#but we all know how male muses end up with me

[queenxfjustice]

2:30AM and I got the JJK brainrot.

Specialz on repeat baby.

[mv1simp]

Haunted ♥️ Part 1 of 2

Alpha!Max Verstappen x Reader (Omegaverse AU)

READ PART TWO HERE

it’s where we go, it’s what you see (I know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me)

As Mercedes’ rookie female driver, you garner a lot of media attention, even more when you reveal you haven’t presented. You don’t care about true mates or presenting - all you wanted was the championship. You’d be a lot closer to it, if it wasn’t for the dominating Alpha Max Verstappen. But after your late presentation, you two realize there’s a lot more to your bond than competition.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, primal themes, dom!Max, Sub!Reader, enemies to lovers. WC: 5.4k

Triumphantly holding the trophy up in your hands, you beam at the sea of black and white fans who scream their approval. Winning your second race after having fought your way throughout the season as the new Mercedes driver was an unforgettable feeling - sealing in that it was your talent, not luck that got you the first. And no one had given you a harder time and held up your long overdue win than the reigning world champion - Max Verstappen. Turning to your right, you reward him with a smirk as your national anthem finally plays instead of the Dutch one.

He doesn’t hide his frustrated glare at you from his P2 podium that instinctively makes you want to sprint away and hide in your safe garage behind Toto. You’re a bit annoyed he’s still taller than you, even though you’re on the highest step. One of the downsides of being 5 foot compared to Max’s tall 6 foot frame - but that hasn’t stopped you from finally taking the win from him and proving how deserving of your seat you are, you remind yourself.

As the first female driver in decades, you’d sent shock waves through the paddock when Mercedes had pulled you out of the F4 pool and straight into their seat after the loss of their golden boy, Lewis Hamilton, to Ferrari. What had been even more shocking was the fact that you were an Unpresented female in a sport that was almost exclusively dominated by Alpha males.

Like the majority of premier athletes, most of the drivers had presented from a very young age as Alphas. Unsurprising - given the traits of ruthless competitiveness, aggression and passion that came naturally to Alphas. And out of all this group of already highly dominating drivers, Max Verstappen was the alpha, well known for his perfect instincts, the ultimate apex predator. His early career was famous because of how, at 17, his intimidating aura had been enough to make grown men racing on the same track give way to the younger alpha. This automatic submission Max was able to elicit from others was one of the many, many benefits that came with being an Alpha in society - especially for one such a powerful as Max.

So when you - who was not an Alpha, or even a Beta, but rather an Unpresented - showed up to the paddock for your first ever race and then ended up somehow going wheel to wheel with the reigning world champion by Lap 20, jaws dropped and headlines were rapidly printed. Presenting as an Alpha was rare, an Omega even rarer - with the majority of the population being Beta. However a small population also remained Unpresented, spending their whole lives without any sign they belonged to any gender. Essentially, you were like a scentless Beta - but just several rungs below on the social ladder as Alpha commands had minimal effect on you. It could be worse, you had mused when started racing - you could have been born an Omega.

Omegas were a rare breed and highly sought after. With their attributes of being sweetly nurturing and natural carers - they made the perfect match for protective Alphas. Of course, as the world had historically always been ruled by Alphas, in turn Omegas had been stereotyped as the soft, submissive, delicate ones who needed to be closely guarded in society’s eyes.

So it had been suprising to you that there were not one, but two Omega drivers on the paddock this year. Yuki Tsunoda made sense, you supposed, with his slight frame and pretty features giving him away. But he certainly swore so aggressively up and down the track he’d have the commentators asking if maybe he had been assigned the wrong group. Alex Albon had been much more surprising with his very Alpha-like build - but given his quietly confident aura and gentle nature compared to the other drivers who were always aggressively arguing, it made sense looking back. And it had been even more surprising when he announced he’d found his true mate and Alpha, his girlfriend Lily.

Really, you were grateful you didn’t have the drama that came with being assigned a presentation. Even if it meant you would never have a true mate, you could live with it if you could have a shot at being world champion. But goddamn Max Verstappen, with his intense gaze and powerful aura that even you would feel tickling the back of your neck, across the paddock, would keep getting in your way. Your first P1 though, 2 months ago in Japan, you hadn’t let him win and successfully defended him off. It was the only advantage of being Unpresented - unlike the other Alphas and Omegas on the track, you were the least affected by his suffocating presence and used that to your advantage when pulling dangerous manoeuvres that vexed the Dutch driver to no end.

And he’d certainly let you know it after your first win - after a neutral indifference to you when you approached him on your first day to greet him, unlike the majority of the drivers who’d curiously flocked to the first female one. But after you took P1 from him, he claimed angrily, with dirty fucking moves, what was that overtake on the 2nd corner- you’d formed an instant dislike of him. Just because you didn’t bend to his will like everyone else?! Just because you’d won using the same move - you pointed out to him furiously - that he’d used to overtake you on the last race?

The pair of you had become quick rivals, butting heads more and more as each race went on and providing lots of great content for the media which ate it up. Sometimes Max would confuse you into thinking you were friends - occasionally murmuring helpful advice as you watched the post race highlights in the cooldown room, or shutting down sexist questions you’re repeatedly asked in the driver interviews. You’d think this was the warm, caring Max that you’d heard existed off the grid. But then you two would have some racing incident or the other and he’d be back to the fire breathing lion he usually was.

That first P1 in Japan had been bittersweet to you - because after your argument with Max, when you’d gone back to your hotel to admire your new trophy, you’d started to becoming increasingly unwell for a few days and had high fevers. You hadn’t even realised what was going on until your Beta coach banged on the door demanding to be let in, before saying you were finally presenting, 5 years late, as an Omega.

You’d been shocked and upset, of course, leading to a very traumatic first heat in a foreign country where although the desire and lust hadn’t been intense, the longing for an Alpha to comfort and protect you as you cried and whined has been so overwhelming. You had never wanted to feel anything like that again, so disempowered - so you had sworn your manager to secrecy and after a very private meeting with you, your teammate George Russell, your managers and a very concerned Toto Wolff - you’d tearfully told them what had happened. You’d expected to be dropped from the team, but they had taken one look at your distress and instantly calmed you down. Mercedes will most certainly not be dropping their very promising rookie, who had just taken P1 at her 4th ever F1 race, Toto had reassured you firmly, exuding calm confidence as he handed you a tissue. George’s large hand rubbed warm circles on your back and within a few minutes you’re laughing at jokes the two tall Alphas made to cheer you up, unable to resist the urge to protect the small Omega in front of them and using their scents to soothe you.

Regardless of how understanding your team principal had been, the fact was it would be terrible PR for you to publically present as an Omega female and risk the loss of sponsors. Given that the first heat after the presentation was notorious for being especially painful in an effort to attract a fated mate from the very start, Toto had guided you to a discreet specialist doctor to ensure the world continued to believe you were Unpresented. You’re relieved, hating the idea of being stereotyped as something delicate and pretty to be protected when you were anything but. You literally drove like a suicidal madwoman at 300km/hr for a career! So you’d promptly been started on high strength suppressors to avoid any issues with a first heat happening in the middle of a race weekend, and a couple sprays of sweet perfume later no one would be any the wiser if they picked up on any residual Omega scent that the suppressors couldn’t block.

So here you were now, celebrating your second win in Barcelona with a few of the drivers and friends at a 3 story club downtown. Although you’d been enjoying drinking and laughing with your friends, you’d been unable to stop the shivers that ran down your bare spine from your rival’s intense gaze, still simmering with anger, across the dancefloor where he was talking to Lando. You hated the way that you still felt so affected by him, by his scent that always seemed to drift over to you, always smelling more and more heady each time you saw him. And the urge to submit to him was just stupid and desperate, you thought, rolling your eyes and taking another shot. It turns out your “slutty inner omega whore” as you had not-so-fondly dubbed her, seemed more interested in having a strong Alpha’s dick inside her, instead of hating said Alpha for trying to run her off the track. Multiple times.

And tonight, the suppressants were clearly not doing their job because you couldn’t control the way you squeezed your thighs together, panties suddenly damp with the thought of an alpha like Max keeping his eyes on you - instead of the girls who had been throwing themselves at him the second he’s entered the club. You tell your inner slut who delighted in this attention to get it together, because the attention was likely murderous rage from the competitive Dutch champion at losing a race. Forcing yourself to ignore the prickles down your spine, you take another shot instead and head back to the dance floor.

Many, many drunk dances with your girlfriends later, you found yourself safely dropped off at the hotel. Pressing the button, you waited patiently for it to come down, fanning your face because you felt strangely hot in the night chill despite having left the club. And then you feel it - that heady, dominating aura that makes you want to fall to your knees. Spinning around, you see Max standing there, dressed in a rare outfit of a fitted white tee and tight pants, accentuating his broad shoulders and thick thighs. Fuck, you had forgotten Redbull was staying in the same hotel as your team this weekend.

He smirks at you, asking if you’d had a good night celebrating, because it’ll be the last win he’ll let you have this year, Princess. You despised the nickname he’s given you over the Redbull radio one race, and how it had stuck in the media too - the pretty little Mercedes princess. You give him an unimpressed glare and tell him to fuck off, Verstappen as you get in the elevator, staying right by the front with your back purposely to him. As the doors close, you can’t help but notice through the reflective wall how Max’s dark gaze unabashedly wanders down your body, enjoying the sight of your curvy, petite form dressed in a backless halter satin minidress and stiletto heels that accentuated your thick ass. Forbidden delight curls in your abdomen from the thought of an alpha as strong as Max finding you desirable. A deeper part of you - one that you would never admit to anyone - can’t deny that you desperately wanted Max to want you, having always idolised him before you joined F1. That when you’d picked out this dress you wondered if Max was going to be out tonight, if he’d see you in this outfit…and find you pretty.

And you’d never, ever admit that recently you woke up with damp thighs and lingers of a dream of being underneath a dominating blonde Alpha, his voice deep and accented as he whispered for you to take it all for me, prinses…

Again, you promptly tell your inner slut to close her mental legs - just in time as the elevator opens before both your floors to let in a large group heading to the upstairs bar.

They’re a drunk, rowdy bunch of businessmen and you’re in no mood to be felt up - and you find yourself moving beside the protective aura of Max. You scowl at how you couldn’t seem to control yourself around the taller man then find yourself surprised when he moves to cover you from their curious gazes. His wide shoulders block out their view of how enticing you look as he crowds you into one corner, his back to them. You nervously make sure you don’t stare anywhere else but straight ahead at his toned chest, your heart beating at 200bpm as the desire that’s pulsing through you being this close to him. Especially when he’s decided to look so fucking hot tonight, that intoxicating deep scent making you light headed, like luxurious velvet running down your skin, like burnt amber, smoky and woody from the embers of a winter's night fire. That wicked inner omega of yours can’t stop purring at how your scandalous choice of dress gives Max a generous view down your cleavage.

The elevator comes to a stop with a sharp jolt on the businessmen’s floor, startling you out of your thoughts and you find you’ve placed a manicured hand on Max’s toned abs to steady yourself. And as soon as you touch him - the first time you’ve ever laid hands on him, you realise later - electricity crackles in between you both. His scent becomes all the much headier to you - as if all the same flavours had suddenly become 10 times amplified. It makes you whimper and again, your body betrays you with the fresh wetness that suddenly drenches your panties.

The change in the air is instant, tension clearly palpable as you nervously peek under Max’s arm and realise the group of businessmen aren’t leaving the lift - and instead all their eyes are turned in your direction with lustful gazes. You shiver but don’t hesitate to glare at them as you tell them to get out. They don’t move, looking entranced at you, when a low, threatening rumble from Max’s chest makes it very clear that you are not to be messed with - unless they wanted to go against the strongest Alpha in a 100 mile radius. Slightly tilting his head to look back at the group, Max’s narrowed eyes and threatening aura makes them run off with their figurative tail between their legs.

The elevator closed with neat ding, moving back up, and suddenly you realised you were in a very compromising position with your rival - who had definitely noticed the very Omega-like addictive, sweet smell you were giving off as a supposed “Unpresented” female.

Verstappen- you say anxiously, frantically thinking of what to say to convince him to keep your secret. But all thoughts are cut off when Max unexpectedly leans down and buries his face into your neck, making you gasp. Your hands grab his shoulders to push him away, to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing. But the words don’t even make it out of your mouth because your head is spinning from his lips now pressing kisses against your delicate collarbones. Somehow, you’re finding yourself winding your fingers in his blonde locks, which were just as soft as they looked.

By the time the elevator reaches your floor, you’re almost falling to the ground from the sensation but Max easily supports your weight against him. He’s guiding you out of the lift and trapping you against the nearest wall - and following immediately with his hard body pressed right up against your soft one. You’re whining that he needs to stop, what is he doing, you’re in a hallway for anyone to see, but he cuts you off again with his husky voice as he breathes out that this scent, your scent, princess…fuck, I’d thought it was perfume or something but it’s all you, isn’t it? I can’t get enough of how intoxicating you are.

Tilting your head back with his strong hands, he bends down to the opposite side now and shuts up your half hearted protests by licking a line straight up the column of your throat. Oh my god, your inner omega was having the time of her life right now. Max, you murmur weakly, and he sharply inhales as your gazes meet. The dark hunger in his eyes is clear when he tells you to say that again.

And when you sweetly call his name again, he’s kissing you, still leaning against the wall in the dimly lit hallway, and you automatically moan into the passionate kiss because it feels so good, so right as his lips moved against yours with a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

But when the lift dings, signalling another arrival to your floor, Max turns to look with narrowed eyes at the potential threat and you’re reminded of how wrong wrong wrong this is and how you’d lose all your sponsors if the media found out about this scandal. So you use his second of distraction to use your small frame and slip under his arms, hastily swiping your card and slamming the door behind you when you enter.

Heart beating, you lean back against the door as your replay what just happened over and over, your hands running over your tingling lips where Max’s - your rival - has just been a second ago. Across the other side, Max leans against your door just the same. He’d let you escape his hold - for now - but he wouldn’t next time, because he knew what it meant to smell a scent so divine it made him want to destroy anything that so much as glanced in your direction. That made him lose all inhibition and pin you against a wall as he desperately resisted the urge to bury his fangs in you right there. You were his fated mate, he thinks with relief, pure joy and warmth spreading across him with the idea of having you as his mate. The one who he’d not thought he’d find at age 26 after meeting countless women. And yet here you’d been the whole time, right in front of him, the only driver who drove him so wild on the track. He'd never thought about why the pretty little Unpresented driver was able to generate such strong responses from his Alpha unusually quickly. With a backwards glance to your room where you safely hid, Max wandered away, contemplating how he was going to claim his Omega who hated him.

Meanwhile, the kiss has sent you into an absolute flurry of panic, trying to come up with ways of convincing your rival to keep your secret, having no idea why he suddenly found your scent irresistible. Your half baked plans came to an end when Max texted you the next day to meet him in the hotel lobby to talk. No fucking way, you texted back furiously, so you can get me alone and kiss me again without my permission?

You’d flown back to Monaco an hour later, ignoring Max’s replies. Clearly, he seemed as troubled by this…situation as you were, and judging by the fact you hadn’t woken up to headlines about you secretly being an Omega, it seems Max was keeping your secret - for now, at least. And you were terribly confused by how good his kiss had made you feel, even though you were furious with how he’d done it without asking, as if you belonged to him.

So you decide to ignore Max for the whole week, but when he shows up at your apartment door unexpectedly, you couldn’t hold him off. We need to talk, he’d said tersely, and that’s how you found yourself on the apartment rooftop - surprised that Max hadn’t barged his way into your apartment. In fact, he stood well away from you, leaning against the railing and looking out towards the setting Monaco sun over the pristine Mediterranean waters as you watched his back uncertainly. Just when you were going to ask him what he wanted, he began telling you the story of how his Alpha father, Jos, had claimed his Omega mother, Sophie before she had been ready. You tilted your head, confused. You were very familiar with that particular media scandal - where Jos had deliberately performed the claiming, the ancient ritualistic tradition of an Alpha marking an Omega as theirs - in the peak of Sophie’s career, and had illegally used their mating bond to manipulate her into early retirement and focus on the family instead. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, of how no court or laws could protect an Omega fully from the abuse of a controlling Alpha.

I- I know about your parent’s story, it was quite…anyways, why are you bringing it up now? Max didn’t answer your question, turning around instead to face you. You felt that same fluttering beating of your heart as his intense blue gaze locked in on your doe eyed brown one. After she was able to get the divorce, he continued, she finally found her true mate. And she told me about the difference she’d felt, in how my father and her mate had treated her, how one had made her into the wife he wanted and the other had protected her as she chose to life she wanted for herself.

You’re truly confused now about why he’s still on this topic, and tell him that you’d even spoken with his mother when you began racing about her advice as a female on the track, and you’d expressed your sympathies for how hard it must have been to have her career tarnished so early by an abusive Alpha. Being her son was one of the few things you actually respected about him. Thinking he was foreshadowing what he was going to ask of you, your scent became sour with anger. So, out with it, Verstappen, you demanded, what’s your blackmail plan, I know you know about me being an Omega, are you going to make me promise not to try for P1 because you can forget it-

Max cut you off then, stepping forward and making you tilt your head back to look up at him. You wanted to step back so desperately, knowing what happened last time he was so close - but that inner omega vixen of yours was far too satisfied with the reassuring, soft spicy scent Max was now gently emitting. You hadn’t even known he was capable of anything other than the intense scent he used to dominate on the track.

No, schat, Max says softly. I’m not going to tell anyone anything you don’t want shared. Or use it against you. I wanted to tell you my parents story…to show you my father is the kind of Alpha I don’t want to become. I don’t want anyone to go through what my mother did. You can literally feel your body relaxing from his reassuring words, with the way he had called you darling in Dutch for the first time, from his soft look and scent. And it pisses you off to no end, that he can use his biology to make you feel like this - you’d had no idea the effect from an Alpha could be this strong on you. You realize you’ve involuntarily said that out loud when he tells you it isn’t normal for you to react this intensely to an Alpha, but it’s because it’s him that you’re reacting to. At your perplexed look, he’s reminded that your parents are both Betas and you had very limited knowledge of presentations, compared to his own family which were exclusively Alpha-Omega mates for generations.

Because…because we’re rivals? You ask, those sweet doe eyes of yours blinking up at him and making the urge to protect you bloom deep in his chest. Unfortunately for his inner alpha, he was about to cause you a lot of distress with his next words.

Because - Max swallowed, because, schat, we’re true mates. I’m your Alpha, if you’ll have me.

The distress that comes off you is instant and makes Max want to jump off the balcony railing, if it means ending your despair. You’re stammering out your shock, confusion, and then just straight denial at his claim, insisting it can’t be true - but he watches you with an apologetic expression, only speaking after a long time once you’ve let out all your conflicting emotions. He softly explains why it was true, that you might not know because your own parents weren’t a true match but what happened in the elevator, the reaction to each other’s scents - it was the first step to prime you two for the claiming.

He can see the colour drain from your face, flushed caramel skin now going pale as your distress turns to pure rage, steeped with fear - of him, Max realises. So that's why you're pretending to be so nice, isn't it? you question hotly, so that I say yes to your claiming just for you to use it order me to leave racing? And you'll act like its so different to your parents-

Max can't bear this foreign pain in his chest any longer, each furious word from you twisting a knife into his heart. His inner alpha is screaming at him to comfort and console you, so he does just that by stepping forward again and taking your small form into his large arms, forming a secure hold around you. Your annoyed shriek is muffled against his toned chest, but after a few seconds you calm down once he says, sounding so unusually desperate, he will never do the claiming until you ask him too, even if that's well after your racing career finishes. You pause, hearing the genuine sincerity in his words, and somehow deep within you a sense tells you that Max is telling the truth. As his warm, large hands soothingly rub circles on your back, you find yourself closing your eyes and lean into him, your french manicured hands pressing against his firm muscles and hearing his strong heartbeat through his chest.

You stay like that for a long time, slowly processing everything he's told you, until the sunset disappears over the Monaco horizon and the bright city lights emerge. At some point his arms have wrapped around your soft waist, one hand firmly on your hip and the other cradling your head against him, softly stroking your dark curls. If anyone had told you a month ago that you'd find yourself in this position with goddamn Max Verstappen you'd have laughed them off the track. But here you are, your inner omega purring with satisfaction at the secure embrace of your strong Alpha. You find yourself returning his comforting embrace by tentatively moving your small palms up over his pecs and across his ridiculously broad shoulders, looping around his wide neck. You hear Max's breathing hitch as he feels your shy touch, and then he’s hit with your delicious scent as your new position exposes your neck. It's the same as in the lift - so sweet, like exotic Indian jasmine on a hot summer night, like burnt sticky vanilla in the stroopwafels he adored as a kid, on the rare days he was allowed to go to the park instead of karting. But this time, your scent is even more inviting as your desire for him is stronger, and he doesn't fight his instincts and buries his face into your delicate neck again. He inhales deeply and leaves you gasping when he starts leaving lazy, soft kisses in the hollow of your throat. This time, you can't bring yourself to pull away, your fingers gently threading into his hair as you tentatively call out V-Verstappen, this is-

That's not my name, prinses he rumbles lowly, Dutch accent slipping through as he continues moving up your neck, leaving hickeys with flicks of his tongue and gentle, teasing nips of his sharp fangs - teasing, but not puncturing your tantalising caramel skin. And when you sweetly moan Max for him, looking up at him with those wide brown doe eyes, heady with desire, and a pretty red flush across your full cheeks, he meets your plush lips with his own. There's no hesitation this time, your fingers tangling into his messy blonde locks as you kiss deeply. His large hands running across your body make you feel like you're on fire. And when he grabs a hold of your thick ass, squeezing it like he owned it and and pulling you even closer to him, you're gasping and moaning sweetly into his mouth. He doesn't hesitate to slide inside your parted lips, completely dominating the kiss as he easily takes control over your tongue despite your efforts to battle against his.

Max, this is so wrong you say breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as his large thigh parts yours, your skirt sliding up as thick muscles come into contact with your aching core. You're certain he's going to be able to feel the wetness rapidly pooling between your own legs. Then why does it feel so right, prinses? He cockily responds, squeezing your ass greedily again and moaning himself when you start grinding against his leg, your wetness dripping past your soaked panties and ruining his pants. Fuck, he was never going to take these off, so he would always have the intoxicating scent of how sweet you smelled when you were so desperate for him, hmm?

The harsh ringing of your phone you'd set on a nearby table startles you. Max ignores it, flexing his thighs up against you to tempt your self control again as your inner Omega begs you to let the Alpha - your Alpha - claim you right here, right now, for all the world to see. But through the haze you see your boss's face flash on the screen and suddenly you're reminded of what's at stake. Snapping to your senses, you stumble away from Max's strong hold, making him growl in annoyance as he reluctantly releases you from his arms. This is why I didn't want to talk, you hiss at him, but he can tell from your scent you’re more conflicted than angry. Because you- you cutely flush, -we can't control ourselves for more than 5 minutes without something like this happening. You gesture to the space between you two as he watches you inquisitively, taking in every small movement with a tilt of his head like he was a lion stalking a deer. Stay away from me from now on, Verstappen you say with a scowl on your pretty face, pointing right at him, his sharp blue eyes not missing the slight tremor that gives away how affected you feel by him. I need to focus on winning this championship and not your…slutty Alpha seduction techniques.

He lets you go, smirking as you practically sprint away down the stairs to avoid any further temptation, enjoying the view of your generous ass from behind. Using his thumb to brush the dampness you left on his pants, he licks it away, chest lowly rumbling in approval as he confirms you’ll taste just as sweet as you looked, as you smelled. Next time, he promises his disgruntled inner Alpha.

After all, it was only a matter of time before he claimed you - it was a question of when, not if. The dark, controlling parts of him wanted to lay his claim on you right now, knowing that you desired him and would be unable to resist if he wanted to have his way with you. But you’d be so much sweeter, more pliable, more eager for him if he waited until you came begging.

He’d have his fun in the meantime.

READ PART TWO HERE

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 17

Prompt: Threesome/Moresome Pairing: OT8 SKZ x fem!reader WC: 4.4k Summary: Maybe after this the term “comeback” takes on a new meaning.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent any Stray Kids member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

I feel the need especially with “rougher” prompts like this to put the disclaimer - fanfic should NOT ever be used as a guide to relationships or sex. ESPECIALLY SEX. Again, it’s fiction. Stuff gets glossed over for the sake of a good story. Please PLEASE please again, not fact, not a guide, just a fantasy.

Additional TW/CW below the cut.

TW/CW: Gangbang, lots of cum, light bondage, reader goes nonverbal, all consenting, traffic light system and boundaries discussed, anal, piv, oral (male receiving), titfucking, multiple partners, dirty talk, multiple pet names, cumming prematurely(?), some aftercare/during care. 

 Eight pairs of hands. Eight types of touch to match their eight personalities. Sudden squeezes, languid strokes, hesitant brushes, deep pushes, light tugs, gentle pats, intermittent shy caresses, persistent strong grasps. It was Chan’s idea that you’d heartily agreed to.  “The boys have been seeming sort of down lately,” you’d mentioned over the thundering rush of dishwater. “Should I make a cake or something?”  Nose pressed to the side of your head Chan inhales deeply, squeezing the fronts your thighs. The scent of your scalp and the squish of your quads soothing his anxious mind. “We’ve been working hard. I think it’ll turn out well.”  “So…cake? Can you all eat it? I could make a carrot cake or modify-”  Chan grabs a handful of ass, not one to miss the opportunity for a bad pun. “Wouldn’t mind sharing some of this cake. I’m sure we could all enjoy it.”  “You think?”  “Baby, the reason the boys are always excited to see you…”  “It’s not the novelty of Betty Crocker Funfetti?” Chan giggles, grabbing a handful of bum as he grinds against you, an obvious lump forming in his sweatpants. “We could make you into Funfetti.”  “How do the boys feel about pie,” you ask coyly, pushing your hips back to greet him.

 That was how this whole idea started. And now you were tied to a bench, trussed up like a pretty present, holes exposed and ready. Blindfolded.

 It’s easy to sink into the sensation of each of their hands, unique in their own right. You can only really for sure name Chan’s, calloused and firm.  “...and we can do anything?” Jeongin’s voice twangs, tense at the thought. “She really will let us do anything?”  You’re only half listening, indulging in the peace of mind numbing stimulation. Moaning and nodding as your chin wrests on the bench you’re strapped over.  “She knows how to say no. Color system, if she’s unable to speak, two pinches is slow, three is stop everything.”  A chorus of tenor and baritone voices murmur in agreement. Your stomach tingles, chills passing the inches of exposed skin. You’re so ready. You’re beyond ready.

 There’s almost a ghost of a touch, floating down your side as the room shifts.  “We’re going to pass you around like the cheap whore you were born to be.” A deep bassy voice purrs in your ear, Felix. Your back arches exposing more of your holes like a cat in heat. “You like that? You like the sound of my voice, pretty? Does that turn you on? We’re all watching you.”  “Mhm,” you bite your lips and you wiggle against your confinements.  “Want me to tell you everything we’re gonna do to you? Dirty slut. First we’re all gonna give this cute little cunt a try,” you feel him slide his fingers along your slit, staying shallow enough to tease your entrance before catching the rim of your jeweled plug weighing heavily in your hole. “Chris did say we can use you however we want.” Felix muses as he pushes the end closer to your rim, jostling it just enough to earn a whine.  “Hurry the fuck up,” another voice chimes in, two fingers roughly ramming into your wet hole. Seungmin. Impatiently pressing his tip against the cleft of your ass as he fingers you open. “She’s ready, I’m ready. Keep doing your perv asmr thing but I’m fucking her.”

 With that Seungmin pushes into you, sighing with relief. Your spine curls as much as you can, spread over the bench as you are, fingers scrambling in the air.  “Oh fuck!” Seungmins hands wander over the small of your back, pushing weight down on you as his hips rock back and forth. “You have to try this pussy, god damn. Now i see why the old man is so fucking whipped.” He groans again as he pulls all the way out until only the very tip of his shaft is still sheathed. Glistening with your arousal he uses his thumbs to spread your slit wide, watching your walls stretch to accommodate him.  “Minnie’s right, you’re taking him so well. In fact, you’re going to take all eight of us aren’t you?” Felix purrs. “Now, be a doll and open your mouth for me.”  You drop your jaw, tongue lolling out, blindly accepting whatever Felix was going to give you.  Before Seungmin can build any speed and before Felix has his way with your mouth you hear a commotion at your rear. Then Seunmgin being pulled from you, leaving you jaw agape and whining from the loss of fullness.

 “Asshole, before you fuck her up we all gotta try.” Sharp words with crisp plosives cut through the confusion. Suddenly a thicker intrusion bullies its way between your walls. “Tremendous ass princess,” a hearty smack of a rough hand comes down on your ass cheek. You’re barely breathing with the thick length shoved snugly inside of you, the force of the spank has every muscle flexing to hold you together.  You moan.  Two hands grab each lobe, molding them like putty in his strong grip. Changbin. “Can’t wait to run you through.”  You’d always wondered about the rapper, most closely your type following your own boyfriend. How did his dual persona fit into his bedroom manner, how alike would he be to Chan, was it true what they said about rappers and their tongues? As suddenly as he’d entered you feel the protested drag of your walls, eager to keep him as he exits.  A thinly voiced dragged out “no” escapes your lips.  “Bok-ah, you want next?” Changbin offers, patting your ass.  You’d almost forgot Felix was there.  “I’m okay with just these pretty lips up here,” he says as he thumbs over your lower lip. Dropping your jaw again you remember he’d wanted this to begin with, before the other boys had started tag teaming your cunt.  “I’m okay too,” IN chimes in, “I can wait my turn.” He lowers his voice almost imperceptibly, just enough to sound like a cool mature guy. You could just imagine him standing a bit farther back, eyes transfixed on your glistening lips as they stretched for each of his members.  “Yeah you’re the only impatient one, meathead.” Minho. Of course Minho. His hips roll easily against you, just a taste of what’s to come. His hand runs over your ass, over the other entrance. “Got any toys for her?” He addresses the room, talking as though you couldn’t reply.

 Felix, you assume, finally taps the tip of his length against your tongue. Much to your delight he’s slightly sweeter than you’d assume as you lick against him. Chan’s reply to Minho is inaudible as Felix purrs. “You like that? Been drinking nothing but pineapple juice for you. Chris told me you’d like that.”

 Taking him fully in your mouth you bob enthusiastically focusing fully on him as two more strange new cocks slide into you all too briefly before Seungmin settles back over you, fucking you with a steady and uncomplicated rhythm. Felix is veiny, fun to explore as you run the length of him. He easily guides you the full way down, your nose pressing into his pubic bone as spit runs down your face. “Hey Chris, can we take off the blindfold?”  “Sure man, whatever you want.”  The blindfold flips up to your forehead. Luckily the lights are low enough so your eyes don’t have to adjust much. “Focus on my face sweetheart. Just want to see your pretty teary fucked out face while we ruin you.” Felix smiles as he feeds you his cock all the way to the base once more, watching you splutter and fight back your gag reflex. The tight ring of your throat squeezing him as he grinds into the wet warmth. You battle valiantly to keep your eyes looking up at him as they threaten to flutter shut, tears streaking your cheeks.  Not a second too soon he eases up, beaming down at you, thumbs wiping at your stained face. “Such a good girl for us. Chris is gonna be so proud of you.”  You smile for a second, spit burbling from your lips, before you feel Seungmins hands at your mid back, pushing you into a deeper arch. From one strong stroke you can tell he’s found it, face opening into a groan. “Do that shit again ‘Lix. I wanna see her struggle.”  “You heard the man, you ready?” He watches as you gulp and take a deep breath which is almost immediately punched out of you by Seungmin slamming his hips against you. Your fingers grip the legs of the bench as you are pressed between their bodies as deep as they can go on either end. Groaning around Felix and clasping down on Seungmin the noise in your brain crescendos and violently mutes into a peaceful fuzzy static.  Seungmin laughs as you twitch and spasm.  “Holy fuck, I can’t-” Felix struggles to keep his hips steady, eyes rolling back in ecstasy.  “I’m gonna too-” You can hear the gritting of Seungmins teeth as he speaks.  “Be good and take it all okay, take all I’ve got-” Felix mutters, spilling down the back of your throat. You gag, tears and spit and snot running everywhere as he pulls back from you, still weakly spurting on his thighs.  Barely able to breathe as Seungmin chases his high you mumble his nickname over and over. “Minnie, oh-fucking- ah-” Felix’s hand keeps your head from scraping against the bench as you become boneless, eyelids fluttering shut. Seungmin pulls from you just as you reach your high, whining and writhing in the agony of denial. Hot cum splashes across your ass slowly dripping down your thighs.

 “How’s our girl doing,” a soft melodic voice asks. “What your color darling?”  “Green,” you pant, vision still swimming. “Green green green green.”  He laughs. Hyunjin’s giggle. Good.  Slim and strong, there is always something languid about his movements. His finger tip traces your spine gently. “A beautiful sculpture should be appreciated,” he says slowly. It sends shivers running after his hands. Descending to the curve of your ass he spreads you wider, licking into your puffy oversensitive parts. Tongue lapping at you as you squeal the wet lewd sounds fill the air.  “Fuck, Hyunnie!” You practically rock the bench as you writhe. His tongue ventures to your other hole, teasing the tight bundle until you cry out. All of your fingers and toes curl and twitch as your walls clench around nothing. “Fuck me please,” you beg, voice wrecked with sobs. You’re surprised at your quick rebound but the promise of the lithe dancer is almost too much to bear.  Hyunjin’s lips graze your shoulder blade as he bottoms out in you with a shudder of effort, nearly knocking the bench forward in his attempt to get as much of himself inside of you as possible. Churning in your stomach you feel full again, fuller even. You nearly cum again, world whiting out in front of your eyes.  “That’s right pretty, all for you.” You wish you could see, could watch the man fuck into you more than anything in the world. He feels larger than you’d have ever expected from his slight frame.  Draped over you, the squelching of your two sweaty bodies pervades your mind as he humps quickly and shallowly. Chasing his high more than anything, each thrust punches you in the gut. The sounds that come from your mouth are unladylike wheezes that catch in your throat and turn into grunts. Two long fingers fill your mouth, sticky and salty from the mix of bodily fluids. Hyunjin cums mercifully quickly, spilling inside of you.  “I wanna see the other guys fuck it deeper,” he whispers, sweat dripping from his nose to your cheek. The thought gives you goosebumps.  Strong arms wrap around your back, caging over you as he undoes your buckled down arms to lift you from your post. Your toes barely sweep the floor before he has you on the nearby mattress. Changbin, stronger than your Channie, surprises you with his gentleness. For all the hurrying and jeering he’d done to the other guys, he’s suddenly soft with you.  “Hey,” he smiles all too familiarly, in a way that makes your gut stir. “Tired yet, princess? Told ya we’d run you through.”  You make grabby hands up at him, whining as you try to pull him closer.  “She usually non-verbal?” Changbin actually sounds a little concerned as he turns his head to ask your boyfriend. “Or should we- are you still good? Still green princess?”  You nod.  “If she says go, go.”  Changbin doesn’t waste another second, pushing into you aided by Hyunjin’s cum. The stretch despite the other members best efforts still forces a guttural groan from your lungs. He’s not as long as the others but the change of angle and thickness makes up for it in the best way. You can feel him bullying the plug on the other side of your walls in a way no one else has managed to do. He nuzzles into your neck as he starts fucking into you, only grunts coming from his normally busy mouth. Zoned into the singular thought of filling you.  With your hands finally free you’re able to explore his back as you scramble to hold yourself together. Your fingernails leave little crescents in the otherwise steel frame. Sturdy and unshakable as you tremor below him.  “Bin- I’m- ah-” you start to warn him of your swiftly approaching climax but he’s two steps ahead as your cunt clenches down. Arms wrapping beneath your thighs he pushes your hips just a little bit higher up. You see stars. It’s like he’s fully in your guts as he maintains his pace, fucking right into that spongy spot of yours. Mouth agape you can feel yourself wanting to make noise but your head is so full you can’t tell if its actually happening or not. All of your muscles contract at once as you climax.  “Holy shit did she-” the next thing you hear is a murmur from Jeongin. Release drips down Changbin’s pelvis as you both pant.  “Oh yeah, that’s our princess,” Changbin smiles like a champion as he slides from you, spent. Both of you are soaked in your cum, his cum, and Hyunjins cum. Grabbing the box of baby wipes he starts to clean himself off before he sees Chan start to clean your thighs. You barely notice he’s waddled off and back until you are being propped up between his thighs, a straw passing between your lips. “Drink for a good job.”

 The click of a cap is like fingers snapping, awakening you from your fucked foggy state. You look up and back to see Minho’s upsidedown bemused smirk as he watches the meatheads treat you like the sentient communal fuck doll that needs a tune up. Slowly he strokes himself, appraising you.

 “Jiji, care to join? I think this one has room for two.”  “Huh? Y-yeah,” you hear the taut voice of Han on the opposite side of the room.  “Hey, big boy, move.” Minho is less gentle with him, sliding behind you to take his place behind you, holding you between his thighs as Changbin had. His hands spread you wide open to the room, fingers grazing over the plug still nestled between your cheeks. The nearly icy drip of lube tickles your other hole, sliding around the stem of the plug. A deep breath in helps relax and allow the applier to slowly fuck the metal in and out..  Minho chuckles and smacks your thigh, your hole clenching down suddenly. “Are you tired? Huh? Too many cocks? Be thankful there’s only eight of us.” Thumb positioned on the end of the jeweled plug he slowly teases, swirling in languid circles as you writhe. Each nudge has your stomach tensing, desire growing within you.  Han Jisung is standing in front of you as you look dazed up at him. Blood rushes to his cock so fast he swears he might pass out from the loss to his brain. He watches as Minho finally fully tugs the plug from your fluttering hole and lifts you, slowly spearing you on his cock. Your chest heaves as you slide, mouth open and panting. Minho’s fingers fill your cunt, the sloppy sound of several fluids mixing reverberates in his skull.  “You going to stand there or fuck her?” Minho casually nods down to his fingers. “There’s room. Right, doll?”  You nod mutely, wriggling your ass on him.  Han dives head first into your cunt, eagerly pushing his tongue deep inside of you, lapping at Minho’s soaked fingers. Your legs threaten to snap shut on his head as your oversensitive pussy sends waves of bliss through your body. Minho keeps you locked open as he rocks himself slowly against your ass just barely moving his cock inside of you. It isn’t like he has to do much with Han’s tongue flicking so desperately at your slit.  Groaning, you’re unsure of whose name to call out. Minho or Han?  “Going to cum again? Thought you might be too worn out.”  “H-ha,” you half laugh and moan. You want to boast and brag but the hubris is fucked far from you. Back arching, your hole clenches down on him. You’re so very very close. His hands migrate to your tits, grabbing them, letting the space between his fingers lightly pinch your soft skin. They’d been so neglected and needy that the sudden attention pushes you over the edge, cumming hard on Han’s tongue. He continues to lap at you through it, not stopping until Minho tugs at his hair.  “Jiji, where do you wanna cum, I’m close.” Minho grunts. Sweat travels down his brow.  Han makes a quick appraisal of you, “wannafuckhertits.”  You’re tossed like a ragdoll to the mattress again, Minho easily positioning you on your back with your legs slung around his hips. Han straddles your chest, thighs are warm on your ribcage. His cock is practically drooling precum as he slides it between your mounds, quickly slicking up with your sweat. Squishing the sides together his eyes lock where the head of his cock pops out and disappears. Your tits are so hot around him as his precum slicks the valley between.  “Open,” he commands breathily, waiting for your lips to part. The second they do he drags the pad of his thumb over the wet inner side, pulling them open more. Your tongue naturally hangs out loosely, eyes glazed over. You’ve long given up any pretense of modesty. Of pretending this wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped for. His hand goes to the back of your skull to support your head as you crane forward to attempt to kiss his member. Grunting and straining you’re both working so hard for it as Minho pounds away and jostles you just enough to increase the difficulty.  You feel Minho climax, warmth spreading inside of you. He barely misses a beat as his leg clenches, sinking deeply into you, holding your legs aloft. Your eyelids flutter and toes curl. It feels good to be this full. Feels good to be this filthy. You stretch your tongue just the bit longer and feel contact, hot and salty. Ropes of hot cum jet across your chest and chin and lips as Han’s breath hitches. He freezes and gasps, staring as his cock continues to dribble onto your clavicle.  “Shit I-”  “Ssfine -s’good.”  He stares at his handy work.  “Clean it.” Minho says from behind his back. “Clean your mess.”  Han moves quickly without questioning him, licking across all the streams that he’d shot only looking up, ostensibly to Chan to check if he could clean your lips. The only one to dare to do so, tentatively licking your bottom lip before fully taking it between his lips. Not fully locking into a kiss, not quite.  Your stomach churns as you return to emptiness, only your boyfriend and the youngest left. The others preoccupying themselves with clean up and their own after care.  “How do you want ‘er?” Chan lifts your torso up off the bed and into his arms again, plying you with water. A quick kiss to the cheek asuages any fear that he wasn’t also enjoying himself. “C’mon maknae. Top? Side? Back? She’s got just enough left in her. Don’t you, my sweet thing?”  You nod, “how do you want me?”  It’s only a moment of consideration longer as his eyes linger on your pussy, red and raw. Jeongin’s sweet smile looks all the more sinful as he nears. He slides you into his arms with a surprising ease. A look of shock flashes across your face as he lifts you on to his cock, still standing. Chan had fucked you standing occasionally, but you hadn’t expected this of Innie. Your sweet Innie. Squealing as you let gravity bounce you off his hips, driving him deeper and deeper, clit aching as the blunt pressure hits each time. You’re practically grappled to him, arms locked over his shoulders and ankles crossed behind his back.  Curses spill from your mouth like a prayer. Everything burns bright as you hurtle towards your climax. The thrumbing of your pulse rings in your head and your breath catches. But Jeongin falters slightly, his own breath catching suddenly as well, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. His cock slips between your bodies as he fumbles a few thrusts. A sudden spurt of warmth hits your thigh and stomach. Jeongin is swearing.  “You didn’t- I’m sorry I-”  You blink at him bemused.  He sighs into your shoulder, “I came already.”  “Oh? Oh don’t worry about it I-”  “I wanted to make you cum.”

 The puff of air from your short giggle tickles his throat. Your lips are warm where they kiss his cheek. “You’re so cute.”  As your arms start to burn you’re ripped from Jeongin’s arms and tossed unceremoniously to the bed again. A strong grip wraps around your ankle and tugs your ass to the edge of the mattress. This was how you’d assumed Changbin would be. Instead you see Chan’s wide grin looking over you.  “You look so fucking hot babe.” He praises you as he pushes his cock into your ass, watching your eyes roll back into your skull. “Love it when you’re fucked out like this. When all you can do is take cock.”  You shudder. Tired and overwhelmed and needy under him. Sticky. He feels…good. Its the only word your tired mind can center on. You feel good.  “Innie- you wanna make her cum right?” Chan asks over his shoulder. “Grab that er…big white thing with the blue buttons and c’mere.” Momentarily he leans forward to kiss you, letting his hips gently rock into you. You whimper. He nuzzles you. “Doing alright, sweet thing?”  You nod into his shoulder. “Tired.”  “Don’t worry, princess, I’ll do everything,” Chan pushes the sticky strands of hair back from your face and turns to his group mate. Jeongin barely weighs the bed down as he crawls to your side. “She’ll cum quick so make sure that fucker is set low okay? She’s had a long night already.” Jeongin nods. The toy whirrs to life and he starts to lower it. “Check it on yourself first, bro.” Chan knocks the toy back. “Inside of your wrist.”  You hear a few clicks. Chan locks eyes with you, he looks like a god between your legs. He carefully stretches one to kiss your calf. His cock stirs your insides, thick bastard. You moan and close your eyes. You trust him.  Jeongin carefully places the toy over your mound, your back arching away from the bed. Chan instructed him well.  “Talk her through it.”  “Huh?”  “She likes it when you talk to her, she won’t talk back but she’ll sound really pretty.”  You gasp and whine. He’s right.  Jeongin’s voice is smooth above the buzz of the toy, talking just under his breath enough for only the three of you to hear. “Our prettiest girl did so well for us. Making all your boyfriend’s friends cum. You really are made for taking cock, no wonder Channie hyung keeps you all locked up. Just imagine the trouble we’d get in if he let you into the practice room.”  Another gasp. You can see it, you’re there with him and with Chan at the same time.  “Couch broken. Mirror streaked with sweat and cum. We’d ruin it. But you’d like that. Show everyone who’s girl you are. Right? You’re our princess.”  Your legs are shaking as you nod. Chest tightening again your gut coils in anticipation.  “Can our princess cum again? Please?”  Your legs tremble in answer, hand reaching out to wrap around Jeongin’s bicep. He can see the tension in your neck as your muscles clench all the way to the top of your skull. You’re so so so painfully nearly there.  “Tight lil’ hole ‘s likea vice-” Chan manages to slur. “Ah, fuck, baby-” his voice crackles as he sucks in air through his clenched teeth,”-cum with me darling. Be a good girl.”  Everything happens in a flash, your breath hitching, head thrown back. A magnificent groan spills from your gaping mouth, almost loud enough to rattle the vibrator back. Chan slows as your hips stutter and kick, his warmth spreading inside you as your walls milk him. Jeongin stares wide eyed, vibrator dropping off to your side, as he watches you flood his friend’s pelvis and thighs. His own stomach caves as weak spurts of ejaculate dribble down to the bed.  Chan pulls from you and bundles you into a little ball on your side. Kissing your arms and legs as he instructs the rest of the boys in their clean up duties. You’d done enough, you didn’t need to worry about this, you never needed to worry about this part of the night. Chan made sure of that. Your tired limbs are lifted to a warm tub, eyes too weary to open. Many trusted hands hold you as they carefully wash the filth from you. Their touches are less distinct now as you lean into them. All warm, all sure, all caring. One or many, you couldn’t tell. Your boys, all of them.

ngl i blacked out and wrote this. i have not re-read. i’m sorry if its not coherent.

[mintwithchoco]

What You Need

tripleS Yooyeon x Male Reader

Word Count: 3260 words

Categories: smut, oral, facial, dom-ish!yooyeon (?) idk, she's just desperate to get that d

Inspired from;

“My go— Yooyeon! We’re still filming, we can't do this!”

“Shut up.”

There's nothing that can stop Kim Yooyeon from getting what she needs. She may seem cold and calm on the outside, but once an interest is sparked within herself, she'll do whatever it takes to reach it, no matter the situation. 

You know that you’re fucked all around when she sends you that look from afar a few minutes ago. Might as well blame it all on her at first for wearing that pink top, showing off her tight figure so well, forcing you to never peel your eyes away from her. She's bold and relentless, and it shows by the way she’s metaphorically fucking you with her eyes while filming, and you can only curse silently behind the camera, catching the secret message. It can only get worse from here on out (or better actually) as once she gets out of the frame, she walks past you quickly while whispering, “Fuck me, now.”

She slams the door shut as soon as she gets you inside the cramped bathroom. Before you can do anything to resist, she forcefully closes the distance between your lips by wrapping her arms around your neck. If you wanted to, you could just break out of her embrace and run out of the door. Instead, you have been poisoned by the emanating warmth of her body, the softness of her skin touching yours, and the sweetness of her lips, making you fall deeper and harder into her.

“Yooyeon—” She doesn't let you speak in the downtime of the makeout, dragging you back in as soon as she gets air in her lungs. “We can’t—”

“Don’t fucking lie. I know you’re craving for me too.”

You recoil at her undeniable statement—that voice is dripping with way too much arousal. “What if someone hears us?”

“I know, but, please,” Yooyeon’s hands rest on your shoulders. “Just for a while. I really need you.”

Fuck, she really knows how to make you submit. Those bright brown orbs, begging for her needs are crumbling your morals apart, inviting you to commit this wicked act that can potentially end everything you have in life. But if it does come to an end, I guess ruining your career with a pretty lady such as her isn't as bad as it seems, right?

“Damn it,” She shrieks when your hands scoot over her butt and squeeze them gently. “Let's make it quick, and quiet.” 

You overlook her cute little smile as your lips crash into hers again. The tides have now turned around with hunger filling you up almost immediately, overpowering the girl’s lust, evident by the way you’re aimlessly caressing every single part of her. Fear runs through your veins due to her moaning resoundingly into your mouth, afraid that the muffled noise would alarm anyone close by. Though, it was quickly diminished by her delicate fingers groping the raging tent on your lower half.

“Mmm, you’re so fucking hard already.” Her tone is now deeper than before, and it arouses you even more.

You try your best to control your ragged breaths as the pressure is building up in your bulge. “You’re the one to blame. God, you look so pretty.” 

Another thing’s for certain is that you are addicted to leaving your marks all over Yooyeon. You generously land kisses on her neck nonstop while slowly sliding the straps off her shoulders. She giggles away, but also does the equivalent to you by slipping her hand down into your pants and continues her massage through the fabric of your boxers. Unfazed by this, you yank down her top to reveal a white bra, and you waste no further time to knead the covered breasts. Her soft gasps are like a muse to your ears, enthralling you more. Yooyeon is obviously weakening under your touch as her attempt to pull down both your pants and boxers fails as it only comes off halfway. 

Yooyeon’s expressions are fucking up your whole self entirely. You eventually finish off what she wanted to do, letting your cock feel the humid air in the bathroom. She feels the warm shaft throbbing in between her thighs, already leaking out with precum. While you reach behind to release her boobs from its fancy confines, her fingers are quick to wrap around your shaft and stroking it to full hardness. The white undergarment then drops to the tile floor, joining in the built up pile of your clothes.

Her husky voice rings in your ear once again. “Sit down. I wanna taste you.” 

The toilet is turned into a makeshift seat as you oblige to her request, sitting down on the cold surface. She quickly kneels down in between your legs, the raging shaft is now right in front of her breathtaking visual. You can never imagine that this innocent goddess would be a vixen in disguise, the one who triggers your hormones into this sexual overdrive. The contrasting thought has been completely erased however, as Yooyeon begins her oral teasing on your tip, drawing small circles while collecting your precum on her tongue.

“Holy shit—” is all you can utter when Yooyeon wraps her lips around the cockhead, finally getting a feel of her warm mouth. She starts slow and small, only taking in your tip momentarily before building herself up to take you in deeper. With her hands stroking your thighs, your sensations are heightened, the extreme pleasure shivering down your spine forces your head to unwillingly fall backwards.

And if that wasn't enough, she draws you in with her words. “Keep your eyes on me.”  

You muster up the will to look down, and you have never been more than grateful to witness Yooyeon doing wonders to your cock. Showing no signs of slowing down at all, this girl is filling up her wet cavern with the entirety of your length, her cheeks puffing up whenever she brings it to the sides of her mouth. You find it rather cute somehow, but it doesn’t falter the groan that leaves your lips every time she sucks you hard, and releases you by the tip. 

Her tongue rests on the underside of your shaft, vigorously licking it up to the head, and down to the base. She takes you in for the second time, and this time she's not holding anything back. Her head bobs furiously at a gradual pace on your shaft, making it fully covered with her saliva. The way her mouth perfectly envelopes with the shape of your cock is agonizingly pleasurable and mysteriously fascinating, as she never seems to gag whenever you hit the back of her throat, only leaving a great amount of spit when she disappointingly leaves your shaft.

“I can suck on this all day. It's so perfect.” The unexpected compliment compels your cheeks to turn slightly red.

Your eyes are blessed with the sight of Yooyeon’s handiwork; fingers delicately running up and down your lubricated shaft and her oral fixation; swirling her tongue around the swollen cockhead. While your whole soul is tearing apart when her dazzling orbs lock upon yours, pairing it with that small smirk and nose scrunch, her visuals clearly contradicting the sinful work she's doing. It goes to show how much she's enjoying herself, the desire that has been building up for the past couple of days finally breaks apart, thanks to her resilience.

You couldn't handle it anymore, plus your time is getting much thinner. Your hand creeps up to her chin, and you lean over to catch her lips amidst her strokes, sharing multiple kisses. As you suck on her lower lip, you slowly guide her into your lap. Your cock brushes against her midriff, which in return emits a low moan from Yooyeon, realizing that her clothed vagina is in the close proximity of the pulsating length. 

“Get this off me please.” 

Easier said than done. You’re too busy leaving kisses all over her neck, taking in all of her floral scent and having a hand full from squeezing her tits and tweaking her nipples. Nonetheless, the free hand manages to remove her shorts by pulling down on different parts of it. You didn't bother taking off her matching panties however, as it is deemed essential in her disheveled look. 

You let out a satisfied breath. “Fuck, I can't get enough of you.” 

With a steady grip on her waist, you dive your face into Yooyeon’s chest and engulf her right nipple into your mouth. Your hardness throbs upon the whine she lets out while your tongue does its best to stimulate the brown nub. The left side deserves some love as well, and a set of fingers playing around it is enough to induce an effect. Her small moans are being played into your ears directly, and it motivates you to worship this goddess to the fullest. You feel her hand pressing your head further in as you switch sides of your gratifying assault, this time attacking her left nipple in a similar way. 

“Mmmh, fuck! More, I nee— ohh yes, you’re so fucking good.” God, everything that she does never fails to make you swoon.

The heat in between her thighs could not be ignored anymore, and you know just the right way to deal with it efficiently. By bringing her body closer to yours, your cock makes contact with her crotch, and it drives the both of you to cloud nine. You soon realize how soaked her panties really is—it wasn't hard to make her grind against your shaft. The slickness from earlier’s blowjob really adds to the mixture of pleasure, as each sway of her hips is met with audible squelches. The dopamine courses quickly throughout both of your bodies, and it intrigues you to fall deeper into her sinning.

Yooyeon shrieks when your fingers pull her panties to the side, exposing her glistening pussy to you at long last. Even through the really tight space in between your bodies, your eyes manage to send the image of her lips fully covered in her juices, and dripping down on your cock to your brain. Continuing her hips rhythm onto yours is her breaking point of being discreet, as the skin-to-skin sensation makes her shamelessly spit out every curse words that she knows. 

“Please, please, please, just— oh!” Yooyeon’s desperation is cut off when you tease the opening to her hole with your tip. 

You really want to break her apart furthermore, but your rational thought comes forward in the heat of the moment, as you automatically place a finger on her lips. “Lower your voice, don’t want anyone to hear us.” 

Yooyeon snarls, “Fuck that, let them hear us if they want to. All I need is you inside me. Now.”

There's not a single resistance, let alone purity nor innocence left. Sinners are what both of you are, drowning into the depths of eroticism, unable to rise back up to the risks of reality. You grab the base of your cock steadily, carefully letting it glide on her lips to slightly spread them apart. Holding onto your shoulders, Yooyeon prepares herself mentally and physically to take in all of you, although her body is trembling just from your teasing. It didn’t take long for you to penetrate her pussy with just the first few inches, and it sent both of you to heaven in an instant.

“Fuuuuck…” Yooyeon cries out as her tightness surrounds you the lower her hips descend. Halfway inside her walls renders you to bury your head in her neck, its wetness and warmth is truly remarkable. The pleasure elevates when you feel her fluids leaking onto your crotch once you’re fully buried deep in her.

“You’re so fucking tight, oh my god.” You moan into her ears, before your hands familiarize itself with her slim waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Enchanted by your words, Yooyeon grinds her hips as much as she can, squealing in delight even in the smallest of motions. Her walls continue to constrict you with all its might, yet the pain only drives you into wanting more. And that’s exactly what the goddess did, as she began bouncing onto your lap in a slow rhythm. Gripping on her thighs and planting both feet harder to the floor, your hips began to move in a different wavelength than hers, forcing her to take a considerable amount of your length inside.

“You're— fuck, so big, so fucking big! Harder!” 

If it wasn’t for the loudness, it's possible that someone may have noticed the suspicious amount of time this room has been occupied. That thought wasn’t in any of your heads whatsoever—breaking it off right now would be meaningless. The risk of being caught in this moment is rather thrilling, and it certainly helps the pressure that’s been building inside you to grow.

“Yesyesyesyesyes!” Her screams resonate within the tile walls. Immediately, you muffle them with a passionate kiss before she gets even more vocal.

Yooyeon has truly lost herself. She doesn't even notice the way her hips are driving faster and harder, her filled pussy continuously seeping out her juices. It’s a breathtaking view from any angle that you can catch with your eyes. Looking up from her ethereal yet depraved expressions, down to her divine body jiggling with each thrust, to the point of impact on both of your crotches—it would be a shame for you to not let out your deepest groans to make her truly understand how you feel.

A sense of dominance comes across your mind. You own her as a whole, and no one deserves her more than you. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop. Fucking cum for me.”

You don’t intend to slow down. As your hips begin pushing up into her roughly, Yooyeon tightens the embrace around your shoulders while profusely moaning into your ears. Eventually, your tip hits deep inside a certain area in her pussy, prompting her body to jerk violently. You stay there for a while before fucking into the same spot once again, this time with much more intensity, sending multiple streams of pure dopamine into the angel who has been tainted with lust.

“Fuck, please, please, make me cum! I wanna cum all over you!” 

Your shirt is now soaked in sweat, but that doesn’t deter your adrenaline in the slightest. The force of your thrusts continues to rock Yooyeon’s petite frame, and you gratify her need to reach her climax by latching your lips on her erect nipples anew, the right one being the first. You expertly divide your attention on both tits, and your tongue swirls around them swiftly, letting you taste the saltiness of her sweat. The mix of slick friction on her lower half, the tenacious teasing on her chest and the wordless groans she lets out is enough to lead her into the well-deserved orgasm.

“I’m cumming, oh god, I’m cumming!”

One powerful thrust followed by a high pitched scream, and she explodes on contact. The massive gush of her nectar washes all over your crotch and thighs instantly, while her pussy torturously contracts around your cock, releasing everything that she has. As her body becomes weaker throughout her peak, your thrusts into her haven't died just yet—you’re yearning for the same high that she reached. The wetness escalates, as her squirting prolongs itself to stain your shirt and your seat below. 

Still shaky from her climax, Yooyeon struggles to speak up, but her point was acknowledged. “A-Are you c-close?”

You simply nod, and in some way, she manages to come back to her senses to get off from your lap and sink down on her knees, just like earlier. Without any warning, she shoves your cock into her mouth once more, taking away your breath and compelling you to lean against the toilet tank. Her head bobs with precision, not going too deep nor too shallow, but close enough to keep you on this euphoric flow. The unanticipated head is proven to be the consequent snap to your own release, apparent by the excessive heaving of your chest and the twisting tension in your stomach.

“Oh my god, Yooyeon!” You groan out loud just as Yooyeon stuffs you deep in her orifice, her spit drenching you all over and your tip hitting the back of her throat. She withdraws from you with a gasp, and strings of drool trails itself from her lips to your shaft. Her fingers wrap around you straight away, moving back and forth expertly, assisted by the tormenting slurps on its underside. 

“Fuck, you look so adorable moaning away like that.” She means it well, given by the increased pace at her strokes, licks and sucks on your member. 

There’s nothing that can turn both of you away now. She’s getting what she needs, and you’re on the brink of manifesting it to reality. “Shit, Yooyeon, I’m gonna cum!”

“Cover my face, please? I want it all over me.”

Her gaze full of admiration and wonder is the last thing you see before your vision becomes a blurry mess and your vocal cords let out a shattered grunt, marking it as the last step over the edge to your release. In a split second, long streaks of white cum spurt out of your cock, painting all over the godly facial features of Kim Yooyeon. The hot semen marks its territory on her sharp nose, her flushed cheeks, her closed eyes and most importantly, her slightly ajar mouth.  

As the last few drops land upon her chin, you take in the beautiful mess that you have created. You wish that you could save this deep memory—or rather, engrave it into your brain somehow of Yooyeon’s gorgeous look, completely covered in a coating of your semen, and it eventually drips down to her breasts and shoulders. It is truly a magnificent sight to behold, and you can never ask for anything better.

“Wow…” you weakly mutter while Yooyeon sucks the remains of your cum out of your tip. On top of that, she swipes some of the mess on her face with her fingers and licks it off cleanly to get a proper taste of you.

“Delicious.” Yooyeon responds with a hearty giggle. “Thank you, darling. This is what I really need.”

The cleanup didn’t take very long, as the essentials for it are already arranged in the room. Yooyeon quickly settles herself, so in order to avoid any suspicions, you ask her to join in with her members first. She agrees, and leaves you with a sweet kiss on your cheek before going outside.

Although Yooyeon is able to sneak out the door silently, a tall figure creeps up behind her unnoticed.

“What were you doing in there?” Yooyeon jumps in shock and looks behind towards the well-known voice.

Her nervousness was blatant. “Uhh, I had a really bad stomach ache—”

“I saw everything unnie. You didn’t lock the door.”

Yooyeon sighs and facepalms herself for her recklessness. “Shit. Don’t tell anyone please! I’ll do anything!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” She smirks. “But you need to keep a secret for me too!”

“What are you— Hey!” She runs off into the bathroom before Yooyeon could say anything further. “Aish, this girl…”

While you take your sweet time in cleaning up and recovering yourself, the door suddenly opens up. 

“Excuse me, is this where I get to fuck?”

Your eyes widen upon the unexpected encounter. “X-Xinyu?!”

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

note; now THIS is a fucking BFH. goodness gracious, yooyeon fucked me up in so many ways with these pictures.

i did kept my promise of having a longer story this time, even though this was definitely not in the plans LMAO but yeah, next one will be much more longer, more epic and definitely, more seggs. shoutout to @chunksworld for the quick beta read!

like always, thank you so much for reading, hope you guys enjoyed this one, and have a flawless day! <3

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

-

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you’ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

-

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a  pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

-

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

-

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight. 

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

[hp-hcs]

Could I request some Yan poly Theo and Mattheo x male reader please?

Where he is an animagus that can turn into a cat just like McGonagal.

Where he goes to them in his cat form for cuddles and scratches and stuff because he’s touch starved, but what the reader doesn’t know is that they know who he is and that he’s not a normal cat, and the reason everyone’s been avoiding him both in his cat form and human form is because they’ve made everyone besides him know that he’s theirs and threaten them. Just the usual possessive Yan behaviour from the duo. Maybe they buy him a collar or something in his cat form and he gets all embarrassed because he doesn’t know that they know he’s a human and just has to wear it when he’s a cat-??

I’m so sorry if it’s too detailed

um, obsessed???

also i tweaked the ending you asked for just a little bit cause i never know how to end fics 🫠

i genuinely despise this. fully anticipate me just deleting this and starting over.

also please never apologize for too much detail it literally makes writing these so much easier and faster

requests? 🥺🤲

“He is, most of all, l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle.” — Yandere! Theodore Nott x Animagus! Sirius’ son! Reader x Yandere! Mattheo Riddle

warnings: very mild—mostly implied—yandere possessive/violent stuff

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Ah, Mr. Black. Lovely for you to join us.”

You cringed, hastily smoothing down your hair in an attempt to look like you hadn’t just woken up.

Snape gave you a stern look. “Very well. Now that you’ve elected to make your presence, perhaps Mr. Black can tell us what asphodel is?”

You flushed at the way your professor put you on the spot; the way all of your classmate's eyes were on you.

“U-uh, it’s a flower. It’s supposed to grow in the Elysian fields in the Greek underworld…?” You trailed off uncertainly.

Snape’s lips thinned, a sign that you were correct. “We have a new seating chart—a fact you might’ve known if you’d shown up on time. Over there. Quickly.”

You scurried over to the table he indicated, sitting down in the empty chair between two Slytherin boys.

The boy on your right gave you a sympathetic look, waiting until Snape turned to continue writing on the board before leaning over and whispering to you.

“We’re doing a project in pairs, but me an’ my friend Theo here said we’d add you in ours to make a group of three. Snape wanted you to work with Longbottom.”

The boy on your left—Theo, you presumed—leaned in to whisper, “Yeah, we wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. ‘specially not a pretty thing like you.”

You blushed at the flattering name, whispering back, “Longbottom? Merlin- thank you.”

He grinned brightly, seemingly pleased at your willingness to hold a conversation with him, if the gentle flush of his cheeks was any indication.

The boy on your right tugged at your sleeve with a charming smile. “That’s Theodore Nott, by the way. And I’m Mattheo Riddle, darlin’.”

~~~

“Well, I think we’re just about finished,” Theodore mused, sitting up from where he’d been leaning over your group’s poster board. “Think we used enough glitter?”

“No such thing as enough glitter.”

You laughed at the two boys’ antics as the three of you sat on the floor of their dorm room. They had a good rapport with each other, one that you fit easily into. There was no real awkwardness as you all joked with each other. You actually felt like you belonged, like you’d been a part of their pair for years.

It was a nice thought.

“Well, if we’re finished, then I desperately need to go to the library,” you sighed. “Flitwick assigned twenty inches on the difference between the Conservo and the Protego charms.”

The two groaned in sympathy.

“Good luck,” Mattheo shook his head, resting his hand on your knee.

You’d noticed that both boys were extremely touchy. They always seemed to be accidentally brushing hands with you, peering over your shoulder to look at the poster, and finding any excuse to rest their hands somewhere on your body.

You nodded your thanks, putting away your personal reading book, your glitter quills, and your googly eye stickers that you as a group had had far too much fun with.

“See you guys around!”

~~~

“Woah- Here, kitty kitty kitty!”

You blinked sleepily, annoyed at whomever was disrupting your nap by the warm common room fireplace.

Two blurry, vaguely boy-shaped blobs plopped down on the floor by you, one of the blobs’ bags spilling out its contents all over the floor. You swatted lazily at a feather quill that rolled to a stop beside you on the rug, quickly losing interest and yawning.

“Whose cat is this?” The shorter one—the one whose bag had dumped parchment and jellybeans all over the floor—asked, suddenly scratching the top of your head.

You froze, an unfamiliar rumble rising from your throat at the odd sensation.

You were purring.

If you were human right now, you were sure your skin would be prickling from the stranger’s gentle touch.

Gentle touch had always been uncommon for you. Your family was odd and disjointed. You grew up without a father, raised only by grumpy paintings and a sour house elf.

And once he returned, on a the back of a winged marvel, with stories of rats and traitors and time, his overjoyed smile had faltered when he learned you wore green and not red. His now ever-present pinched look of poorly hidden disappointment whenever he looked at you, paired with your god-cousin’s short and stiff hugs and forced smiles, you felt like an outsider in your own home.

“Virgil!”

The strangers startled you out of your reverie. Your ears flattened back, but the taller one just pet your head softly. The short one crossed its arms, shaking its head vehemently.

“No, dude. Why the fuck would you name our cat that?”

“Cause of the book? Dante’s Inferno?” The taller one pointed at one of your abandoned books lying on the rug, most of the stack on Charms subjects, except for that one. You must’ve fallen asleep while reading it, and changed into a cat at some point during your nap.

“Nerd.”

“Just because you don’t ever read, Riddle-”

You perked up at the familiar name. Blinking away sleep, the two blobs- boys come into better focus.

They’re your fucking group mates.

Fucking Circe.

Theo goes back to petting your head, his steady pets prompting you to instinctively push your head up against his palm to demand more.

“Oh- hi Vee,” he laughed, moving his hand further down to stroke along your spine.

“Wh- We’re not calling it that.”

~~~

They ended up calling you that.

They visited the library after school every day now, where sure enough, you’d always be sitting by the fire or sprawled out on the couch.

Some days, they brought extra friends. On those days, you’d always squawk and wind between your boys’ ankles to get their attention when they got too engrossed in a conversation, like an adorable, jealous tripping hazard.

And after you’d turned in your project, you had also remained friends with them as a human. You now lit up every time you saw them in the halls or the common room, and they always grinned whenever they saw you.

It was nice.

~~~ “Hel- oh.”

You watched as your History of Magic table mate, a usually kind and friendly Hufflepuff girl, scrambled out of her seat to sit elsewhere as soon as you set your bag down. You stared after her in shock.

What had you done to warrant that?

As you stared after her, you finally became aware that your classmates around you were staring at you with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

Everyone avoided the seat next to you like the plague.

You sat alone that class.

~~~

You set your textbook down on your desk, sitting down heavily in your chair.

Today had been awful. Nobody dared come near you in any of your classes, like you were a leper or something. You ate lunch alone, walked to class alone… you just hoped Potions, as your last class of the day, would pass quickly.

“Hello, lovely,” Mattheo greeted warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he sat down beside you—the first person to do so all day. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

You rolled your eyes grumpily, steadfastly ignoring him as you doodled on your parchment.

You suddenly felt fingers underneath your chin, lifting your head up until your eyes met Mattheo’s.

“He asked you a question, doll,” Theodore breathed into your ear from behind you. “Answer.”

You shivered at his tone and firm behavior, blushing despite yourself. “‘m- ‘m fine.”

“Good boy,” Mattheo sighed, patting your cheek patronizingly. “Was that really so hard?”

Your cheeks flush immediately at the name, as you remain a bit confused as to their sudden changes in personality.

Where were the lovably awkward pair of dorks that you usually hung out with, both as a human and as a cat? (Although, you supposed, they didn’t know about the latter.)

Maybe you were wrong about them?

~~~

You weren’t wrong about them.

You leaned against the side of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, watching interesting passerby on the street as you waited for your god-cousin, Harry, to return back outside.

You were so focused on people-watching, imagining backstories for everyone, (especially the creepy Gryffindor who liked to hit on you no matter how many times you said no: Cormac McLaggen. The boy had practically sprinted away as soon as he caught sight of you leaning against the wall. Odd that he also had a black eye and a busted nose) that you were completely startled by arms wrapping around you from behind.

You jumped, but relaxed a bit when they put their chin on your shoulder and whispered into your ear, “It’s Mattheo, doll. Calm down.”

“You just scared the shit outta me. Tellin’ me to calm down,” you roll your eyes. “What do you want?”

“Go out with me.”

“What?”

“M-me. And Theo. Both. Yeah?”

“Wow. Smooth, dude. Real master of words, aren’t you?” A new voice chimed in sarcastically.

You spun around at the arrival of a second person, relaxing when you saw that it was just Theo.

“What Matty is trying to ask is, will you go out with us?”

You gape at them.

“Both of you?”

“Ideally, yes.”

You blink at them, eyes wide.

Mattheo shifts nervously.

“Sure.”

Theodore blinks, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. “Sure? Like- like yes you will?”

“Yeah.”

The two boys exchange a rather disbelieving, giddy look.

“Uh, how does the Three Broomsticks at seven tonight sound?”

“Works for me,” you shrug, a pleased smile slowly creeping onto your face.

“Oh! Here. We- we got this for you. In case you said yes,” Mattheo digs through his pockets, pulling out a small, rectangular box, like the kind that watches come in. “But, you have to promise you’ll wait to get back to your dorm room before you open it.”

You laugh, shrugging. “Okay, sure. I promise.”

Theo narrows his eyes at you before sticking out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise?”

You laugh again at the way his serious look contrasts with his childish request, obliging and wrapping your pinky around his. “Pinky promise.”

~~~

You shut your dorm door behind you, dropping your bag on the floor and collapsing onto your bed. You, true to your word, waited to open the box, pulling it out of your pocket only just now.

It was small, simple gift box, with a scrap of folded parchment taped to the top.

Y/N –

Thought you might like this. We’d love to see you wear it on our date.

– MR & TN

You raise your eyebrows, setting the note aside and lifting the lid, unsure of what to expect.

You were not expecting there to be a blue cat collar inside, the dangling metal tag reading:

Virgil

If lost, return to either

Theo Nott or Mattheo Riddle

[velarisnightsky444]

Scorched Shadows: Part 10

Eris x AzrielsSister!Reader

Summary: Y/N is the younger sister of Azriel. She has shadows just like him, and is also a spymaster for Rhys. When she meets Eris, she initially hates him, but after a bargain is made between them, things begin heating up.

cw: mentions of child abuse

a/n: ik, ik, main character who plays piano and loved the symphony, how original. but i genuinely didn't put the pieces together until after i thought this up.

Series Masterlist

Part 9 || Part 11

»»————-　♔　————-««

Year: 19 since fic began Year: 15 Under the Mountain

Attending a ball was the last thing on your mind. Especially after what had happened at the last one you'd attended.

There was one tonight, and you'd decided you wouldn't go. Rhys wouldn't be there, anyway. Seeing Rhys was the only reason you ever attended Amarantha's festivities. Even if you couldn't always speak with him, just a glimpse of him made it worth it.

Things had been tense between you and Eris in the last five years. Of course, fights were something you were both used to. You were always fighting.

But no matter how intense the fights got, it never ended the fling between the two of you.

So, of course, you were currently on your way to his bedroom. He was a nice distraction; that was all he was. Why you couldn't find a nice distraction with any other male, you weren't sure. You and Eris had nearly two decades of history. That made things easier. Knowing that neither of you owed the other anything.

When you arrived, you found his bedroom empty. You huffed, checking the clock on the wall. He said he'd be back by now.

So you plopped down on his bed, breathing in the scent of him, then scolding yourself when you realized you were savoring it.

The door opened, and you sat up to greet him, freezing only when your eyes met those of a female.

The Lady of Autumn stood in the doorway, her russet eyes wide. Her red hair was almost lifeless as it fell down her shoulders. She was much too thin, her face gaunt.

You flushed a deep red, scrambling from Eris's bed.

"Oh, dear, I apologize," she said quietly, her voice meeker than you expected. "I was looking for my son."

"No, my Lady, I'm sorry," you stammered, bowing your head to her. "This . . . this isn't what it looks like, I was just looking for him, I'm so sorry--"

"No need for that," she assured you, a slight smile on her lips. It looked out of place for her. "I will come back later."

Just as she was making to leave, Eris came strolling into the room. He seemed almost carefree; that is, until he took in the view before him. His amber eyes flitted from you to his mother, then back.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shooting you a look before turning to his mother.

"Mother, I--"

"I don't want to know, Eris," she said to her son. "We'll talk about it later."

"Don't tell--"

"I won't." With that, she was gone.

You loosed a breath of relief, collapsing headfirst onto his bed. He closed the door behind him, making a point to lock it.

"That was humiliating," you grumbled into his pillow.

"Agreed," he said, sitting beside you. "But she won't tell anybody."

"Does she know that we're--" you trailed off, usually not speaking the word 'mate' out loud.

"No," he admitted. "Nobody knows."

"I haven't told anybody, either," you said.

"I figured," he scoffed. "Your brothers would've strung me up by now if they knew." You couldn't quite disagree.

"Well, I think the mood has officially been ruined," you declared, sitting up and making to leave.

"Wait," he said. You froze, turning your attention to him. "The ball tonight. Come with me."

"No," you scoffed.

"Why not?" he mused. "I have nobody to go with. Might as well be you."

"I'm flattered," you glared.

"Besides, Amarantha is hosting a meeting with the High Lords during the ball," he reminded you. "Your brother and my father won't be there."

"Your brothers."

"Will be too drunk to see straight," he assured you. "The ballroom beside it will be empty. We would still be able to hear the music. Then, we'd be alone."

"Why do you want to go with me so badly?" you demanded.

"Old times sake," he shrugged. "Who knows, maybe dancing together again will reverse the mating bond." You snorted.

"Fine," you sighed. "But only because I miss music and dance."

"We'll meet at 8."

»»————-　♔　————-««

You couldn't believe how nervous you were as you got ready. Rhys had supplied you with some money, so you bought a new ballgown from the seamstress that lived in the room beside yours.

Night Court colors. A deep violet gown with a flowing skirt and a tight, strapless, bodice. One that showed off your breasts in a way you knew would drive Eris mad.

Mostly, you were looking forward to hearing the orchestra. You loved music. You always had.

When you were very little, you'd once broken away from Azriel during your time out of the cell.

You had run amuck around the house until you found yourself in a room. It looked unused, white sheets covering the furniture. But on a side table, there was a symphonia.

You hadn't known what it was at the time, so you'd messed with it until it began playing music. You had gasped, sitting beside it and listening.

By the time your hour was up, Azriel had found you. He'd scolded you for going upstairs as he dragged you back to the cell. The upstairs was strictly forbidden for the both of you.

But you did it again. Nearly every day for months, you found yourself in that room, listening to the music.

Until the day your stepmother had found you. The lashings she had bestowed upon you, plus the beating you had gotten from your father, had been severe enough to keep you from going upstairs ever again.

Azriel saw how upset you were to have lost the music. He began singing to you to calm you down, and it helped.

After you both moved to Windhaven, your new family had a hard time connecting with you. You were shy, and you didn't speak. So they all went to Azriel for advice. He had told them you loved music, jokes, and stories.

Selene told you stories, and you loved them. Especially the ones about her and your mother, from when they were girls together.

Cassian made it his mission to make you laugh everyday after his training. He told you jokes, and delighted in hearing your laughter.

Selene also taught you to play the piano. There was a small one in the sitting room. And you loved listening to her play, as well.

Over the years, you became a very skilled pianist. Your brothers always said you should've made a career out of it, but you didn't want it to become a job. You loved it simply for the art.

And every time you went to Velaris, Selene took all of you to the symphony. From the first time, when you were seven, you fell in love. It became your favorite thing to do.

But after she had died, all of you struggled to go back. It wasn't until decades after her death that you all decided she would've wanted you to attend, to enjoy it for her.

So now, every year on the day she died, you would all attend the symphony in her memory. And the orchestra always dedicated the music to her on that specific night.

You stared at yourself in the mirror. You had lost weight, just as everyone had under here. We were kept from starvation, but Amarantha made sure none of us were well fed. She only supplied food at her parties.

Your skin was paler, though still dark due to your Illyrian heritage. You hadn't felt the sun in ages.

Despite that, you looked beautiful in your dress. Your hair was curled, your makeup simple.

You looked just like your mother when your hair was curled. You missed her so dearly. You hoped Azriel was visiting her regularly, and you hoped she wasn't too worried about you.

Thoughts of your mother kept you distracted from the nerves as you strolled through the corridors, to the ballroom.

You fidgeted with your scarred hands, trying not to chew on your lower lip and ruin your red lipstick.

You carefully snuck over to the empty ballroom, beside the one that was buzzing with life and music. You were good at blending into the shadows, so nobody noticed when you slipped into the other room.

Eris was already there, looking fine in his maroon suit. He turned, his amber eyes meeting yours. The breath loosed from your throat at the sight of him. He was so incredibly handsome. It still shocked you.

You could hear the music playing from the other room. You closed your eyes for a moment, indulging in the notes. The beauty of music was always enough to relax you.

Eris had his hand out to you when opened your eyes. You curtsied, taking it.

"You clean up nice," he commented.

You rolled your eyes, placing you other hand on his shoulder as his went to your waist. And you began to dance.

"Wish I could say the same of you," you lied.

"Is that why your heart skipped a beat when you saw me?" he taunted you. "Interesting."

"You're a prick," you mumbled. He only grinned, spinning you.

Eris was a excellent dancer. You were able to keep up with him, but your skill paled in comparison.

"Where did you learn to dance properly?" he asked you.

"What?" you demanded, making a sour face.

"I wouldn't think a bastard would be taught to dance," he explained. You only glared.

"Rhysand taught me," you admitted. "When I was ten."

Selene had gotten you a symphonia of your own, and with it, Rhys taught you to dance. He saw how jealous you were of him going off to important High Lord balls. So he taught you.

He had been thirteen, but tall for his age. And you had been ten, and small for yours. So you stood on his feet, reaching up to hold onto him.

As you got older, he began taking you as his date to every ball. It was one of the reasons he had taken you to the masquerade with him.

He knew you thought badly of yourself, being so low born. So he did his best to make you feel special.

He was never embarrassed about bringing his little sister as his date, even after he became High Lord. He said he loved seeing your face light up, and it always did when you walked into the ball on his arm.

"He taught you well," he complimented. "You dance just fine for a bastard."

"You don't need to follow up a compliment with a insult every time," you said to him, exasperated.

"I'm a cruel bastard, remember?" he scoffed. "What else would you expect?"

"Despite what I may have said five years ago," you began. "I do not believe you are as cruel as you pretend to be."

"You don't?" he hummed.

"Rhysand wears a mask," you said. "Everyone think him cruel. But he isn't. I think it's the same with you."

"Why would you possibly think that?"

"You invited me here tonight," you shrugged. "You've been a prick, but never cruel to me. You respect my boundaries in bed. You treat your mother well. You didn't turn me in when you found me spying in your court."

"We made a bargain," he reminded you.

"Even without the bargain, looking back, I doubt you would've turned me in," you mused. "I didn't know it back then, but now . . . "

"You think you know me now," he scoffed.

"Yes, I do," you confirmed. "Don't think this means anything. I still despise you, Vanserra."

"I would be concerned if you didn't," he stated, dipping you.

This time, no bond snapped as you stared up in his eyes. But that bond in your chest sang.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Scorched Shadows Taglist: @the-sweet-psycho @hnyclover @lilyevansstudygroup @esposadomd @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @a-court-of-mischief-and-madness @sourapplex @when-you-cant-think-of-anything @i-know-i-can @mp-littlebit @paintedbyshadows @kristijenner19 @kitsunetori @lorosette @bookwormysblog

Eris Taglist:

Comment to be added to the Scorched Shadows or Eris taglists!

»»————-　♔　————-««

[musingmelsuinesmelancholy]

Musings on titles and definitions

I've been listening to Radical Elphame and BiblioSophia. The interview they did recently with Marshal and Austin and the interview Biblia Sophia did with Shani Oates (my god that was fascinating) got me thinking about how we define and title the things we practice.

Why do we specify traditional witchcraft? Is there a difference between witchcraft and trad craft? What exactly is folk witchcraft?

I know we have all heard that tw is used to distinguish from Wicca; but I don't honestly think that's accurate. I know Cochrane disliked Wicca and did consider what he was doing diametrically opposed to Wicca. I do think the two are different, but are really different enough to define trad craft as non-wiccan witchcraft? I don't think so, we use similar tools, laying a compass is similar to casting a circle (having done both I have noticed differences), Sabbatic Craft works with Divine Male/Female pairings. No, I would think that its more accurate to describe tradcraft as non-new age witchcraft. When I see people complaining about wiccans, I find that often, not always, what they're actually complaining about is New Age! Both trad craft and wicca used similar ideas/material in their inceptions, it just seems like it was interpreted differently. They certainly are two different approaches to the craft but in the same way I do not think it would be helpful to describe a Baptist as a non-Catholic Christian, even though that is true, I don't think it's helpful to describe tw as non-wiccan witchcraft. Most trad witches would probably describe witchcraft as the art of trafficking with spirits, becoming like them and the practice of malefica. So why not just call ourselves witches? Imo it is because, generally speaking, the popular idea of witchcraft is more along the lines of energy manipulation, manifestation, angel numbers 'intentions' and tends to conjure up images of crystal healing, eclecticism etc and/or tends to be use as term to describe magic in general with no specific definition. (Not that there is anything wrong with that it doesn't matter what other people do, so as long as it isn't racist or appropriative). There is certainly still some conflation with wicca and witchcraft, but I don't think it's as bad as it was and therefore do not see the need to specifically set us apart from wiccans.

However, I do think wiccans and trad crafters approach the craft differently. (generally speaking!) I feel that the trad craft approach is more about connecting to rediscovering or reinvigorating the culture/traditions of a certain place. This often leads to a dual-faith observance, as our idea of witchcraft came to be in the context of Christianity. When I was wiccan, it felt more about re-inventing and reclaiming witchcraft and participating in a religion which, at the time, I felt made up for the lack of feminine/nature-based spirituality. We have different founders of course, Cecil Williamson, Robert Cochrane, Gardner, Valiente (though I think she was involved in both currents). The two trads evolved differently. Shani Oates said in her BiblioSophia interview "It [Wicca] is something that has no cosmology, and no end times. So, it doesn't have an eschatology, it just exists in its own creation, in its own bubble. Whereas The Clan of Tubal Cain and Robert Cochranes development of that very much has a cosmology and an eschatology, so it's a full rounded thing." I disagree about Wicca not having cosmology, the god/dess and belief in rebirth/Summerland's would be cosmology, no? I'm sure different traditions have their own too, which the public may not be privy to. The rest resonates very well with me and why I am drawn to trad craft specifically. Before I continue, I want to say in this I am comparing and contrasting my own experiences in wicca and tradcraft. I was wiccan for a while. I am not attempting to diss the religion as a whole, there's much about it that I appreciate! I can only speak on MY OWN experiences and in no way am trying to speak for or on wicca as a whole. I absolutely felt that wicca 'existed in it's own creation' during my time as one. It did not engage with culture or folklore. It had no connection, as far as I am aware, to a cosmology or eschatology that had evolved over time/within a certain culture or religion. (this is not a problem per se and I am generalizing). Trad craft gave me a way to connect to existing cosmologies which had connections to the land, the cultures and the histories I was drawn to. (local ones + my ancestors). I felt that I had more "scaffolding". What I was searching for, when got into spirituality, wasn't a re-creation or re-invention of a pagan/witch faith but rather connection to land, culture and its people. I didn't want to re-invent these things, I wanted to appreciate with and engage with them as they are. That isn't to say that a wiccan can't blend their religion with local or ancestral lore/culture or incorporate an outside cosmology into it.

This brings me to folk witchcraft. I'm seeing this word used more and I have a lot of feelings. I would think that a folk witch is one who is practicing the witchcraft of the area they live in or is one who has been brought into a living folk tradition. Can you call yourself a folk witch, if you're one such as myself? Raised in a white homogenous consumerist culture. No language passed down, no folk tales, very few folk customs retained. I seek out the lore and traditions of my state and of the cultures of my ancestors. I use folk spells. but who are my folk? folk magic is community based. I can't call myself a Canadian, French or Scottish folk witch, even if all the magic I did came from those cultures. I don't live in any of those places. I cannot claim those cultures. I suppose, as the lore of my state is a part of what I do, I could call myself an INSERT STATE NAME folk witch. But, again, who are my folk? The old French-Canadian culture that was once here is all but gone. Not that we don't have a distinct culture of our own anymore! We certainly do.

I like how Marshal described trad craft as "loric" as opposed to folkloric. The lore/history of Europe and America do inform my understanding of witchcraft, but folklore is regional! One cannot say their craft is based on European or American folklore. Who's folklore? Which countries? Which states? "loreic" is specific enough to imply that the lore of witchcraft shapes what one does while not claiming that one is part of a folk trad they have no connection to.

Certainly, one's craft being a melting pot of ancestral and local lore(s) while having to navigate practicing on stolen, colonized land, is very American in spirit.

Edit: Forgot to mention this! Honestly the biggest difference between trad craft and wicca is the "astral sabbath" I never encountered mention of a "sabbath" (I don't like the word tbh due to its antisemitic origins. I propose the use of Conclave instead?) as a nonphysical, spiritual event within Wicca. If you've spent any time in the trad craft sphere, you'll know it's a main focus of what we do. Idk if wiccans place emphasis on spirit initiation either. I didn't learn of the term until I got into traditional witchcraft.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep8 Musings - LDPDL: Burning Questions

I was reading this Variety article, and they mentioned something that made me think of fan critiques of Louis' opaque motivations in the finale, and the fun laughs we've shared over how he's so unbothered by vamp nonsense that he never seems to ask important questions.

I'm drafting a separate post specifically about "Vampire Grace," but I wanted to focus here on only one point in particular:

PAUL.

We always talk about whether Louis chose Lestat over Claudia; "you take him with you, in HERE!" But I haven't seen talk about how Louis chose Lestat over Paul, and how that factors into Lou's habit of not asking HELLA important questions that could've saved Loustat DECADES of resentment.

Paul's suicide "opened the series," setting this whole thing in motion. Florence blames Louis for his death, making Lou feel like a failure.

--the first time we see Louis outright say to someone's face "I love you," it's mere seconds b4 Paul jumps off a roof. (The only other person we see him say it to is Armand, right after saying they're not companions. 💀)

Paul's memory is wrapped up in Louis' love of Lestat, cuz until Les showed up, Paul had been Lou's one and only companion--the sole person he could TALK to. As a closeted gay man, Lou was desperate for MALE companionship: understanding, acceptance & love.

Sure, he had Grace & Lily (& later Claudia)--all WOMEN--but:

his daddy's dead, and who knows what their deal was, but it couldn't be worse than effing Florence. So there's a lingering want of a father-figure; someone older/wiser who could teach & guide Lou when he was feeling "lost...in a dark way" (*cough* Armand *cough*)

a father or brother is still not the companion Louis REALLY wants/needs, so ofc there's things Lou can't tell Paul, or have with him. Les's an upgraded Paul-- a HUSBAND, not a SIBLING (*cough* Claudia *cough*).

(deep down) Lou was jealous of how candid & honest Paul was; regardless that Paul's lack of a filter was a side effect of his mental illness & religious fanaticism (cuz vampirism's an allegory for sexuality--and even in gay mecca Paris & SanFran Lou was still tryna "find himself" as the Zodiac Killer *cough Daniel *cough*)

Paul's dying wish was for Loustat to never be together

and Lou felt he'd betrayed Paul; that he'd lied/hadn't kept his word

folding like a leaf rather than saying NO, or killing himself like he'd implied (suicide by vampire instead of cane-sword/alcohol poisoning)

(and Queen Claudia called Lestat the "Father of Lies" (aka The Devil), and she ain't never lie a day in her life, either)

So the Catholic guilt was extra strong, cuz Saint Paul was right about Les; but Lou chose Les anyway--in the church, on the altar--after Paul died trusting that Lou WOULDN'T take him back.

Instead, we get this boatload of excuses from Louis about the "vampire bond," when the only bond that matters is LOVE. But this is the crux of Louis' personality/problems, and why the interview took so long for him to attempt either the 1st or 2nd time around. Cuz Louis is a hypocritical coward stuffed to gills with self-loathing & GUILT. He runs away from the truth, he runs away from his issues, and he hides from himself and everyone around him.

So OF COURSE Louis doesn't ask important questions. It's not that he doesn't care--it's that HE'S SCARED of asking, and terrified of what the answer is. So it takes him forever to even BEGIN addressing the elephants in the room.

Louis ALWAYS suspected. But he was:

Scared of the answer/truth

Scared that Les would LIE

Scared he'd forgive Les regardless

Paul died in 1911. It had been 26 YEARS until Lou finally piped up in 1937 (the end of Les's Grovel Era). But this was the PERFECT chance to call Les' bluff & get some honest answers out of him for once, cuz:

If Les (unapologetically) caused Paul's death, he can just stay gone

It's in Les' best interest to tell the truth regardless, cuz he's been desperately tryna get back in Lou's (& Claudia's) good graces for 6 years, and being sincere will earn him more cookies (he'd also be banking on Lou forgiving him regardless, cuz he's been missing Les so bad, even after being beat into the next decade & dropped a billion miles in the air)

If Les IS lying, how would they even frikkin know if they can't read his mind? Lou just wants to see what Les will say

(In 2x6 he waited to ask Madeleine if she only saw Claudia as a replacement for her dead sister--a question he should've asked BEFORE he Turned her, but... 🤷 Moot.)

So in the finale, there's 2 painful truths Lou has to contend with:

WHY is he doing the 2nd interview?

WHO saved him during the Trial?

It takes Louis 77 YEARS to reclaim the "pieces of myself" he'd lost/forgotten. He ALWAYS knew things weren't adding up with Armand. He KNEW there were things missing. Even in SanFran, BEFORE the mind-wipe, he was already losing his mind/memories--PTSD from all the awful things he'd been through.

Even book!Louis knew about Claudia's diaries for a decade b4 he finally got the courage to ask the Talamasca if he could read them & speak to her ghost.

Although Lou's naive AF, he's not an idiot--he HAD A HUNCH that Armand knew more than he was letting on, which is precisely why he kept ignoring Armand every time he asked to stop the interview.

However, for once, Lou actually wastes VERY little time with this one:

As soon as he learns the truth about "Banishment," he divorces Armand, and runs back to NOLA to find Lestat. Memory is a monster Lou'd been running scared from all this time. He's tired of running away, wasting so much time, wasting the gift, when he could be actively tryna solve his problems to make life bearable/better. The hellish prison he'd lived in was by his own design--only he could chose to stand up, take control of his life; and finally ask the burning questions. "Truth and reconciliation."

Lou could finally make peace with the memory of the two people he'd been avoiding for so long; whom he felt he'd let down the most:

For once Lou chooses to be "companion enough for myself," and live with/for himself, not relying other people to save/fix/determine his life for him anymore. That's really the only way he'll be able to be with Les in a healthier, guilt-free relationship in the future.

[sweetdreamz2]

Hidden Feelings - S. Gojo

Synopsis: where you're in a popular indie rock band with lead guitarist Satoru Gojo, but you can’t stand each other—until one fiery argument before a show shifts your relationship with him.

Word count: 1.7k

Pairing: lead guitarist! S. Gojo x f! lead singer reader

A/N: i got inspiration from Isabel LaRosa's song Muse! ^-^

The studio buzzed with the usual pre-show chaos—techs running around, instruments being tuned, and last-minute lighting checks being made. Your band, Nocturnal Beats, was set to perform in just an hour, but all you could think about was the argument that had erupted between you and Satoru earlier that day.

It was always like this. For some reason, Satoru knew exactly how to push your buttons. His arrogance, his smug grin, and the way he always acted like the star of the show made you want to scream. It didn’t help that the two of you had been thrown together as the band’s dynamic duo: him as the lead guitarist and you as the lead singer. Everyone said the chemistry between you two was electric on stage, but off-stage, it felt more like you were trying not to strangle each other.

The argument had started over something small—like it always did. You’d wanted to change the setlist at the last minute, feeling like one of the songs needed a different tempo, but Satoru refused, saying that you were overthinking things. The back and forth had escalated quickly until you were both shouting, his eyes blazing with the same stubbornness you knew mirrored your own.

-

“You’re impossible!” you had snapped, crossing your arms as your orbs glared daggers at the blue eyed male. 

“And you’re a control freak,” he’d shot back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. 

“Why don’t you just trust me for once?”

“Because trusting you always ends up with you showing off!” you yelled. “This isn’t The Gojo Show—we’re a band, remember?”

He had scoffed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Whatever. Do what you want. Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

That was hours ago, and since then, you hadn’t exchanged a word. But as you stood backstage, going over the lyrics in your head, you caught glimpses of Satoru moving around, setting up his guitar. You hated the way your eyes kept wandering back to him. You hated the way, even when you were furious, your heart still did that annoying flutter when he looked so focused. And you really hated the way his eyes occasionally flicked over to you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

Your bandmates were buzzing around, each one focused on their own tasks. Suguru, the drummer, was tapping away at his kit, a playful grin on his face as he tried to lighten the mood. 

“Hey, does anyone else think Satoru and [Name] need to get a room? They’ve been glaring at each other for the last hour.”

Utahime, the bass player, laughed all the while running her fingers through her silky locks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’re about to throw down on stage. But honestly, I think they’re both too stubborn to admit they like each other.”

“Yeah, well, stubbornness is what makes this band work. At least it gives us something to talk about during breaks,” Suguru replied, his voice teasing.

“Focus, guys.” You said, trying to sound annoyed, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward in a small smile.

“We need to be ready for the show.”

The tension was palpable as the band gathered for their final check. You kept your distance from Satoru, focusing on the rest of the members and making sure everything was in place. But you couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. Despite the way you two clashed, you had to admit you needed him for this performance. As much as his arrogance drove you up the wall, there was no denying that when you both played together, it was like magic. And that’s what scared you.

Just before showtime, the two of you ended up in the same cramped space near the side stage. You could feel the heat of his presence as he adjusted his strap, pretending like you weren’t standing right there. The silence was deafening.

“Look,” you finally muttered, unable to take it anymore. “About earlier… I—”

“Save it. I don’t need an apology.”

Your jaw tightened as you lifted your head to stare at Satoru. Why did he always have to act this way? 

“I wasn’t going to apologize,” you snapped, and his head turned, eyes locking with yours.

 “I was going to say, let’s just get through this set. We can argue all we want after.”

Satoru’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite read, but his expression softened—just a little. “Fair enough. But try to keep up with me this time.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment. “I’m the one leading. You try to keep up.”

He smirked, but there was an edge of playfulness there that hadn’t been before. “You know, one of these days, you’re going to realize I’m not your enemy.”

“And you’re going to realize I’m not just some obstacle for you to show up,” you countered, but your voice lacked the bite it usually carried.

There was a moment, a flicker of something between you two—like the eye of the storm. His eyes, usually so infuriating, held a softness that made your heart trip over itself. For a split second, it felt like there was no one else backstage, no buzzing chaos, no band waiting for the two of you to start. It was just him, and that infuriatingly perfect grin.

“Five minutes!” a stagehand suddenly called, breaking the spell.

Satoru straightened up, his expression slipping back into his usual confidence, but not before you caught the slightest hesitation in his eyes.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this conversation later,” he said, his voice lighter.

You nodded, your throat feeling tight as you adjusted your mic. “Yeah. Let’s just get through this.”

As the lights dimmed and the crowd’s roar grew louder, you stepped on stage, with Satoru only a few steps behind. The first chords rang out, and as the spotlight hit you both, all the tension from before seemed to evaporate, replaced by that same electric energy that always surged when you performed together. You moved in sync, the music flowing effortlessly between you, and for those few moments, it felt like everything was right.

But as the final song approached, the one that always brought you both to the front of the stage, Satoru did something different. Instead of playing his usual riff, he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’ve always said I show off too much,” he called into the mic, a playful edge in his voice. The crowd cheered, but you felt your breath catch.

“So this one’s for you, doll."

He began playing a softer, slower melody—one that wasn’t on the setlist. It was something new, something he must’ve come up with in the hours after your fight. As his fingers slid over the guitar strings, his usual bold, flashy style softened into something gentle and intimate. Each note was deliberate, his hands moving with a grace that seemed to surprise even him. The melody he created was raw and hauntingly beautiful, something delicate yet charged with unspoken emotion. The sound was unlike his usual show-stopping solos—it was stripped down, almost vulnerable, as if he was bearing a piece of himself through each chord.

 You felt the lyrics rise in your throat, instinct taking over as you harmonized with his playing. The words flowed, and the crowd swayed, but all you could think about was the way his eyes never left yours. Eyes intense and filled with a silent message that reverberated through every note he played. The rhythm was steady, a slow heartbeat that pulled you in and matched the pulse between you both. 

You could see the subtle concentration in the way his brows furrowed slightly, the slight flex of his fingers, and the almost imperceptible nod as he lost himself in the music. It was as if, in that moment, the entire crowd had disappeared, leaving only the two of you suspended in the space between melody and silence.

As the song reached its final crescendo, Satoru took a step closer, the gap between you shrinking until you could feel the heat radiating off him. His hand reached out until his fingers gripped the edge of your waist, gently pulling you closer, and your heart pounded so loudly you were sure the audience could hear it.

Then, as the final note hung in the air, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was like time stopped. The world around you, the roaring crowd, the bright lights—all of it faded into the background. His lips were warm, the kiss soft but full of something deep and electric. You felt yourself melt into it, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as your eyes fluttered shut.

When he pulled back, he kept his forehead resting against yours, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to read everything you were feeling. You could hear the crowd’s cheers roaring in the background, but in that moment, all you could focus on was him.

“That was… incredible,” you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Yeah. Guess we’re better together after all,” Satoru whispered, a grin spreading across his face, softer than you’d ever seen.

You laughed, a little breathless, your heart still racing. For the first time, you didn't argue back. Maybe he was right.

 “Maybe… maybe I’ve always known that.”

Just then, Suguru and Utahime joined you, grinning ear to ear.

“Did you two just kiss on stage?” Utahime shouted, raising an eyebrow all the while having a huge grin on her face. “Not bad for a couple of rivals.”

“About time you two figured it out!” Suguru chimed in, crossing his arms with a knowing smile. “We were starting to think you’d never stop bickering.”

You shot them a mock glare, but it was hard to stay annoyed when you felt so elated. 

“Shut up! We were just—”

“Just making beautiful music together!” Satoru interrupted, his grin widening as he glanced back at the crowd, who were still cheering wildly.

As the lights dimmed and the stage crew signaled the end of the set, Satoru took your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Looks like we’ll have to talk more about this later, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, your heart fluttering again at the thought. “I think we have a lot to figure out.”

“Then let’s make sure we keep playing this right,” he replied, his voice soft yet full of determination.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel the urge to argue. Maybe this really was just the beginning of something more—something that would make all the bickering worthwhile.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Cassie: Friend, Soulmate, and Self-Regenerating Muse

One of the ongoing themes of my multi-book series is The Muse: the consciousness, archetype, and ways of moving and being of the Muse, who is the Muse and why this energetic matrix is important for every femme to embody for her aliveness and manifestation potential. I made a major edit in this chapter after randomly meeting someone one warm day in Amsterdam recently. The chapter now opens with a story about her.

Cassie is her name and she is stunning. I don’t know what it is about Amsterdam but I rarely—meaning—never —meet people I feel a deep soul kinship with. To be fair, I spend more time biking in Amsterdam instead of walking because the weather is often trashy. But walking is my favorite exercise and I tend to walk a whole lot more in other cities when I’m traveling because, hello, beautiful weather. But on this warm beautiful Sunday in Amsterdam, I joyfully walked everywhere. That’s how I met Cassie, an Indonesian and Surinamese (Black) 38 year old Goddess as she was lightheartedly and confidently sashaying down the street in her short denim dress with peak-a-boo air holes cut out on the sides which illuminated her waist.

She was alone with no cell phone or bag, casually strollin' to her own rhythms while licking a vanilla ice cream cone and delighting in her own innocence and pleasure after walking through the city for hours I would later find out. That is so me—walking for hours in a city and getting lost without a cell phone on me. It was like seeing myself and one of my favorite Minnie Riperton album covers come to life in full-size, "Perfect Angel," the one where she is holding a dripping ice cream cone while smiling so sweetly. Suddenly Cassie made a u-turn and sat on the bench directly across from me. I knew I had to say something to her.

The first thing I said was “you must tell me what you do to have that kind of body.” She responded “you must tell what YOU do to have that kind of body.” She reminded me of me so much—it was dreamy and surreal as watching a Maya Deren “black and white” film yet it was as real as human flesh and a beating heart. You know what her answer was?! “I don’t workout my body. I just workout my mindset and emotional body.” I responded with all manners of celebration “you magical neuroscience quantum theory Gawddddd.” We both laughed! We ended up talking for 4 whole hours— nerding out on everything from quantum physics and metaphysics to speaking about our dreams, love, farm life, and why high-quality, non-extractive penetration (when mutual love and reverence are present regardless of the 'relationship status' between the two) is essential for the healthy shape of a woman’s body and to liberate the deeper coiled wisdom living in her female tissues that no male guru in India could ever possibly understand or teach. It felt like Cassie and I had only been sitting there for only 30 minutes. She was my muse and I was hers. We went on a real journey together.

To open yourself up to The Muse and allow this regenerative consciousness to be your lighthouse in the world requires devotion and a kind of playful endurance and resiliency where you begin to hold a quality of self-worth that does not allow you to give up before the miracles start to happen in your life. Being able to follow a dream -your heart's desires and big visions, capable of trusting the process of what is being divinely asked of you to do and not give up, truly embodying the mindset of a divine being, yield a greater energy of pure power. And what I know about energy is that everything is sourced from it, even though it appears physical to our eyes.

Of course, if you desire to work through the physical/3D world/matter, those things you can logically track and measure, you can. But the truth is that you access more infinite power to shift your body and whole life when you begin to tune into E-N-E-R-G-Y, the subtle, immaterial, and invisible, the spirit that lies beneath the surface, like blessing your food and directing it to travel to the parts of your body you’d like for it to energize or nourish, to make more shapely or healthy. Also, getting into energy work and metaphysics, the essences of your chi, makes you prettier like a beauty ritual, more naturally attractive, magnetic, and wiser. I can’t wait to finalize this chapter and share a snippet here. Yum!—India Ame’ye

[supergraphicgirl81]

With A Little Help From My Friends ⋆⁺₊❅.

Alexandra Saint Mleux ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

Formula 1 college hockey team social media AU! Instagram Edition

The tight-knit college hockey team, the Silver Blades, run by team captain Max Verstappen, isn't just about scoring goals—it's a chosen family. On and off the ice, the team has each other's backs, whether that's through college assignments, throwing awesome parties, or winning the championship together. Follow these overworked, tired, college students as they post through their day-to-day life.

Translations → Small text, Italics

With A Little Help From My Friends Masterlist ݁𝜗𝜚. Alexandra Saint Mleux Masterlist ݁𝜗𝜚.

AlexandraSaint

liked by DanielRicciardo, LilyMuniHe, and others

AlexandraSaint long time coming

tagged TheFormulaMag

View Comments

ItsYourname YASSSSS MS TAYLOR SWIFT REFERENCE (liked by AlexandraSaint)

RandomHater God dumb swifities and making everything about her. 🙄

ItsYourname watch where u sleep 👁👁 (liked by AlexandraSaint)

Classmate/Hallmate ALEX!!! DYING TO SEE THE COLLECTION COME OVER ASAP (liked by AlexandraSaint)

DanielRicciardo Sick stuff mate, got your own business yet? If there are men's items I'm def willing to buy

AlexandraSaint merci! nothing for public sale yet, but i was looking to start my first male collection for the magazine I run if you want to help me with ideas!!!!!

DanielRicciardo ALEX PLEASE 😭😭😭😭 (liked by AlexandraSaint)

LewHamilton Wow Alex, clothes are really looking beautiful, cant wait for the pieces on them in the Mag (liked by AlexandraSaint)

AlexandraSaint merci lewis 🫶🫶🫶

CharLeclerc Beautiful as ever mon amour, can't wait for everyone else to see it (liked by AlexandraSaint) my love

ItsYourname oh he just HADD to announce that hes seen it, GET A GRIP CHARLES (liked by AlexandraSaint)

CharLeclerc You are my worse enemy

view all comments!

liked by MaxVerstappen, YukiTsunoda22, and others

AlexandraSaint date with cha ᡣ𐭩

tagged CharLeclerc

View Comments

LandoNorris4 oo la la! *batting my eyes* (liked by AlexandraSaint)

AlexandraSaint tu es putain de stupide you are fucking stupid

DanielRicciardo Cha cha real smooth

RandomFan UGHHHHHH JUST KILLLL MEEEEEE WHY DOES HE GET HER????? (liked by ItsYourname)

ItsYourname oh!

ItsYourname so he's the reason i was drinking coffee by myself this morning, hm

ChaLeclerc Not my fault she likes me more

AlexandraSaint Charles do not start this with her again, you know she always ends up winning and you get your feelings hurts (liked by ItsYourname)

ChaLeclerc She is mean!

LilyMuniHe 😑😑😑😑😑 are those my shoes

AlexandraSaint LILYYYYYYY literally just for the day!!!!! (liked by LilyMuniHe)

AlexandraSaint THANK U! luv u!! (liked by LilyMuniHe)

view all comments!

liked by LandoNorris4, ItsYourname, and others

AlexandraSaint 📷 @ItsYourname

View Comments

CharLeclerc Oh my godf (liked by AlexandraSaint)

CharLeclerc Oh mon dieu comment (liked by AlexandraSaint) Oh my god how

CharLeclerc Alex please I need to breathe today (liked by AlexandraSaint)

CharLeclerc tu es parfait, tu es à moi, tu es tout, tes yeux, tes lèvres, tes cheveux, tu es parfait dans tous les sens imaginables un jour je vais t'épouser et nous passerons le reste de notre vie ensemble (liked by AlexandraSaint) you are perfect, you are mine, you are everything, your eyes, your lips, your hair, you are perfect in every way imaginable one day I will marry you and we will spend the rest of our lives together

Franco43Colapinto holy yap! 😭🙏

LandoNorris4 brother in christ CALM DOWN

OscarJP I think you've broken charles (liked by AlexandraSaint)

AlexandraSaint sorry son

OscarJP Please by all god 🙏 Do not call me that

CharLeclerc Oscar Jack Piastri do NOT speak to your mother like that (liked by AlexandraSaint and ItsYourname)

OllieBearman LMAOOOOOOOOOOO

ItsYourname you are the prettiest muse i have ever had, I want to shoot pictures of your forever

OscarJP Feeling slightly offended by this one

AlexandraSaint oscar! quitte nos affaires!!!!! leave our business

view all comments!

liked by Franco43Colapinto, GeorgeRus, and others

AlexandraSaint crazzzy day out

tagged LilyMuniHe, ItsYourname, and LandoNorris4

View Comments

Franco43Colapinto i noticed one franco was not invited to the hangout? Since when did it get cool to uninvited the cool people estoy muy confundido y curioso?

AlexandraSaint franco we literally asked you to go but you said and i quote "this is the worse hangover i will ever have, i cannot cope and will never drink again, please go on without me"

Franco43Colapinto i didn't actually mean go 🙄

AlexandraSaint no seas tan estúpido tengo algo de sopa para ti 🙄 don't be so stupid I have some soup for you

LandoNorris4 i think in another life i was meant to be your guys fourth roomate

LandoNorris4 like yeah wresting time and video game marathon nights with the boys are fun but my true potential was to be sipping a warm chai with my girls gossiping

OscarJP Are you okay??

Albono Nono I know exactly what he means (liked by AlexandraSaint)

CharLeclerc 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

CharLeclerc That is a lot of bags and my credit card is gone

AlexandraSaint i think leo took it again?

RandomFan One strand of her hair, and I'm copying her whole life

RandomOtherFan PUH-LEASE you could never do it like her (liked by AlexandraSaint)

view all comments!

[slaymitchabernathy]

Homecoming

| a companion to 'Visiting Day' |

Coriolanus is more than smug when he feels the train start to pull out of the station.

Goodbye Peacekeeper base, goodbye tiny shack that constitutes as a living space, goodbye grimy showers.

Goodbye District Twelve.

Coriolanus relaxes back into his seat, happily taking off his hat and setting it down next to him, he's going to burn this uniform if at all possible when he gets home.

Home. To Soarynn.

After being gone for so long he's come to learn that home is truly where the heart is, and Soarynn Nightingale has been keeping his safe since the day he left.

He closes his eyes, hoping to maybe get some sleep before arriving at the Capitol later this evening. According to the detailed letters Soarynn has sent, there's to be a dinner celebrating the returning male students who were on the base. How long has it been since he's had a good Capitol meal?

His peace and quiet don't last long when someone flings themselves into the chair next to him, causing Coriolanus to nearly jump out of his skin, "Been looking for you Snow," Festus says while stretching in his seat, "one might say you've been avoiding me."

Coriolanus rolls his eyes at the childish accusation, "We just had breakfast together Festus," he reminds him, "in fact, we've had every meal together since we got here." Festus grins and tosses his own hat onto the seat across from him, "You gonna miss seeing my pretty face every day?"

Coriolanus scoffs and settles back into his seat, watching the woodland blur past them, "I have another pretty face waiting for me back at the Capitol my friend."

He can't wait to have her in his arms again.

꧁ ꧂

"I thought we'd never see the day," Festus muses while both young men look out the window, watching as the train slowly pulls into the Capitol train station. Coriolanus nods, he's been thinking about this moment since he got on the train to go to Twelve.

Home at last.

"Feels good to be back," he says, reaching down to grab his things, "you're coming to the dinner tonight?" Festus nods, collecting his things as well, "Yep, my mother wouldn't stop talking about it in her letters, but, she said Persephone is coming," he waggles his eyebrows.

Coriolanus grins, Festus has been chasing after Persephone Price for what feels like years now, ever since they were little. All they needed was a few months apart it seems for her to realize that Festus has been here all along. Perhaps he'll be a witness to a rather romantic reunion between the two of them tonight.

It would work out wonderfully well considering how close Soarynn is to Persephone. "Sounds like a promising evening then," Coriolanus decides, following Festus down the narrow hallway of the train. They end up running into the other students who were a part of the program and he can tell how anxious they all are to be reunited with their loved ones.

Five months can do a lot to a man.

And they barely saw any real action, they were merely put in Twelve to observe and report back their findings, but being away from home for so long has been agonizing.

The train finally lurches to a stop and the doors hiss open, a wave of cool air hitting all of them in the face. With the worst of the summer months coming to an end, it's been getting cooler in the Capitol, a change that Coriolanus welcomes wholeheartedly after roughing it in the heat of Twelve.

He can hear cheering as his fellow classmates begin to descend from the train and he can't help but wish he were in the front of the group instead of dead last. I can make a grand entrance, he tells himself, making sure his officer coat looks crisp and put together.

He opts to wear the hat at the last second, feeling that it makes him look more official, more regal, and authoritative.

When he finally reaches the doorway he can already hear Mrs. Creed shouting at her son who gives Coriolanus a knowing look before walking towards his family. It seems all family members of the students have gathered into a group on the platform to welcome them home.

Coriolanus scans the group for a blonde head of hair as he steps down from the train and he begins to grow anxious. Is she not here? Where is she? Is she alright? Did something happen? Did he give her the wrong day?

But as the Creeds shuffle to the side, he sees her, bundled in a black coat, craning her neck to locate him. Coriolanus grins as he starts towards her, ignoring everything and everyone else but her.

Soarynn's eyes finally pin him down and she gasps, breaking into a big smile before running towards him, not very ladylike but neither of them cares about manners right now. Coriolanus drops all his things the second she's in reach and wraps his arms around her, effortlessly lifting her off the ground and spinning them around. Soarynn squeals and wraps her arms around his neck, the smell of vanilla immediately coating his senses.

Coriolanus looks up into her gorgeous blue-gray eyes and feels himself melt a little. All those letters, all those pictures, and sleepless nights led up to this very moment.

He doesn't waste another second before pressing his lips against hers, sighing when she returns the kiss with the same amount of passion and yearning. He can hear a few cheers go up in the air, their relationship is no secret and they're far more committed than any other couple they know.

For him, it's her or nothing.

When they finally pull away he can't stop smiling, he's got his girl back in his arms again. How many nights did he lie awake worried about her being all alone? He knows the Capitol is the safest place for her to be but still, all he does is worry about her.

"Coryo," she breathes, her fingers resting on the nape of his neck, "I'm so happy you're home."

Coriolanus gently sets her back down onto the ground but his hands never disappear from her waist, "Me too my love, I'm never leaving you again." He means it too, they're never going to be apart for the rest of their lives.

Soarynn beams up at him, flashing her pearly whites once more, "I think I can live with that."

To hear her sweet melodic voice once more is music to his ears and he pulls her in for another embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head, "I missed you," he mumbles, not afraid to let others see his affection for Soarynn.

Maybe when he was younger and stupid he would've cared, but not anymore. She makes everyone else disappear.

Soarynn snuggles up to him in an instant, resting her head on his chest, "Missed you too, it's felt like years since we last saw each other." He has to agree with her, their visiting day had been too short in his opinion and it only made saying goodbye to each other even worse than the first time.

Coriolanus glances around the platform and watches other families reunite with their sons, hugging and crying as if they've just returned from war. It certainly feels like it. Festus gives him a wave before he and his family begin walking towards the exit, his mother refusing to let go of his other hand.

Coriolanus chuckles and waves back, he'll see him later tonight.

"I see you got my message to leave Petunia at home," he says, happy that this reunion has lacked a certain demanding feline. Soarynn looks up at him and squints her eyes, "You just don't want to share me with anyone else."

She's not wrong.

He places a kiss on her head, "You're right my darling, I'm a terribly selfish man," he agrees, "how lucky for you to be stuck with me hmm?"

Soarynn giggles, causing his grin to broaden, “Yes, I’m stuck with you for the rest of my life Coriolanus Snow.” He can certainly live with that.

Although he doesn’t want to, Coriolanus unwraps himself from his girlfriend to grab his things, knowing that they can’t linger on the platform forever. They have places to be.

“I managed to snag you an appointment with your tailor,” Soarynn tells him as they walk towards the exit, hand in hand once again, “but we’d have to go straight to dinner afterward so I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to freshen up at home.”

Before Coriolanus can even open his mouth Soarynn interjects him again, “Although you could stay at the tailor and then I could run home and get you anything you needed.”

He looks down at his girlfriend as she continues to ramble, oblivious to how adorable she is when she gets like this, chattering away over things that matter so much to her because they slightly impact him.

“But then again most of your things are packed away in your suitcase so maybe I could run to a department store nearby to get you some shoes or I could call a shoemak—“

“My darling,” he says, cutting her off, “I don’t want you to worry your pretty little head about a single thing now that I’m back home alright? And as for the shoes, I have some packed in my trunk so you don’t have to run around trying to find me a pair.”

That seems to make her feel better because Soarynn visibly relaxes and leans into him, wrapping her hands around his arm, “Alright. I don’t mean to worry you, I just…I just want everything to be perfect tonight so that you don’t have to worry about anything but enjoying yourself and your accomplishments.”

Coriolanus shakes his head as they finally step out onto the familiar Capitol streets once more, the cold air welcoming him home, “As long as I’m with you then that’s all that matters,” he assures her, “nothing else in this world matters now that we’re back together.”

He means it too. University, social events, none of it matters if he doesn’t have her by his side.

Soarynn presses herself to her tiptoes and gives his cheek a soft kiss, a feeling he didn’t realize he missed so much, “Then we’ll never be apart again.”

꧁ ꧂

“You’ve certainly grown since the last time I saw you, Mr. Snow. How long has it been?”

Coriolanus raises his arms a little higher while his tailor takes his measurements, “Five months,” he answers, staring at himself in the mirror's reflection, “the training we endured helped me gain quite a bit of muscle mass.”

He watches Soarynn from the corner of the mirror, sitting on a plush sofa with a glass of complimentary champagne in her hand, “Thank goodness for the training,” she mumbles.

Coriolanus is more than pleased with the reflection he’s met with in the mirror. He looks stronger, fuller, better. He gained about ten pounds of muscle in the five months he was gone and he intends to keep it that way. He and a few other students from the program talked about training together once they returned home to maintain their new physiques.

“Well your new suits will fit you like a glove,” his tailor assures him, stepping down from the small pedestal, “let me go fetch your suit for tonight from the back.”

Coriolanus nods and turns to face Soarynn who looks quite comfortable in her seat. It’s usually the other way around where he’s the one watching her try on tons of clothes and complimenting her and each outfit she chooses.

“I must admit that I’m glad you suggested paying him a visit before dinner tonight, I don’t think any of my old shirts would’ve fit me,” he says, earning a chuckle from Soarynn who pushes herself from the sofa, “Well I’m almost always right and after our little visit I knew you’d be coming home bigger than when you left.”

Coriolanus takes a moment to admire the outfit she chose to wear to the train station today. A navy blue dress with long sleeves and a very flattering neckline. She wore boots today as well and they perfectly match the handbag he bought her last year.

She looks exquisite.

Coriolanus steps down from the pedestal and looms over her, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back, “Always right hmm?” He smirks at how pink she gets at his timber voice and just when she goes to answer they’re both startled by his tailor, “Here you are Mr. Snow! Pressed and ready for tonight!”

He hesitantly pulls away from his girlfriend long enough to see the suit that Soarynn put an order in for a few weeks ago. It looks like the perfect example of fine craftsmanship.

He reaches out to feel the material in his hands, grunting at the texture, “It’s perfect,” he says, “you’ve outdone yourself once again.”

His tailor waves him off, mumbling about what a flatter he is before rounding behind the counter, "Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Snow?" It's funny how even though he's addressing Coriolanus, he's looking directly at Soarynn as if she's the one with all the answers, which she is but that's beside the point. Soarynn looks Coriolanus up and down before humming, "Some new gloves, and a scarf if you have any."

Within seconds her request is fulfilled and they're walking out with a new tailored suit, new gloves and a very warm scarf already wrapped around his neck. "Don't like holding my hand when it's cold hmm?" he teases, enjoying how Soarynn scoffs, "Your hands are always cold," she replies, "I'm simply taking preventative measures."

Coriolanus chuckles, pressing a kiss to the side of her head before helping her into the car. "Heavensbee Hall," he tells their driver. The dinner is being held there tonight and Soarynn suggested getting there early so that they could both change into their formal wear for the night.

"What're you wearing tonight darling?" He asks, sliding an arm around her shoulders. Soarynn immediately leans into his touch, her warmth seeping into his skin, "My dress is red tonight, burgundy to be more specific. And it's strapless." Coriolanus raises his eyebrows at that specific piece of information, a strapless dress is one of the quickest ways for him to come undone which she knows, meaning she chose this dress on purpose.

"Did you happen to commission a strapless dress for the good of the program's cause, or to drive me mad all night long?" He purrs, his lips right above her ear making her slightly shiver. Soarynn bats her lashes up at him as if she's so innocent, "For the good of the program of course. I can't believe you'd accuse me of such things, darling," she purrs back in response, her hand sliding up and down his thigh.

Coriolanus swallows down the lump forming in his throat, perhaps he's bitten off too much for him to chew. "Well, I just wanted to make sure." The car comes to a stop and they're greeted by the familiar sight of Heavensbee Hall, the pillars in the front making it a rather famous landmark in Capitol architecture.

Soarynn grins, pressing a kiss to his cheek before their driver opens the car door for them, "Yes, I'm sure your time spent in Twelve has taught you to question everyone's motives. Even your girlfriend's."

She's too smart for her own good.

Coriolanus nearly trips while following her up the stairs, he didn't think he'd be this...whipped to be back in her presence but he would gladly sink to his knees if she asked him to.

But he can't let her have this advantage, their relationship has always been filled with teasing one another and he'll be damned if they go into this dinner with him being knocked down a peg. So he's quick to push her against the nearest pillar the moment they reach the top of the steps, his hands sliding around her waist as he leans down to capture her lips in a kiss. Soarynn gasps but quickly responds to the kiss, her own lips moving against his in sync.

It's been so long since they've had a true proper kiss but maybe outside in front of people on the street isn't the best place to start.

But that doesn't seem to matter to Soarynn who spins them around, pressing his back against the wall. Who is this woman and what has she done with his girlfriend? The Soarynn he knows would never take the lead like this but it seems that he wasn't the only one who changed during their time apart.

Soarynn moans into the kiss when his hands get a little bold and travel lower down her back, "We...we need to go inside," she mumbles against his lips, all while pressing herself further against him. Coriolanus smiles into the kiss, his teeth gently nipping at her bottom lip, "You mean you don't want to continue this outside in the cold?"

Soarynn pulls away and looks up at him, a twinkle in those startling eyes he's fallen in love with time and time again, "No," she says, tilting her head, "we can continue this when we get home." Home, such a tempting promise to truly have her all to himself.

He's just going to have to be patient.

Coriolanus begrudgingly lets her out of his hold, knowing she does have somewhat of a point, they have to get ready before people start arriving. So he settles for holding her hand while they walk into the Hall, nodding at several workers who are setting up the long banquet table. "Quite the setup," he murmurs, watching more chairs being wheeled in.

Soarynn nods, "Yes, they've been talking about it for some time now." It makes him glad to know that he hasn't been forgotten over the past few months, that they're being celebrated the way they should be after dealing with the shitshow that Twelve was.

He should get a medal or something.

"The bathrooms are this way," Soarynn points, and Coriolanus gladly lets her lead him down one of the many hallways, mindlessly following his girlfriend until they reach the bathrooms. "Alright, they're bringing in our clothes now but I'm going to go in to powder up a bit." Coriolanus frowns at the idea of being separated from her, even if it's just for a little while.

Some might find it annoying or overbearing but Coriolanus tries his hardest to be around Soarynn every second of every day. They have all the same classes together, they live together, and sometimes they even shower together. He's not sure he can stand this time apart.

Soarynn gives his hand a squeeze, "You'll be fine," she tells him before letting go and walking into the women's restroom. Coriolanus stands there awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do with himself. His suit should be brought in shortly but he doesn't just want to stand out here and wait. Maybe he should just go in to make sure she's alright.

Yes, suppose she fell and hit her head? Better safe than sorry.

Just as he's about to push the bathroom door open he's startled by the voice of his driver, "Mr. Snow? Here are your outfits for this evening, Ms. Nightingale instructed me to bring them inside."

Coriolanus does his best to look calm and collected, not startled and caught red-handed, "Yes, thank you, I'll take them." He's given several garment bags, most of them belonging to Soarynn since they're pink and his are black. Her things are significantly heavier than his but he supposes that Soarynn prefers to be better off safe than sorry.

"Darling? I have your things right here," he calls, knocking on the door. Soarynn only takes a moment before she's pulling open the door and smiling up at him, "Oh perfect, you can bring them in here."

Coriolanus cautiously steps into the women's bathroom as if he wasn't about to barge in here unannounced and finds it to be identical to the men's. There's a small lounge area with two sofas and a large floor-length mirror, across from the lounge area are the sinks and then the restrooms themselves.

Soarynn it seems, is the only one in here right now.

"Right over here," she instructs, pointing at one of the sofas, "I'll need to fix my hair and makeup before getting dressed." Coriolanus carefully sets her things down on the sofa, making sure to be extra careful with her shoes. "Would it be terribly common if I stayed in here with you?" he asks, already sitting down on the sofa.

Soarynn gives him a quizzical look from over her shoulder before turning back to her reflection, "I suppose it would be fine, but wouldn't you much prefer to have your own space?" Coriolanus shakes his head, looking around the ornate bathroom that's meant for the public, something people in Twelve could never comprehend.

"This is bigger than my sleeping quarters, and it's not like we don't share a bathroom at home." He's got her there. Coriolanus can't wait to take a nice long bath once they get home. Soarynn shrugs and catches his eyes in the mirror, "If we get caught then I'm blaming you."

Coriolanus leans back against the sofa, spreading his legs out as wide as they can go, "I'll take that risk."

It's been so long since he's been alone in a room with her, it almost makes him wonder if they could get one in really quick before the banquet. It doesn't hurt to try.

Coriolanus quickly stands up and crosses over to the bathroom door, turning the lock to ensure they don't get any surprise visitors. That would not end well.

Soarynn remains oblivious while touching up her makeup, she looks so cute whenever she gets ready, fussing over every little detail as if she isn't gorgeous without any makeup.

Coriolanus comes up behind her, hooking his chin over her shoulder, both of them staring at their reflection, "Coryo, what're you doing?" She asks with a warm smile, giggling when he presses a kiss to her neck, "I'm simply admiring you, my love," he says, wrapping his hands around her waist. He doesn't miss how her breath slightly hitches, or how her hands shake while she reaches for her powder compact he got her last year for her birthday, silver with a rose engraved into it.

"We...we have to get ready," she gasps when one of his hands slides down her front, slipping under her dress. Coriolanus nods all while continuing his assault on her neck, gently sucking and biting at her tender skin, "Don't you want a little taste of what's waiting for you after the banquet?" He asks, his fingers tugging at the waistband of her lace panties. He's willing to bet all his money that her panties have a cute little bow on the front.

Soarynn whimpers and tilts her head to the side, giving him better access all while attempting to clench her thighs, "What if someone sees us?" It's a laughable attempt to ward him off but he's come prepared for her questions, "I locked the door angel," he tells her, his fingers slipping under the fabric of her panties, "you know I wouldn't ever let anyone see what's rightfully mine."

Soarynn doesn't appear to need any more convincing and his fingers ghosting her clit are clearly messing with her ability to think straight. He remembers the little photograph she sent him a few weeks ago, a keepsake was what she called it. A growing boner was what he liked to call it since all it did was get him hard.

"This is honestly payback," he says, "for sending that little photograph of you in your lingerie." Soarynn's eyes widen and he can tell that she forgot all about that little photograph she sent him. It doesn't help that Soarynn loved to send him photos with every letter, most photos being of her and Petunia but still.

"Oh," is all she has to say.

Coriolanus lets out a raw chuckle, remembering how worked up he got over that photo night after night. She knew exactly what she was doing. "Bend over," he says lowly into her ear, smirking at how quickly she folds herself over the sink counter.

Her dress is easy to hike up and he doesn't need a lot to work with considering the circumstances. He pulls her panties to the side while tugging down his pants, his cock straining in his boxers, desperate to be surrounded by her tight cunt once again.

His fingers graze her folds and he groans at how wet she is already, "So fucking needy," he says, his fingertips prodding at her entrance. Soarynn whines and bucks her hips, desperate to get something inside of her again, "Please," she gasps.

Coriolanus pulls his boxers down, freeing his hardened cock and he teases the tip up and down her folds, "You miss me?"

"Mhm."

"How much?"

"Coryo please," she gasps, annoyance evident in her face as he watches her in the mirror's reflection. He loves getting her all riled up.

"What's the magic word Soarynn?"

Soarynn huffs, glaring at him from over her shoulder, "Please fuck me before I find someone else to do it."

That'll do it.

He wastes no time slamming into her cunt, groaning at how fucking tight she feels wrapped around him. He doesn't give her a second to adjust, he just starts pounding into her, the sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the bathroom. Soarynn's moans are music to his ears after being away from her for so long. She looks so erotic in the mirror, her eyes rolling back while she takes everything he gives her without complaint.

He wraps his hand around her neck, squeezing it just the way she likes. Soarynn is the type of girl to shy away from dirty comments in public and then smile while choking on his cock. She's funny that way.

"So good," she croaks, arching her back even more, her mouth lolling open. Coriolanus loves when she gets like this, too full of cock to think straight, the only thing on her mind being when her next orgasm is going to be.

"My good girl," he praises, "missed this cunt so much, missed your little moans and whines, missed how good you look stuck on my cock angel."

He shoves her against the counter, fucking her even harder than before, slipping two fingers into her mouth when Soarynn's moans start to get higher in volume. "Please," she begs, her words garbled by his fingers. He can feel her walls fluttering around his cock, desperate for an orgasm after being apart for so long. "Hush baby, take what I give you," he says, false disappointment in his tone. Soarynn gets off of praise as much as she gets off of degradation. Mixing the two together has always been so much fun for him.

His other hand grips her hip so tight that he knows there'll be bruises in the morning. And he'll be here to see them and kiss them better.

Soarynn is getting closer and he's right behind her, all it'll take is a few rubs to her clit and she'll be a ragdoll in his hands. Coriolanus pulls his fingers out of her mouth and brings them to her clit, rubbing it in tight circles, listening to the shriek she lets out at the stimulation.

"Fuck," she moans, throwing her head back. Coriolanus latches his lips to her throat, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Soarynn's face goes slack as her orgasm washes over her, and Coriolans moans at the sensation of her walls squeezing around him.

"Fuck baby I'm close," he grits out, fucking her at a slower but harder pace, wanting to finish inside of her.

How many times did he fantasize about this? Use his hand instead of her cunt?

Coriolanus finally tips over the edge, coating her walls with his cum as they both pant, slowly coming down from their highs. Soarynn slumps against the counter, sweat on her forehead. Her legs are shaking and she's got a glossed-over look in her eyes.

Coriolanus wraps both arms around her waist, holding her up so she doesn't fall. Poor thing has to wear high heels after being fucked.

He's glad they did this in the bathroom, at least he can clean them up.

"That was...that was good," she whispers and Coriolanus laughs, kissing her neck, "Just good hmm? Not exponentially mind-blowing?"

His question earns him a pointed look from Soarynn through the mirror, "Don't push your luck," she warns."

꧁ ꧂

"Coryo? Can you come zip me up please?"

Coriolanus leaps up from his seat and strides over to the bathroom door, looking down at his beautiful girlfriend who's carefully peeking her head out, "I can't seem to manage the zipper," she admits, turning around to show him where the issue lies.

Coriolanus is more than happy to assist in zipping her up, placing a hand on her lower back while the other pulls the zipper up with practiced ease. He's gotten used to zipping and lacing her up over the years. He wonders how she managed while he was gone.

Soarynn pulls up the front of the dress once it's fully zipped, making sure everything is in its proper place, "This might be my favorite dress you've ever worn," he muses, stepping back to admire the vision Soarynn Nightingale is.

Her hair is pinned up in a perfectly styled bun, pieces pulled out in the front to frame her face. The dress is in fact strapless, pushing her breasts up to provide an ample amount of cleavage that'll have every man jealous of the beautiful girl on her arm. The dress is form-fitting, showing off her small waist and clinging to her legs with every step she takes.

Her high heels are also a burgundy red, perfectly matching her dress.

"You say that about every dress," she reminds him, turning to go grab her things. Coriolanus follows her inside, refusing to be banished again.

After fucking her senseless and cleaning her up, Soarynn shooed him away, claiming that he'd only distract her and make her late. So he had to get ready in the men's bathroom much to his chagrin, all alone, no one to love on him. He only pouted for a good five minutes before she slammed the door in his face and then locked it for good measure.

"Because every dress you wear is a work of art on your body darling," he insists, admiring the dress from the back, how it curves around her ass just right.

He's going to have a hard time behaving himself tonight.

Soarynn must be thinking the same thing because she turns around with an almost murderous look on her face, "Keep your hands where I can see them tonight," she warns, "I just did my hair and makeup and I refuse to mess either of them up tonight."

Coriolanus chuckles at her demanding attitude, she's always so cute when she gets all riled up.

He stalks towards her, looming over her even when she's wearing heels, "Or what? You'll give me a stern talking to?" If she wants to be sassy, he can be sassy. It takes two to tango and he's been riding a high since he stepped off that train.

Soarynn steps up to him until they're toe to toe and he can't help but notice how beautiful she looks. Rarely does she ever wear a full face of makeup, she's already stunning as she is but the makeup accentuates her natural beauty. Her eyeliner makes her blue-gray eyes pop, and the red lipstick she's wearing makes him want to kiss her silly until they're both breathless.

She smells like vanilla.

"Or I will take an oath of abstinence."

Coriolanus snorts at her threat, a pointless one at that, one he knows she'll never follow through on. They're both too horny for their own good. "Okay, why don't you swear off drinking and dressing provocatively while you're at it," he suggests, slipping a finger under her chin, "since you're so set on becoming a saint."

Soarynn goes to jerk her head away but he's faster than her and grabs her chin instead, "I do not dress provocatively," she insists, glaring daggers at him. Coriolanus looks her up and down, his eyes focusing on her breasts and Soarynn scoffs, "This is a one-time thing."

Coriolanus raises his eyebrows, not believing her for a second, "Alright then darling, I'll keep my hands to myself and then we can both go home and fuck until we can't stand anymore, how does that sound? That way you won't have to give up being my little slut."

His words have the desired effect on Soarynn as she turns a bright shade of pink, always getting worked up over his crude language, "Fine," she agrees, yanking her chin out of his grasp, "but I mean it Coryo, best behavior."

Coriolanus nods, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, "Yes darling, best behavior."

꧁ ꧂

"We should go streaking."

Coriolanus almost falls out of his chair at Festus Creed's suggestion of a fun night out on the town.

The banquet is going well, drinks and conversations are flowing and Coriolanus and Soarynn have been on the receiving end of countless compliments. She looks stunning tonight and he looks devilishly handsome in his new suit.

Soarynn gives Festus a warning look from her seat across the table, she's supposed to be talking to Persephone who did end up coming with Festus but his girl has a knack for listening to other people's conversations. Especially when Festus is talking.

"A joke!" He exclaims, holding up his hands in surrender before winking at Coriolanus, "Just recalling some good times we had back in Twelve."

Persephone raises an eyebrow, not believing Festus for a second which is honestly the smart thing to do, “I thought you all were sent to Twelve to serve as examples for the other Peacekeepers, not run around naked.” Festus slips an arm around her shoulders, he’s smooth with it too earning him a grin from Coriolanus, “We had to have a bit of fun on that dreadful base,” Festus explains, “all that paperwork was getting to be boring after a month.”

Coriolanus grunts, he had been promised several months of action, of pushing himself to new limits and learning new things which he did do, but they left out that nitty gritty paperwork part of the program.

Soarynn gives him a curious look, almost identical to the one Petunia gives him whenever he’s eating something that looks good to her, “Did you ever have to use a gun?”

He immediately places his hand on top of hers, lacing their fingers together, “No darling, we didn't have to use a gun. Although we were given firearms for target practice and to protect ourselves of course. But we didn’t shoot anyone.”

Soarynn visibly relaxes at his answer, she’s always been so sweet and caring, not wanting anyone to get hurt. She wouldn’t last long in Twelve. He barely did.

Festus sighs, finishing off the last of his wine, “Needless to say, it’s good to be back home, just in time for the holidays.”

“And for final exams,” Persephone adds, causing Festus to frown, “We still have to take those?” He asks, giving Coriolanus a disappointed look, “I thought we might be exempt since you know, we were out there serving our country and whatnot.”

Soarynn snorts and Coriolanus does his best to cover up his smile, “I’m afraid even the bravest among us must still take part in final exams, my friend,” Coriolanus says, “even if we just got back from serving our country.”

Festus doesn’t seem too pleased about that but one of the many sergeants attending this dinner stands up, silencing the room, “I’d just like to say a few words about the bravery and dedication we’ve witnessed from these young men. If you’re here tonight because you made a great sacrifice by being away from your loved ones for several months to better this country, please stand.”

Coriolanus is more than happy to stand, mostly to stretch out his legs but he doesn’t let go of Soarynn’s hand. They’re never going to be apart again.

The sergeant nods at all the young men approvingly, “These young men have shown dedication to their country, they have shown they want to make this country better, to protect it better by throwing themselves into the very system sworn to protect it. By doing this, they have demonstrated a great amount of discipline,” Coriolanus stands up a bit straighter at that particular word, “honor, and obedience. Now, I have spoken to several others who were running the program, looking after these young men while they were away from home and we all came to an agreement on one young man who displayed exemplary discipline and integrity.”

Excited murmurs travel through Heavensbee Hall, no one ever mentioned some sort of award or recognition. Parents excitedly whisper to each other and Soarynn gives his hand a tight squeeze. Perhaps he’s the lucky winner.

“This student, this young man unknowingly to me, has followed in his father’s footsteps, leading a new generation of exemplary citizens through his dedication to this country.” Coriolanus swallows, it’s not the end of the world if he doesn’t win but it actually is so he has to win.

“It is with great honor that we recognize the son of Crassus Snow, Coriolanus Snow who proved himself more than worthy of carrying the Snow name through his discipline, courage, and determination during this program.”

He can’t believe he won. Well, he can, but still!

Coriolanus received a wonderful round of applause, everyone cheering and whistling him on as he took it all in. He smiles down at Soarynn who’s looking up at him so proudly, so adoring with tears in her eyes. She’s been his rock throughout all of this.

He couldn’t have done this without her.

“Speech!” Festus calls out, rallying the others to call for one as well. One thing about Festus Creed is that he’s an instigator.

Soarynn gives him an encouraging nod which is all it really takes for him to clear his throat. The other students take their seats once again and the floor is his.

“It’s a true honor to be recognized for such actions that I always considered a privilege, serving this country. I’d like to thank my fellow professors and sergeants who taught me many things these past few months. I’d also like to thank my fellow classmates who were with me throughout the entire program, if I was sweating, they were sweating too.” Everyone chuckles as they remember how hot they’d get during training.

Coriolanus rubs his thumb against the back of Soarynn’s hand. “I’ve always dreamed of following in my father’s footsteps, of making him proud and honoring the Snow name. So lastly, I’d like to thank the woman who got me through the best and the worst moments of being away from home,” he looks back down at Soarynn, pride coursing through his veins.

“My beautiful girlfriend who wrote to me every week without fail, who encouraged me to join the program, who kept me going even when I didn’t want to. The woman who I cannot wait to give my last name to one day. My Soarynn.”

꧁ ꧂

It feels so good to be home.

Coriolanus lays in his large, comfortable, large, fluffy, large bed with a blissed-out smile on his face.

He's got everything he could ever need. Soarynn pressed against his chest, both of them still calming down after a few heated rounds of sex. He'd be a liar to deny missing the sex they so loved to have, messy and loud and in the comfort of his own ancestral home.

Coriolanus was more than pleased to come home to see that Soarynn had kept the Snow penthouse in tip-top shape. He hadn't worried about it falling into disrepair, not with Soarynn living with him but he felt more than relieved to find it all in one piece.

He almost spun around their bedroom, just to enjoy the space he so dearly missed. Then he raided their kitchen even though he had just eaten dinner. After that, he fucked Soarynn until neither of them could walk anymore. A perfect way to end such a fruitful day.

His fingers drag up and down the soft skin of her back, he can't believe he willingly went without this for so long. Never again. She doesn't know it yet, but he's already narrowed down what ring he's going to get her to propose. Something simple yet elegant, prominent yet classy. A woman like Soarynn deserves a rock.

He watches her sleep for a while, admiring how beautiful Soarynn Nightingale is when she's bare-faced, freckles on full display.

A soft purring pulls his attention to what's supposed to be Soarynn's side of the bed, even though she always curls up with him and he finds Petunia padding over to them. He was surprisingly given a rather warm and excited welcome when they finally got home after the banquet. Petunia had been jumping and meowing but maybe that was all for Soarynn.

One can never tell with that cat.

"Thank you for taking care of her," he whispers, reaching out to scratch under Petunia's chin, "even though I said you couldn't come to the train station." Petunia only blinks in response but with how smart Soarynn claims she is, she has to understand a little bit of what he's saying.

Coriolanus can feel his eyes getting heavy, it's been such a long day. He still can't believe he's home, back with Soarynn.

As he drifts off to sleep, he holds onto his most prized possession, his girl, his Soarynn.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[fictionallystable]

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games)

Relationship: Phillip Graves (Call of Duty)/Reader

Characters: Reader, Phillip Graves (Call of Duty), Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Author Has Played Call of Duty, Childhood Friends, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, slight age gap, Civilian!Reader, Pre-Canon, Jealousy, Angst, Kissing, Time Skips, Slight OOC Graves, Brother's Best Friend.

Words: 1,348 | Chapters: 1/5

Summary:

Your older brother is best friends with Phillip Graves, and you always tagged along on their adventures. As a teen, you hid a fervent crush on Phillip, but it ends in painful heartbreak for you after one tumultuous summer. Many years later, you and Phillip are shocked to re-encounter one another, this time with your hearts fluttering again. But the heartache and broken trust of the past cloud your vision of the man standing in front of you.

A/N: this is a long time coming collab between me and @orphancains, and we finally posted the first chapter. stay tuned for later chapters. can't promise we'll be posting all the chapter each week but we'll try to get it out soon as possible. that being said, enjoy. the fic can also be found on AO3

tags will be updated!!

Chapter 1: The Pool

You ignored the bead sweat trickling down your temple from sitting under the Texas summer sun. There were only a few weeks left of summer break before 7th grade, and you were trying to enjoy it at the park, despite the sun beating down on you. Even your older brother Matty and Phil had wanted to enjoy the day even if they’d both already graduated high school. The two played some light basketball while you sat nearby sketching. After playing for a while, the two of them strode over to you, checking in on you as you quietly concentrated in your sketchbook. 

“I don’t know,” you said to them both as you stared down at your sketch, “I don’t know if it’s worth submitting.”

Phil tsked and took a seat beside you on the grass. He patted your shoulder and furrowed his brow. “Come on. You’re probably one of the best artists I know out of everyone in this city. You’re twelve but you’re better than some of the people in school I know who always brag about their art. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Matty sighed behind both of you. “It’s that our dad has been hounding her about focusing more on math next year. He wants her to be studying with a tutor for her pre-algebra class for this summer instead of this.” Your brother glanced away. “Or make friends…” he muttered quietly, but just enough for Phil to still hear.

Phil rolled his eyes. He was grateful to your dad for letting him linger in his home to hang out with Matty. The Graves family household, a few miles away from yours, was a little bigger, sure. But it was empty. With his parents always gone, his dad was either sending him texts from airports to check in on him every few days and his mom would mainly call him to say she couldn’t attend his football games and track meets because of another work conference. Matty and your parents were kind enough to feed him and sometimes let him sleep over. But he couldn’t help but want to sometimes roll his eyes at how much pressure he put on you and your brother.

“How is submitting a piece of art to a newspaper going to hurt her in pre-alegbra?” Phil looked at your brother unamused. “I don’t wanna be a dick, Matty, but your dad’s a—”

“I know, Phil,” your brother huffed. “You’ve told me before”

“It’s actually an art magazine. It’s MUSE magazine,” you cut in, wanting to stop talking about your dad. “They even said they’ll give us a scholarship, too, if we win. I mean, that’s gotta make dad happy, right?”

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, as he listened to you. He thought about it and shot you a grin hoping it would cheer you up. He couldn’t help but want to see you happy, wanting to see you get the praise and love for your art that you truly deserved. “See?” He glanced quickly at Matty before turning back to you to say, “Yeah, exactly! That’s even more of a reason to submit— even if my advice alone should be enough.” At that, your brother snorted.

At this you turned to look at him, your lips pouting slightly. You still felt unsure about your idea, and he noticed.

“Listen, as soon as you hear back from that magazine, I wanna be the first to hear about it, you understand?” 

You nodded and gave him a small smile. “I will, but what if I lo—”

“Not, gonna happen. I know it won’t,” he stated firmly, as his warm eyes beamed down at you.

Your smile grew more as you leaned your shoulder against his arm. “Thanks, Phil.”

‘ Holyshit… ’ , you thought to yourself as you ran toward the Graves’ home one afternoon. Your parents always reprimanded you for swearing but who cares right now . You clutched tightly onto the new copy of MUSE magazine as your feet hit the pavement. ‘ I actually won !’ You hadn’t bothered to tell Matty or your parents. You wanted to tell Phil first, but he hadn’t come over to visit Matty today—usually Fridays were when they played video games together. You thought it was weird initially but thought nothing of it.

You knocked on the heavy, wooden door, pressed the doorbell multiple times, but he never came to the door. You were confused. ‘ Maybe he’s out back ? ’ , you thought as you trudged over to his backyard’s fence. You were surprised to see it was left slightly ajar, when usually you and Matty always had to wait for Phil to unlock it if you decided to visit his home. Slowly, you nudged the gated fence door open, expecting to see nothing more than the Graves family’s pool, some towering, old trees, and maybe some overgrown grass. But instead your jaw dropped.

By the shining blue pool, Phil had another girl’s hands entangled in his light brown hair. At first you were confused, but you felt your chest tightened when you realized his lips were moving against hers and that his own hands rested on her hips. He was shirtless, his body still drenched in the cool pool water and she wore a light pink bikini. Her own dark red hair was also wet clung to the skin on her pale shoulders. That’s when it hit you: Phil had a girlfriend you didn’t know about, and you’d just walked in on them making out.

You felt your heart stop when from over the girl’s shoulder, you saw Graves’ dark eyes flicker and briefly meet your own. You let out a small gasp, your eyes shifting away quickly. You quickly turned away and your hands clenched tightly around the magazine in your hand, not caring anymore if your artwork featured in it was crushed now. You felt your stomach jolt as you ran back home, fearing you were going to vomit midday in the middle of the street. The red hair. Phil shirtless. The pool. His hands on her hips. The shadows in his eyes. Was that a smirk you saw? Or had you imagined it? It all kept flashing in your head as you jogged back home. You felt like your own brain was torturing you with the images now. 

Back home, as you strode toward your room, your throat tightened. Your lips quivered and you felt the few tears still clinging to your eyes begin to slip through. Matty walked out of his room, about to ask you where you were, when he saw the distress etched on your face. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

You clenched your teeth as you felt the tears begin to flow freely now down your cheeks. You stepped into your room, but turned around to face him. “Nothing’s wrong!” you growled out, before shutting the door loudly in his face and twisting its lock. 

As night fell, you clung tightly to your pillow, your tears staining it as you cried. Your brother continued knocking on the door from time to time, calling your name out in frustration. But no matter what, he couldn’t coax you out of your room. You also didn’t know why you wouldn’t let Matty in. You didn’t even know why your heart broke so much when you saw Phil and that other girl. But from then on, your view of Phil had changed. You didn’t want to face him anymore, to be his brother’s stupid kid sister always lingering around because she had no friends of her own. You were a burden on him. He probably just wanted to hang out with Matty, not you. You wondered, how many times did he want to talk to him about girls or sex, or anything else, and he couldn’t because you were there? 

As you drifted off to sleep, eyes puffy from salty tears, you forgot about the crumpled magazine laying on the ground. Your thoughts only revolved around one idea: You were going to do Phil a favor and avoid him at all costs.

[merymoonbeam]

people call elriel cliche because of 3x3. I mean where are all the sisters ending up with brothers books I am seem to be missing???. anyways... but if elriel is endgame it means sarah wrote the books that well that they are all fated.

like from this first acotar quote:

“May the Immortal Light shine upon thee, sisters,” said the pale-robed young woman directlyin our path. (acotar)

to these:

“My father,” Rhys said, swirling his wine once—twice, “saw that his son had not only started to rival him for power, but had allied himself with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history. He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned.” (acomaf)

He gave her that grin I realized likely meant trouble was coming, but said to me, “No. I don’t—not beyond a heaping pile of the killing power. Bastard-born nobody, through and through.” Rhys sat forward like he’d object, but Cassian forged ahead, “Even so, the other males knew that we were different. And not because we were two bastards and a halfbreed. We were stronger, faster—like the Cauldron knew we’d been set apart and wanted us to find each other. Rhys’s mother saw it, too. Especially as we reached the age of maturity, and all we wanted to do was fuck and fight.” (acomaf)

Amren shook her head, hair swaying. “Nothing is a fluke. The Cauldron’s power flows through Nesta, and could use her as a puppet without her knowledge. It wanted those weapons Made, and thus they were Made. It wanted Rhysand to have them and thus the blacksmith brought them to you. To you, Rhysand, not to Nesta. And do not forget that Nesta herself—and Elain, with whatever powers she has—is here. Feyre is here. All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own. Feyre alone doubles your strength. Nesta makes you unstoppable. Especially if she were to march into battle wearing the Mask. No enemy could stand against her. She’d slay Beron’s soldiers, then raise them from the dead and turn them on him.” (acosf)

especially to this:

Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it. "What if the Cauldron was wrong?" Rhysand blinked. "What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question. "The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak the words aloud.

which this quote directly parallels to Feyre questioning in acowar, questioning who decides it.

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” “I’d keep that question from Lucien.” “I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …” (acowar)

all these quotes hinting that it is all "not a fluke" . Maybe it is all for a reason you know.

also if you don't get it...being mates is not even the question here. it is not even about that. it is about who is fated to be together when we all know sometimes mate pairings are wrong:

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. “There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some … preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.”

[its-time-to-write]

ch. 7 - hustling for the good life

table of contents

if you made it to the end, thank you🥰

the way forward

Touring is absolutely insane. It’s not as crazy as some people’s like, say, Allie Gooding, but it’s still so. Much. Work. You don’t really dance, mostly hold your guitar while sitting in the middle of a stage while people twirl and leap behind you.

It’s a Blue Glass tour, technically speaking, but Mango is by far the highlight.

You’re in the city of its origin, with its muses sitting front and center. 

“I’ll let you go/Because it’s best for me/I slip out the back/And turn the key,” the audience sings.

i saw u on tiktok, Jamie texts that night. fukig mint the way the crowd sang all the words.

Claire was crying, you type back. And why can’t you ever spell “fuck” correctly??

cant all be smarty pants musicians, Jamie writes. Then, been blessed to be a dumb, sexy footballer.

Ok, I have to go to sleep. Flying to some small city tomorrow afternoon. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Called something like idk, Landon? Lodan?

He asks, u still staying at mine?

Yep. Can’t wait!!

FUCKIMG M I N T, Jamie responds.

—

You’ve been in Richmond for approximately four hours, just long enough to say hi to Keeley, eat dinner, and, you know, ditch Natalie so you and Jamie can make up for time spent apart.

“That’s disgusting,” she says before hopping into the hired car.

“Ok miss ‘I fucked-‘”

“WHOA, ok,” she says, “I’m going to stop you right there. I’m out of here.”

But now you’re laying in Jamie’s bed as he runs his hand up and down your arm, tucked against his side.

“You’re bringing the team to the show tomorrow, right?” you ask.

“Hm,” Jamie agrees.

“Cool,” you say softly, “Do you think they’re going to want to meet the musical guest?”

“Yes,” Jamie says immediately. “Lads’ve been hounding me all week. Even fucking Ted’s been asking.”

You smile. “Seems no one’s immune to the charms of Allie Gooding.”

“I fucking knew it,” Jamie gasps. “Fucking knew it. You gonna do Creekside?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he asks, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. “How you do all this shit, I don’t know.”

You’re silent. The truth is, you don’t even know how you do all this shit. Natalie is barely managing to keep your head on straight as it is. At first, it was fun to travel. Now, you just want a good night of sleep.

You have an especially hard time with meet and greets. It always feels too crowded and stifling, and there’s no Jamie to hold your hand or sneak you out the door so nine times out of ten, you have a panic attack while pretending that everything’s fine.

You’d be happy never touring again, just playing your guitar for Jamie in the living room. Writing songs for the people you love and only for the people you love. Mango felt important in a way that Blue Glass didn’t. It had a message and actually helped people, whether or not they knew it.

Claire sent you a small video every time her song was playing in a shop or on the radio, then end the song by clasping her thumb and index finger into a heart. She sent one of her and the other women in her new house, dancing to Kitchen Epiphany.

“We wouldn’t be here without you, babe!” she said at the end.

But she was wrong. You wouldn’t be there without her. It’s wrong, all wrong, but you only have a couple nights with Jamie so you roll on top of him and press your lips to his.

—

You’re in Greece less than a week and a half later, sporting a Tartt jersey as you pull up to your hotel.

Natalie’s been making wiggly eyes at you the whole time you’ve had it on but you don’t care because you’re almost done with this godforsaken tour and you haven’t broken up with Jamie. He still loves you, for some reason you don’t understand.

But hey, you’ve never claimed to understand the male brain.

As you make the mad dash from the car into the safety of the lobby, you hear a familiar voice call your name. You turn and see Donovan, your most recent ex. He’s smiling and holding hands with a girl you used to see around his photoshoots.

“How have you been?” he asks warmly. 

“Good!” you say. “Hopping all around the world, but good!”

He’s still smiling that picture-perfect smile. “Saw you’re dating Jamie Tartt. You guys actually look happy together. Just like me and Zoe. Unless, of course, it’s show?”

“Oh,” you reply, startled. “I, uh, well,”

“It’s ok,” Donovan interjects. “Zo knows we weren’t actually dating.”

“Oh,” you say again, relieved. You never did feel the need to act around Donovan. “Yeah, no, it’s real. At least, it feels real. Wasn’t set up by a PR firm or anything and we’ve been able to keep it pretty quiet.”

Donovan nods. “You’ve always been good in staying out of trouble. Me, not so much.” 

Zoe grins from her place on his arm. “Yeah, but now we get into quiet trouble. We’re getting married this week, and no one even knows that we’re dating.”

She holds out her hand to show you and Natalie the biggest ring you’ve ever seen.

“Nice,” Natalie says. “But we’ve got to check in. Great to see you, Donny.”

“God,” she says as she drags you away, “that could’ve been you. You would have made perfect plastic babies with that absolute fucking Ken.”

“Hey, Dono was nice,” you defend.

“Uh huh. What with all that… personality.”

Ok fine, so maybe he was rather one-dimensional. He and Danielle seem perfectly happy. You’re glad that he’s doing well, despite your so-called “torrid love affair.”

You’ll have to drop by their room at some point to catch up for real.

—

You end up going out to a club with him. And Natalie and Danielle of course, but as you step through the doors, you’re kicking yourself. Why did you think this was a good idea? It smells and it’s crowded, but you’re going to suck it up for Natalie, and for the sake of socialization. Your only consolation is that pretty much everyone will be too drunk to know who you are.

It’s all fine, you’ve had some water and you’re dancing with Natalie when the lights hit your eyes wrong, or maybe the beat dropped when you weren’t expecting it, but it doesn’t actually matter because your eyes go wide and you feel like you’re drowning. You push your way through the crowd out the door, barely noticing Donovan and Zoe hot on your heels.

“Hey,” he calls after you, “you alright?”

No, you want to say. No, you’re not alright because you’re with a bunch of strangers and you just want to be home with Jamie. You want to kick a football around with him on the weekends and hold his hand and be alone. You can feel tears sliding down your cheeks, and Donovan cups your face in his hands to wipe them away. 

“Maybe we should go,” he says concerned. Zoe’s leaning against a wall, phone out. 

“Already got an Uber,” she says. “You’ll be ok, babe.”

Donovan presses a kiss to your forehead. “C’est pas de problème,” he says. “Ne stresses pas.”

—

You can tell something’s wrong the moment you wake up. Maybe because you can’t hear Natalie in the other room or maybe it’s intuition, but the air isn’t right. You open up your phone to Instagram and find a picture of you and Donovan from last night. He’s holding your face and looking at you with what you know is concern, but to the observer looks like- love?

Oh shit.

The caption is the standard bullshit - “Forest Fire singer reignites old flame,” and you think you might be sick.

You keep scrolling and there’s another one, this time with Donovan kissing your forehead. The caption underneath is a rant to the effect of, how could you cheat on Jamie Tartt? What a greedy little bitch.

The more you go, the more you find. It’s the same set of pictures with the same set of captions.

It’s the damage to your public image that concerns you. You’ve been around long enough to know that it will blow over, especially because it’s unsubstantiated. You’re thinking of Jamie.

Oh god, what’s he going to think? You’re positive he’s seen it already, because how could he not? It’s so rare that you have a so-called scandal, that you’re trending. If he didn’t find it on his own, one of his friends definitely sent it to him.

Your phone is blowing up with news notifications and text messages. You have ten missed calls from Natalie an inbox full of voicemails. You’ll probably delete all of them without listening. 

But what you really care about is Jamie because in the plethora of messages all you’ve gotten from him is a single fucking voice memo. It’s five seconds long, the exact amount of time it takes to say “fuck you,” and you don’t want to open it. 

But a voice in your head compels you, the same voice that gave you the ok to fall in love with him in the first place, so before you can talk yourself out if it you press play and hold it up to your ear. 

“Hey,” says Jamie’s voice. “I love you.”

And that’s it. 

You don’t even try to calculate what time it is in London, you just hit the call button.

“Hey,” says Jamie’s real, actual voice.

“Hi,” you breathe. “I love you. And I hate touring. And press. I just want to make my songs and never fucking tour again. Donovan and I weren’t even doing anything. I had a goddamn panic attack and he was helping me calm down, and his literal fiancée is like three feet off camera but no one knows they’re together because fuck the press.”

Jamie chuckles. “No one’s making you do all this, love. You don’t owe people anythin’. You can just live your life without selling it. But like, if you want to sell it you can. You know?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“Oi. Look. Are you actually doing what you want? Because if it ain’t making you happy, you can stop.” 

You can hear a muffled voice in the background before you have a chance to respond. 

“Yeah, it’s her,” Jamie says to the voice. 

There’s a chorus of your name as Jamie says, “Dani and the lads say hi.”

“Tell them I say hi,” you respond. “Wait, where are you? It’s like nine there. Are you at training?”

“Weight room,” Jamie says, “but don’t get distracted. Are you happy?”

“No,” you say. “No, I’m not I want to- I want to play my guitar in your backyard and talk to Clare and help out Christine and not give Natalie a fucking aneurism every single day. I want to be able to sleep and not worry what people think of me and I want to like singing again. I want to visit my friends and have time to listen to their music and maybe I’ll tour with them, but only for fun. And most of all, I want to be with you. I want to go to all your matches and wear so much red and blue that I look like a gremlin and then I want to go home with you. And I want, like, domestic stuff too, like grocery shopping and cooking and- and-”

“And brushing our teeth at the same time,” Jamie helpfully supplies.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m really tired of all this.”

“Well,” Jamie says, “you’ve got one more week. Then fucking come home.”

—

You tell Natalie she’s fired, just to see the look on her face. 

She starts yelling when you tell her you’re kidding but only kind of and then she hits you with her purse, stringing together curses in both English and Spanish.

She’s less mad when you give her a raise and tell her she’s now in charge of managing all your shit so you don’t have to.

“I thought that’s what I was doing already,” she says, and now it’s your turn to smack her.

“First decision I’m making is switching to KJPR,” she says.

You ask, “What the fuck is that?” with a nose wrinkle.

Nat just grins. “Keeley’s PR firm.”

You let out a scream. “NO FUCKING WAY. NO FUCKING WAY! How did I miss that??”

Natalie shrugs and says, “She told me to pass on the message because she figured you were busy. I sent her a very nice gift basket from you.”

You sigh and grab Natalie for a hug. “You’re the absolute best, you know that?”

“Uh huh,” she says. “You’d be dead without me.”

—

It’s off-season, a year later. You’re on a beach in Brazil, lying in a chair next to Keeley, who’s in a hot-pink bikini.

“I never want to go back to England,” she says, sipping her drink.

You laugh. “I think your boytoy would disagree.”

She huffs and says, “Not my fault he has all that fucking hair. And anyway, he’s the one who wanted to come!”

“Fucking grandad,” Jamie grumbles good-naturedly next to you.

“You invited him,” you say. “You said, ‘Babe, Roy has to be there when we elope.’”

“How was I supposed to know he hated the sun?” Jamie asks, exasperated. “Twat never said anything!”

“He wears black all the time and never smiles, babe. He’s basically a vampire. You should’ve known.”

“I can fucking hear you,” Roy says from under the umbrella. “I’m not fucking deaf.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and say, “I’m just glad Natalie left yesterday. Some honeymoon this is.”

Jamie gets up from his chair and flops on top of you. 

“Oof,” you grunt.

“Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all. “Hey, think there’s a pitch ‘round here? I brought my boots. Think they’re under the bed, love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “‘Football is life,’ or whatever. I’m gonna write a hit song about how my husband likes a fucking ball better than me.”

“I’d pay good money to hear that,” Roy says.

Jamie props himself up on his forearms and puts on his most angelic expression. “That’s me, the adorable yet sexy trophy husband. I’m your muse.”

“You’re something,” you say. “Ooh, I think I can use that in the song!”

table of contents