustration. Amelia sat at the small table, quietly watching him. 

She knew him well enough to understand that this was just his way of processing things. He needed to burn through the fury before he could think clearly again.

“—can’t believe him,” Max grumbled, stopping momentarily and running a hand through his hair. “He’s such a hypocrite. Acting like he’s the only one who can race, like he’s the only one who understands the rulebook; as though I haven’t studied it front-to-back every year since I joined this sport.”

Amelia reached for her tablet, pulling up their strategy sheets. 

“Just because he’s been around longer, he thinks he can say whatever he wants and get away with it. Ridiculous,” Max continued, his voice rising a little. He threw his hands in the air, making a frustrated noise. “I’m done letting him get away with it.”

Amelia didn’t look up from her screen, though she was still listening. 

Max continued to rant, his voice growing softer but still tinged with that simmering anger. He was still venting about Lewis and the press conference, repeating things he’d already said. It was the same thing, over and over, but Amelia didn’t let it distract her. She was focused. 

Finally, Max stopped in his tracks and stared at her, eyes narrowed. “You’re not even listening, are you?”

Amelia blinked, surprised by the question, her attention snapping back to him. “Of course I am. You’re still complaining about Lewis, right?”

Max snorted, a sound somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “You’re unbelievable.”

Amelia gave him a half-smile. “You just needed to get it out,” she said, shrugging. “You’ll be fine.”

“You always say that,” Max muttered, his voice softer now, tinged with a quiet frustration. “But it just... gets to me sometimes, you know? He knows exactly how to get under my skin.”

“I know,” Amelia replied, her voice low and steady. “Mind games.”

Max rubbed the back of his neck. “It feels like he’s trying to bait me every time we cross paths. It’s like... I can’t win. He knows how to push all the right buttons.”

Amelia nodded, her eyes flicking back to the tablet as she continued to mentally calculate the tire strategies. “I get it. He’s good at it, and it’s easy to let it get to you.”

Max exhaled through his nose, running his hand through his hair. “It’s just... it makes me so angry.”

She looked up at him then, her gaze steady, almost sympathetic. “I know. But you’re not going to beat him by doing something stupid. You’ll beat him by doing what you do best—racing.”

Max paused, processing her words. For a moment, he seemed to calm down, his anger losing some of its heat as he absorbed her advice. 

He gave a small nod, the fire in his eyes shifting toward something she couldn’t quite place. “Right. Racing.”

Amelia stared at him, trying to work out what that new intensity in his gaze meant. It was different; darker, sharper. More focused.

And it didn’t look friendly.

She frowned, but before she could ask, Max turned his back to her, grabbing a bottle of water and opening it with a sharp twist.

— 

Amelia stood quietly at the edge of the F2 podium celebrations, her eyes focused on Oscar as he soaked in the victory, the Australian flag draped behind him. 

Oscar’s attention flicked over to her, and a small smile passed between them. He waved briefly, and she waved back. 

—

“That’s what happens when you don’t leave the space.”

Amelia’s jaw was clenched so tight it ached as she stared at the broadcast. Her eyes flicked to Jos, who stood behind her, just as pissed.

“Idiot.” One of the mechanics spat from the corner of the garage.

Amelia’s eyes flicked to him. Without hesitation, she snapped, “Hey. Shut up. Lewis turned in on him. What was he supposed to do? You want to talk shit, do it somewhere else.”

The mechanic blinked, caught off guard by the uncharacteristic sharpness of her voice, before he stormed off, muttering under his breath.

She turned back to the screen, chest tight with anger, fists clenched at her sides. 

Jos moved to stand beside her. “He was angry before the race.” 

Amelia shook her head, trying to convince herself. “He wouldn’t have done that on purpose.” But even she could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

Jos tutted in frustration. “I’ll talk to him. You will, too.” He gestured angrily at the replay of the incident. “Preventable. Doesn’t matter what anyone says. Today, he could’ve scored points, but now he won’t even see the flag. Idiot.”

Amelia’s gaze stayed fixed on the screen. Lewis’ car had been pinned under Max’s, and she couldn’t help but feel a brief flicker of concern for him, wondering if he was alright. But that thought quickly shifted as her mind refocused on Max.

She knew he had been aware of the situation; he was a numbers guy, a good strategist. Max would’ve seen Lewis coming out of the pits, on an arguably better strategy and known.

Advantage Hamilton. 

— 

In the end, Amelia celebrated McLaren’s 1-2 finish as if it were her own. Her ear defenders muffled the roar of the crowd, but she could feel the energy pulsing through the air.

During the Australian national anthem, Lando caught her eye and winked. Her smile was so wide it hurt, but she didn’t care.

Max, suitably chastised, stood a few steps behind her like a loyal guard dog, his presence a steady anchor as she cheered and shouted beneath the podium. Daniel, Lando, and Valtteri were drenched in champagne, spraying each other as the crowd erupted in cheers.

Her dad was a few meters ahead, his pride and excitement palpable. He was beaming, radiating pure thrill at this unexpected result.

Amelia turned to Max once the boys disappeared behind the podium. “Take me to him?” she asked, her voice full of quiet excitement.

Max gave her a curt nod, his hand sliding around her waist to pull her close. Without hesitation, he carved a path through the crowd of competing teams and loud tifosi. 

— 

With a week off between Italy and Russia, it was finally time for them to head back to Monaco.

Walking into the apartment felt... off. It was their home, technically, but it was still so unfamiliar. The walls were too quiet, the space too pristine — a show house rather than a home. 

After an hour of restless pacing, Amelia couldn't stand it anymore. She had to make it hers. She started moving things around, adjusting the placement of Lando’s trophy case, taking all her soft furnishings out of the still-packed moving boxes and draping them over the furniture. She fluffed cushions, rearranged the rug, and shifted the vases on the coffee table, making it all feel more... real. More them.

Lando stood by, a soft, patient smile on his face, letting her direct him with quiet instructions as she floated around, making little adjustments. She caught glimpses of him while she worked, seeing how relaxed he looked. He didn’t mind this, didn’t mind how much it mattered to her.

They went to a furniture store next, the kind with well-worn chairs and tables with character. They found a patio set for their balcony, just big enough for the two of them to sit outside in the mornings, watching the world go by. It was perfect. 

Later, they found the bakery, a tiny place just a five-minute walk from their building. The smell of their fresh pastries wafted all the way to their balcony. They served panini at lunch.

Amelia made sure to carve out a walking route that she felt safe doing alone in the mornings when Lando couldn’t be with her. It was a small thing, but it mattered. The little streets, the way the sun reflected off the harbour, the quiet hum of the morning.

Late in the afternoon, Charles FaceTimed Lando, laughing loudly because he could see them from his window. They looked up just in time to see him hanging halfway out of it, waving enthusiastically. He wa grinning from ear to ear.

"Oi, what are you doing, spying on us?" Lando called up, his voice teasing. Charles only waved harder, an exaggerated motion.

“He looks ridiculous,” Amelia said. She still waved back. 

“We are truly neighbours!” Charles celebrated.

Later, they drove across town to Max’s place for dinner. The familiar, comfortable rhythm of the evening soothed Amelia, who sank into the couch, letting Max’s cats climb all over her. She pet them absently, laughing as they curled up, purring loudly. She showered them with kisses, not caring how ridiculous she looked.

Lando watched from the other side of the room, his arms crossed, his expression a mix of mock annoyance and genuine jealousy. He pointed to one of the cats sprawled across her lap, then to himself. "Seriously?" He said. 

Max didn’t miss a beat. "Pathetic," he judged. 

— 

Sochi was… painful.

Lando had been on top form all weekend. He was leading the race with a perfect drive, fluid, controlled, his tire management a thing of beauty. This wasn’t just a win in the making. It was his win. Every corner, every straight, he owned it. 

Then rain appeared on the radar, and Amelia’s heart clenched. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the pit tracker, every second ticking by as she silently pleaded with the McLaren crew to bring Lando in. If they called him in before the others, he’d have a huge advantage. He’d be the only one with proper grip on the track, a chance to pull away while the rest struggled. It was a strategy that could’ve sealed the win.

But they didn’t.

Lando stayed out. He held his lead. And then the rain came down harder.

She watched, helpless, as he aquaplaned two laps from the end of the race. Her stomach dropped. Every muscle in her body tensed, as if trying to reach out and stop the inevitable. The track seemed to swallow him whole as he slid, losing traction, losing everything. First place to seventh in the blink of an eye.

She closed her eyes, the sting of frustration searing through her. She wanted to scream, to tear something apart, anything to dissipate the ache gnawing at her chest.

And then Lewis crossed the line in first place. His 100th victory.

The statistic felt empty to Amelia. It didn’t matter. Not when it came at the cost of Lando’s maiden victory. 

— 

Lando was pacing, hands running through his hair with barely concealed frustration. His words were a jumble of self-recriminations, and Amelia could barely keep up with them.

“I should’ve found a dry spot. I should’ve seen it, felt it. I was right there, so close. God, I—” He stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head, his breath coming in short bursts as if the weight of the race, the rain, and his mistake were all too much.

Amelia was sitting on the couch, watching him with a mixture of patience and concern. “Lando,” she started, her voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. He didn’t stop pacing, but he did glance over at her. “It was the perfect drive. Perfect tire management. You led for most of the race. It wasn’t you who messed this up.”

He scoffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “It was me. I had it in the bag, and then— that stupid fucking corner—”

“Stop saying that,” Amelia interrupted, standing up now. “We’ve been through this. You made the call with what you had in the moment. There’s nothing more you could’ve done.”

He shot her a look, and there was a bitter bite to his words. “I don’t need a pep talk, Amelia. I need to figure out what I did wrong.”

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her own frustration in check. “I’m not giving you a pep talk.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. At this point, all I care about is winning. I need it, Amelia. Daniel got it in Monza, why—” He choked on the words, frustration so thick he couldn’t even talk through it. 

Amelia crossed the room, standing in front of him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

For a moment, his anger flared, his eyes flashing with it, his body tense. “It should’ve been my time. It’s always so damn close, and I can’t—”

She cut him off again, her voice much quieter now, almost a whisper. “You don’t need to do this. You were that close. And you will be again. But right now, I need you to stop beating yourself up. It's not going to help you, and it doesn’t change anything.”

He stared at her, chest rising and falling with each breath, his anger slowly dimming. And then he sighed, the weight of his frustration deflating like a balloon. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice softening. “I know you’re right. I just… I wanted it so badly, baby.”

Amelia stepped closer, touching his arm gently. “I know. And I’m sorry too,” she said, looking up at him with a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “That you lost it.”

He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.” He pulled her into a quick, tight hug, pressing his face against her hair for a moment. “I’ll get it next time. I swear.”

She kissed his neck. “I know.” 

NEXT CHAPTER

[cherrynpink]

freak like me

pairing: nerdy!dino x f!reader

genre: project partners, mutual pining, lots of daydreaming, smut (with a bit of plot) MDNI!

warnings: shy cutesy dino who has my heart (he is a secret freak!), idk how american uni works so just go w it pls, dino and chan are both used interchangeably, oc has nerd kink (ahem), forward oc, cursing, a bit of manipulation?, too many thirsty thoughts, kissing, choking, spit kink, unprotected sex (do not do this!), oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, clit stimulation, brat!oc, brattamer!dino, mean dino, he calls oc slut/whore, dirty talk!!!, riding, missionary position, creampie, size kink?, crying, hair grabbing, ass slapping, orgasm denial, cum eating, it is honestly filthy, lmk if i missed anything!

w.c.: 5.4k

playlist: freak like me

note: thank you so much for liking the last fic so much :( didn't expect such a positive reception so i was super motivated to write this one! plus these pictures of him did something to me like y'all don't get it like i do bcs i went crazy and HAD to write.

also u can message me here or comment if u want to be part of my taglist! my requests are open if u have something u wanna read, or just talk. feedback is highly appreciated hope u like this one hehe :3

“Right, so the semester end project will be a group project.” Your professor says as the whole class sighs in disappointment and annoyance.

“I know you all don’t like these group projects, but it’s compulsory guys, it’s worth 30% of your final grade. If it’s any consolation, I requested the dean to let it be done in pairs, so be a little grateful, I don’t want anyone coming up to me after class asking to change partners.”

Great. The only thing you hated more than group projects were the ones done in pairs. In spite of all the arguments in groups, atleast you didn’t have to do any work if you didn’t feel like it. But now not only will there be conflicts with your partner, but you’ll have to do half the work too. Just great.

“Y/n? miss y/n?” your professor calls pulling you out of your zoned out state as you raise your hand in confusion.

“You’ll be partnered with Mr. Chan.”

Oh. This was going to be fun. Not only was Chan really REALLY good at studies, but also so cute. You first met him just on the second day of class, when you asked him for a pencil because being klutz you are, you had forgotten you had that class that day and had practically rolled off your bed as your roommate woke you up minutes before it started, reaching a bit late and resulting in your professor scolding you. Chan had coyly given you the pencil, later passing you a note in the middle of the class written “you can ask me later if you have any doubts about what was taught before you arrived as you were a bit late :)”. Oh, he was so cute.

That was how your friendship started, though you never talked much outside of class- other than the occasional times he replied to your story or liked it, you and him were mostly formal with each other, never crossing the boundary of “classmates.”

Sometimes you would ask him for his notes, and being the nice guy he is, he would send the snapshots in a second. You would later leave an iced americano on his usual seat, as a gesture of thankfulness; and a note along with it. Sometimes when the professor’s voice cracked in the middle of the lecture, your eyes would find his- giving each other a slight smile.

It was always quick glances, polite words, and soft smiles, because you both never seemed to take it further. But you were tired now, tired of pretending you didn’t picture his face squished under your thighs, glasses all fogged up and your slick dripping down his chin. Tired of acting like you didn’t violate your poor pillow every other night imagining how he would sound with him in your throat.

Was he a head pusher? Or someone that just begged you to let him come? Would he let you tie him up? Or would he want to tie YOU up? you were sick of acting like he didn’t get you so so wet when he answered a question in class and fixed his glasses, and you had a plan to change that.

As the class ends, you see him coming up to you.

“Should we work at the library at 6 today? I’ll get us some coffee and snacks to eat while we work!” he says with a small smile on his face.

You could agree to the library at 6, after all he has pitched it so sweetly, but there is a devil on your shoulder that is actually so evil, because you hear a voice in your head saying no way you’re meeting him in a public place for the things you want to do with him.

“I’m a bit busy at 6 Chan, I-”

“Dino! You can call me dino too. All my friends usually call me that.” He says shyly.

You smile sweetly. “I’m a bit busy at 6 dino, I have my shift at the café.” You say pouting at him. They are blatant lies. You do not have your shift at the café today because it is closed, something about the owner being at a wedding, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You can come over to my place at 10 if it’s okay with you? I doubt the library will the open till the time I get off work.” You feel a bit bad, but you’re just inviting him over because it’s more comfortable at home, right? Yeah! Nothing needs to happen just because you’ll be alone with him. (You are lying to yourself at this point because there is no way you don’t lose your mind at the thought of being alone with him.)

“Oh, okay sure! text me the address, I’ll be there.” He says with a sweet smile and you might crush him because of how much you want to squish his cheeks right now.

Dino might go crazy. He’s not even sure if you could see he wasn’t paying attention to a thing you said, because he was too busy staring at your lips the entire time, and then your collarbones, until his eyes travelled to your tits trapped in your blouse which was just a little too tight. Tight enough to accentuate the curve of your breasts; but not letting them spill out- just tight enough.

On top of that, if he’s left alone with you, he has no idea how he’s going to prevent a tent from forming in his pants, so he opts for a oversized hoodie long enough to cover him and a pair of grey sweatpants because it is your house after all, he can dress casual, and he doesn’t want you to know he took 20 minutes to decide what he wore so that his outfit says-“hey, I’m casual and comfortable” and “I’m put together” at the same time.

He is sharp on time, you say to yourself as the bell rings. You’re a bit nervous approaching the door in your small plaid skirt and sweater, knowing how he always stares at you whenever you wear a skirt to class. Plus, you’re wearing a something a little special underneath it, just it case. You push the self-doubting thoughts to the back of your head as you open your door and he is a sight to see. He looks so delicious in those animal print framed glasses and messy hair, there is a glow on his face and oh, those stupid goddamn grey sweatpants. It is OVER for you.

“You’re very punctual, it’s exactly 10.” You giggle. “Your hair looks a bit of a mess dino, coming from another girl’s place?” you say as you smirk, leaning against the door.

“No! No, I just came from the gym, my hair is still a bit wet from the shower.” He says as he ruffles his hair and comes in, setting his bag on the table in your living room. Oh? Pretty boy goes to the gym as well, is there anything he doesn’t do. He usually only wore oversized hoodies and t-shirts to class, never really revealing his true figure; nor did you ever see him much in parties despite his friends being a part of the frat, so this was a new side of him you were seeing right now.

“My roommate is gonna be home in a bit, so we can work in my room, mhm?” you ask, acting intentionally doe eyed and innocent. Lies. They are all lies. Your roommate isn’t going to be home in a bit, she’s at her girlfriend’s dorm. And she is not going to be home until tomorrow after class. And maybe if Chan was thinking clearly, he would’ve asked why your roommate would mind you working in the living room with him. But he’s not thinking clearly, too busy staring at your legs and imagining his face between your thighs; so, forgive him if he isn’t at his highest functioning brain activity right now.

He murmurs a quiet okay as he follows you to your room as you lead him. And your room is so you. He doesn’t know how to explain it, because he doesn’t know you so well yet, but as soon as he enters through the door, he sees plushies laid out neatly on your bed, and your scent all around him. He can see posters of bands and movies dressing up your walls and random Sanrio figurines all around the room. He lays his bag on your bed, taking out his laptop as you sit next to him on your chair, and your skirt rides up, revealing your soft thighs further. And maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him, but he can almost see pink lace fabric peaking from underneath your skirt. And maybe you’re just a bit cold, but he swears he can see your nipples peeking through your sweater.

Every passing minute, he is making it so hard for you to keep your composure. He keeps sharing his ideas about the project and telling you what you should work on. Why is hearing him talk about physics so sexy? You don’t know what it is, but you can’t help but think how hot he looks when he talks so passionately. Your panties are literally getting soaked as the time goes on. It’s been an hour, and he hasn’t even taken a second to look at you yet! You’re quite literally whoring yourself out for him and all he cares about is inductive motor or whatever the hell the project is about.

“Channie, can we move to the bed? I’m feeling a bit tired from my shift.” You say, fake yawning.

“Mmm? Oh sure.” It is over for him, he thinks to himself.

As you sit up on your bed, your skirt FULLY rides up, revealing your baby pink lace panties. You push it down gently, saying “oops” as you giggle. And something inside him snaps. All control he had, he’s lost it now and he physically cannot hold back anymore. His gaze darkens, as he pushes you down, his grip on your throat as he gets on top of you. You gasp as he takes you by surprise, but the shock lasts barely 5 seconds before you smirk.

You reach up as your lips find his, pulling him deeper into your mouth as you grab his hair. From the get go, it is passionate, and rough and messy, because both of you are left gasping for your breath- your cheeks rosy and your chest heaving. Deciding to tease him further, you bite his lip. He moans into your mouth, mumbling “brat.” Taking the opportunity, you slip your tongue into his mouth deepening the kiss, and it is so sloppy; neither of you willing to give up control. The heat between your legs grows because of the way his tongue fights with yours to take over, which has your head spinning.

“Channie” you moan, as you feel the hard press of his body against yours, the sound of your lips smacking together and your heavy gasping filling the room.

His hand reaches to lift your sweater slightly, fingers making contact with your bare skin as they keep moving upwards until they your lacy bra, delicately toying with the material.

“You wore this for me baby? Knew this was going to happen?”

All you do is giggle as you continue to kiss down his jaw, alternating between sucking and biting. But that doesn’t sit right with him, as his other hand wraps around your neck, squeezing just the right amount so that his grip is tight enough, but still allowing you to breathe, and suddenly you’re flooding your panties.

“This okay?” he asks, his eyes filled with concern and genuine worry, looking for any discomfort in your eyes, desperate for your approval to continue.

You nod, because it’s actually all you can do. He loosens the grip on your throat and begins to pull his hand away as he says “Fuck, if you want me to go on, you’re gonna have to answer me baby.”

You’re quick to bring his hand back on your neck, your head turning left and right in panic, “No! No, please I want it!” you say as he smirks at your desperate state.

“Yeah? Then answer me when I ask you a question baby. You wore this set for me pretty?”

“Just wanted you to notice me, pay attention to me.” You say between kisses.

“And you thought whoring yourself out would be the way to get my attention” he chuckles. “Thought it was a mistake when you flashed me, turns out baby’s just an attention whore.”

He gets off of you and the bed and a whine leaves your throat as he pulls you down by your ankles as your hips reach the foot of your bed in an instant as he begins taking off his glasses.

“No!” you protest. “don’t- don’t take them off, I like them.” You say timidly. He picks you up, flipping your previous position as he seats you on his lap, taking off his hoodie, and you cannot help but stare. You did not know he was SO built and buff, your eyes are practically eating him up as you feel drool building up in your mouth. Oh, you NEED to suck him off right now. And that’s pretty much all it takes for you as you get on your knees for him.

When you look up to him, there is hunger in his eyes, something you’ve never seen before, his gaze full of lust. He can’t remember how many times he’s pictured you like this, on your knees, so innocent, a pathetic expression on your face, waiting for him to give you your next instruction.

Those stupid man whore grey sweatpants, you need them off now.

You fumble with it’s band as you impatiently pull it down, revealing his Calvin Klein boxers, and you clearly have no time for this nonsense, rushing to pull his boxers down as well, all while he looks down on you, leaning back on the bed- hands on either side of him with a big cocky smirk on his face, because he cannot wait to see the next look on your face.

Your face: it’s so transparent, so revealing. It’s literally like you wear your heart on your sleeve. Everything you feel, you think, you want, it’s clear- plain as day on your face. And as soon as you pull his boxers off, there it is- pure amusement and shock, as his dick twitches at the sight of your wide doe eyes. You knew he was big, atleast that’s what you pictured in your nightly scenarios. But you did not know he was this big both in length and in girth as well, his angry tip staring at you, begging for your attention.

“Take your sweater off.” He demands. No pleas, no hesitance. An order. And who would you be to defy him? you teasingly take it off, all while a small smile adorns your lips as you throw the sweater somewhere on the floor alongside his hoodie.

You take his length in your hand, rubbing your thumb over his tip- spreading his pre-cum around it as your eyes go from doe like to those of a siren as they stare straight into his, spitting right on it seductively and oh, he thinks he’s in love. You pump it up and down and fuck- you can’t even completely wrap your hand around it, giving it a little squeeze as you go along, building the tension. But he doesn’t seem too happy about it as he sighs in annoyance. He’s sick of your teasing, because even after his multiple attempts to discipline you, you’ve decided to continue being a brat.

In the blink of an eye, he takes your hand off of him, grabs you by your jaw and squeezes your cheeks between his thumb and fore finger- the rest of the them lying on your jaw, forcing to you part your lips slightly.

“Do you trust me y/n?” he says softly, yet his voice dripping with dominance as you nod.

“Open your mouth, tongue out baby.”

And what he does next takes you by surprise, as he leans down, collecting a glob of spit in his mouth as it drips down from his mouth to yours, making you moan as you close your eyes, feeling the warm liquid on your tongue.

“Swallow.” he says as he caresses your jaw. And his wish is your command; you let out a loud moan as you feel it travel down your throat.

“Good girl. You’ll listen to me now, yeah? No more teasing. I’ve been holding back until now but if you don’t behave, I’ll have to fuck you like the whore you are. Better yet, I’ll eat you out, and get you so so close. I’ll be at it for hours baby, I have no place to be, but I won’t let you cum. So, tell me, you’re gonna be a good girl for me now?”

And all you can do is nod as he smirks, because now, he holds the power over you, and you want him to take over you. Don’t want to think about anything, just do whatever he says. And he can see that, see you fully slipping into subspace.

He holds his dick in his hand, and as your mouth chases his tip, he slaps it against your cheek. All he does is laugh, because you just look so pathetic under him. Tits spilling out of your see through pink lace bra, eyes on the brink of tears, fists balled up in your lap because he won’t let you touch him.

He grabs your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slaps his dick against your other cheek as he says “tap my thigh twice in you wanna stop, okay?” and finally rubs his tip against your lips, parting them immediately as you engulf it in your mouth, sucking on it as if it’s a popsicle, swirling your tongue all around it, making him groan.

Slowly, he pushes his dick in inch by inch until it hits the back of your throat, and its laughable, because half of it still can’t be wrapped around your tiny mouth even though your jaw is doing gymnastics to accommodate half of him and he lets out a loud moan due to the insane pleasure it gives him. Since he won’t let you move yet, enjoying the feeling of cockwarming your mouth too much, you drag your tongue up and down, making him hiss.

Finally, he decides to fuck your throat, sliding your mouth up and down his dick as if your mouth is just a fleshlight for him to use, making your eyes roll back. He starts slow, as to ease you in; but is quick to fasten his pace to meet his needs. But you want to do more, so your hands reach up to play with his balls, and oh does it take him by surprise. All he can do while fucking your mouth is mumble sweet nothings, praising you, telling you how good you’re being letting him use you like this. And his words are working, because at this point your slick is running down your thighs and your cunt is in a desperate need of attention, as you grind it against the heel of your foot and when you look up to him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful. His glasses lay low on his nose as his head is thrown back in pleasure and his hair is messy, sticking to his forehead due to the sweat; yet his hand is precise is controlling your mouth by your hair. His buff chest heaving desperate for air as his ears and cheek are a pretty shade of pink for you.

Suddenly he looks down to meet your eyes staring at him in lust, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything hotter as he sees you grind against your foot pathetically all whilst he fucks your warm mouth. He can feel the vibration of your mouth as you moan around him, and he thinks he’s in heaven. You look so dirty, spit dribbling down your chin, pupils dilated and red with desire, tears streaming down your cheeks because of how deep he’s hitting it right now. He is just so close, but no way he doesn’t cum in your pussy today, so he pulls you off his dick as you welp, a string of spit connecting your lips to his tip.

“I’ll come in your mouth some other day baby, need to be in you right now.” He says responding to your cute pout as he pulls you up to sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his thigh once again.

His hands travel to your back to undo your bra in an instant as it’s thrown somewhere on the bed behind him. Immediately his mouth is attached to your hardened nipple as you let out a loud moaning, feeling his warm tongue on your cold skin.

“I’m so fucking sick of you parading around in this stupid excuse of a skirt that barely covers your ass y/n.” He says as his hands travel down and under your skirt, making contact with your dripping lace, running his fingers up and down. He can feel your slick on his own thighs.

“Oh? You’re already soaked, baby. But I haven’t even touched you yet, wanna tell me what got you so wet?” he says as he mocks you, still not taking his attention off your breasts, sucking them and marking them up with hickeys all around and all you can do is moan as you dig your nails into his back overwhelmed by the pleasure.

“You’re so sensitive, so responsive. I love it baby, so easy for me. Need you to answer me- what’s got you dripping?” he says as he finds your clothed clit, pressing hard against it over the lace.

He’s being so mean right you. The remnants of tears on your cheeks have barely dried up before you can feel yourself getting teary eyed already.

“You! Want you so bad channie! Been wet for you since you walked in the door.” You cry out desperately.

Finally, he stops teasing your covered pussy and pulls it to the side, inserting two of fingers with no warning making you scream out loud. He’s quick to press his thumb to your clit, flicking it as he pumps his fingers into you, all whilst he’s sucking on your tits. His pace is monstrous from the start, and he shows no signs of stopping as he continues to drive them in you, opening you up preparing you to take his big dick. All you can do is drop your head on his shoulder helplessly, taking what he gives you.

“Ah! So good Chan, so- so- fuck! Right there! Need you!” you say as he repeatedly hits your g-spot all while rubbing your clit.

You’ve lost all track of time. You’ve been so close to cumming ever since you saw him walk through your front door that even the slightest touch could get you to your high, and here Chan was, touching you right where you needed, enlightening all your senses.

“I’m about- gonna- gonna cum dino! Please, let me, oh- please let me cum!” you cry out loud, begging him as he pulls out his fingers in an instant and just like that you’re crying again, dropping your head in the crook of his neck.

“What, don’t cry baby.” He says, voice dripping with fake sympathy, because inside him he knows your tears turn him on even more. His hand reaches the small of your back as he caresses it, attempting to calm you down. “Want you to cum on my cock princess. Think you can do that, yeah? You promised you’d be a good girl for me.”

“I was- I was just so close.” You say timidly between your sniffles.

“It’s okay princess, I’ll make you cum real good on my cock.” He whispers, kissing you tenderly for the first time in the evening, and it makes your heart full, reminding you that in spite of everything, this is the same dino that you see in class every day, polite and sweet and beautiful; but you’re brought back to the present as he pulls away from you, shattering your illusion.

“You wanted my attention so bad y/n, you started it. So, you’re gonna take what you wanted- gonna have to ride me.” He says with a shit eating grin that just makes you so mad right now, but eager to give him what he asks for you get off your lap and begin to take off your skirt.

“Did I ask you to take it off? Still not behaving baby. Keep the skirt on; after all you made such a show of wearing them, wanna fuck you in it. Take off your panties.”

Once the pink garment is off, you sit on his lap again, as he slaps his dick against your poor swollen cunt, running his tip against your entrance.

“You know what to do right? It isn’t your first rodeo after all.” He says as he smiles.

God, he is so cocky. If you didn’t desperately need him in you, you would not put up with it for a second. (you would probably put up with it anyway)

You take his dick in your hand as you hover over it, your pussy clenching over nothing, begging to be filled by him as you insert the tip in him; and that alone is such a stretch for you, your legs might give up then and there. But you are anything but determined. Stubborn. Firm on proving yourself. So, you accept the stretch, stabilising yourself by placing one hand on his wide shoulder while you bottom out completely, burying himself into you in one go making him throw his head back and groan in pleasure as his hands reach out to hold your waist, not letting you escape his grasp.

Slowly but surely, you begin by grinding your hips against them, building up the tension as you try to maintain a steady pace; but dino doesn’t look amused, so you begin to move up and down on him, burying your freshly done nails into his shoulders. His hand moves down as you bounce on him, giving your ass a quick slap before finding it going under your skirt and rubbing your clit, making you gasp out.

“Fuck, lift up your skirt baby.” He says, and you comply- lifting up your skirt with one hand, whilst he continues to toy with your clit and you bounce up and down his dick, showing him the mess you both are making; and he loves it.

You’re so eager to please him, prove yourself to him as you continue to alternate between grinding and moving up and down; but the pleasure is SO overwhelming with his hand on your nub and you don’t think you can last. On top of that, you’ve been working so hard to maintain a steady pace for him, that your thighs are about to give out. And he sees that- sees your movement becoming sloppy and messy, your thighs shaking and your grip tightening on his shoulder.

“Tired, baby?”

Why is he such a tease. And why is he being so mean to you when he knows you’re totally spent. You think you’re going to cry for the third time in the night.

“You know, all you have to do is admit it. And I’ll take over. You know you want me to. I can make you feel so good baby, hit all the right spots and you don’t have to lift a finger.” He whispers in your ear before slapping your ass again as he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, showing you how much better he can make you feel.

“I- I- tired. I’m tired channie! Thighs hurt. P- please!” you say between hiccups as he keeps thrusting into you from beneath.

That’s all he needs to hear, before he’s flipping you on your back without taking himself out of you, pressing a kiss to your lips as he begins to actually fuck you. His hands roam all over you as if he’s trying to memorise every curve and dip. He’s thrusting into you with such a force your tits bounce back and forth with every drive of his hips into you while he mumbles pretty words in your ears.

“Pussy so good baby, absolutely squeezing me. Can’t believe you were letting those stupid guys have this while I was right there. Could’ve made you feel this good all this time. Fuck! Always wanted to bend you over the desk whenever you wore those stupid skirts to class. You know, everyone could see you baby. See how much needy you were. You’re probably just too much a slut to care, no?”

His mouth reaches down to bite your nipple, where you’re already so sensitive that you can’t help but cry out. You look so dumb for his cock right now, your nails are absolutely obliterating his back as your legs wrap around him not letting him go, a chant of his name leaving your lips with each of his movement. All you can hear is the sound of his balls slapping against you and your screams. You’re pretty sure you’ll get complaints from your neighbour tomorrow but who cares; he’s just too good. His thrusts get deeper yet sloppier as you feel him reach between your sweaty bodies and rub your clit in an attempt to get you closer.

“Fuck! Gonna cum baby. Are you close?”

“Yes! Channie fuck, love- love your dick so much! So big, need- I’m almost there!”

And that’s all the motivation he needs before he picks up his pace again, angling himself to hit you exactly at the spot that makes you scream, and before you know it, you feel tears streaming down your face again because of the overstimulation.

“Chan! Gonna cum! Please, please- fuck right there, please wanna cum!”

“Where do you want me princess?”

“In! In me, wanna feel you in me, fill me up! Please, need it in me!” you babble.

And that is all it takes for you to let go. Your eyes roll to the back of your head with a loud whine as your nails dig into him deeper, your back arching- the pleasure taking over you as you see stars in front of your eyes, screaming his name over and over again. It’s like you’re floating- because your body feels numb and completely spent. He feels you clenching so much around his cock as you cum, it’s like you’re milking him, before he’s filling you up full of him too, reaching his high, and he cannot stop. Even after you’re done, you’re still rhythmically squeezing him as he doesn’t stop coming in you. You feel him warm in you, and you honestly never want him to pull out, but unfortunately, he does- leaving you empty as his essence begins to spill out of you.

He gets between your legs, watching a mixture of your cum dripping out of you, admiring his work before he’s collecting it in his fingers, tracing your swollen sensitive centre as he comes up to you, and inserting his fingers in your mouth, while he kisses your tears. You can taste him and yourself on your tongue as you close your eyes, swirling your tongue around his fingers. The sight is so hot to him, his dick twitches against you once again before he’s pulling his fingers out and gently kissing you, as he leaves your bed to bring you a towel.

He lies besides you after he cleans you up as you turn you face each other.

“Sorry if I was too rough, got carried away a bit.” He says as you lay your head on his arm and run your hand through his hair.

“You were so good, I think I need to be a little bitchy again for you to put me in my place.” You say as you kiss him, smiling against his lips.

[miraculousshitandgigles]

I've been wanting to post something like this for awhile as well but I couldn't find the words.

A lot of these posts also bring up Marinette stalking, I don't think you ever met a teenager before have you. I can't remember how many kids I have met who have unhealthy depictions or understandings of love and they need to be corrected or helped. Everyone encourages Marinette for like the first 5 seasons and when she's called out it's like at least you didn't watch him sleep kinda, response. Like don't take it too far and I myself love stalker Marinette I honestly think it's fun to play with but I also work in heath care so I actually fucking know what I'm talking about when I say kids don't know their doing something wrong unless you explain it in a lot of detail why. Not the vague ass shit they did to Marinette. Yes including teenagers they're actually worse because it might take a few more times because they're starting to set habits.

Marinette hasn't been properly sat down and told hey you can give Adrien space. You don't need to know his diet. Or Marinette haters will bring up she doesn't love the real Adrien which I say we didn't watch the same show then. Marinette caught a glimpse at Adrien heart in origins and fell in love with that. When she learns that Adrien doesn't like something she supports him 100%.

I don't even ship Marinette and Adrien 99% of the time because they have better ships 100%. But that doesn't mean they aren't a good couple you're just wanting to be nitpicky about a show that's writing has always sucked. The basis of miraculous ladybug is what I think everyone loves not the actual show. Most fanfictions are based on other fanfictions. I didn't even like tuning in every week to the show until season 6 dropped. I got into MLB as a 13 year old I'm 22 now working in heath and started rewatching the show 2 years ago and weekly for season 5 and 6. But saying the show is any best media in fiction is a stretch it lasts this long is because of us.

I'm sorry it took 6 seasons to write a show that's any good. When the show started everyone thought it wasn't even going to get a season 2 where now 6. And people are adults now and people are realizing the show is problematic and Marinette is the center of it, no. She's just the most obvious since she's the main character, and Thomas astruc is a 40 year old dude who didn't know how to write teenagers.

Who words were for some reason listening to again like we didn't all agree last year he's a piece of shit. Make up your mind and form a opinion that isn't a brain dead response to your strong reaction to that fact all of sudden we got back to back bangers of seasons.

Marinette is not perfect and I bet if we saw the show from any other character we see them in either a better or worse light too.

If being a "Marinette stan" means I can understand that Gabriel Agreste is the reason Marinette is lying to Adrien in the first place and that she would never have done that if Gabriel had not manipulated her and that Nathalie should be the one telling Adrien the truth and not the 15 year old child and that Marinette's lies are hurting Adrien and that is awful and a tragedy and OBVIOUSLY she shouldn't have lied but that Marinette is also a victim of Gabriel and that Marinette is doing everything she does out of her deep love for Adrien and not to intentionally hurt him and that Marinette is 15 and acting 15 and that sometimes main characters have to do bad things and make mistakes to have a story and that those mistakes don't make Marinette a bad person but a good person in a very very very bad position.........

Then I guess I'm a dirty filthy Marinette stan.

[steddieas-shegoes]

black swan

for @steddiesportsau prompt 'dance'

rated t | 3331 words | no cw | tags: ballet dancer steve, ballet dancer eddie, high school, steve has bad parents, not canon compliant, getting together, sort of strangers to lovers

🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰

Steve stops dancing when he’s 12. His dad insists it’s time for him to “grow out of it” and “play a real sport.” It’s fine. It’s not like he’s the best in the class and on a fast track to an invitation to the New York Ballet or anything.

He starts swimming because he has the build for it and it’s easy.

He starts basketball to make his father shut up about being on a team.

The worst part is that he’s good at that too. Not great, not like ballet, but good.

He makes both teams in high school, even makes varsity basketball his sophomore year. He’s captain by junior year.

Sometimes, he stops by the studio he used to dance at, between classes, just to check in with the director and make sure everything’s going well. She always asks if he wants to come back. He always wants to say yes.

****

On his 18th birthday, his parents are gone, and he’s lonely. Nancy’s busy, and even if she weren’t, they aren’t anything except friends. Barely that.

Tommy and Carol have written him off now that they’re going away to college in the fall, and he wouldn’t want to have them over anyway. They’re on a different path than Steve, always have been. He’s just been so desperate for connection, he’s let everything slide.

Just before dinner, he drives to the dance studio. There’s not many classes happening on Tuesdays, but maybe someone will be there to let him in. He doesn’t see any cars in the parking lot, but there’s a light on inside.

The door is unlocked, and music is playing from the back room. It’s a much smaller room, designed for solos and duets only, not group routines. The music is not ballet music, but it could be a jazz or tap routine.

The man dancing is beautiful, in loose sweats and curly hair up in a bun that seems like it’s barely hanging on. He moves gracefully, but there’s an edge to it, something Steve always wished he had, even though he didn’t technically need it. His pointe shoes are torn, much more worn in than what’s recommended for anyone, especially men on pointe.

Steve’s amazed, the way he moves to a song that’s mostly heavy drums and guitar, makes it look like a classical piece as his arms and legs do everything the way Steve used to. He resists saying anything.

Then he catches sight of the man’s face.

It’s Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson dances?

“What the fuck.”

Eddie freezes, turns to him, falling to the flats of his feet. He looks caught out, as if he’s doing something wrong. He must be allowed to be here if the place is unlocked for him. Eddie might be a terrible student and definitely deals weed out of a lunchbox, but he’d never break into a dance studio just to use it.

He looks like he’s gonna run.

“Wait,” Steve says to stop him before he can. He steps closer. “How long have you danced?”

“Uh, five years?”

So they never took a class together. Steve was worried he’d somehow forgotten.

“Did you always take classes here?”

“I’ve never taken classes here.”

Now, Steve’s confused even more. He’s lived in Hawkins for at least 10 years. He remembers when he started living with his uncle. His first day at Hawkins Elementary set the tone for the rest of his time in school; Tommy and a few of his friends making his life miserable because of his much too large flannel shirt and greasy hair.

Steve had stayed quiet then, just as he did for most of middle and high school.

“How are you in here then?” He asks.

“I’ve had a key for two years. Ms. Laseaux made sure I had one when she had to cut her evening hours during the week,” Eddie explains. “I swear I’m allowed to be here. Don’t call the cops, please.”

“Dude, I’m not gonna call the cops. If you say you have permission, then you’re good,” Steve hates that Eddie still looks like he might run. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Is it okay if I watch?”

“Uh.”

Eddie’s music stops and the silence is almost as loud as the heavy music.

“It’s okay if not. You’re just beautiful,” Steve says honestly.

Eddie’s face flushes red and Steve has an immediate and overwhelming urge to see how far the blush goes. He shakes the thought from his head.

“Um. I guess I can start from the beginning?” Eddie offers.

“I’d love to see the whole routine,” Steve smiles.

Eddie rewinds the tape and starts it again, gets into position, and changes Steve’s life.

It’s even more beautiful from the start, a whole story unfolding before Steve’s eyes. Instead of the music being a distraction, it builds the emotion. Steve hasn’t seen anyone dance quite like Eddie.

Eddie seems a little nervous, but he never falters. He knows this routine well, front to back, probably back to front, too. It’s stage-ready and Steve wonders if he’s ever performed it outside of this room. He doesn’t think anyone else could possibly know he dances, at least not this well. He belongs on a stage.

He feels water on his cheek and he reaches up to wipe it away. He’s crying.

He remembers the time his mom cried at his first solo during a recital, how proud she was of him, and how proud he was of himself. He wonders if anyone has ever been that proud of Eddie.

“Steve?” Eddie asks.

The music’s stopped and Eddie’s breathing hard from fifth position. Steve’s tears are still falling.

Eddie’s hands cover his face, wiping away tears that just won’t stop.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s amazing; You’re amazing. Please tell me you perform somewhere,” Steve sniffs, smiles at him. “Did you get a senior solo last year?”

“No,” Eddie says quietly. “I can’t afford the fees for actual studio time and it’s required to perform at the recital. But I get to come here once a week and get it out of my system.”

Steve is about to offer to use all of his savings to pay for whatever Eddie needs. He has to get out of here, dance on bigger stages, be seen by people who can get him where he should be.

“The timing of the arabesque, Eddie, it’s beautiful. The leaps are textbook. The way you timed that kick with a cymbal crash. I mean, everything. You’re so technical, but emotional, and it’s like it takes no effort for you. You could easily get into a ballet school or a company,” Steve is talking and Eddie is still holding his face. He’s probably still crying.

“Thank you, but this is kinda it for me. I just love dancing,” Eddie takes his hands away and Steve instantly misses them. He knows he’s feeling a bit lonely– it’s his birthday, after all– but he liked how warm they were, how the blisters across his palm seemed to rub just right against Steve’s cheekbones. “You seem to know a lot.”

“I danced when I was a kid. Here.”

“Really?” Eddie seems genuinely shocked. “I thought you were, like, a stereotypical jock guy. No one’s ever mentioned you.”

Steve laughs, but he feels a pang in his chest. He knows why no one talks about him here. Most of the history of him being here was erased at his dad’s demand.

“Pretty much from the time I was potty trained to when I was 12. I had to quit,” he doesn’t feel like going into a deep dive of why he had to quit while he’s standing in the room he had to do it in. “I still come by to see Ms. Laseaux when I won’t interrupt classes. She was my instructor for six years of my life. She put so much into my lessons.”

“Were you good?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs again. He’s not as confident as he pretends to be most of the time, but he’s sure of one thing: he was a phenomenal dancer.

“I was her best student.”

Eddie nods like he was expecting that answer.

“She mentioned wishing she could’ve had me earlier. Said she would’ve done anything to pair me with her star.”

Steve wishes more than anything he could’ve danced with Eddie. They would have been unstoppable. His dad would’ve never allowed him to dance with another boy, but the thought still makes him warm.

“I’m sure she would’ve had us in New York or Boston or Europe the second she could,” Steve smiles fondly. “She tried to bribe my mom into going behind my dad’s back for nearly a year.”

“I’m guessing he’s not okay with his son dancing like a fairy?” Eddie’s lip curls up in disgust.

“Bingo.”

“Well, join the club. That’s why I didn’t start until I lived with my uncle, but he couldn’t afford to put me in real classes,” Eddie explains. He’s rolling his ankles one by one while he stands there, something that Steve knows is a nervous habit, one he had backstage before shows. “Ms. Laseaux was a bit sweet on my uncle when I first lived with him. He didn’t have much time for dating, but I think they would’ve fallen in love if it weren’t for me. She wanted to do what she could to help, even when it was obvious they weren’t gonna work out.”

Steve does remember one visit only a couple years after he quit where she talked about a nice man who fell into some unfortunate circumstances, and how she wished she could do more than help his nephew out.

“She’s always been amazing. I wish I brought my slippers, I could’ve at least stretched and tried to learn some of that,” Steve gestures towards Eddie. “Not that I’d do it any justice with how long I’ve been out of it.”

“If you were as good as she says, I think you’d catch on quick enough,” Eddie smirks. “I have an extra pair if you think you can fit?”

It’s a huge no usually. Wearing someone else’s broken in pointe shoes is just asking for bad luck and injury, especially if you don’t know the dancer well. As nice an offer as it is, Steve should say no.

“I could try,” he says instead.

Eddie’s beaming smile silences any doubt he had in his head that this would be a mistake. He rushes to his bag in the corner and pulls out a practically brand new set of shoes.

Steve is hesitant to take them when he offers.

“These look…shouldn’t you be trying to break these in for your own feet?” Steve doesn’t know why he’s wearing torn up shoes when he has these. They look nice, and he recognizes the brand when he turns them over in his head. They are nice. Some of the nicest shoes you can buy without getting into the thousands of dollars range.

Eddie shrugs. “I like these.”

“But these cost a fortune. How did you even get these?”

“I saved up for them. I’ll break them in when I can’t wear these at all anymore,” Eddie smiles, nudges his shoulder to make him put them on. “C’mon, you need to stretch.”

Steve listens, walks over to the corner to put the shoes on, stretch out his legs and back, groaning when he pops his shoulder. He’s been a little tense all week, worried that his parents would come home for his birthday and expect him to do some kind of business dinner.

This is a much better way to spend his birthday.

Eddie is…frolicking might actually be the best word for it. He’s not exactly dancing, but he’s not really walking either. Steve almost gets too caught up watching his movements to finish what he’s doing.

“Do you want me to show you this one or do you wanna show me something first?” Eddie asks. He sounds excited, maybe even more than Steve is.

It’s not like quitting dance meant Steve actually stopped dancing. He just only did it at home, and had to make sure he was alone, which has been increasingly more difficult over the high school years. His friends practically lived at his house, even when he didn’t want them to.

But he’s still out of practice, and probably not nearly as nimble as this dance would require. He’s not sure what he would even show Eddie. His last dance recital was six years ago, and he doubts the tape with his music is even here anymore.

“Um, you can show me some of yours. Maybe the drum part?” Steve’s voice shakes with sudden nerves. He hasn’t had eyes on him while he danced in a long time. He wasn’t built like this the last time he properly danced, either.

Eddie smirks. “The whole song is the drum part, but I know what you mean.”

Steve blushes. Eddie takes position in the center of the room, leaving enough space for Steve to stand next to him.

They look at each other in the mirror. Steve nods.

Eddie moves so fluidly, even when he’s going slower to show Steve. It’s like he’s a waterfall and Steve’s the river below, waiting to take what he’s giving to move it along in a beautiful and seamless way.

It hits Steve when he’s watching Eddie turn that if Eddie’s never taken a proper class, he must’ve choreographed this dance himself.

“Steve?” Eddie’s hand on his arm startles him from his thoughts. “Need me to do it again?”

“Sorry. Yes, please,” he doesn’t know why he can’t focus, but Eddie continues to show him three more times and he still doesn’t quite get the timing right. “Sorry, I think I’m just distracted.”

“Why don’t you show me a routine you’re familiar with?” Eddie asks.

“I’m not sure I remember any enough,” Steve tries to say, but Eddie shakes his head.

“You’re a dancer. You remember.”

He’s right. He may miss a few steps here and there, or get the timing just a bit off, but he can remember most of every routine he ever did on a stage. He does it without music, something that Ms. Laseaux always made him do before recitals to ensure he knew the timing in his head.

He doesn’t pay attention to Eddie’s reactions until he’s done.

He’s breathless, and not just from the dance. Eddie’s eyes are shining, and his lips are parted in a way that makes Steve want to slip his tongue between them and taste him. He’s a bit thrown by the thought, but only because he hasn’t had those kinds of thoughts in a long time. Not since Nancy broke up with him.

Eddie stands from the floor and walks over to him, still seemingly in shock over his dancing.

Steve’s ankles are sore, and he’s a bit mad he chose the hardest dance he ever did. His heart is trying to beat out of his chest. His legs are shaking.

Eddie cups his face, eyes searching his.

“You should have let her bribe your mom,” he says quietly. “You belong on the stage, too.”

Steve feels tears prick his eyes and it’s ridiculous to be crying for the second time in front of Eddie, but he’s a little overwhelmed.

“I miss it,” he chokes out. Eddie nods because he knows. Maybe not the same way Steve does, but he knows his own yearning, his own pain at being unable to perform the way his body is capable of. He might be the only other person in Hawkins who understands him. “I shouldn’t have let him stop me.”

“You were a kid, Steve,” Eddie’s voice breaks. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I do now,” Steve sounds more sure than he thought he could with tears streaming down his face. “What can he do now that I’m 18 other than cut me off? He won’t. My mom wouldn’t let him and his business partners would think less of him.”

Eddie’s brows furrow. He looks away for a moment, his lips moving around words Steve can’t hear. When he looks back at Steve, he looks heartbroken.

“Is today your birthday?”

Steve nods. He’s not sure why Eddie looks so upset. This is turning into one of the best birthdays he’s ever had and he’s starting to feel relief that he finally feels brave enough to stand up to his dad.

“And you came here?” Somehow, he sounds even more upset.

“I didn’t really want to go anywhere else,” Steve tilts his head as he answers. “This is always where I’ve felt the least lonely.”

“Dance with me.”

They danced already. A little. But Steve thinks he means something different now.

“What do you know?” Steve asks, a flutter in his chest at the thought of touching Eddie, lifting Eddie, feeling Eddie against him.

“Swan Lake?” Eddie asks.

“You know Swan Lake? How?” Steve doesn’t mean to sound rude, but he’s a little shocked someone who’s never even taken a ballet class would know the most famous pas de deux.

“I have eyes and an uncle who buys me tapes of famous ballets from some guy in Chicago. They’re shit quality, but I watch them so often, I’ve taught myself.”

“You’re amazing.”

Eddie laughs. “Let’s see if I can pull it off first.”

Eddie rushes over to the corner, searching through the tapes on the shelf. Most of the popular ballets are there, and Steve knows every piece from Swan Lake is probably on the top. All the seniors tend to use those for their solos.

He finds what he’s looking for and slots the tape in the stereo. Steve knows there’s a slow start to the music, and it allows plenty of time for them to get into position.

It’s easy falling into this with Eddie. They don’t even discuss who will take which part, they just fall into what’s natural. Steve hasn’t spent as much time en pointe as Eddie clearly has, so he takes the male lead, happy just to have his hands gently guiding through the dance. He’s not meant to be the star of the show, and he wouldn’t wanna be as long as Eddie’s the one front and center.

When they finish, it’s easy to close the distance between them, lips brushing together in the gentlest kiss Steve’s ever experienced. He immediately wants more, but he waits.

He may have been leading the dance, but he doesn’t want to lead with this.

Eddie cups his cheek, still catching his breath.

“Happy birthday, Steve.”

It throws Steve off. He almost forgot it was his birthday. He got so caught up in just being around Eddie, dancing, feeling this freedom he only ever felt at the studio.

He doesn’t remember the last time he actually celebrated his birthday. It had to be before high school, even though he remembers Tommy insisting on throwing him a party at his own house with his own food and beer for his 16th. That was less for his birthday and more for Tommy to show off that he knew Steve Harrington.

“You’re okay,” Eddie says.

Not asking. Telling.

Steve believes him.

The next time they kiss is in Eddie’s van, not even ten minutes later, after Eddie asks Steve where he wants to go for a birthday dinner, his treat.

“Benny’s?” Steve asks.

“You sure? Just the diner?”

Steve nods. “My parents are gonna drag me to some five star restaurant next week where the only decent food will be the dessert they don’t bring enough of. I want greasy shitty food and a milkshake.”

Eddie kisses him a third time and puts the van in reverse.

They’re both sweaty from dancing, and neither of them should technically be out this late on a school night, but Steve’s not alone.

It’s his birthday, he got to dance, and he’s not alone.

[neoheros]

there are very little things in this world that sakusa deems valuable enough to not risk – his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

he isn’t a gambler but he is an athlete and when you’re in his shoes, playing in the big leagues, thousands of people watching, looking, judging, there are a lot of risks you have to look out for.

he has to be quiet, polite, say the right thing, say it in the right tone, say it in the right time, otherwise, he risks his job and reputation.

he has to be focused, agile, ready for any change in the volleyball world the minute - the second - it happens, otherwise, he risks getting left behind, getting replaced by someone better, newer than him.

he has to be a lot of things and the risks of not being any of it puts him in a corner - cold and confining.

all of it, he hates with a passion, he hates with an effort. so he doesn’t take any risks at all. not when it comes to his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

but you – you are probably the riskiest person he has ever met.

i mean, you guys work together for god’s sake. it’s an HR crisis waiting to happen. it puts everything he’s worked hard for at risk — his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

but still.

you always know the right things to say to him, always know the right time he’s gonna be there or the right place to sit where he sees you so clearly even in the middle of the court.

everytime you talk to him, everytime you touch him, everytime you say his name or bring him coffee, everytime you watch him play or everytime he sees you outside of work — there is a feeling in his chest and he almost hates it.

“there’s a new ramen restaurant in miyagi that i’ve been wanting to try…” sakusa clears his throat, standing a few inches away from the lockers as everyone gets their shoes on.

it’s a little bit after 4pm, practice for the day had just ended, and well, meian always tells him he needed to socialize more with the rest of the group.

the locker room is stuffy and sweaty and to be honest, he’s never really been fond of the smell wafting in the air, so he always makes it a point to be the first one out the door after he’s done changing.

today though, he stays, hangs around everybody, and even if he hates it, he goes, “does anyone want to come with me tonight?”

hinata looks up at him from his shoes, “sorry omi, gotta take natsu to the dentist after practice, i dunno how long it’ll take us.”

he gives hinata a short nod — that’s fine.

“kaashi and i are seeing a movie around 7, but next time, man, i promise.” bokuto says, his hand on his neck, apologetic, almost.

another nod — that’s fine, too.

well, at least now, sakusa couldn’t say he didn’t try to socialize more. it’s the preferable outcome for him anyway, he’s better going off on it alone.

atsumu’s voice tears him away from his thoughts, loud and too cheerful for someone who just performed 4 diving laps, “i could go with ya, omi!”

and out of instinct, he replies “no, thank you.”

his blond teammate looks like he’s gonna say something after his response but you speak before he gets the chance to.

“well, i don’t mind coming, omi.” you say, and he blinks - how long have you been there?

there’s a knot in his stomach. “tonight?”

(he thinks, please say no, please say no, please say no.)

you nod at him, “it’s gonna be snowing so some ramen would be perfect.”

he nods at you - unable to say anything else, really - and he clears his throat, looking at atsumu, who he’s now just been really appreciative of for existing all of a sudden.

“then it will be you, me, and miya?” he asks, and he wants to keep his voice quiet now, untrusting of it.

(in the corner of his eye, he sees hinata step on atsumu’s foot and he goes “ow, whaddya do that for!” bokuto gives him a look, similar to the one hinata has, and atsumu catches on.)

sakusa gives the three of them a warning look, begging, actually begging, anyone who’d listen in that silly head of his for them not to do anything stupid.

“sorry man,” atsumu flashes him a grin, and he feels his knees go weak. “i forgot i had some plans tonight, i don’t think i’ll be able to go.”

lord, forgive sakusa kiyoomi for he’s gonna kill somebody.

he wants to say something, but before he could, you beat him to it.

“perfect.” you smile, “more for us then. right, omi?”

sakusa swallows the lump in his throat, and gives you a short nod, “yeah.”

you gather your things in your hand, “i’ll come over to your place, then?”

(words that make his knees feel even weaker.)

another nod. “yes, that’s fine.”

and he regains his composure, the worst of it over, but before you turn to leave, you flash him another one of your smiles, and he wishes you would just go so he can feel his pulse return to normal again.

“it’s a date.” you say, and you’re out the door.

sakusa’s face has a whisper of a light pinkishness to it and unable to think about it too much, he blames it on the open window letting the cold in.

the second the door closes, the locker room erupts in cheers, “way to go, omi!” “you’re going on a date!” and “it’s finally happening!”

there’s a knot in his stomach, and atsumu claps him on his back.

he rolls his eyes at the group, shaking his head as he whispers something along the lines of “whatever” or “its not a big deal.”

but his face feels hot and his pulse feels like its drumming against his skin, but, he can blame that on the cold too.

the sun goes down quicker than sakusa hoped it would, it’s 6:47pm now and you’ll be arriving in no later than 13 minutes.

he takes a good look at his apartment, ransacked and messy, the complete opposite of its usual state.

there’s a knock on his door and he feels his heart beat out of his chest at the sound.

he opens it with a fervor, “i asked you to come 30 minutes ago.”

“it’s a 30 minute walk.” behind the door is atsumu, sheepish smile on his face, hands shoved into his pockets as he pushes past the brunette and into the apartment.

“woah, this place is a mess.” atsumu says aloud, even him surprised at the disarray.

“i didn’t know what to wear.” sakusa admits, and he feels embarrassment course through his skin.

“i’ll say.” the blond replies, but he doesn’t tease. “you alright, omi?”

sakusa sighs – he really isn’t. his nerves are killing him and there’s an intense nervousness that pools in his belly. you make him nervous, did you know that?

“maybe i should cancel.” he says, and he looks at himself in the mirror again — coat, scarf, gloves, check, check, check.

“what? don’t do that.” atsumu shakes his head, “it’s five minutes ‘til 7.”

he’s probably right, sakusa thinks, you’re probably on your way by now, and even with the chilling weather outside, he feels way too hot for his own good.

he takes off his gloves to alleviate some of the warmth, placing it on his dresser as he paces.

“you’re an asshole, right?” sakusa says suddenly, “punch me in the face, take me to the ER, and i will reschedule whatever this night is to when i’m readier.”

(he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready, to be honest.)

“even if i do really want to punch you in the face right now, that is so not gonna happen.”

“being your friend is useless to me.”

“yet, i’m the one you called over here.”

the doorbell rings and the both of them freeze in their places, sakusa looks over to the clock and how is it 7 already? and must you be on time for everything?

you’re already here and his place is a mess and atsumu freaking miya is standing in the middle of his apartment.

he says the first thing he can think of, “hide.”

atsumu looks at him, “what?”

he insists, “hide now.”

“are ya nuts? your apartment is a shoebox, where the hell am i hiding in here?” atsumu shakes his head, and he follows sakusa’s eyes in response as he tilts his body to look over to the bed.

“no fuckin way, nuh uh.” he backs away, “i am not hiding under there.”

the doorbell rings again and atsumu feels the nerves getting to him too.

“please. i’ll owe you.”

and atsumu wants to say no - really, he does - he’s not some teenager caught with his pants down and has to be stashed away under a bed, but sakusa looks at him in a way that makes him unrecognizable.

sakusa may not know it, but everyone can tell, every single one of them on the team knows, just how much this means to him.

(after all, the only people in msby black jackals who don’t know that sakusa likes you are sakusa and you.)

so he relents, and he gets on his knees near the bed before he scurries off under it. “you so owe me for this.”

sakusa feels embarassed – ashamed, really. he’s actually invested in this - in this date, and he wishes he was kidding, but he’s not, and he hates it.

he opens the door, and you’re there, and it’s always nice to see you outside of work.

“hi.” he says, and he doesn’t know what else to say.

“hi.” you say back, and for a second, it’s quiet.

another second passes, “can i come in?”

and he wants to kick himself, “yes. of course.”

“it’s freezing tonight.” you make polite small talk, “good thing i wore my coat.”

“it looks nice.” he nods, and he is grateful you don’t say anything about the mess of his apartment. it takes him another beat to realize what he said, and he feels embarrassed, although he doesn’t know why, so he follows up, “the coat.”

he wants to hit himself. he sounds like he’s just talking about the coat.

“you as well.” he says again. “not just the coat, i meant to say. you and the coat are nice looking. both of you.” he wants to stop talking – why is he still talking?

he looks at you, “where’d you - uh - buy it?”

great, now he sounds like he wants to take the fucking coat.

there’s a sound almost like snickering coming from under the bed but before you could look over to it sakusa clears his throat again.

“i’m ready to go,” he says suddenly, “are you?”

you haven’t been able to get a word in all night it seems, but it makes you smile - amused, and you nod, “yes.”

the night starts off okay, it’s quiet though, and he thinks, are dates supposed to be quiet?

“you okay there, omi?” you break the silence, and he wonders if you can tell what he’s been thinking.

“yeah.” a short reply, “just cold.”

you nod, “ah.”

in an effort to keep the conversation going, and the sudden realization that he may be the reason why it’s such a quiet evening, he looks to the side, and tells you, as the two of you walk the pavement to the train station:

“i forgot my gloves.”

there’s a pink hue on his ears, and he’s grateful you don’t tease him about it.

you stop walking for a moment, so he stops too.

he watches you as you work, taking the left glove on your hand off and he says nothing when you ask him to give you his left hand.

“here.” you slip on your left glove on his left hand, and it’s a snug fit, but it is warm.

then you say, “do you mind?”

and he doesn’t know what you’re talking about until you put your - now, ungloved - left hand to his -also, ungloved - right hand. fingers interlacing.

“this way, it’ll stay warm, don’t you think?”

he doesn’t trust his voice and he’s more grateful for the snow now as he finds it being his excuse for how red his ears are getting. he can only nod his head, keeping his nose tucked in under his scarf.

his lips tremble and he’s not so sure if it’s from the cold or from you.

sakusa doesn’t gamble. he doesn’t like the risks of it all. he always feels there’s always gonna be too much to lose rather than gaining anything beneficial for him.

so no – there are very little things in the world he cares enough about for him to risk anything for.

“better?” you say, and he tries harder to focus on your voice rather than your warm hand.

“yes.”

you smile and he thinks it’s really nice. “so, why was atsumu under your bed?”

his face feels hot now, his first instinct to deny that there ever was any man named atsumu under his bed, but he knows that look you’re giving him, and he knows it would be pointless to lie.

still, he doesn’t know what to say to you.

“omi?”

but then again, he never knows what to say to you.

“… i asked him to come help me get ready.”

you tilt your head, “get ready for?”

the silence becomes your answer and sakusa feels his face burn. it feels like embarrassment – but it also feels like something else.

“oh.”

and unexpectedly, you laugh, and when he hears it, for the first time all evening, his nerves finally cool on him, and he laughs too.

you bump your shoulders with his, playful, “if it helps to know, i was nervous too.”

“because of me?” he doesn’t really believe you, he doesn’t think anything can make someone like you nervous, but you, on the other hand, make him nervous all the time.

“well, you don’t really talk to me at work,” you shrug, your voice sounding teasing, “i didn’t think you liked me all that much, to be honest.”

“sorry.” he says in quiet laughter, and he can’t bring himself to look at you.

you look at him though, and he wishes that you wouldn’t. he can hear the smile in your voice still, “for what?”

“for this shitty date.”

that makes you laugh even more and he feels like it’s gonna make him fall over.

“well, we haven’t even gotten to the restaurant yet so jury’s still out on whether it’s shitty or not.” you squeeze his hand, teasing.

(and he rolls his eyes, nerves gone, and feeling much better now that he’s talking to you.)

you are probably the riskiest person he’s ever met. you put everything on the line.

by all things considered, he should stay far, far away from you — you jeopardize it all, you could take all he’s ever worked for away.

but everytime you talk to him, everytime you touch him, everytime you say his name or bring him coffee — there is a feeling in his stomach that envelops his entire body and the corner he’s been backed into doesn’t feel as cold or as confining.

you smile at him and he wants it all: he wants to wake up next to you, he wants to fall asleep and you’re the last person he sees, he wants to drive you to work and he wants you to come home with him after the day is over.

“besides,” you say, and the snow may be cold, but his face feels warm.

your voice is soft, “you can just keep taking me on them until we get it right.”

the risk is you could take everything he’s ever worked for, his game, his career, his reputation, his name. but you smile at him and your hand is warm against his and your laugh feels like it’s gonna make him fall over, and he thinks, okay — take it all, it’s already yours anyway.

[bengiyo]

Heesu in Class 2: Maybe It’s Time to Stop Calling Myself a BL Viewer

After finishing Heesu in Class 2, it’s been surprising to feel like I’m in the minority for enjoying it. We’ve seen a great deal of concerted posting from fans of the webtoon about how this show betrayed its source material with its adaptation changes. Over the last few weeks, I’ve read the original webtoon to gather my own thoughts. After reading through @my-rose-tinted-glasses post on why this project didn’t work for her, I decided to sit with it for a while. I then came across this tweet from Dr. Thomas Baudinette:

I respect Dr. Baudinette’s academic interest in the genre and the useful insider insight he brings to the table. However, I will say plainly that I think this is a grossly disingenuous take, grounded in the idea that stories about queer romance take precedence over other queer stories. Additionally, it deeply misreads the adaptation choices and insinuates that a queer show that includes heterosexuality in it is somehow betraying the BL audience. There’s a lot to unpack here, but I will say plainly that I will go back to just being a queer cinephile who dabbles in BL instead of advocating for BL if this is who we are.

I am a queer person here for stories about queer truth. BL is a romance genre. While I respect BL viewers who are here to get their feelings from swoony moments, I cannot abide the presumption that a story that is inherently about the coming out experience somehow let its source material down for maintaining that connection. Every year we get into a big fight about what is or isn’t BL (see: 180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us, Love in the Big City, What Did You Eat Yesterday?, etc.), often arguing that BL is a branding term used to get romance viewers to show up and support queer works. I think it’s fine enough to argue that Heesu in Class 2 isn’t a BL because it uses Korean drama frameworks (@lurkingshan) for its story instead of sandblasting you in the face with pop music as two boys stare at each other, but I think there’s real value in what the show is doing for mainstream viewers.

I’ve avoided discussing the webtoon too much in my commentary, but now that I have read it I will say firmly that this would have sucked as a TV show. We know that about 40-50% of the shows we get each year are based on their source material. The webtoon is adorable and well-intentioned. It’s also a very simple narrative in which we are primarily in Heesu’s point of view, and any time we leave his point of view it’s to see only what other people are thinking about him. In my opinion, simpler narratives like the Heesu webtoon work best as films and not as dramas. 

We recently went through this with Living With Him, in which a really short manga got stretched to eight episodes and had to add contrivances to the middle to pad out the time that eventually hurt the core narrative. Thai BL is rife with secondary, tertiary, and quaternary couples to pad out time to meet the long run time demands of the airing schedule. When you’re adapting a fairly simple story, you either have to add depth or bloat. Oftentimes we get both. In the case of Heesu, it’s clear that they were only adapting the first season of the webtoon, and so they added depth.

The constant refrain from detractors of this webtoon is that it deprioritized the queer characters and their narrative in favor of straight narratives. I wholeheartedly disagree. Every single straight story in this show (and the gay ones) are meant to add context to the queer struggles Hee Su and Seung Won face, from Ji Yu and Chan Young to all three of his sisters.

Ji Yu’s music arc hearkens to the queer fear of being public with yourself and facing judgment and scrutiny. Chan Young’s tennis arc features real parental abandonment consequences that many a queer person fears. Hee Sin exemplifies how easy it is to fall for people and also deal with the constant rejection of most people not being into you (because they’re straight). Hee Jae exemplifies how toxic a relationship with your best friend can be when the romantic feelings aren’t fully reciprocal. Hee Yeong shows us what it means to be brave and face your friend after you’ve let them down romantically. Ho Sik highlights how easy it is for straight people to express and pursue their romances, and then be public with them. None of these plots exist in a vacuum; they’re meant to add context to the tension between Hee Su and Seung Won.

On the queer front, the show expanded on the initial lesbian advice plotline as a way for Hee Su to open the discussion about queerness with his siblings. The look shared between the sisters, their careful responses, and the way they treat him in the final episode after Hee Su comes out to Hee Sin shows that they talked to each other. Hee Sin clearly pulled on her prior knowledge when she insisted to Hee Su that she still loves him. Hee Jae, the grumpiest sister, was especially direct about praising Hee Su when he offered to help them take Hee Yeong to the airport. Hee Yeong told him plainly that he must remember that she is always on his side and will support him. Seung Won’s mom acknowledged that her own coming out affected him, and let him decide how open to be about his family.

The coming out sequence with Hee Sin was so powerful. He made it clear that this isn’t a gay-for-you situation. He said plainly that his crushes are on guys, and will probably always be on guys. Hee Sin’s response took me back to this incredible scene from The Fosters, in which Lena’s dad apologizes to her for saying “I still love you.” He rejects it as something horrible, in which you confirm to your kid that you could possibly stop loving them. He says he wishes he had instead said, “Thank you for telling me something so important about yourself, and I can’t wait to meet the person you want to share your life with.” 

I’m also annoyed about the insistence that the straights were given priority in this narrative in which everyone gets about the same level of on-screen intimacy. This is a show that managed to avoid getting an R rating, which means that it’ll be accessible to a much wider range of viewers without needing additional parental controls. The straights getting time means that when the gays throw the ease at which they pursued romance back in their faces, it’s actually grounded in events that transpired in the narrative. I will also say that I did NOT like the way Jiyu and Chanyoung meddled with Heesu in the webtoon, and thought conspiring with Seung Won was not kind to Heesu. I like that the drama instead uses their stories to support the queer themes as Ji Yu directly supports Seung Won.

I’d also like to say that all the Chan Young commentary troubles me. Hee Su has been in love with this boy for ten years. I actually think the show needs to spend time fleshing him out into a real person for the audience to understand why Hee Su likes him so much. He’s charming and friendly. He’s kind and thoughtful. He wants to help the people he cares about. He also trusts Hee Su implicitly. 

I do not blame him for being overwhelmed and surprised when Hee Su suddenly confessed to him, and I think there is real value in him botching that moment. So many viewers who might not have spent a lot of time thinking about how they would handle queer people coming out to them will benefit from seeing Chan Young flub that moment. What’s more important is that he did eventually talk to Hee Su and begin to repair the break in their friendship. It isn’t about being right every single time; it’s about always doing the work required to make things right. 

Finally, I really loved that Hee Su got to be mad at Seung Won for confusing him all this time. It was fun to see Hee Su, who I think was way out of line for always interfering in Chan Young’s life, face the reality that he had also been subject to that kind of behavior. This worked so well for me because we understood that what Seung Won liked so much about Hee Su was how warm and open he was. I will have more to say in the future about how many shows we’ve already had this year reject one-sided pining as inherently pure.

In the end, it’s just a really dissonant experience for me to see such a kind show getting such an energetic negative response. Like anyone else who’s watched over 300 BLs since 2016, I like seeing cute boys kiss each other and make face as much as anyone else. However, if we’re unable to appreciate using a webtoon with clear ideas about the difficulty of coming out when you’re in love with a friend in a format that far more viewers are used to, I don’t think I can rock with this anymore. I can’t even find myself associated with the kinds of people who would have called Degrassi homophobic because it wasn’t exclusively gay. 

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

Kutning's Dag - Max Verstappen x reader

cw: dubcon/ cnc, rapeplay, intox kink, unprotected sex, creampie, public, perv! Max, icky! Max

At this point in the season, Max Verstappen needed a miracle. He had heard it all, at the start. That the car was so fucked he dragged it first to podium, then to the points, but what happened when this was not the case. Amateur theorists- that's what he called F1 podcasters- had predicted that it would be sooner than later. And he had shut them down in Japan. Suzuka was a dream. Fourth consecutive pole there in the last seconds of quali. Fourth consecutive win there, the return of the F1 outro, as the fans dubbed it. But the Dutch anthem didn't stick around the podium for long. There were a few hiccups after, but not for the McLarens. His 1 point behind Lando was gradually increasing. He was feeling like a fish out of water, for the first time in his career. The retirement jokes he so brazenly made during previous months were now met with hushed whispers. It didn't help that the Redbulls were down in the constructors championship too. They took Liam, and with the way Yuki was driving, Max could bet one of his cats that Hadjar was getting fitted for a seat soon, whether the rookie driver wanted it or not. Verstappen's fake Instagram even liked a few Helmut Marko as the 2nd driver memes, a bunch of Daniel cursing the thing too. But it seemed to be true now.

So Max Verstappen desperately needed to win the Miami Grand Prix. After a triple header that started promising and two weekends of pure hell, something needed to be done. Whatever. Literally anything. He remembered last year how Lando's first victory in the sunny state triggered this chain of events. This championship contender narrative that was heating up between the two since. Lando then, with his little nose scar, who had been partying in the Amsterdam canals before. A metaphorical lightbuls sparked up above Max’s head. If you can't beat them, join them. He was going to celebrate King's Day for the first time in a while.

Of course, he used to honor the holiday as a teenager. Which 17 year old doesn't go across the border to the Netherlands to drink copious amounts of alcohol in the streets. He was lucky that his mom and sister brought him in at the end of the night. It was a fun time. Lots of bad beer. Crowds of loud people dressed head to toe in orange. Music that everyone knew shouted at the top of one's lungs. Then, with the years, he was too busy racing for such frivolity. But now the calendar was smiling up to him, a nice little break between Jeddah and Miami. It was a nice opportunity for him to fly back to the Netherlands, try the "Lando method," and come back. Copious amounts of gin tonics and a few kebabs never hurt anyone. Especially on King's Day. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do. Nevertheless, Max did it.

Once his plane touches down on Dutch soil, he realizes this was a mistake. He's forced to take a train and be packed like a sardine in first class. "No, I'm not him, but I get that a lot," he says, ad naseum, eyes glued to the maroon seats around him. Once he makes it to Amsterdam, he all but scours the city, going from store to store, trying to see if there's any alcohol left. He piles premixed cans of gin and tonics into his Alpha Tauri backpack. He sure is an ambassador now. But his quest isn't just a way for him to grab some booze. No, he's strategically scoping out areas where he won't be spotted. Where the crowds were just drunk and rowdy enough to ignore him, but not thay quiet and sober that he'd be bored. One would try to rationalize that most people didn't bat an eye at Lando. Who knows, Max could even accidentally spot the Britton on his way, dj skills being tested on a party boat. And people wouldn't care. We'll that was a bit harsh, there would be many overjoyed fans. But not as many as Max's. It was the fucking Netherlands, we was treated as the second coming of Christ. Or the first, depending on the province. Amsterdam was definitely not on the Bible belt, so that was that. Still, the Dutchman took some precautions. He hid out, going over to long lost friends' houses. People who he had known since karting, all drinking together, wearing orange, and treating him like a normal guy. Yes, there were some offhand comments about F1 and the Redbull performance. There's a few people trying to get him to help them with their fantasy team too.

He offers them a pass at his own ranking if they beat him at a drinking game. And those he never loses, always choosing to go for reflexes or showing feats of physical strength. After all, those hours in the gym aren't for nothing. Max is more than pleasantly buzzed by the time they have to leave. It's past 10, and people are already plastered. Of course, this was strategic. It was more plausible that people got a mass hallucination of Max Verstappen after a few dozen beers. He steps out through the crowd, shoes already sticking to the pavement. The smell of sweat and vomit and beer is in the air.

Max reflexively pulls the orange army cap over his own face, especially when they play anything by Maxx Power. He grins when they play 5 remixes in a row, the dj shouting something about a 5th WDC incoming. Max is happy that at least the fans are happy they believe in him, albeit delusionally. He relaxes, the tension sliding off of him like dirty air. He's too relaxed, almost, and now his mind is wondering how. Yes, the 6 pack of gin and tonics helped. He almost sniffs the air and gets hit with a string smell, similar to the one from the house. He reluctantly takes a hit of this green electronic thing and coughs. It's good, but weird.

"Didn't know vapes were this popular here?" He shouts to his friend, who deadpan that it's weed. Of course, Max almost smack his forehead. He's contact high, just like half the grid was in Vegas. He remembers that day, letting the flashbacks warm over him. Yep, he was fucking fucked.

Max decided that he'd fight the weirdness and tingliness of his body by people watching. What better way to be distracted by analyzing others. He blends into the crowd, only because people are packed like sardines. Mostly friends, big crowds of people dancing, drinking and shouting with each other. He doesn't miss the rowdier ones. There's couples making out and dry humping all around him.

He feels like a teenager all over again, that awkward virgin 17 year old at house parties. Hormones not as contained as he'd like to, popping a boner at other people's activities. If he listened very hard, everything was sexy. He'd hear the little moans and groans of the couple, the pleas for more. Everything made his cock stand up and throb painfully in his pants. And now, 10 years later, it's the same. Max never pegged himself as a voyeur. But now, with every sensation in his body heightened, he couldn't help it. And with his dick needing release and fast, he sets out to find someone willing to do that. His gaze searches, he's like a hawk looking for a bunny. And his eyes land on you.

You hated King's Day. It was a stupid holiday, a Saw trap thing made to torture you. You hated the gaudy orange color. The public drinking. The stupid songs you didn't know as a foreigner. You should've stayed home. But here you were, freezing in a two-piece set. You hate the flimsy fabric of the thing. You only ordered it last minute to impress an ex, who you knew you'd run into. You didn't expect to find them with their tongue down the throat of a mutual acquaintance. But you made a vow that you'd make out with someone. So far, your lips only touched the bottle. Whatever they were drinking was strong, made you feel woozy and light. At least you were doing King's Day right, getting very intoxicated. You didn't even flinch when you felt a pair of hands glide dangerously close to your ass. The whole night, it kept happening, accidentally, sometimes not. It was the crowds, you reasoned, because you were practically sandwiched between many backs and elbows. Then someone did really feel you up from behind. God, his fingers were deliberate. Groping, touching, all short of clawing. Needing you, needing this, and it was gross. The man apologized, a faint sorry from under the rim of an orange hat. You had mentally prepped a joke about redbull giving him more than wings or an aggressive overtake. And then he does it again, this time his hands loop against your hips, seemingly trying to move you out of his way. His fingers hook against the straps of your orange thong and snap them. You want to scream, yell, to tell him to stop. But it's as if you've swallowed cotton. And the warmth of someone's touch against you was clouding your judgment. The stranger lets his fingers move up your bare stomach until your tits. He flicks at your already hard nipples, a little hum of appreciation. He comments that you're practically asking for it by not wearing a bra.

The voice is familiar, even though you can't exactly place it. Didn't all Dutch men all kinda sound the same. This one's hands were kneading your breasts roughly, more for him than for you. He was whispering absolute filth in your ears, the brim of the hat he won't take off digging into your shoulder. He smells like a gin brewery that was next to a coffeeshop.

"Look at you, just letting me touch you. Aren't you ashamed that a total stranger's groping your tits. Right in the middle of Amsterdam, mind you, with thousands of people around you. I think you like it. I think you're a little whore. Because if you wanted to, you could have asked for help. Look there, bimbo," he says as he grabs your chin and tilts your head towards the police at the edge of the crowd. "You want me to stop? Let's walk over there, and I'll let you report me. Hell, I'd even turn myself in. Yeah? Go tell the nice cop about me, I'm right behind you."

You try to move, and he follows. The stranger even lets his hands fall from your chest. But with every step you take, you end up going 3 steps back. It's a Sysyphean challenge. You stop suddenly, and the guy stops with you. You two are surrounded and pressed against each other. You're not sure who makes the first move again. You just know that you're rubbing your ass against his hard cock like an animal in heat.

He rolls his hips against yours, lifting your skirt with every movement. He can't help but knead your ass, feeling your skin prickle under his touch. When the stranger hears a low wolf whistle, you're dragged, literally through the crowd. He's taken his cap off and he's barking orders in Dutch and English, parting the people like they're the Red Sea. He ducks with you in an alley and you swear your drink was laced.

"Max Verstappen? What the fuck are you doing here?" You say, still unsure of what was happening. He shuts you up with a kiss, a bit sloppy and needy. You kiss him back, but then it all starts to be too much. He was a renowned athlete, a role model. Not someone who got a bit too handsy. That dawns on both of you at the same exact time.

"You could ruin my life. You could actually go to anybody about this, and they'll strip me of everything. It'll be Mazepin again, but this time with consequences." He says, and instead of stepping away, he begins unbuttoning his jeans. Sliding his boxers away and taking out his cock. Sizing it up against you. You plead with him.

He pretends to think as his hands go in your panties. He tells you how he's in deep shit as his fingers rub your clit. He goes on about how you should report him, how despite his celebrity status and the inebriated state you're both in, he's going down. You try to mention police injustice, how the odds are against you, even bring up Christian Horner. Your body betrays you as you talk. Your hips snap to match his movements.

"They'll come up with some bullshit excuse. That I was too wet or something. No signs of struggle, no bruises on you or something of the sort." You chastise, as he slides his fingers inside of you. One, then a second, in a hooking motion. He moves them with precision and you blush. In the small alley the sounds of your wetness echo. Max knows exactly how to press his fingers inside of someone to make them fall apart. You cum against him, despite yourself. You press yourself close to him, shut your eyes and let the orgasm wash over you. You're limp, letting him tap the head of his cock against your clit. Allowing him to thrust inside of you, burrying himself to the hilt. Telling you that "if he's gonna go down for this, at least he's gonna make it worth his while."

He tells you how good your cunt feels, how well you take his cock. He holds you down, muscles pressing into you, keeping you in place. He goes on this tangent about coming inside of you, leaving you something to remember him by. You don't have the heart to tell him he's the first and only man to fuck you raw. That his blue eyes and all of today will haunt your dreams. You can't express that what he's doing to you terrifies you, yet thrills you. That you just might be sick in the head for not hating this. Your warm wet cunt was drawing him in. Wanting him. Needing him. You bite your lips bloody. Yet he still catches your whisper of "please, come for me." His thrusts become faster, and he spills inside of you. If this were real life, he'd leave after that, blend into the crowd, and accept his fate. He'd wait for the other shoe to drop and get what was coming to him for being a disgusting pervert who touches women.

But it wasn't real life. Max was in a stupidly expensive Monaco sex club. Their new marketing ploy - get you in the door for a free visit and impress you so much you come back. He had to hand it to them, they followed up with him like a champ. Getting extras to play the drunk and disorderly dutchies. Even the set of the alley was good. Max casts a glance at you, his throughly fucked out girlfriend. You're sleeping with a grin on your face. He remembers the day you told him about your unusual kink. How the two of you would dabble in it, occasionally. He'd pretend to break into your shared apartment and rape you. You had been so loud and rowdy that night that your neighbors called the cops on you. But just before the sirens, you had come on Max's cock so hard, he swore he could marry you right then. After he was done politely explaining the misunderstanding to the policemen, he started googling. And a couple months later, here you two were. Completely immersive experience. And no sheets to wash. Max feels bad for the person who has to clean the floor after you squirt on it. In his defense, you didn't even know you could do that. He lets himself be photographed leaving the club with you in tow. Shoots off a few messages to his friends and the other drivers on the grid to also try it out. If he creates enough buzz, they'll give him a discount. And it's not as if his hefty paycheck doesn't allow him to visit sooner. Especially after he wins Miami. Because he has several bets going on - one with Christian, one with GP and one with Lando. He gets them all, collects the cash and says he'll invest it. He puts it on another night with you. Because the true key to Max Verstappen's winning strategy was a well fucked girlfriend.

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

Ok so Amity gets lots of its funding by hosting a summer camp every year. They host it by the lake in the woods and the local high schools are counselors and head of cabins.

The camp is like a 150 year tradition and it got very popular especially among the rich from around the country.

They kept it going, closing down for 3 summers because of the ghost attacks (the town could have the attacks and the camp running. It would be too dangerous)

They opened it the next year, but with a lot more liability paperwork and that stuff.

This is also the year where Damian Wayne gets sent to the camp.

Bruce went, Dick went, Jason went, Tim went and even Cass went for a year and now it was his turn.

Damian did not want to go. There are no phones allowed, so he won’t be able to communicate with his family. He went anyway. Danny is his head of cabin.

All the senior class members are liminal. With the weird traits and all that shit. They know Danny is phantom but they don’t really talk about it

Shenanigans:

- Danny noticing the faint liminal scent on Damian and kind takes him under his wing to hopefully have Damian feed off of his ecto and get healthier. Damian thinks his head of cabin just gets really attached really easily.

- Sam running the gardens and using her undergrowth powers. Damian think she’s related to Posion Ivy, but evidently does not care when he find out she a vegan and just as passionate about the environment and animals as he is

- Tucker teaches the campers a coding class. 30 fourteen year olds hacking into places they should not hack into. Surprisingly, under Tuckers guidance, they all manage to successfully hack into the Pentagon without detection. Damian glanced at Tucker’s screen and saw that he was not hacking along with them but hacking an organization called the GIW

-Val and Danny teach hand to hand combat and weapons. After the camper learn to use all the weapons, Val and Danny assign one o them (crossbow, knife, bow and arrow, laser gun). Damian is great at all of them, and they let him pick whichever weapon he wants.

- Damian offhandedly mentions that a katana is his preferably weapon. The next week, Danny’s younger sister comes back from her travels with a katana for him.

- dash and kwan run the camp wide games. They have capture the flag and dodgeball (but they changed it to bow and arrow dodgeball to secretly help with the kids aim), but now they added a little tournament.

- each camper uses their weapon and are pitted against each other until there is one winner. Unsurprisingly, it’s Damian.

- the GIW crashes the camp in the middle of the night after getting a really strong ecto signal (Damian, plus Danny, plus the other liminal counselors). The counselors were at a separate location having a meeting or some other shit that doesn’t involve the campers.

-with Damian leading, the campers manage to fend them off. He and the other campers notice that they seemed to be targeting Damian.

-the counselors get back in time to help them.

-Damian doesn’t mention any of this to his family, and neither do the other campers. They all want to come back next year.

BONUS

Damian send weekly letters about what he’s doing at camp but in simple terms so that the Wayne’s think that camp just expanded their activities and Damian’s having fun

BONUS BONUS

Damian, after feeding off of Danny’s ecto for 2 months becomes visibly liminal. He grows a foot and a half taller, gets fangs, can hold his breath for longer, is quieter, eyes start glowing.

The Waynes are slightly suspicious, but they’ve all went to the camp and came back fine, so maybe he just had a growth spurt.

Maybe months later Constantine comes to the WaterTower and ask Damian how long he’s been dead. Damian answers.

“4 months, magician.”

The Waynes are now freaking out because they had no idea Damian died during summer camp.

Cue the rabbit hole into Amity Park, Phantom, Danny, and the GIW

[mqdilen]

⭒ .๋ ࣭ ⊹ ˖ 「𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞—𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲.」

fandom.: bungou stray dogs

synopsis.: bungou stray dogs characters reacting to seeing you in lingerie

ft.: dazai, chuuya, yosano, ranpo, atsushi & fyodor x afab!reader

cw.: !nsfw!, established relationship, vaginal sex, fingering, light bondage, oral sex, pet names, vulgar language

word count.: 2.6k (approximate reading time; nine minutes)

note.: wrote this instead of learning for my a-levels and i really just wanted to practice my character deception and smut writing (?) anyway, hope you enjoy!

☪︎

dazai.:

dazai doesn’t particularly care whether you’re wearing lingerie or not. don’t get him wrong—he appreciates the fine black lace and the way it frames your tits so nicely, making you look absolutely delectable. and the fact that you’ve taken the time, wondering if he would like it, makes his heart swell. but you could just as well be wearing knee-high socks and one of his shirts, and he’d still consider it lingerie.

that said, it is dazai we’re talking about, so expect a lot of teasing—either direct or laced with much innuendo. he absolutely notices the small things too—like the ribbon detailing, or if the lace has any patterns on it—really just letting the sight sink in. something about the sheerness of it all, about seeing you but not seeing everything, just arouses him. it feels scandalous. enticing.

---

dazai smirks the moment you start to undress, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he looks you over. “my, my, belladonna. look at you, all dressed up so prettily for me,” he coos, slowly tracing the lace with his fingers, admiring the delicate fabric. he’s careful not to tear it. “you know, since you go to the trouble of wearing these, you might as well put on a show for me,” he says, and it doesn’t take long before you’re rubbing your clit through your panties, a noticeable stain already soaking the fabric.

desperate little moans escape your lips while he watches you, condescending but oh-so-sweet words falling from his mouth. “come on, bella. you can do better than that. right now, you’re not really deserving of my cock.” he says, seemingly having no regard for the current state you’re in and how much you want to feel him inside of you.

he fists his own cock right in front of you for a little extra motivation, the tip already leaking pre-cum and practically begging for your warm, slick cunt, almost making you drool at how ethereal he looks. every lazy stroke of his hand makes you whimper, the need between your legs growing unbearable. only when you’re soaking wet, your movements slower and more urgent, does he finally let you ride his aching cock—his eyes leaving your bouncing tits only to drink in your fucked-out expression. “tired already, love? aah, just a bit longer… your expression looks so beautiful right now.”

chuuya.:

chuuya likes you going out of your way to surprise him, especially with such a nice setting—your bedroom dim, jazz playing low, wine already poured. however, he never would have thought you’d surprise him with lingerie. not that he’s complaining, though. in fact, he loves seeing you like this, seeing the thigh stockings squeezing your plump flesh just right. he loves that you chose a bolder color too! although it wouldn’t really matter since anything looks gorgeous on you, but the red really has his focus. it’s striking, fiery, and impossible to ignore—just like you. and it’s such a nice contrast against your skin.

if he had known you were going to buy lingerie for him, he definitely would have kept you company, maybe made you try different sets on too, and perhaps have you suck him off in the dressing room.

---

as you slowly undress in front of chuuya, revealing your red lingerie, he’s momentarily stunned before letting out an amused huff. “appreciate the sight, doll,” he says, taking his sweet time admiring the stitching, drawn to the way the lace hugs your curves.

he orders you to take a spin, slowly, stopping once your ass is in view. he runs a gloved hand along the curve, snapping the fabric of the lace against your skin teasingly before spanking you once. you let out a whine at the slightly painful sensation before he traces soothing circles around the pink mark. his hand then slides between your thighs, one finger gliding along your clothed slit. he admires the way your body reacts to his touch before his hand reaches the curve of your ass again. this time, he delivers another slap—harder than the last, but still bearable.

despite his earlier reverence and the restraint he was showing, his patience eventually snaps, and he pushes you face-first against the window, tearing the fabric with ease. in his mind, you could always buy a new one, and he’ll gladly lend you the money for it if it means he gets to see you like this more often. he rubs his dick against your ass leisurely, drawing out little moans from you before he thrusts it into your already drenched cunt. “damn, you’re so fucking hot, darling. gonna fill you up good tonight. god—you have no idea how pretty you look right now.”

yosano.:

yosano had never seen you in any form of special lingerie besides the usual matching bra and panties you wear daily, perhaps sometimes decorated with a bit of lace. so it comes as a surprise when she sees you walking out of the bathroom in a delicate ivory lace set instead of a towel, especially when you said you’d only take a shower.

she’s confused for a second but definitely appreciates the sight, particularly since the set you chose looks somewhat vintage—much to her delight and in line with her sense of style. yet, there’s a subtle hint of disappointment in her, that you chose to reveal yourself in such a tempting outfit only now. then again, she could have taken the lead as well, considering how much she likes to tease you, especially when it involves such sensuality.

---

yosano hums in approval, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “well, look at you. i didn’t know you had such refined taste.” she steps closer, fingers grazing the hem of the lace, inspecting its quality. the floral details catch her attention, and she traces the pattern with a velvety touch before slowly beginning to strip the top off of you. as much as she enjoys seeing the creamy lace on you, she’d much rather see you without it, caressing your smooth skin with her bare hands.

“don’t worry. i think these might come in handy later,” she says in a suggestive manner, clearly hinting at something. and that something isn’t far off as she continues to strip you, planting feathery kisses along your soft skin. you enjoy the attention she’s giving you, feeling your cheeks grow warmer as her kisses become more demanding. eventually, she uses the lingerie to lightly tie your hands to the bed frame, your expression earning an amused chuckle from her.

she continues to plant kisses down your neck to your breasts, sucking on one of your nipples while teasing your clit with a deft touch. a soft moan escapes your lips as your body tenses up at the sensation, and you rub yourself against her, wanting her to touch you more. your gaze grows pleading as you look up at her, and she teases your entrance before pushing two fingers inside of you. you arch your back ever so slightly, craving her to push deeper. “tsk, tsk, tsk, what an impatient little thing you are,” she says before removing her hand, enjoying seeing you struggle, unable to feel her touch no matter how much you want to or how much you beg. “aw, don’t give me that look, dear. if you’re being good, then i’ll continue.”

ranpo.:

ranpo loves attention—your attention especially. he’s shameless about it too, always acting like he deserves to be pampered, spoiled, adored. even when he’s not trying to be sexy, somehow he still is—lying around lazily, smirking at you like he knows exactly what he does to you. he’s a brat sometimes, but that only makes it even better when you finally get to catch him off guard. though, that’s hard, considering he’s able to deduce what you’re planning from a mile away.

still, you try anyway, hoping he’ll miss just this one small detail that makes everything click into place. however, it seems you failed today’s attempt at surprising him. when you enter the bedroom in a sheer, soft pink lingerie set—the color reminding him of one of his favorite candies, which was probably intentional—he looks nowhere near surprised. or is he?

---

ranpo blinks up at you from where he’s sprawled out on the bed, having already suspected you were up to something since you took too long to change and he heard the shuffle of clothes. however, he didn’t expect this—so he’s definitely surprised, if only for a second. he’s blushing slightly before clearing his throat, trying to mask his flustered state. “oh? what’s this? a gift? for me?” he purrs, stretching like a cat as he sits up straight.

you roll your eyes playfully, noticing the faint blush on his cheeks and teasing him about it. upon hearing all your embarrassing words, he grows pouty, crossing his arms and looking away—though only slightly. a tinge of guilt gnaws at you as you crawl onto the bed with him, earning a chuckle when you try to comfort him, but he only acted out so you’d come closer without him needing to get up. you played right into his hands. “look at you... all sweet and concerned just for me,” he hums, brushing a finger along the curve of your breast as he admires the neat stitching of your top. “hope you don’t mind if i skip unwrapping you—i’m a little impatient tonight.”

before you can even tease him back, ranpo mouths hungrily along your throat, his fingers already slipping beneath the lace, shameless and greedy. your breath hitches as he suddenly clings to you, and you return the favor, kissing him with just as much desire. however, ranpo doesn’t hold out long, so he’s out of breath pretty soon, which means he makes you do all the work. of course, that includes you sucking him off with your tits out, too lazy to do anything himself despite the effort you put into wearing this just for him. but you oblige his wishes, knowing that what comes after will be even sweeter. “don’t worry, i’ll reward you after you finish, sweetheart.”

atsushi.:

atsushi isn’t used to being the center of attention, especially not the kind you give him. it doesn’t matter how many times you compliment him, how many lingering looks you throw his way—he’s still easily flustered. but deep down, he craves it, craves being wanted. he just can’t get over the fact that someone as beautiful as you actually likes him, wants him. it’s deeply rooted inside his mind from years of abuse at the orphanage that he’s not worthy of such love. though you slowly get him accustomed to it, step by step.

today is another step, where you want to show just how much you appreciate him with a little gift. he looks confused and nervous when he shows up, probably wondering if he missed your anniversary or something after you texted him to come over, saying you have a surprise for him. and when he sees you waiting for him in a white lace set, his heart races and his cheeks turn red. turns out, atsushi is utterly weak for white lingerie. the color feels so delicate, pure, and almost bridal, and the symbolism absolutely scrambles his brain—even if you didn’t intend it to be.

---

“you… what are you–!” he stammers, his eyes darting everywhere but you. it’s only when you tell him to look at you that he slowly drags his gaze back, seemingly a bit embarrassed. you take a few steps closer, allowing him to better notice the gorgeous yet simple set. it’s not too much, but not too little, and he appreciates that.

he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his breath hitching slightly. “you’re absolutely breathtaking. of course, y-you’re always breathtaking, but you know… this really suits you. i mean, everything you wear suits you but–” you shut him up with a kiss, asking if he likes what he sees with a teasing smile on your lips. he looks at you, a bit flustered, before sighing to regain his composure, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “shut up,” he says sarcastically, nipping at your neck before picking you up and laying you down on the bed. you giggle at the sudden movement, and he climbs on top of you, seeming a tad more confident than before.

“just so you know, it’s totally your fault if these get ruined,” he teases lightly before kissing down your chest, trailing lower until he reaches your pussy. he pushes the fabric aside and drags a slow, teasing stripe through your folds with his tongue. his hands grip your thighs, holding you firmly in place as his tongue circles and flicks, drawing desperate moans from you. when you’re gasping for air, he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his voice low and sincere. “you’re so beautiful, just like this,” he murmurs before diving back in, making your world spin with every lap of his tongue.

fyodor.:

fyodor and you don’t have sex very often, but when you do, it’s always a pleasure in itself. however, lately, you start feeling bored with the same old routine, craving something new. the timing just wasn’t right until now, and my god, do you look absolutely stunning in that white lingerie set. so pure, so innocent, and so angelic. he just loves seeing you in that color. it stirs something inside of him, like he’s defiling something sacred.

he just can't stop thinking about how beautiful you look... and how satisfying it will be to ruin you, to corrupt you. and the fact you did all of this out of your own will, just to please him, gives him such a power trip. it shows your devotion and submission to him, all the while feeding into his superiority complex, making him think you offer yourself to him—which, essentially, you do.

---

fyodor freezes in the doorway the moment he sees you—bathed in soft, warm light, delicate white lace hugging your body like a second skin. for a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe, his eyes drinking you in with a kind of reverence. a small smile tugs at his lips, deceptively gentle, as he steps closer. “how sweet of you,” he murmurs, voice velvety, a finger coming up to trace the curve of your bare shoulder. “dressing yourself up just for me… like a lamb to the slaughter.” before you can even respond, his hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze—the soft white lace suddenly feeling far too fragile for the things he has in mind.

you chuckle faintly, enjoying the way he undresses you with his eyes alone. fyodor toys with the lace, sliding the delicate fabric up your thighs while dragging his fingertips along your skin so lightly it makes you shiver. he hums thoughtfully, pretending to admire you as if he has all the time in the world, even as he feels you growing impatient. his hands peel away the layers of fabric, piece by piece, with agonizing slowness, making you desperate for him to finally touch you. “you dressed so prettily, myshka,” he says, his voice dripping with false sweetness, “and you expect me to ruin you so quickly?” his lips brush over your ear, sending goosebumps down your spine. he loves having this much control over you…

when you’re finally bare for him, he doesn’t waste a second, pressing you down against the bed and slipping between your thighs almost ferally. his fingers dig into your hips as he pushes into you, slow but deep, dragging a broken moan from your lips. the stretch burns just right, and he savors the way you clutch at him, needy and trembling beneath his weight. “so perfect,” he breathes against your throat, rolling his hips harder, deeper, like he’s trying to carve the feeling of him into you.

↪thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! MLIST

copyright © mqdilen 2025 all rights reserved.

[thrasherella]

Weekend Getaway ‧₊˚⊹

MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ synopsis ~ stepdad!Nanami takes you for one of your regular weekend retreats over at his friend Higuruma's house; this time Higuruma's extra needy since you've been busy with work/friends/life and haven't been able to come see him and Nanami has been hogging you all to himself :(

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ featuring ~ nanami x reader, higuruma x reader

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ tags ~ porn with plot, fauxcest, stepdad, mention of 'uncle' but no actual relation, daddy kink, lots of praise, praise kink, cuddles and creampies, non-protected sex, fingering, oral sex, blowjobs, cunnilingus, sloppy make-out sessions, age gap, threesome, sharing, exhibitionism, squirting, spitting, cum play, cum eating, domination, free use, generally other fun sexy things~💋

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ a/n ~ back with more of the two hottest overworked and exhausted zaddies in jujutsu kaisen sharing you for their own weekend of pure carnal pleasure~! 🥵 i don't normally write in second person pov soooo hope you guys enjoy this as much as i do~! any constructive feedback/thoughts are welcome 🩷

~ Part Two ~ Animals

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙○♡๑•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•๑♡○•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

stepdad!Nanami who makes you take your panties off in the car after arriving at his friend Hiromi’s place before you both go inside.

"You know how he gets; I can't have him ripping another expensive pair of your panties right at the start of the weekend...leave those in the glovebox for me to find later sweetheart..." he watches hungrily, those soft hazel eyes all over you as your face flushed a deep pink, slowly hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your boy-shorts and sliding them down along your soft thighs; he couldn’t help but notice they were an absolute soaking mess as you folded them gently and placed them into the glovebox as he asked, dick stirring against his slacks at the thought of smelling you on them later…

stepdad!Nanami who gets out of the car and goes around to your side to help you out, like a true gentleman, however his motives are a little more devious. As he helps you up and out of the car, you hear him give a small gasp and tut, looking down at the passenger seat with a little grin. There was a large, wet puddle from where you had been leaking through your panties the entire ride over here, a thin trail of slick still connecting your now naked cunt to the seat. You felt your cheeks burning even hotter now, but you couldn't help smirking back mischievously; feeling him dripping out of your pussy, making a wet mess all over the seat and your thighs, felt so good...

"Sorry daddy," you mutter, biting at your lower lip. Before you can do anything else, his large hand is at the back of your neck, holding you hard, forcing you to bend over, putting your face dangerously close to the wet seat, like a puppy being disciplined. He steps behind you to block the view of your exposed ass and cunt, a little contented growl escaping his throat at the sight.

"Oh dear, darling what a mess you've made. All over those pretty thighs, and my nice car seat…you better clean it up," he forces you a little closer, and you tentatively lap at the spot, tasting his spunk mixed with you juices and the faux leather of the seat; truth be told not the worst thing you’ve ever tasted…

“Fhuuck; wish I could fuck you right here, that’s so hot…” you hear him mutter, his grip on the back of your neck tightening as he growls again, his dick now throbbing with mounting need.

God how badly you want the same thing…

…

stepdad!Nanami's friend Hiromi Higuruma, who you've always called your uncle since your introduction a few years ago, was a perfect gentleman as he answered the door, smiling brightly as he hugged Kento and stepped aside to allow you both into the entryway.

uncle!Higuruma became a perfect freak as soon as the door swung shut behind you, however, backing you up against the hard surface as his lips pressed against yours, that handsome nose bumping playfully against you. He gave a low hum, his tongue already begging for entrance to your mouth, which you eagerly gave. He taste like sweet coffee and mint, his tongue exploring you hungrily, one hand buried in the hair at the back of your head, tugging softly. Fire danced between your legs as that familiar knot in your core began to tighten, sparks flying along your spine as he completely took over in a matter of seconds.

"Missed you," he sighed into your mouth, his free hand wandering underneath the hem of your dress, heat erupting in his lower abdomen as his fingers found your bare, dripping cunt. He was restless, frantic; fingers teasing your puffy clit, drawing sharp breaths and moaning from you, Higuruma smirking against your mouth knowing you were helpless beneath him.

"So wet," he groaned, still sloppily tasting you, tongue slipping against yours wetly as he finally sinks one long finger into your velvety folds, again moaning against your lips as you clench tightly around him, Nanami's cum leaking out and all over his hand, dripping down as far as his silver watchband. In contrast to his previously fervent movements, he worked his finger slowly inside you, making your breath hitch. He was curiously pressing and prodding different spots, remembering which ones caused you to make those sweet little erotic sounds against his lips and into his mouth so that he could make you do it over and over…

“Fuck Hiromi, are you gunna take her against your front door like a fucking animal, or are you gunna come over here and share already?” Nanami's voice suddenly interjected, your eyes snapping open, trying to focus through this sweet haze clouding your senses. He was standing close by, just out of the entryway, palming his hardened dick through tented slacks, smirking at both of you. You felt your cheeks grow hot; how long had Higuruma been fingering you for…? You can’t help but notice the growing wet stain on the front of your stepdad’s tan pants as he rubbed himself almost absent-mindedly, hazel eyes fixed on your messy cunt.

“Fuck I ain’t sharin’,” Higuruma muttered, pulling the digit from your tight folds; you’re unable to stop the little whimper of loss, but then he raises it to your swollen lips and pushes it in, making you taste the mixture of his skin, your own juices, and your stepdad's climax. He gives a low hum when you moan against his finger at the intrusion, sucking him softly, feeling his cock throbbing in time with the movements of your mouth. “Besides, she loves this, fuckin’ little exhibitionist; she loooves knowing that the whole street could hear her if she’s not quiet…”

He wasn’t wrong.

He was now hurriedly undoing his belt and pants, pushing them down his thighs just enough so that his cock could stand free, tip blushing darkly, leaking all over himself. He grabbed at your hips, pressing you harder against the door, almost frantically guiding himself to your entrance and roughly thrusting in, groaning above you as he immediately began rutting into you like a dog in heat, the mixture of his precum, your slick, and Nanami's earlier orgasm coating his length as he hilted you over and over.

You gasp and sigh into his neck, holding onto his shoulders as he fucks you right there against the front door, his dick already bullying your cervix as he pounded into you; he wasn't quite as thick as Nanami, but he was a little longer, and you felt equally stuffed when he bottomed out in you; you could swear you saw your stomach bulging as he filled you completely.

"Missed you, missed you," he repeated, his words mumbling, using the long bridge of his nose to force your chin upward so that he could press soft, wet kisses against your neck and jaw. "God; fuck your pussy feels so fuckin' goodohmyGod..." your legs were shaking, Higuruma holding you up for support, his hot breath against your neck making your pussy throb around him.

"It's been three weeks," Nanami chuckled softly, and you briefly get a peek of him grinding himself into his fist, his gaze focused on how perfectly your tits bounced with each of Hiromi's thrusts.

"Three too many," Hiromi whines as his hips snap into yours and you can feel him trembling, already losing what little control he had. "Ahh, hah, fuck, I'm sorry doll, I can't help it, gunna--" he couldn't even get the words out before he was spilling into you, hips stuttering as he groaned. You can’t help your eyes rolling back as you feel him twitching and squirting inside of you, painting you white, your cunt clenching and gushing around him as your own hips seemed to lose control as you thrust yourself onto him, joining him in climax.

As your movements eventually slowed, he slumped against you slightly, pulling you into a tight hug which you returned, wrapping your arms around him, breathing him in. Fhuuuck you could never quite place the smell of his cologne, but the way it mingled with his own natural scent always went straight to your groin, your cunt suddenly gripping his softening member, making him moan lightly, pressing his lips against your temple.

“Give me a minute doll; fuck three weeks, you’re not allowed to do that again…when’s your lease up? You’re moving in with me…” he was rambling breathlessly, and you couldn’t help but giggle; you knew he was absolutely serious, this wasn’t the first time he had asked (more insisted) that you come live with him, but Nanami would be wildly jealous; he’d already discussed this with you at length, which is why he continued to pay the rent for your apartment.

“She moves in with you and I’ll never get to see her again, or you either for that matter Hiromi,” you could hear Nanami saying, his voice sounding a little blunt. “You two’ll be fucking on every single surface in here every chance you get…”

Higuruma snorted. “Like we’re not already…?”

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙○♡๑•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•๑♡○•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

[copperheid]

Honestly Bruce has been treating Jason particularly awful the last few years. Like it's just endless.

Most recently it was when he fucked with his brain so that he'd have a panic attack any time his adrenaline was raised, creating an endless feedback of fear as fear itself raises your adrenaline. Not to mention much of everyday life also raises your adrenaline like working out, sex, romance, being annoyed, enjoying a good book/film/game.

And Bruce did not, to my knowledge, actually help remove this when he came to his senses - seemed like whatever the Joker gave Jason fixed it? (Truthfully I didn't read much of zdarskys work after gotham war because I was not enjoying it so it may have been resolved in a later arc - but the fact he didnt fix it at the start of the next arc at least is telling on its own. But he's appeared in other stories and been fine so I assume it was resolved eventually)

Jason regularly seems to just let Bruce walk all over him and treat him extremely poorly, and it's clear Bruce has a low opinion of him in several arcs but Jason thus far has remained downright inexplicably loyal.

I'm starting to wonder if it had all been building up to this heel-turn for Jason.

Personally I think he might take a turn back to being more anti-heroic. It seemed they were testing the waters on that with 3 jokers but that was ultimately not made canon because fans hated jaybabs.

But Jason having more complex morals and being willing to kill does make him more interesting, so having him be strictly non lethal to please Bruce does hamper that.

I don't necessarily think Jason is about to go full supervillian like he used to be, but I do think he might be a lot less willing to put up with Bruce's abuse and a lot more hurt by it.

Bruce is very willing to use excessive force against Jason in a way he rarely does to the rogues. And while yes this could be explained by the fact that Jason is very nearly on par with Bruce as a combatant (both in training and physical strength) so he poses a greater threat in Bruce's mind - that doesn't justify it at all.

Jason has commented on it a few times now - Bruce has now almost killed Jason on multiple occasions. Slitting his throat (UTRH), pulling him off his bike while travelling at speed (Task Force Z), beating him to a pulp (multiple - most notable being RHaTO 25), nearly giving him a heart attack with an incredibly dangerous little brain 'tweak' (Gotham War) and now shooting him in the head (Hush 2), '. It's all been chipping away at their relationship bit by bit.

Going out of his way to save the Joker is just a step too far. Jason has come to understand that Bruce will never kill the Joker outright at this point because he understands Bruce's moral code better, even if he still resents it. But Jason still believes that the world is better off with some people dead. He's a moral utilitarian, so Bruce's deontological moral standpoint does leave them at odds on the issue on whether it is moral to let the Joker die.

As Jason sees it, he can understand Bruce not outright killing - but going out of his way to save him is another matter, because for him it's a trolley problem - Joker on one side of the tracks and his future victims on the other, and the trolley is actively headed for the Joker this time. And to him, Bruce has actively chosen to redirect the trolley towards the future victims. He's not just choosing inaction, it's an active choice to kill countless innocents by saving the Joker.

Bruce of course is just set in his ways that it is always immoral to kill and always moral to save the dying, so they will always be at odds on this issue.

So yeah, I don't think Jason turning heel in this moment, permanently or not, is OOC at all. I think it makes perfect sense and has been a long time coming. Working with Hush is another matter - we'll see how that plays out. Jason is as much a schemer as Bruce and Tommy are. He may be playing them both.

Bruce on the other hand...well, there's enough instances now that it's not technically out of character for him to act like this. But I certainly don't like where his characterisation is going. His ethics are making less and less sense whenever Jason is involved.

…Bruce. You brainwashed him. Your abused son placating you does not mean you made amends.

Also… “The worst of it now. Having to explain my actions.” Do you have any idea how you sound right now Bruce? Well? Do you?!?

As it turns out, Bruce doesn’t even end up explaining his actions. Instead, he shoots his son in the face.

Yeah, I’m not kidding. The man who has trauma about his family being shot proceeds to…shoot his family. And honestly, “I did it to shatter his helmet to make sure he’s not Clayface” is a really terrible excuse. Keep in mind that this occurs during an argument over Bruce saving the Joker yet again.

Anyway. Wanna play spot the difference?

Yeah, the stuff Bruce was saying in RHatO 25 was worse, but the context of Batman 159 is worse. And the fact that Bruce shot Jason in the face. Even with the helmet it’s a true wtf moment.

I don’t know why Jason went “evil” this time but tbh even if it’s not a trick or some secret plan (which it very well could be) I’m kinda with Jason here.

[literatemisfit]

Re: Talking about JKR on David's episode of "The Assembly"

I love how he immediately got emotional when talking about why standing up for trans rights was important to him. I often forget how emotionally tied he is to the cause, not only because of his own child being affected, but also because of his long-held core belief that members of the lgbtq are as valid and normal as any other (see: working with RTD, Phil Collinson, early interviews with Alan Carr and Graham Norton where there's playfulness around him being attractive to gay men etc.). And when people like JKR are somehow countering that as if it's normal to deny people's human rights to be who they are or love who they love and endangering all these people in his own life that he loves, of course he's tied to it, not only in terms of logic and reason and the injustice, but by emotion and worry and care for those other people.

But also, I love that when he starts talking about JKR (he also did this at a recent comic con), he starts by saying and acknowledging that she is a brilliant author who has created amazing stories and I find that so interesting because often, when people disagree with each other on huge core beliefs (esp on social media), they have to tear them down and jump to insults (fat-shaming t**mp, etc) which is not helpful to any kind of discourse. It will only add fuel to the fire for the other side to disagree with that kind of sentiment, having now fat-shamed other fat people - maybe who were on your side - and essentially saying that the reason you dislike him is because of his looks, and not his actions, which should be the focus. And I love that David takes the time to acknowledge that JKR did create great stories and that's not something he's taking away just because he can't understand her political/human rights worldview. He's not coming at it from a place of anger, emotion, telling her to fuck off and saying well her stories weren't even that good anyway - because that's not helpful, and it's not the POINT. The point is where the money is going - fueling anti-trans legislation. There isn't any of that pettiness or emotional language that a lot of people jump to in big heated emotional arguments, and for him to not give them the fodder for attacking him on an emotional argument because he does admit to the quality of her work WHILE ALSO absolutely countering her on human rights. I worry a bit that some fans WANT him to jump in and tear her down and go off on her as the father of a trans kid, but the truth of that is that it's not helpful. It's social media, it's tabloid BS that takes away from the POINT which is human lives are being aversely affected by right-wing politicians. He's not giving them that fodder because he's coming at it from a place of logic and reason, and not from a place of emotion, which is ironically what JKR is doing on twitter.

I love that, I love that it's a power move and a strength that he has as someone who is not on social media and who has the time and space (no pun intended) to breathe and think and react and answer truthfully and thoughtfully. I admire that in him because I think I also struggle to put the emotion away and not jump on someone and insult them, but to step back and take a deep breath and pinpoint what you actually disagree with someone on, and the rest of it isn't relevant because you CAN be the most amazing artist in the world, but that still doesn't mean you get to forge a movement against a marginalized community and say such backwards things about other people.

[drst]

Stock up time, Americans

OK this is not fear mongering, folks, this is for real. If you live in the US, you need to start stocking up on supplies right now, especially anything that is imported from China.

There is a major drop in freight shipping from China happening right now (late April 2025). Even if someone with two brain cells got into a room with Trump today and convinced him to back down on the tariffs against China, it's too late. There are going to be shortages and empty shelves. It's a question of how long they will last now.

It will take a few more weeks to be felt across the US, but as cargo ceases to arrive on the west coast, you have around 3-4 weeks for the effects to fully reach the east coast depending on the items. People are already reporting price hikes just on orders from China due to the tariffs, but this is going to be a void where things we normally expect to be able to buy will no longer be available.

There could also be major ripple effects from this as the trucking industry gets hit with either layoffs or firings. A lot of people could be thrown out of work, on top of the cuts to federal and government-adjacent jobs. This will push the instability in the economy even harder. And who knows what catastrophes could come up next.

So what can you do now, at the end of April 2025? All of this advice should be considered based on your financial situation. Don't put yourself in debt to do any of these things, but maybe look at your budget and your savings and see what you can afford to do right now.

Stock up on medications. As we know from 2020, a lot of components of our medicines are made in China. Buy extra supplies of anything over the counter you rely on. See if you can get bulk refills on prescriptions. I know it's tough with insurance companies but check with the pharmacy and see if you can fill early, or see what the out of pocket cost is for a refill and if you can afford it.

Personal care and hygiene products too - buy extra soap, shampoo, toothpaste, etc. Feminine care products (diapers if you've got little ones).

Electronics. Almost everything we use is made in China or relies on components made in China. If you've been thinking of getting a new phone or your laptop is failing, now is the time before the prices go even higher.

Same deal with cars, although that's a major expense to replace and interest rates on loans are high right now. We assemble cars here in the US but every car manufacturer makes parts overseas. Take your car to a mechanic ASAP, get it checked out, make sure it's in good working order. Replace anything that needs replacing.

Paper products like toilet paper are not imported from China. As I understand it, the shortages in 2020 were due to other factors, buuuuut, let's be real. People are going to see bare shelves and panic. They're going to start hoarding and since we all remember the TP shortages 5 years ago, it would be a good idea to stock up now so you're not fighting the panic buyers.

Tools - weirdly a large percentage of scissors sold in the US are imported from China. Make sure you have a basic set of household tools. This is a list of 15 basics for handling a house. There's also the ready.gov list of what you need for an emergency kit. Also a basic sewing kit is a very good idea to have available.

Food-wise, again, while direct imports from China may not make a huge impact, if people begin to panic, you want to be prepared to deal with other people hoarding. If you have space and your electric bill can handle it, this is a good time to pick up a chest freezer. You can get a small one for under $200. You can buy the value sized bags of frozen stuff you like to eat (particularly important if you have food issues or if you've got kids who love their chicken nuggets). Grab extras of shelf-stable things like cereal, pasta, rice, and canned goods. If this feels paranoid, you don't have to go crazy, but buy at least some extras.

Get cash from your bank just in case. This is good practice in any circumstances, but don't assume your cards or your Apple Pay are going to work in an emergency. Hit the ATM, squirrel at least $100 away at home. Try to get small bills if you can, it's easier to carry some with you and leave the rest at home.

Lastly think through things you use daily, check where they come from, resupply or replace anything coming from China ASAP. Some folks already did this at the end of last year (durable goods purchases were up over 10% above average in December because people were worried about the tariff shit back then), but if you can afford it, get replacements or new supplies right now.

I sincerely hope 6 months from now this looks like panic and overreaction, but a lot of people smarter than me are giving this advice. It feels very much like February of 2020 again, where people watching the news closely could see something really bad on the horizon, but the majority had no idea. Better to be prepared.

[polymc]

Poly!MC with the Ghouls Headcannons [pt. 1]

Author's Note: MC is dating all the ghouls, but everything is in sections. Also, what do you guys think of the new layout? :>

Pairings: Frostheim, Vagastrom, Jabberwock, Sinostra, Hotarubi, Obscuary, Mortkranken

TW: Characters might be a little ooc so I apologize for that, I also started writing this after I finished episode 7 so sorry if some things are wrong.

MC uses They/Them pronouns and is kept blank

✗ Minors/Ageless blogs DNI, Go away please. ✗

- Frostheim -

Going on dates with the frostheim guys is going to be a lot fun for everyone... except Kaito. The 3 rich boys always pick something that is very nice and fancy for their MC while Kaito is just stressing out over why a steak is $200. Luckily this isn't always the case thanks to you and Lucas. You always make sure to do something where everyone is enjoying the date.

Kaito and Luca are the ones around you the most during school hours. They are always so protective of you and don't take shit from anyone. Someone insulted you? Lucas will defend your honor. You feel lonely? Kaito is currently running towards your location.

Jin and Tohma though, they are both on another level. They act and treat you mostly the same as they always did but if you look closer, you'll see small things that they'll do for you. For example, You just returned from giving papers to the chancellor and there they are, sitting at a table with your favorite snacks and tea/drink you like.

- Vagastrom -

Date planning is mostly picked out by either Leo or Sho. Alan has attempted but poor sweet himbo has no idea what he's doing. Leo usually takes the lead on what to do but Sho picks out food spots. Alan just likes to tag along and enjoys seeing the three of you happy. If you all somehow get separated, please hope Alan isn't alone otherwise you all have to decipher his texts on where he's at.

Leo and Sho are menaces to society. They love teasing you separately but together? Different story. Leo of course loves flaunting online about you two dating(he already was but now it's true). Sho is a secret sweetheart. He loves when you stop by his food truck and even makes sure to save you your favorite drink when you order.

Poor Alan. I imagine that even in a relationship, he still berates himself and holds back because he's scared to hurt you in any way. It takes you, Leo, and Sho to get him to see that it's okay. Other than that, Alan looks scary but he cares a lot about you. Please hold his hand, he will turn into mush if you do-

- Jabberwock -

Dates are always different. Sometimes you're enjoying having a picnic and sometimes you're watch movies. Once it was too late to go out and do anything so you all(Mainly you and Haru)built a blanket fort. Ren picked out a few movies you all could watch

Towa koala clings to you or makes you wrap your arms and legs around him. Personal space? What's that?? Sometimes he'll drag Haru into the mix too. You can't even step foot into Jabberwock without getting tackled by him. Ren on the other hand likes his one on one time with you and shows his affection privately. He'll make small gestures like saving you a spot at the restaurant or showing you the best ways to level up a character.

Haru is a big sweetheart. He'll still ask for your help but on occasion, he'll zoom past you and give a quick smooch on the cheek. He secretly loves watching you be around Towa and Ren, It makes him feel very happy seeing you all interact. Be prepared to raise a round rabbit creature with him! Peekaboo is now your son and you must raise the round boi with Haru.

- Sinostra -

You're either getting the sugar baby experience at full effect or you're spoiling your 3 crazy men. These 3 are gonna spoil you rotten but sorry it's not for free, They always want something in return. I got you this necklace! Now you can't leave me for the next 24 hours. It may seem crazy but they're crazy about you so win win.

Ritsu will still record things during your dates. Sometimes to hold it against you(affectionately) but I can see him rewinding it a few times just to remember your favorite color. He is a gentleman through and through, even if he has strange ways of showing it. Romeo? Oh the amount of times you hate kissed that man is unbelievable. Romeo still acts the same as before but he still shows he cares in little signs. BB Isn't basic bitch anymore... It's beautiful bitch(I'm joking... Maybe).

Taiga... Is Taiga. Just like Romeo, He is still the same, nothing has really changed but he is a lot more forward and touchy. You're sitting and eating your lunch? Not anymore! Taiga literally grabs you and drags you away because he wants you on his lap while he gambles. He has no idea what personal space is and could careless. He'll sometimes drag Romeo as well into his plans.

- Hotarubi -

SWEET. DATES. I can not stress enough how relaxing and mundane their dates would be. If you ever need to destress, they are right there for you. If you're ever feeling stressed, head over to Hotarubi and they will pamper you. Going on walks around the dorm or just sitting eating snacks seems, they love it and spending time with you on top of that? Perfect.

Haku is as flirtatious as ever, that won't ever change except now he's more touchy. You'll be focused on writing and he'll just stare at you before playing with your hair or running a finger over your cheek. He'll just smile at you while you sit there confused. Zenji, the sweet romantic, has so many things planned for his dear. He will stop by your dorm once in awhile to make sure his dear partner is doing okay, of course he'll give you space when you ask too! Be prepared to be romanced by song

Subaru, oh sweet Subaru. He is so scared of you. He adores and loves you of course! But he is terrified to mess things up so please be ready to remind him at times you love him too. The first time he accidentally read your thoughts, he felt so bad that he kept his distance for a while. But when you told him it was okay and to listen again, he heard that you cared for him and all he could do was hug you tightly.

- Obscuary -

One word. Chaos. 2 of them know how dates are supposed to go and one doesn't even know what a date is. Besides that, it's quite the adventure when it comes to going out with the three of them. Rui is the expert here so most of the dates are planned by him. Most of the time it's Rui and Edward watching you and Lyca run around but they don't mind.

Rui is a simp for you. Period. Having someone who cares about him, curse and all, is all he could ever ask for. He's still flirty of course but only for you, he's your number 1 fan(He would say that). Lyca has no fucking clue on relationships but he doesn't care. He is so protective of you that he'll growl if anyone even looks at you funny. He tries to carry you places and he says it's because you're slow but really he likes holding you and having your smell close

Edward. Is. 100%. A threat. You are in trouble if you're left alone with him. He'll spew romantic words at you until you're red in the face and then ask to watch YouTube. Most of the time you ever go out, it's at night and never really far from the dorm. One time, he turned into a bat just to get some attention from you.

- Mortkranken -

These 2 have no idea what they're doing so you're going to have to be the one to suggest any sort of date and even when you do, you get a flustered Yuri and a confused Jiro. Yuri has even dragged Jiro to help him pick an outfit while Jiro is already ready to go. Dates remain mostly small and relaxing. A museum or an aquarium is the main spot for these 2, Be ready to get an earful of knowledge though.

At the times you are at mortkranken, you basically follow Yuri and Jiro around the whole time. If you get sidetracked or lost, Yuri panics where you could have gone. While he panics, Jiro has already texted you asking where you went. Jiro still loves scaring you but you'll get a kiss on the forehead afterwards at least, He loves teasing you. He holds your hand every chance he can get.

Yuri demands attention from you all the time. Be ready for the biggest tsundere ever because even when dating, this man will still act like he isn't looking at your stupid adorable face. You once wrapped your arms around him and he lectured you about it but when you tried to pull away, he tightened your arms around him and huffed.

- Everyone / Random -

Sho spends his lunch break with you and Subaru. Sometimes Leo and/or Lyca will join.

You working at Rui's bar causes the usuals to stay a bit longer than usual. They secretly enjoy seeing you run around behind the bar with your cute apron on.

Towa loves taking you around Jabberwock with Zenji. They both smother you with affection and try to make you swoon for them.

Kaito runs to you whenever Romeo is chasing him. He hopes that you can "presway" him into leaving him alone. Half the time it doesn't work, the other half it does but then Kaito is jealous and starts to follow you guys.

Hyde and Moby have a bet on your relationship. For example they once had a bet on Jin vs Alan on who can woo you silently better. That didn't last long because as soon as the ghouls found out they put a stop to it.

The first ever date they went on was chaos but they all had fun. You almost didn't leave because some were arguing about who sat next to you on the train. Leo, Towa, and Rui managed to sneak off with you without anyone noticing first.

Even though you're in a poly relationship, you make sure to give everyone one on one time because let's be honest these boys still get jelly/possessive.

Sleepovers at your place would be insane. It is utter chaos but imagine the potential for the best fort ever.

There was something called "The ghoul chase" where no one could find you and all the ghouls went crazy running around looking for you. You were just petting the cats though-

[universalzones]

"Stop being a little-" Surge cut herself off, taking a breath before speaking again. "I'm just tired Sonic. It's been a LONG fucking day between getting my memories back, Clutch getting away, and now all this shit with G.U.N." The tenrec was reaching her limit with bullshit for the day, though that other voice in her head was somehow keeping her from just popping off and going on a rampage. Still getting used to that.

"You can't win every battle Sonic, even if you want to. Life's a bitch like that, so gotta take those loss's on the chin. You just remember what I said. Follow the map I gave ya when you get to the town and don't tell no one. Even if you want to tell Tails fucking don't. I know, it's a lot to ask. I just need something today." As long as Sonic would take Drippy to where she wanted him to Surge could at least have one win today. Even if her map was kinda shit. "Whisper knows the town I'm talking about."

===========================================================

Belle knew that look, though she didn't mean any offense not telling Miles right now. "I just don't want Blaze to hear as I don't know her very well. If I have time to tell you myself I will, though I'll make sure Sonic knows he can talk to you about what I told him if I don't." The tinkerer whispered slightly mainly to let Blaze focus.

"I believe Surge meant both of their accounts on at that device. I am unsure given her way of speaking." Surge said that this was device had everything on it so assume both her and Kitsunami's story were on it. "Let us hope I am correct as I doubt we can afford to delay this any longer." The feline was correct in hearing that the General had opened up a link and it was then connected.

"Be careful with your wording General or one might mistake you for WANTING us to pick a fight, and I'm sure that's the last thing you wish." What a truly insufferable man, almost as if he was taunting them, though Blaze wouldn't play into his mind games. "Surge has agreed to turn herself in, however from statements from her, Kitsunami, Sonic, and Miles it is well established that Kitsunami wasn't involved in Surge causing chaos in that town. I'm sure security footage can prove that as well."

"As for Belle, you have no right to take her in given her being a legal member of The Restoration, having done no harm or showed any sign's of working for Eggman, and is part of Miles company. Along with her being a living being. If you wish to speak with Miles and Belle on the matter they are present and ready to do so. What I wish to discuss is how to smoothly transition Restoration members off base without causing a fight to break out."

The blue hedgehog only smiled over at Surge, as he walked toward the exit. Some things might never change and no matter how much Surge bitched--- Sonic would never change. He simply smiled at Surge and placed his hands behind his head as he moved to the exit with that whimsical smile of his. He got what she meant but some habits were impossible for him to break.

" Yea yea.. i get it, old habits--- i'll try and hold my tongue till this shit storm is over... "

Miles dropped down into the seat near belle and crossed his arms and sighed shaking his head at Sonic. Some things really never changed but, at least they weren't trying to kill each other. His tails swished as he gave a slight glance at Belle. So she confided in Sonic and not him? Why did that make him feel a little bitter? Nah he shouldn't he was sure she had her reasons. Besides they had way more important things to focus on.

" No Worries Blaze, i have the files ready for transfer, as soon as Kitsunami gives me his recording i can start the upload. So we are primed and ready! "

It was almost as if on Que that the monitor began to hum to life. The communications hub, connecting with the battle cruiser. Miles turned to his console and gave Blaze a look.

" Looks like he's on the horn already--- opening channel, the stage is yours Blaze "

The Screen flickered to life as the massive wolf's visage beamed onto the giant screen. The tall wolf was haggard looking, with that stern face like stone. Not from stress or lack of sleep but rather years of training ingraining in him that steel gaze. It was stern and cold as ice and yet there as an intellect behind that one good eye that made him possibly the most dangerous aspect of this little game.

The President was cunning, and charismatic, but Lupus? he was the kind of soldier who would kill with a word and never once show an ounce of empathy.

" Princess, are you ready to give in to our demands? or perhaps this is a gamble for more time... Or perhaps you have a more devious plan up your sleeve, i hope so--- deviations like that keep me sharp and on my toes "

===============================================

Within the office of Jewel she stood at her own Console awaiting the response from the UFN council. Bypassing the general and getting a direct line into Thawn's office. It was a bold move, and it could get turned down but she had a hunch that Thawn was to proud and full of himself to turn her call down. The moment he accepted her call, Miles program would lock the call in place and trap the general and thawn into seperate conversations!

this was her gamble!

" Ah Director Jewel, I was beginning to worry as no one had seen you since the explosion. I found it odd your subordinates were doing the negotiating... "

the screen finally flickered to life revealing the smug smile of that stag. She could see why Blaze spoke the way she did. He seemed so arrogant and cocky as if he'd already won the battle. Jewel already hated the air this man gave off but she kept her cool as she adjusted her dress and buzzed her wings and kept her serious face on.

" Yes, i was on the ship when it was attacked. Luckily i was rescued, and managed to make it back to HQ. I Apologize for not being able to speak with you sooner, but things have as you well know--- been rather chaotic... "

" I won't beat around the Bush Mr. President... We are both very busy and i'd like to resolve this as quickly as possible. So i'm sure we can come to an understanding... after all our real enemy here is and has never been one another right? "

The real battle had only just begun! she hoped Blaze was able to keep he general occupied! but as long as they were separated she was confident they could come to a reasonable outcome to this dangerous scenario!

She would do her best!