#every instance where i see this picture i start laughing

[ddarker-dreams]

currently losing my mind because this image perfectly describes what it's like being feitan's darling

[sohnric]

gold stars – e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: friends (idiots) to lovers au. fluff. a sprinkle of hurt/comfort in some parts, a hint of college au!!

wc: 9.3k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mention of toxic family behaviors, a joke about a praise kink. eric is an embarrassing loserboy but i love him sm

listen to: risk by gracie abrams

where everything eric sohn does is search for your approval, and where you reward him with a gold star sticker for every act of kindness. will you ever see him as more than just a friend?

a/n: thank you best friend @csenke for beta reading as always (i miss you deeply btw</33). also thank you @from-izzy for brainstorming with me and listening to me while i gushed about this silly fic idea. thanks @strayed-quokka lennon for giving me eric's insta username idea i will keep using it from now on in all fics AHAHA TT

If Eric was asked to pinpoint the exact moment where he started to rely on your validation, he wouldn’t really be sure of his answer. The truth is, somewhere deep inside of his soul, he knows the yearning has been there ever since he can remember, but the instance that is rooted in his memory as the core one– the one that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like a teenager in love for the first time (which he wasn’t! Nor a teenager, not in love for the first time… right..?) – was one Thursday afternoon after he came home from taking his last exam of the semester to find a message from you waiting in his Instagram DMs. 

Breathlessly clicking at the notification (and now, this should’ve been a sign of his growing feelings for you), he is welcomed with the sight of you sharing a post with him. Wholesome, but still a little silly, a picture of a yellow star poorly drawn onto a white background waves at him, the words ‘congratulation the stress didnt abolsultly kill u’ written in the Comic Sans font on the inside, making him giggle. Despite the typos and the poor grammar, his heart squeezes on itself, shaking his head at your adorable antics as he shoots you a quick message as a thank you. You’ve been helping him with the studies for the last couple of weeks (if constantly yelling out “you will murder this exam, Sohn’ and laughing at his miserable face counts as support), so it’s even more heartwarming to see his friend still be so supportive of him even after the hell already ended.

@ damnsohn [5:11 PM]: thank u i will now need to receive gold stars for everything tho

And see, he wasn’t really thinking before sending that message. He just needed to convey his gratitude without sounding too overly eager– without sounding too infatuated with your sheer existence and the validation of his efforts. (Failed)

What he didn’t expect was for you to actually follow up on his request. 

To make things even better, you pulled through with physical reminders. The poorly drawn golden star landing into his Instagram DMs was just the start of the habit you fall into with Eric Sohn, the man whose love language is words of affirmation– without him even realizing it. And so, what started out as a wholesome, innocent joke, now turned into a recurring thing that is slowly, but surely making the boy go absolutely insane.

The first time he receives a physical golden star sticker is one day when he comes over to your place to watch a movie with you. You made a list full of iconic films you haven’t seen before– a list you get clowned for at first dates with any man that is pretentious enough to talk about his love for Quentin Tarantino (Eric told you to stop going on dates with the aesthetic, ‘indie’ looking men you find on Tinder) – and little by little, you try to get through it with the help of the rest of your friend group. Since everyone gets bored easily of mediocre films they’ve seen before, Eric is the one that spends the majority of movie nights with you– and that’s only because he’s the only one that doesn’t mind watching the Titanic for the fifth time already, if it means he can spend some time with you.

“You brought popcorn?” you gasp upon his arrival, gazing at the plastic bag in his hold, eyes big and full of stars– one would say you were looking at your first love. You weren’t– it was just a salty treat. Isn’t that every girl’s first love, though?

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Pre-popped?” 

“Pre-popped,” he agrees as he takes off his shoes behind the door, watching as you jump up and down in excitement, taking the big bag out of his hands.

“I like it pre-popped the best, oh my god,” you hum, hugging the huge bag like it’s a teddy bear, going as far as pushing your cheek against it, making your face turn into an adorable pout. “They are a little stale and softer and–”

“And the salt is really settled into it’, yeah, I know, Y/N,” he snickers, finishing the sentence he’s heard you say about a million times already– he starts to wonder if you have short-term memory loss and don’t remember telling him every time you walk by the cinema. (And that’s a lot of times, since Sunwoo’s dad owns the place. Sometimes, Sunwoo makes Eric be his own delivery man– he would deny on most occasions, but ever since he learned that bringing Sunwoo his lunch to work means he can take home a bag of cinema popcorn, the one that admittedly, always tastes the best, he doesn’t complain much– he can use the stale bag as a leverage to make you do about anything.)

“Oh man,” you sigh, “aren’t you a dream. I was going to wait for a more serious occasion, but wait, let me just–” you say, running quickly into your room. Eric doesn’t question your antics, figuring out that he will know the reason for your disappearance soon enough anyway, and allows himself into the living room. Two cans of coca cola and a chocolate bar are already waiting on the coffee table, alongside the TV remote, and while he passes the couch and opens one of your kitchen cabinets to fish for a bowl to put the popcorn in, he hears your socked feet rumble against the floor, announcing your arrival.

Once he takes the big bowl he’s sure he’s seen you puke in before after a wild night out and settles it onto the kitchen counter, the bag of popcorn comes back into his view as you lazily throw it into the white plastic, still closed and sealed, waiting to be opened. As his hands move and go to rip it open, meaning to pour the snack in so you two can share while you watch the next movie on your list– which, just for the record, Eric never asks the title of before, afraid it might make him less excited for the movie night– you put something onto the back of his hand, giggling.

Eric curiously stops his movements, gazing at his own skin. There, shiny and glittery, is a sticker attached to his limb– a yellow star sticker, to be exact, making him look at you with a dumbfounded look, eyebrows furrowed, but lips still sealed into a wide grin.

“That’s a gold star for remembering my favorite snack,” you point, flicking his forehead as a way of swatting him away from you so you can open the bag yourself, “and for bringing it.”

When Eric doesn’t give you any coherent reply– despite his brain operating on a thousand miles per hour, thoughts just swirling around and silencing any rational words– you only laugh at his face, your nose scrunching in that adorable way that makes him want to reach over and squish both of your cheeks in between his fingers, crying out. 

“Wow, I didn’t know you were so serious about this,” you sigh, snickering. Eric was going to bring up the fact that you were the one serious enough about the sentiment to buy a full roll of star stickers to give him on various occasions, some more serious than others, but he kept his silence in fear of getting this advantage taken away from him. He doesn’t think he’d survive it. “If you manage to not eat the entire bowl before the movie starts, I’ll give you another one. Come on,” you call for him, body already disappearing back into the living room.

Eric follows you like a lost puppy. If he had a tail, at this moment, he would’ve been waggling it. After he drops to the sofa, he notices the movie paused on the TV in front of him to be none other than Dirty dancing. With a sigh, he recognises that he’s seen it about five times already with his mother and sister, and so he spends the hour and a half gazing at the star on his hand instead.

The next few stars he receives are gifts of a similar manner. Half-serious, but still enough to make Eric’s heart leap in his chest at your recognition.

One day, he says a joke in the middle of the conversation that nobody really appreciates. And see, it’s not really unexpected– he was already aware that his friend group doesn’t appreciate good humor– but the dead silence he receives after the lame joke still makes him feel kind of awkward. That’s only until he is greeted with the sound of your muffled chuckle, though– which is of amusement at the situation, and not his joke, just for the record– and the sight of you ruffling around your pockets. You take a roll of stickers out of your jean jacket, and before he knows it, a star sticker is glued onto his phone case, right in the corner of his phone laying screen down on the table. 

“A gold star for trying,” you hum, making the rest of the group holler out a laugh at the casual bullying, “not as bad as last time, keep it up, buddy.”

Eric gets red in his cheeks. When he looks up from the dark wood of the dinner table, he is met with the sight of Sunwoo and Juyeon looking at him with shit-eating grins on his faces, wiggling their eyebrows at the very obvious reaction Eric has at the half-assed praise. The boy wonders if you’re the only one that hasn’t noticed yet, or if you just don’t really care about the effect you have on him. The star sticker stays glued to his phone case at all times, though, even when it’s worn-down and peeling off at the edges.

Another gold star is won from you one day when the semester starts again and you two meet up in the library, working on your respective essays. Each of you major in a different thing, so there is not much actual help shared other than underlying emotional support, and despite the coffee Eric brings you upon his arrival and the bag of chips resting on the table waiting for you to munch on them, which you refuse to touch before you finish a segment of your essay to ‘motivate yourself’, as you say, he can see you’re still a bit stressed out.

The suspicion is only proven to be true when he speaks up suddenly, lost in thought and a little overwhelmed himself. “How do you spell ‘accommodate’?” he asks, scratching the back of his head.

He now admits that it’s a stupid question to ask, but somehow, getting advice from you is much easier than looking it up himself, or simply writing the word down to let Google docs do the editing. The answer you give him is short, sharp, and the tone of your voice stings the boy the tiniest bit. “Are you 5 years old, or something?”

“I–”

“I’m in the middle of writing an important paragraph, Eric, just Google it–”

“Jeez, okay,” he hums, rolling his eyes at your snappy composure. When your eyes meet only two seconds after, you look a little guilty. You say nothing, though, only continuing to focus on your essay– and Eric does the same, for the most part. (While he also tries to take his mind off the fact that you might think he’s a little bit stupid. You are a STEM major, after all– he’s the one studying media.)

After a while of typing away on your computer, though, you look at him with big eyes, chewing on the bottom of your lip. The subtle nerves and desperation in your face are enough to leave the man weak in his knees, and even though he’d like to reply to you in a similar manner to show you his disapproval with your previous tone, he can’t find it in himself to ever reject you as you mumble out a soft: “Switch?” having the man instantly nod, offering you his laptop.

This is standard practice for the two of you. While he doesn’t really know what you’re talking about in your essays– for all he knows, you could be pulling everything out of your ass– he enjoys reading the words you’ve written. You two often work on your essays together and switch from time to time to reread what the other one has so far– on a lookout for wrong word order, grammar, or anything sounding weird. It’s hard to rationally evaluate your work and find flaws in it after spending hours and hours on it, your brain desensitized to the content you’re writing. Having a helping pair of eyes is always for the better.

When the both of you are done and you switch the laptops back, there’s a gold sticker smiling back at him from the device settled right next to the Kirby sticker you’ve given him once after hearing him gushing about the game one night (Yes, he was tipsy and sentimental). He didn’t even notice you putting it on, and when he looks up at you with questioning eyes, you shrug at him, averting eye contact.

“A gold star for spelling ‘accommodate’ right,” you say, making the boy roll his eyes, snickering.

He doesn’t really question you further. Just the star sticker is enough for him now, if he’s being totally honest– even as unserious as they come. Had he pried more, though, maybe he’d find out that the gold star wasn’t just the prize for his spelling– but also for his patience and silent support he’s been sending you every single day. 

And so, the habit preserves itself at first in a joking, half-serious manner. A gold star sticker for him when he reminds you to water your plants (‘for having a good memory’). A gold sticker for him when he carries you home on his back after you get too drunk at the bar with your friends (‘for having strong muscles’). A star sticker for him when he picks you up after work and drives you home (‘for having a cool car’). Another one when he cooks you ramen when you’re sick and don’t have enough energy to make yourself something warm for dinner (‘for being a 5* Michelin cook’). For his birthday, alongside with other things, you give him a strip of the gold star stickers, 5 in a row all next to each other– ‘for bearing the old age well’. He’s not even that much older than you in the first place, but he takes the external validation and praise with open arms, not really dwelling deeper into the sentiment underlying your joking, unserious reasonings. 

He doesn’t really realize the stickers were a sign of gratitude for the fact that he listens to you and remembers what you have to say– not for having a good memory. They are for taking care of you on your lowest– not for having strong arms and a ‘fat ass’. They are a wordless thank you for his acts of service and protection of you, not for having a cool car and getting his driver’s license– although, the pride is the common undertone in some of the gold stars you give him. You give him gold stars on his birthday to tell him you’re proud of the man he’s growing into, not to make fun of him growing old. The boy is just too oblivious to realize it, it seems.

Some days are more difficult than others, though, and that’s when your star stickers gain more value and seriousness. 

The day after he has a family reunion with the distant relatives that always pry too much into his business– ‘Do you have a girlfriend yet?’, ‘What will you end up doing with that useless degree of yours?’, ‘Do you still share a flat with that friend of yours? What about getting your own place?’ – he is met with the sight of you waiting for him after class, on one of the bean bags outside of the lecture room. His department is a solid 20 minute walk away from yours, so the sight of you there surprises him, but the shock is only intensified when you call him over with a wave of your hand and present him with a pack of M&M’s with a gold star stuck to the packaging.

“What’s that for?” he says, but opens the candy nonetheless. After he takes a few into his mouth, he offers you some– to which you shake your head and shrug.

“For being the coolest one out of your family,” you say close to his ear, like it’s a secret, before you ruffle his hair and stand up from the bean bag, strutting towards the exit. “Come on, I have beer over at my place. You can come over and rant about them being stupid, if you want.”

Eric smiles at your sincerity. Trying hard to tame his hair back into place, he follows you with his backpack hanging off one of his shoulders, and even though he’d love to finish the candy you’ve given him, he forces himself to leave at least three pieces inside of the bag, saving it for later– just so he can keep holding on to the star-adorning wrapper for some more.

One day is particularly hard for the boy as he locks himself out of the apartment, having to wait for his roommate Jake to come back from his hometown the other day, leaving him no place to stay– before you invite him over and force him to sleep over on the couch. You can tell there is something more bugging him, though– and so you push the boy for answers.

“What’s up? Locking yourself out is not the end of the world, y’know,” you say, trying to lighten up the situation.

Eric looks at you with tired eyes, shrugging. Truth be told, his mood has been gradually falling over the last couple of days– this incident was just what really tipped him over the edge and nudged him closer to a nervous breakdown. He’s been overwhelmed with work (too many people having high expectations of him that he is scared he cannot meet), with school (too many assignments he is afraid he can’t manage to get done in time) and also with his family constantly being at his neck about everything he does and chooses for his future– only fueling the burning pit of anxiety and insecurity crawling outside of the big hole inside of his chest.

“It’s nothing,” still, he notes. “I’ve just been having a bit of a rough time, really, ‘s all.”

You answer him with a slight pout of your lips, a saddened expression taking over your face. There is sympathy oozing off your presence, and Eric can’t tell if he dislikes it, or yearns too much for your caring words and gentle encouragement. He can’t tell if it’s natural or pathetic, to want, to need your compliments and validation so much– or if he’s just fallen into a hole he can’t crawl back out of, too hungry after every bit of your attention. You’ve completely enchanted the boy, made his heart both soft and erratically running whenever you’re around, and the things he constantly does for you are not only because he wants you to tell him he’s doing well, but also because he wants you to think of him as someone that you can lean on. He wants you to think of him as someone good enough for you. 

Today, though, maybe he just needs a bit of validation. Maybe he just selfishly strives for your encouragement. It’s okay to just want to be loved on from time to time, no?

You coo, taking a seat next to him on the sofa you’ve spent countless movie nights on together, slotted side by side. Eric plays with his fingers in his lap, a heavy cloud hanging over his face. You know your friend isn’t really good at talking about his emotions– something akin to a mental block inside of him preventing him from ever fully opening up– but despite it all, it seems like he’s completely see-through in your eyes, handling you all the unspoken words on a silver platter. You know him too well.

“You’re doing well, Eric. Don’t let the doubts get into your head, yeah?” you hum, meeting eyes with the boy. 

“Am I, though?” 

The face you give him is stern, acting upset with him. “Of course you are! Stop saying that,” you shake your head at him, sighing when he doesn’t comply with your hard love. After a heartbeat of silence, you turn your head away from him and face the turned-off TV, instinctively wrapping your arm around the boy first, tucking him to your side, before you cradle his head and move it so it sits in the crook of your shoulder. 

Patting his hair, ruffling it and gently playing with the strands before you move to scratch on his scalp, the actions all unarm the poor boy. He almost feels like he could cry and fall apart right there in front of you, right there in your hold, but his pride is oftentimes bigger than his need to let it all out– so he just stares ahead of him, teething at his bottom lip in silence.

After a moment, you rustle around your pocket with your free hand, seemingly searching for something. Eric watches you with curious eyes, big eyes reminiscent of ponds of water waiting to overflow when you take out a strip of star stickers from the inside of your sweatpants, gently taking one of them and sticking the golden star onto the fabric of his pants, right on his knee, before patting it affectionately.

“What’s that for?” he asks, voice a bit hoarse. He’s glad you don’t mention it.

“Just in general,” you shrug, hand coming back up to play with his hair, “a gold star because I’m proud of you.”

“There’s nothing to be proud of, though..?”

“Of course there is!” you argue, raising your voice at him. He doesn’t make much effort to show you that he agrees or understands your point, so you gently take his hand into yours and wave it around in mock-joy– although you’re kind of serious about the sentiment. “Proud of you, because you’re alive and surviving! Yay!”

Eric snorts. It’s not enough to cure his mood completely, but it warms his heart up enough to make him forget about his tears.

“Do you just carry these on you at all times?” he asks, pointing towards the sticker on his leg.

“You never know when you need them,” you innocently agree. After your continuous doting, the boy finds himself falling asleep on your shoulder. When he wakes up in the morning, there’s a blanket thrown over his body he didn’t see in the room before, and he feels a thousand times better.

So far, Eric’s never asked for the gold star stickers. They always come to him by your initiative– and although he has to admit that sometimes he does stuff for you and expects a reward for it (in the form of the sticker, of course) – he never once begged to receive one himself. Sometimes, you surprise him. Sometimes, it’s obvious there is one coming– like after he helps you send out your psychology survey to every single person he knows (and he knows a lot of them. He is a born extrovert, after all.). 

Much like the day of his football match. 

He’s not really the biggest fan of the sport– he much prefers baseball, but his university no longer has a baseball team and he needs to get additional credit somehow– but when you add up the fact that it makes him popular with the fact that he ends up spending time playing around the field with his friends and over the course of the season gets actually better at the sport the more he practices, it’s not as bad as he expected.

The last match of the season turned out well– with their team winning– and although Eric wasn’t the one in charge of the winning goal (damn Kim Sunwoo and Jake Sim for collectively beating him to the victory), he was still ecstatic about the whole thing. After celebrating with his teammates, dubbing them up and screaming in victory, his eyes scan the crowd to find the rest of his friend group that he knows is there, watching him and Sunwoo play. (In reality, he’s just looking for you– he won’t admit that out loud, though.)

Running up to you with sparkles in his eyes, he watches as you cheer on your other friend, Sunwoo, when he beats him to the bleachers. (Not cool of him, if you ask Eric. His crush is literally right there.)

The taller boy enthusiastically talks about the match– as if you, Jihoon, Ryujin and Jay haven’t been on the bleachers the whole time, watching– and after a while, Eric hears your enthusiastic praise aimed towards his best friend, making his blood turn green in envy.

“Yo, that goal was so good, though!” you gush, patting Sunwoo on the shoulder.

“I know, right? Jake passed the ball to me in the perfect time, that other guy couldn’t even register what was happening,” he boosts, grinning to himself.

All attention is drawn on Kim Sunwoo, and Eric doesn’t like it. Not when it’s your attention we’re talking about. He doesn’t care if the whole university drools over the handsome fire sign (as if he doesn’t have a girlfriend anyway– although Eric is still surprised by the fact, after the way he treated the part-timer at his father’s movie theater in the first few weeks of their acquaintance). Believe me, Eric is completely content standing in the shadow whenever someone gushes about Kim Sunwoo, the star player of the team– until you’re involved, of course.

So, he sulks. And it’s apparent– or at least he thinks so. It doesn’t seem to clock in with any of his friends, though, as they all walk away from the football field, aiming to celebrate together in the cheap restaurant downtown. Eric walks behind the group like a lost puppy, and it takes exactly 5 minutes and 35 seconds (not that he’s counting) for you to finally notice the absence of his lame jokes and loud comments to just about everything.

“What’s up?” you ask when you trail behind the group to join his side, laughing at the pout on his face. “You look like you just lost the match. Which you didn’t. Not sure if you caught that…” you joke, bumping your hips with him.

“Well, you seem to be acting like it,” he comments, his words leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Huh?” you ask, genuine confusion tinting your expression. “We’re literally going to celebrate, I don’t get what you– is this because you want that stupid star sticker?” you cut yourself off mid-sentence, the boy already too readable to you after so much time.

Eric gasps in shock. He’s not really sure what he wanted out of mentioning it so openly to you, but to be called out like this surely wasn’t on the list. He feels heat rising to his cheeks with lightning speed, his eyes averting your gaze in the instant. Maybe the voices inside of his head were right. Maybe he is embarrassing.

“Well,” he shrugs, only digging the hole under himself deeper, “did I not do well too?” he mutters under his breath, the humiliation fully settling into his bones after you laugh straight at his face.

“Wow…” you hum, shaking your head in disbelief. “If I knew I was fueling your praise kink this much with the stickers, I would’ve stopped a long time ago–”

“I don’t have a praise kink–” he screams, battling you as you suddenly scramble after him with the sticker on your finger, waiting to be plastered somewhere onto his figure. He’s sure the whole commotion heard his poor attempt at defending himself, but he’s not willing to back down without a fight– anything to prove that he doesn’t depend on the stickers as much as one would think. He doesn’t want the sticker anymore. He doesn’t need it.

As you fight him and womanhandle him on the street, though, hands all over him, trying to get close as he desperately tries to push you away and fight the allegations, he finds himself unarmed when you get in close proximity of his body, pushing him against the wall. He’s sure he has more muscle power than you do, but the mental power in him is lacking– he just can’t make himself push you away from him. Your face is close to his, your breathing tickling his nose. His heart is stammering hard against his chest, your hands still clutching his wrists against the wall, making him feel like a horny teenager. His breathing is heavy– he doesn’t think he’s done much physical labor, though?

Before he has a chance to collect himself and physically unglue his eyes off your lips– glossy and pink, inviting him in– you make the boy’s brain short circuit even further when you lean close to his ear, whispering so no one else can hear.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, by the way.”

You know just which buttons to push. Maybe you’re a bit sadistic– with how knowledgeable you are of his feelings, but of how much you’re enjoying him being completely oblivious to the fact that you’re aware. You have him at your mercy, all yours to keep, his heart all yours to play with and scan in the palm of your hands.

A star sticker is pressed into the skin below his ear, right at the pulse point. With that, you unstick yourself from the boy, running back to the rest of the group. It takes Eric a moment to collect himself enough to rejoin his friends– so much he has to run (which is good, in hindsight– at least he has something to blame for his breathlessness)– but after this, he swears he’s never asking for validation from you ever again.

It’s too dangerous.

Almost as dangerous as you trying to ride his skateboard for the first time, it seems. He’s met with the fact only two weeks after the football match. When you texted him and convinced him you’re going to be fine and that he should definitely bring the board with him when you hang out later in the day– ‘I’m not a five year old, I can handle it! I bet it’s going to be fun!’ – he didn’t really expect you to be this bad at it. You seemed a little too confident for him to believe otherwise, and, well, in Eric’s eyes, you are perfect at just about everything. 

This really shattered the image of you he had in his mind. Not in a bad way, no– the man has and always will worship the sheer ground you walk on– it’s just that more than admiration, the feeling flowing through his veins right now seems to be adoration. Eric always admired your every move, every single sentence that ever came out of your mouth. But now, he just can’t seem to contain himself as he watches you stumble over your own feet and try to balance yourself on the unmoving skateboard in the middle of the empty park, hands waving around your figure in a desperate need to not fall over and break your neck. (Which would never happen under Eric’s watch anyway. His reflexes are fast.)

“You look like a baby learning how to walk for the first time,” he gushes from the bench, your bags waiting at his feet. A wide grin is plastered onto his face as he watches you, his cheeks beginning to hurt from the constant stretch of the muscles.

“Very funny,” you sigh, stumbling over once again, making the board move with the kinetic motion of you stepping off of it, leaving Eric to stop it with his outstretched leg.

“You were so confident before,” he shakes his head, mocking you.

“Well, I tend to overestimate my abilities sometimes,” you shrug, a pout slowly appearing on your face as you move closer towards the male, obviously going to sit at the bench next to him. “It’s whatever, I don’t feel like skateboarding anymore–”

“You’re giving up already?” 

“Yes.”

“No, you’re not,” he shakes his head, standing up and offering you his hand to take so he can bring you back up to your feet, “never back down, never what?”

“Eric, I’m not going to finish your TikTok references right now–”

“I said never back down never what?!” he hollers, forcefully tugging you to a standing position, the sigh escaping your lips only fueling him further with his ridiculous antics. “Never give up! That’s right, Y/N, very well. Now, let me help you, I promise it’s not as hard as it seems.”

“I mean, given the fact that even you can do it–”

Eric flashes you a stone cold look as a warning. He doesn’t really think the teasing is at place right now– you’re the one not capable of keeping balance on the skateboard. It’s not like you have any right to joke right now.

“Okay, I take it back.”

“Leave the jokes for when your legs don’t look like a freshy born horse’s with how much they’re shaking when you’re up on this thing, yeah?” he chuckles, hearing you snort out a laugh at the accuracy of his comment.

Eric should’ve known he was the one miscalculating his abilities to efficiently teach you how to skateboard before the act itself happened. He didn’t, though, and the thought only occurred to him the moment you started latching onto him like a koala to its favorite tree– all just so you could hold balance on the board beneath your feet.

Your legs are a little shaky– and so are Eric’s hands when they instinctively land on your waist as you latch onto his shoulders, steadying yourself. The boy is painfully aware of the layers of clothing preventing him from touching your bare skin, yet, his fingertips still tingle as they bear into your midriff, holding you steady and preventing you from falling.

“Now, this isn’t so hard,” you conclude, chuckling. Eric doesn’t find it in himself to look up at your face, knowing he’d go painfully red the second your eyes would meet. The close proximity of your body still makes him shy sometimes, despite the years of friendship you share, and so he keeps his gaze glued to the ground instead, clearing his throat before he speaks up again, trying to seem nonchalant and casual.

“I’ll move now, yeah?”

Without really waiting for your reply, his feet shift their position on the ground, dragging you across the road with him. Gentle steps at first, making sure you’re not too overwhelmed, then picking up speed so you move a little faster on the board. “Will you be okay if I let go?”

“I don’t know..? Hopefully…?” you say, voice wavering a little, nerves seeping through your tone.

“I’ll catch you if you fall, don’t worry,” he hums, feeling how you squeeze his shoulders for one last time before he lets go of your waist, watching the way you slide away on the skateboard. The pace isn’t too fast, yet, it’s still enough to make you grin widely at the boy, your body now used to the feeling, balance finally finding its way to you. 

“Do you want me to push you around for a bit?” he offers, relishing in the way you nod eagerly at him, the grin on your face making his heart squeeze on itself. If he could carve the muscle out of his chest and offer it to you, he would. In his eyes, you deserve everything in this world– how could he not just try and give it to you, little by little, all by himself?

Light steps nearing your figure, he gently pushes you in the back, watching as you slide farther and farther away from him. Every time he gently nudges you in the right direction, he earns himself a hearty giggle from you, the motion making you feel free and reckless– just like teenagers do when discovering the activity for the first time. “I was right! It’s fun!��

Eric can feel himself relishing in the moment fully. Your smile is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and he wishes he could engrave the sight of it into his memory forever. He knows that’s not possible, though, and so he pledges to try his hardest to make it appear on your face so much and so often that he has no chance to forget how it looks.

After you’re done and exhausted with the day, Eric makes it his quest to get you home safely before heading to his place. You complain about your feet hurting, and although the boy is doubtful of your whining, he still offers to drag you home as you stand on the skateboard, holding your hand the whole way. When he’s almost at your apartment complex, he feels the familiar star sticker glued to the back of his hand before you intertwine your fingers with his, running a thumb proudly over the gold plastic.

“A gold star for being a good teacher,” you note when your eyes meet, making the boy chuckle.

“Shouldn’t I be giving you one for being a good student? Is that not how things usually work?” 

“I give credit where credit is due,” you hum, nodding to yourself. “Besides, that’s not only for that. I just…” you trail off, as if too nervous to say the next words. “I just wanted to show gratitude to you, ‘cause I had a really good time today,” you say nonchalantly, still, shrugging. Eric feels his stomach churning. How can you be so casual with saying words that make his heart skip a beat?

“I should show my gratitude to you more often too, y’know.”

You shake your head at him, laughing like it’s funny. “Oh, Eric. You do it so often you don’t even realize it. You just have a different way of showing it than I do.”

Eric averts his gaze from you, chewing on his bottom lip in nervousness. He starts to wonder if he’s been too obvious with his feelings. Do you see him differently now?

The questions almost drown him out on the way towards your house. Somewhere along the way, he realizes the act of holding your hand feels natural to him now. Gazing at your interlocked fingers, he smiles to himself. He could get used to it– all of it.

He could get used to the people smiling at him and you on the street when they see you with fingers interlocked. He could get used to holding your hand every day, keeping you close. He could get used to your touches, hugs and skinship. He could get used to waking up to you in the same apartment as him, like that one time he locked himself out and you let him sleep over at your place. And to a certain extent, he already has gotten used to you– all of you. 

He’s used to texting you every day. He’s used to seeing you multiple times a week– because if he doesn’t, he misses you a little too much. He’s used to your movie nights and dancing with you in bars, shielding you from the looks of other greedy men wanting to get a piece of you. He’s used to the gold stickers you constantly provide him with as a gentle reminder of the unsaid feelings shared between the two of you. He’s used to your presence and your energy, he’s used to your teasing words and the memes you send in his Instagram DMs. If you were suddenly removed out of his life, he knows he’ll find it hard. It would feel like a piece of him was missing.

Some days, he tries to make himself believe that he’s content with what you two have right now. And he is, for the most part– but deep down, he knows he wants more. He always wanted something a bit more.

It shines through his actions on most days. It’s visible to everyone– the longing looks, the gentle touches. Jake once said Eric would jump out of a window if you asked him to, and after careful consideration, the boy had to shamefully agree with his roommate. Eric gets laughed at every time his cheeks blush when you give him too much special attention. He’s used to being called the ‘lover boy’ whenever you’re around. 

In front of you, he tries to hide his feelings as much as possible, though.

Sometimes, it slips out of him, though. In moments where the day slowly comes to its end and the atmosphere turns more tender. On days when the movie nights get moved to his apartment, because it’s closer to your university and you claim you’re too tired to walk all the way back to your place. Eric claims you’re just lazy, but the pout on your face tells him otherwise. 

On days when there is no one else in the apartment, just you two, and your conversation dies down. The boy is usually a chatterbox when it comes to watching movies with you– commenting on every single scene, making fun of the characters, teasingly spoiling bits and chunks of the plot for you– but it was a Friday night and you were snuggled up in your favorite hoodie, your bodies stuck tightly to each other on the sofa. There is a cloud of comfort, a huge curtain of intimacy falling over you two, and Eric is afraid that speaking up would ruin the sentiment. 

After a few minutes, he feels your head lay on his shoulder. The crown of your head is instantly more interesting than the movie playing on the TV, his eyes glossing over your relaxed expression. There is hair falling into your face and your eyelashes are kissing your cheekbones, your brain no longer focusing on the movie, but slowly dozing off instead. Eric mentally coos– it’s not often you fall asleep next to him, and so he somehow finds himself treasuring the moment. You look so peaceful, so beautiful– yet so unaware of it. His heart squeezes with tenderness, making sink a little into the sofa cushions so you’re more comfortable in using him as your head rest. He knows waking you up or moving you so you’re resting against the back of the sofa would be more convenient for your neck, but he selfishly relishes in the fact that you found comfort in the crook of his shoulder instead.

He can’t help but smile widely at your composure. You look small and vulnerable. You look like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Eric indulges in the fact that he’s not watched right now, letting himself fully enjoy and admire your sheer existence. 

He acts on impulse when his lips softly land onto your forehead. Not much thought goes into the sentiment– he just sheerly answered his heart’s calling. 

You look dreamy. You look lovely. He’s in love with you, he thinks.

He lets himself settle deeper into the couch cushions. After no longer having to entertain you with his comments on the movie he’s seen 4 times already– The matrix– he finds himself bored enough of the familiar plot to doze off himself, forgetting about the promise he made to you to drive you home after the movie is over. 

He sleeps through your smile and the shake of your head, as well as you detaching your head off his shoulder, smiling at the unaware boy. Not yet asleep– just resting your eyes for a bit– you were a witness of the boy’s tender, loving ministrations. You disappear out of the apartment after the movie is over, crossing paths with Jake in the entrance hall giving you a quiet wave and a point towards his roommate sitting on the sofa, a gold star adorning the tip of his nose.

You just shrug before leaving. Jake just shakes his head at both of you, wondering when your time will finally come. Eric wakes up in the middle of the night to the TV off, asking himself if he should consider the sticker a silent invitation.

And after a while of careful consideration– laying awake and wondering of all the what-ifs, replaying every moment spent with you over and over in his mind, looking for the very obvious signs of reciprocation– he decides to just go for it. He decides to be the brave man he claims he is, and finally makes the first step.

Well, at least tries to. Because as it turns out, it’s much more difficult to invite someone out on a date if you’re already friends with them for a prolonged amount of time. Not only is it more nerve-wrecking, but also much more confusing to the other party– and after inviting you out to get boba in the new place downtown, he’s not so sure you are aware that you’re on a date with him. 

Not that Eric expected anything to change between the two of you instantly after going on a date– no, he’s completely fine with the dynamic you two have, and it’s one of the things he values the most about your friendship– he just thought the atmosphere would be… a little different.

Which is why he decides to start dropping not so subtle hints about his intentions. Brave, isn’t he?

First of all, he pays for your order. All after the 20 minutes you take standing outside of the boba store searching through the menu to find out what you’re going to get– and although Eric finds it endearing, he is also starting to get a little nervous.

“Didn’t know you were so indecisive,” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m not!” you grunt, shaking your head at your own antics. “I just don’t know what tastes good together. Should I just get one of the premade drinks on the menu? But I’m not really in the mood for any of these–”

“I’ll just get you a random one,” he sighs, “and you will have no other choice than to drink it.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Then at least you have someone to blame,” he snickers, pushing the glass door open and entering the quiet boba store. He orders you a kiwi bubble tea with strawberry popping pearls– because he knows you enjoy how they come apart in your mouth– and after he comes outside with both of the drinks in either of his hands, he waves you off when you ask him how much yours was so you can pay him back.

“It’s on me,” he hums.

An over-exaggerated sigh escapes your mouth at that. “You’re paying? You never pay,” you exclaim and take the straw in between your lips, ready to taste the drink. You and Eric both know that what you said is a lie– he has no issue with paying for you, and he brings you random treats all the time– but for the sake of the next line, he decides to go along with it.

“Well, today is a different occasion, I guess,” he shrugs.

With that, you stop and stare at him with stars in your eyes, a teasing smile slowly overtaking your lips. You’re not stupid– you’re not oblivious the way he is– and so Eric thinks you finally got the hint. Or, at least he hopes so. “Is it?”

Suddenly too shy under your gaze, cheeks tinting light pink, the boy averts his gaze from you and walks down the street, expecting you to follow him. He might be brave enough to drop hints, but still not brave enough to admit to it explicitly.

Not when he drags you to the park and sits with you on the bench, people watching. Not when he casually drops his arm on the back of the bench behind you, gluing himself particularly close to your body. Not when he lets you try his drink, battling away the annoying voice inside of his head telling him that you just shared an indirect kiss. (‘Come on, Eric. You’re not a teenager anymore. Get it together.’)

He doesn’t admit to it in words, but he sure does in actions when he gives you his jacket when the evening gets chilly. He swears you look the most adorable in his red windbreaker, and in a moment of weakness, he puts his arm around your shoulders as you walk down the street, a selfish need of having you close to him winning above everything else.

“And what was so different about today, Eric?” you ask on the way to your apartment, gazing up at the beaming boy next to you. Are you teasing him again? Do you enjoy watching his misery?

Eric figures it’s for the best to tell you, though. He thinks it’s important to set the tone– because after today, it’s almost like nothing changed at all. The dynamic stays the same– and while he doesn’t think he hates it, he admits he’d just rather call you his.

So, despite the embarrassment, he chews on the bottom of his lip. You’re almost at your place already, and so he thinks it won’t hurt to talk about it now. If things go wrong, you can just go home and he can run to his apartment and violently cry into his pillow. 

“Well, I was thinking…” he starts, clearing his throat to buy himself some time and also trying to bite down the excessive nerves clawing at him from the inside, “I… you… I was hoping this wasn’t just like… a regular day out, you know…?”

Blinking at him a few times– because you must love to torture him, there is no other explanation– you shake you head at him. “No, Eric. I don’t know what you mean by that.”

Eric physically tears himself off you, your apartment complex now directly in front of him. Cracking his knuckles and taking a deep breath in to calm himself, he tries again. “I meant to… invite you out on a date today,” he proposes simply.

And in that moment, it’s like the whole world stops turning for a minute. Not only do you not give him any verbal answer, but your expression also stays the same as before– completely stoic and neutral, giving him no window into the way you feel about his suggestion. And you know what they say about Eric Sohn– he talks too much. Not only in situations where it’s inappropriate, but also in moments where he feels like there is nothing better to do than to fill the suffocating void that is the silence hanging over him– much like right now.

Eric rambles. “And- and I know I should’ve said that before making you go with me, but god, you don’t know how hard it is to make it clear to you that I’m trying to be more than friends with you without sounding absolutely fucking awkward!” he sighs, wetting his dry, chapped lips. 

“And I’m sorry if this changes your view of me, or something, but trust me, our friendship means to me so much more than just trying to make you date me, that was never my intention behind things, I do everything out of care for you, because you’re– you’re just everything to me–”

After the last line, he hears you chuckle. Your eyes finally meet, and he feels like he wants a car to run him over approximately 15 times to make sure all his bones are broken and his skull is smashed into pieces– he’s sure it would be more comfortable than the situation he put himself in right now.

“That was so cheesy,” you say, Eric’s stomach making a flip that might as well force acid up his throat. He won’t throw up, he won’t throw up, he won’t embarrass himself even more–

His hands shake. Suddenly, you take them into yours. 

He watches you carefully, ready to be let down. You step closer to him– surely, you’re going to give him a comforting hug as you tell him he read all the signs wrong and you don’t feel the same– before you lean into him, face inches away from his. Blinking, Eric suddenly registers your lips locking with his for a mere second, a soft, sweet caress of your mouth on his not giving him a chance to react– a chance to reciprocate– before you pull away, making him freeze.

“You always make things more complicated than they need to be,” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Uh…” he lets out, like he lost all the words in his vocabulary. It’s the first time Eric Sohn has nothing to say– and it feels like a miracle. In reality, he’s taken aback and still processing.

The sight of him like this only makes you grin wider. It’s no question that you find him adorable like this, so bashful and surprised, cheeks turning red and lips slightly ajar, big eyes staring into yours. “Cat got your tongue?” you tease, letting go off his hands and placing your palms onto his cheeks instead, thumbs tracing his cheekbones. His brain might be blank right now, but his orbs still hold so many emotions– ones that make you soften and cave in on yourself, overflowing with tenderness. Hands automatically resting on your waist, Eric holds you close to his chest.

“Put your mouth to use in a different way, then,” you joke, watching the boy in front of you go into factory reset.

Lips crashing against yours, the boy kisses you like you’re his lifeline. Chasing after you, he puts all the words he’s said before and the ones he keeps hidden inside for now into the action, having you melt in his hold. He feels your breathing on his face, making him deeply aware of every detail, of every miniscule shift of your figure, every tiniest movement of your lips and the almost inaudible sound you let out when his teeth tug on your bottom lip as he pulls away for air, being a little overly-excited.

Foreheads resting together, the two of you in your own little bubble no one gets to peer into even on the busy street, Eric watches as you look down and take something out of your pocket– something he so deeply recognises, making his heart thump a thousand miles an hour, if it wasn’t already.

Another kiss is given to his lips– for good measure– before you press another one to the tip of his nose and one more peck into the middle of his forehead, making his legs feel like jelly. You follow your lips with the star sticker attached to your thumb, sticking it to your lover’s skin. 

“That’s a gold star for being adorable,” you say, making him roll his eyes. “And for the nice date.”

“Don’t I get one for being a good kisser too?” he pries, watching as you scoff at his prideful question.

“I don’t know, Sohn,” you shrug, “I’m not sure yet, but I could be convinced–”

He cuts you off by locking your lips again, ready to prove you of his abilities. With the gold sticker proudly glimmering on his forehead, he realizes that maybe you were right– and all along, it has always been this simple.

[sykoangels]

Taste

Pairing: fem!reader x spencer reid

warning: petty banter and toxic angry sex

author note: Hey everyone! I wanted to share that I'm starting a new fanfiction series inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's "Short N Sweet." This series will feature different fandoms, so there's something for everyone to enjoy! I got the idea from @thinkinonsense , so be sure to show her some love too! If you're not into Sabrina Carpenter, @thinkinonsense also created a fanfic based on Ariana Grande's "Positions" album, so feel free to check that out as well!

Next part: Please Please Please

Working at the FBI can be quite challenging, especially when you have a history with one of the top profilers in the field. Dr. Spencer Reid is like a walking supercomputer, brilliant yet endearingly dorky, which happens to be your type. There's something undeniably attractive about Spencer – perhaps it's his unassuming appearance as if he's never been in the presence of a woman, or maybe it's his intellect, which could put a dictionary to shame.

Either way, that’s what attracted you to him at first, and over time you guys developed more of a romantic relationship. But through this romantic relationship came problems and slight differences. Spencer always pushed you away no matter what it was so confusing every time something was going well. You guys would go three steps back. Unfortunately, you guys weren’t deemed to be together so breaking up an inevitable. What surprised you was that Spencer moved on fairly quickly with someone who is a carbon copy of you or at least tries to be. His new girlfriend Maxine was you in a different font. Your mannerisms were the same. The way she walked was the same compared to you the way she laughed. It was freaky. It was almost like she wanted to live in your skin like she was some creepy stalker living your life like somebody's body double.

As you started to pay closer attention, you couldn't help but notice certain things. For instance, when Maxine started accompanying Spencer to FBI events as his plus one, you began to feel uneasy. At a recent retirement party for a coworker, You spotted Maxine wearing a red mini dress with her hair slicked back, and she was even wearing a pair of heels that you had left at Spencer's house and never got back. The heels were scuffed at the bottom, indicating that they weren't new. What's more, You noticed that Spencer started repeating jokes and phrases that you had previously shared with him. These incidents made you increasingly aware of what was happening.

Anytime you mentioned this to anybody else they just called you crazy especially your coworkers like Garcia and JJ. They didn’t realize it until today since we solve the case in California Rossi was taking everybody out for drinks at the local bar down the street from the office. It was a casual thing he always did, but spencer decided to invite his girlfriend as a plus one . Nobody really cared and happily let him bring his girlfriend. It wasn’t a big deal. But you knew this was the perfect opportunity to prove a point.

The dim, flickering light of the bar's coatroom cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, creating an ambiance that was equal parts intoxicating and intense. The air was thick with the rich scent of aged whiskey and supple leather, mingling with the faint aroma of stale cigarettes. You were seated at the table next to JJ, delicately sipping on your perfectly crafted peach mojito, while discreetly observing the movements of Maxine and Spencer throughout the room. Your keen eyes didn't miss a single detail, and your focus was unwavering, like a detective on a critical case. JJ, sensing your intense scrutiny, playfully rolled her eyes before speaking. "You know, taking a picture would last longer, Y/N," she admitted while sipping her own drink. "Knowing Maxine, she would probably try to extract my DNA from the photo, clone me, and create a skin suit out of it."

"I can see where you're coming from," JJ said, her touch gentle as she gripped your shoulder. "He did move on pretty quickly, but you have to let it go. I doubt that she's trying to be you." As JJ's words sank in, a heavy sigh escaped from the depths of your mind. Perhaps JJ was right. Maybe you had been letting your imagination run wild. But as the night wore on, the unsettling feeling of Maxine trying to imitate you resurfaced. You could sense her eyes fixed on you, and every time you glanced in her direction, she would meet your gaze with either a forced smile or a look filled with spite. Finally, the team gathered for a toast after a challenging case. Rossi expressed his love for the team, emphasizing that each member was a valuable part of the cohesive unit. As Rossi finished up the toast, Maxine stood up and proposed her toast, looking directly at you as she spoke. "I just want to thank you guys for letting me join you today. I can see why every one of you is a valuable part of the team. Well, at least some of you. I also want to thank my fabulous boyfriend Spencer for being my rock, especially when things are hard, and for loving me unconditionally even though there are a lot of bitter people in this world. Spencer will always love me unconditionally no matter what comes his way."

Maxine's words cut like a knife, a calculated and direct attack that made you glance over at JJ to see if she had also caught it. The look on JJ's face confirmed that she had. It was clear that Maxine's barb was aimed at you. JJ's expression silently pleaded with you not to react, but you couldn't help it. There was no way you were going to let someone who bore a resemblance to you but was less attractive talk about you like that, especially to your face. "Yeah, and knowing Reid and his eidetic memory, I know exactly who you're thinking about when he's with you, and it's definitely not you, Maxine. No matter how hard you try to wrap your head around it, you will never be the girl he thinks about. There will always be one degree of separation between all three of us, and you know why," you said bitterly before taking the last sip of your drink and getting up to retrieve your coat from the coat room.

Spencer sat there fuming but trying his hardest not to show it because he you were right unfortunately. The rest of the team awkwardly looked at each other then back at Maxine as she walked off to the bathroom to collect herself. Meanwhile, spencer was going to go look for you. He was annoyed with your behavior tonight and he needed to set some things straight with you well at least for right now.. You leaned against the cold metal of a locker ordering a uber when you heard footsteps coming from a converse sneaker scraping against the floor, making that weird squeak sound.

"Why do you keep doing this?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from the bar area. "Why do you keep pushing Maxine? What do you want from me?" You met his gaze head-on, your lips curling into a bitter smile. "What do I want? I want you to admit that she's just a poor imitation of what we had, Spencer. I want you to stop pretending that you're happy with her." Spencer let out an exasperated grunt you could see the vein in his forehead pulse he was fuming. "Stop playing games, Y/N. You left me. You walked away, and now you can't stand the thought of someone else being with me?"

You scoff in disbelief at his claims, feeling like he's trying to manipulate you. "I didn't walk away, Spencer. You pushed me out. You couldn't handle what we had, so you replaced it with a cheap knockoff." Spencer's eyes flashed with something dangerous. Before you could react, he locked the door to the storage room and placed a large step stool against it. Then, he turned back to you, staring into your eyes with a mix of yearning and regret. "Is that what you think? That I replaced you?" He said looking at you with that puppy-like gaze he always had.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Isn't it obvious? She's everything I was to you—everything we were together. But it's not real, Spencer. It'll never be real." For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you almost palpable. Then, without warning, Spencer's lips crashed down onto yours, rough and desperate. The kiss was a mixture of heat and fury, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless. You responded instinctively, your hands gripping his shoulders as you kissed him back with equal intensity.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to steady his breathing. "Is this what you wanted?" he gasped, his voice raw and slightly whiny. "To see if I still want you?" You pressed yourself closer, feeling the hardness of his arousal pressing against your thigh. "No," you murmured, your voice trembling. "I wanted you to show me." Spencer a breathy groan slipped out his throat, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, lifting you effortlessly until your legs wrapped around his waist. The cold metal of the coat rack bit into your back as he pinned you against it, the sensation both startling and exhilarating

"God, you drive me insane," he muttered, his lips grazing your neck as he peppered kisses along your skin. "I can't think when you're around." You laughed softly, the sound shaky and breathless. "Good. Maybe then you'll finally understand how it felt when you shut me out." He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability beneath the anger. "I'm sorry baby I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice reeked of forgiveness and arousal. "I never meant to hurt you."

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond. All you could focus on was the way his lips felt against your skin, the way his hands roamed over your body with a familiarity that made your heartache. Spencer's hand slid under your skirt, his fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. You gasped, arching your hips into his touch, craving more. He groaned, his teeth nipping at your earlobe as he slipped a finger inside you, coaxing you open with practiced ease. "Fuck," you moaned, your head falling back against the locker as he began to move his finger in slow, deliberate strokes. "Spencer..."

"Tell me what you want, I will do it I want to make you feel good,” he demanded, his voice soft and whiny but commanding. "Tell me how much you need this." You bit your lip, resisting the urge to melt into his hands when he whines like that. "I want you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you, Spencer. Please”

He obeyed getting on his knees and slowly gliding your panties off slipping them off in one swift motion. He looked up at you with his big brown chocolate puppy dog eyes with that submissive twitch in his eyes before circling your clit and kissing it. It was so obvious he missed you, especially by the way he was eating you out. “Fuck~ you missed me badly huh?” You say gripping his greasy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy.

You can feel Spencer nodding agreeing to what you were saying he started sucking on your clit before placing two fingers inside of you stretching a lot slowly something he used to do quite often when you guys had a hard day at work to at least help put a smile on your face. Your eyes roll back as his slender fingers stretch you out. You felt yourself get close to an orgasm until Spencer stopped and looked up at you his face all wet with a pleading look on his face. He motioned you to face the wall so you obeyed his request. Spencer's hands skimmed over your thighs as he positioned himself behind you. You braced yourself against the cool metal, your breath hitching as you felt the head of his cock press against your entrance. "Ready?" he asked, his voice desperate and hoarse.

You nodded, biting your lip as you prepared for the inevitable intrusion. Spencer gripped your hips tightly, aligning himself perfectly before thrusting into you in one smooth motion. You cried out, the sensation both painful and exquisite as he filled you completely. "Fuck, you feel so good," he muttered, his voice laced with desperation. "Just how I remembered." He began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one hitting your spot with perfect precision. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed in the small space, adding to the intensity of the moment.

"Harder," you begged, your voice breaking. "Please, Spencer, harder." He obliged, picking up the pace as he slammed into you with renewed vigor. The friction between your bodies grew more intense, the heat pooling in your core as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of climax.

"Look at me baby," Spencer commanded, his voice whiny and desperate but with a hint of urgency. "Watch me fuck your brains out, baby” You turned your head, meeting his gaze over your shoulder. The sight of his face, twisted with exertion and desire, sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you. He reached around to pinch your nipple, twisting it between his fingers as he continued to pound into you.

"That's it, baby" he whimpers. "Take it. Take every fucking inch. You can do it” You screamed, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your muscles clenched around him, driving him over the edge as well. Spencer shouted your name, his release flooding you as he buried himself deep inside. Panting, he pulled out slowly, leaving you trembling against the coat rack. He leaned against you, his forehead resting on the back of your neck as he caught his breath.

"This changes nothing," he whispered, his voice raw and unsure. "We still have to deal with Maxine."

You turned to face him, your heart aching at the conflicted look in his eyes. “I don’t have to deal with anything you have to come to terms that you will never find a girl like me again Boy genius. You need figure out who you wanna be with. A botched copy or the real deal. I will see you at work tomorrow spencer and I will be expecting an answer. Just remember I leave quite the impression on men like you.

You quickly find your panties slipping them back on grabbing your coat and plants a kiss on spencer’s lips leaving a red kiss stain on his lips before walking out to catch your Uber

[hxjikonn]

Hi, dear! Congratulations for the 143 followers! I hope by time you read this the followers has already grown past 143! You deserve that much of love because your writing is just so amazing! I hope more people can found your account and love it just like how I love it to the core!

If you don't mind, can I request a short scenario of Azul, Vil, and Malleus (separately) with a gn s/o who likes to wear his clothes in private? Like, when the character enters his room, he found his s/o wearing his dorm uniform and trying to mimick his usual action in front of the mirror. What will they do?

A/N: WAIT STOP THIS IS TOO CUTE 😭🥹♥︎ HOPE YOU LIKE HOW I WRITE THIS ONE!! sorry it took too long for me to respond too🥹

Play dress up

☆Staring☆: Azul Ashengrotto, Vil Schoenheit and Malleus Draconia.

Synopsis: Their reaction to their s/o wearing their clothes

Azul Ashengrotto

You poked his cheek again, getting impatient, he sighs and looks at you, you had a visible upset pout on your face that caused him to chuckle slightly “My little sea angel, can you hold on just a bit longer? I’m almost done” he pleaded whilst turning his attention back to the papers on his desk.

You groaned and sat on the floor, you were bored out of your mind waiting for him, “this is the third time you’ve said that…” you mumbled, “I know…I know, I’m sorry, I’ll be done shortly okay?” He cooed kissing your forehead. You looked up at his desk, he still had so much to finish… “Azul, maybe I should just go home…you look really busy and I don’t want you to rush if because of me” you stood up from the floor.

He pulls you closer to him causing you to lightly plop on his lap, “Noooo don’t leave. I promise I’ll be done soon…” he whines squeezing your waist with his arms. You yourself really didn’t want to leave aswell, so you nodded and promised you’ll stay.

“You can wait for me in my room, it’s much comfier there” he says and you lit up with excitement, there were only a few instances where you got to stay in Azul’s room, and be all by yourself…he never really left you there in fear you’d find his pictures from when he was younger.

“Kay!! I’ll go set the movie!! I’ll wait for you byeee!” You stood up from his lap and ran out, Azul could only laugh in both nervousness and adoration from your excitement. When you got there your eyes sparkled with curiosity, you didn’t wanna make a mess of course but you sure did take your time to look and search every corner of his room.

You did find his album and maybbeeee took pictures of his baby photos on your phone, when you had nothing to do and Azul still hasn’t arrived, one particular thing caught your interest. His closet

You skimmed through his clothes and found another pair of his dorm uniform, probably from his first year since it was a bit smaller than his new one, an idea popped in your head and you hurriedly changed into it. And yes you even included the fedora and scarf.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and giggled, though it was a smaller version, it was still a little big for you, you took pictures and posed while laughing. Then you start to remember Azul’s little habits and started acting like him.

You sat on his desk pretending to do paper work “Later Y/n, I’m busy with boring papers” you mimicked his voice as best as you could. Laughing at yourself in between sentences. You started to get in character more and didn’t notice the time passing. Soon Azul entered the room to see you standing in front of his bed facing away from him, a hand on your hip and the other holding a doodled contact you made.

“Hey you…yeah I’m talking to you octo-plush, make a deal with me…“ you said holding the doodled contract up to the octopus plushy Azul bought you… he laughs quietly before clearing his throat “I’ll make a deal with you instead.” He says suddenly, you turned to face him in panic, so much so that the fedora that was too big for your head slanted, covering your face, you quickly took off the hat and looked at your boyfriend who had the biggest grin on his face.

Unbeknownst to you, your face had already tinted red, he laughs at the sight. He walks up to you and cups your face in his hands peppering you with kisses, “You look cute in my clothes sea angel, do you wanna keep them?” He asks with the softest tone. You nodded with smile, “Okay, I’ll let you, but only because you make a convincing ‘Azul’ you might just fool the twins if you wanted to” he teased. Earning an eye roll from you,

He kisses your cheek once more and lets your face go “As much as I love to see you in those, I know they aren’t comfy, so why dont we both get changed and start the movie?” he took the scarf off you and hung it up, “Yeah okay, I was just going to do that before you came in anyways” you said while walking to the bathroom to change

“Are you sure? You seemed busy trying to persuade octo-plush to sign the contract” he teases again while taking his tie off, “Shut uuuppp” you whined in the bathroom, and he laughed, once you both got changed you cuddled up in his bed and watched the movie, and no the teasing did not stop.

Vil Schoenheit

You accompanied him in one of his photo shoots today, he wanted to see you there as he was posing for the camera, thinking you’d be mesmerized by his beauty. It turned to be the other way around, Vil is always professional, not distracted by eyes or mumbles and whispers from around him.

You were a different case though, since you were his ‘beloved potato’… “Okay I think we should take five everyone!” The photographer announced, Vil wasn’t at his best today, mainly because you flash him the prettiest smiles when he glances over to you during his photoshoot. Part of him also wants to blame that he’s tired but we all know that’s an excuse to go home early so he can spend time with you.

You meet him half way, jogging over to him with a water bottle, a mirror and and his make up bag in hand. He mouths a small thanks and drinks as you hold up the mirror for him. You stared at him with pure awe in your face “so pretty…” you unknowingly mumble out loud. Vil looks up from the mirror to meet your eyes, the look on your face was enough to make him erupt in a fit of laughter.

You tilt your head to the side, confused at his reaction, suddenly you were pulled closer to your lover and showered with soft feather like kisses leaving lipstick stains on all over your face. “Dearest, I love you, I do but sometimes you make me wonder if your really an enchantress who’s got a love spell on me” he jested, framing your face with his hands. “Hey even if I did you don’t mind right?” You joked back, smiling up at him.

He rolled his eyes and huffed, “Well, if you’re little spell kept me from focusing on my job then yes I do mind…” you felt him repeatedly pinch your cheeks softly, “What do you mean? I’m not doing anything…” you defended, “You’re being a menace by being so adorable, and you dont even know it!” he declared

You pretended to be offend with a huge dramatic gasp “Vil Schoenheit are you saying I’m a distraction??” You squinted your eyes pretending to be mad “Indeed potato, a very eye pleasing, heart wrenching distraction.” He laughs pulling out his phone to snap a picture of your kiss mark covered face.

“So, I need you to stay in my dressing room for the time being” he says as he posts the picture he took just now on his magicam’s story, “What?? But I came here to watch you work!” You whined, “Yes I know, But I’m never going to finish if I keep looking at you instead of the camera darling…” you opened your mouth to further protest but Vil cuts you off with a quick peck on your lips, leaving you defeated.

“It’s only until I finish potato, and hey you can even play around with the clothes and make up, play dress up while I work” he cooed, sighing you agreed with a nod, “Okay…I’ll wait for you in there…” he smiled and kissed your forehead again, you wanted to kiss him too but in fear of ruining his make up last minute, you just kissed his hand and mouthed a little goodluck before he walked back infront of the camera.

You entered his dressing room, deep down you knew it would be huge and grand, but NOT THIS HUGE AND GRAND, the rotating shoe wrack was something you thought you could only see in movies, not just that, bags, jewelry, fancy tops, clothes, even dresses?? Your boyfriend’s closet could put every mall out of business…”he’s right…I can play dress up here…” and so you did. (Right after you took off the kiss marks ofc)

Hours passed like seconds as you indulged in the variety of options you had in there, a particular piece did caught your eye though, you remembered Vil wearing it on one of his many many events, he looked so beautiful in it, it made you wonder if you could look as pretty in it as he was.

You put it on very carefully not wanting to damage it in anyway, it was a little big on you, but it didn’t look bad, you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the outfit looked stunning, it felt so nice but you laughed thinking you didn’t suit it. “It’s pretty, but I think Vil wore it a lot better, I don’t do this outfit any justice at all” you said aloud, talking to yourself while you look down at the clothing.

“Now that’s just preposterous…you look amazing in it, it should be honored to be worn by you.” Vil’s voice suddenly came from behind you, you shot up and met his gaze in the mirror as he walked behind you. “Vil! Y-You’re done? Wow time went by that quick! I didn’t hear you come in…” you stammered, face heating up from embarrassment as he hummed in response and hugged you from behind.

“I was just about to..take it off…” you fiddled with your hands, “Why?” He asked, voice vibrating through you due to how close he is, “Well…it’s your clothes…aren’t you mad?” You asked him, “Why would I be mad? I’m the one who told you to play dress up…” he chuckled “Plus I had the privilege to see you look so lovely wearing my clothes….” He added turning you to face him.

“Oh please…” you laughed at his compliments, “No wait, I am mad about one thing…” the color drained from you as you looked up at him in fear, “the audacity…” he started, “You wiped off my kiss marks? How dare you!” He jokingly exclaimed, you looked at him deadpanned. “Well I couldn’t look pretty with kiss marks all over my face!” You said

“Hm…funny, My magicam’s story reactions said otherwise” he showed you, the picture he took earlier posted on his magicam’s story, “You posted it?!” You face once again grew tinted looking at all the views and reactions on his post. “I had to share the object of my affection to the world so they can adore you as much” he proclaimed. You turned your back to him, making a bee line to the small changing room with an upset face.

Once you came out, you were once again smothered in affection, “Will you take my love as an apology gift?” He asked, “Treat me for dinner and I just might take you up on that offer…” you negotiated, “fine, I get to pick the restaurant though…” he says “Mmkay, lets go I’m starving..” you held his hand as you both walk out of the dressing room.

Don’t worry, after that, Vil will surely take you back there to play dress up, this time with him present.

Malleus Draconia

“I wonder if he’s feeling better?” You asked yourself as you were waiting for Lilia outside the dormitory of diasomnia, your fae prince has recently caught a cold, normally Lilia would’ve been able to take care of Malleus himself like he always does, however since a certain someone (you) came along…Malleus always looks for you to come take care of him.

“Oh thank the 7 from above you came…” Lilia said his dorm uniform ragged and his hair a mess, “oh god what happened?? Are you okay???” You frantically asked, walking inside the dormitory, there you were met with large thorns engulfing the furniture, crawling up on the walls and some were even fighting the students.

“What the hell is going on???” You panicked, “It’s simple really, your boyfriend is getting crankier by the minute and if he doesn’t see you he’ll tear this dormitory apart brick by brick” Lilia started pushing you up the staircase to go to Malleus’s room in a hurry, Infront of Malleus’s door stood Silver and Sebek, you cant tell if they’re relieved to see you or scared for your well being…

“Welp! in you go, stay safe!” Lilia shoves you inside and locks the door behind you. Everything went by so fast you barely had processed it, suddenly a low grumbling noise interrupted your train of thought. “Oh shit…” you whispered, whilst gripping on to the basket filled with stuff you bought for sick tsunotaro.

You gulped before taking another step, when you did though, he seemed to sense it sending you another low growl, his back was turned so he couldn’t see who you were. Slowly you crept up closer behind him, you reached out to rub his back for him to know it’s you “Hey Mal—“ before you could even begin to, thorns flew out of nowhere grabbing your arm.

Good thing you were quick enough to dodge it, only sacrificing the cloth of your sleeve and a few scratches from the thorns. “Ah…” you winced and hissed at the little wounds in your arm. Malleus turned to you angrily, as he didn’t know it was his lover…the moment he found out though. His expression changed into an apologetic one.

The truth of it all was that he’d been waiting for you the whole day, but since you had classes and other stuff he had to bare being sick without you beside him. He quick but gently embraced you, pulling you into his arms burying himself in your hair and his tail coiling around your leg wanting to have more of your warmth. There you felt how cold he was… before you could ask him if he was okay, once again you were interrupted.

“I’m sorry my love, I didn’t know it was you…usually I’d be able to feel you when you’re near but I’m afraid this cold is getting the best of me… I’m really sorry” he apologizes, voice coarse and tired. You managed you wriggle out his arms a little, and you grabbed the basket you accidentally dropped on the floor, you took out the soup you made that was in a small container, thankful it didn’t spill.

You gently pulled away from the hug and cupped his face in your warm hands, “It’s okay…you don’t have to apologize, I understand, I get cranky on my sick days too…” you smiled up at him taking your hand off his face to open the container. “Here, I made it for you, it’ll help you get warmer so you’ll feel better…” you held a spoon up to his mouth and he obediently eats the food you’ve prepared for him.

You stopped after he finished half of it as you didn’t want him to throw up later, you were packing it away when he saw your torn up clothing, He stood up carefully and rummaged through his drawers for a nightshirt he could lend you, the least thing he wants for you right now is to get cold aswell. “Malleus what are you looking for? Get back in bed, I’ll look for it” you stood beside him telling him to rest.

Just then he pulled out one of his nightshirts and gave it to you, “Wear it, you’ll get cold” he said and coughed right after. Your heart softened “Hey…I’m supposed to be the one caring for you…dont do my job” you jokingly scolded as you helped him back to bed. He looked up at you as you put a blanket over him as if begging you to change. Part of him really was concerned that you’d get cold but a part of him just wants to see you in his clothes, to have his scent engulfed in yours. You sighed “Okay…I’ll go change and I’ll be right back” you gave in, kissing his forehead

His nightshirt was way bigger than your size, given that this man is literally 202cm. You went out expecting Malleus to be asleep but instead he was sitting up and looking right your direction, his face shocked, lovestruck, and at the same time tired…. “Malleus…I told you to get some rest” you hands fell your hips as you walked towards him. He pulled you in with his tail, once again wrapping his arms around you, his face buried in your hair and his tail coiling around your leg.

“I cant rest without you beside me…” he mumbled quietly, purring softly, taking in your warmth, you looked up at him smiling, you felt as if you were melting in his arms, you leveled your face with his, inching closer, he closed his eyes expecting a kiss on his lips, but was disappointed when you only kissed his nose…you laughed at his unsatisfied expression.

“My prince, I can’t kiss you there even if I wanted to, I have to take care of you, not get us both sick” you said, touching your forehead with his. He understands but he just really craves for your affection right now, grumbling once again, you were forced to lay him on your chest and shower him with kisses, (except for his lips). Now being satisfied he resumes his purring and cuddled closer to you.

“Wear my clothes more often…” he says, “hm? Why?” You asked, caressing his horns, “You’ll have my scent mixed with yours…that way they’ll know your my beloved…” he says before drifting on to sleep as you felt you get warmer, not even knowing that the reason why, is because of what he said. You didn’t disagree though, you loved wearing his clothes aswell, it makes you feel safe. Slowly your eyelids also grew heavier and the both of you slept in each other’s comfort.

———————————————————

A/N: Hi there, yes I’m back, I’m here, Ready to write again 🥹🤚🏻 please dont tear my soul in half I swear I’m back for real this time. ANYWAYS YKNOW THE DRILL DIDNT PROOF READ THIS ERRORS ARE BOUND TO SAY HI 💀

[bitchiswild]

Us Against The World

Rosé x F! Reader Word Count:887 Warnings:none A/n:i need more music from Blackpink Requested

You and Rosie have been in a relationship for over two years now. Both of you are former members of the immensely popular girl groups Blackpink and Twice. Lately, fans have started to piece things together and are slowly realizing the depth of your connection, wondering if you're more than just close friends but actual lovers.

The suspicions among fans began to arise due to the amount of time you and Rosie spent together. Whether it's days spent in each other's company or those instances when one of you goes live on social media, the other always seems to be present in the background, fueling conspiracies and speculations.

"Here we go again," you remarked to your girlfriend as you scrolled through Twitter, encountering numerous posts speculating about your relationship. Chaeyoung glanced over, leaning in closer to take a look. "Should we just tell them?" she pondered.

You shook your head. "Nah, I think it's kind of amusing. Let's see if they can piece it together. Besides, we're not exactly hiding our relationship; they just can't figure out if we're friends or lovers," you said with a chuckle.

Chaeyoung chuckled along with you. "You're right. Let's post another picture on Instagram, something similar, and use similar captions. That'll definitely stir up some commotion," she said with a mischievous smile, reaching for her phone to find the perfect photo.

After exchanging mischievous grins, you and Chaeyoung decided on the perfect photo and crafted matching captions for your Instagram posts. The images were almost identical, capturing a candid moment of the two of you laughing together, bathed in golden sunlight. The captions were cryptic yet playful, leaving fans guessing about the true nature of your relationship.

Within moments of posting, your notifications exploded with activity. Fans immediately began dissecting every detail of the photos and captions, drawing comparisons and analyzing potential hidden meanings. The comments section quickly filled with a mix of excitement, confusion, and wild speculation.

"OMG, are they hinting at something?!" one fan exclaimed, while another wrote, "They're definitely more than just friends, look at the way they're looking at each other!" The similarities between your posts only fueled the frenzy, with fans sharing screenshots side by side, pointing out every tiny similarity and difference.

As the posts gained traction, your Instagram feeds became flooded with reactions from fans across the globe. Some were convinced that you and Chaeyoung were indeed a couple, while others argued that you were simply close friends and nothing more. The debate raged on, intensifying with each new comment and share.

Through it all, you and Chaeyoung watched the chaos unfold with amusement, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle you had created. It was a testament to the power of social media and the fervent dedication of your fans, whose imaginations ran wild as they tried to unravel the mystery of your relationship.

The day your relationship was inadvertently exposed was one for the books, filled with unexpected twists and turns that left you and Rosie both amused and slightly stunned. It happened in the picturesque city of Paris, where you were attending a prestigious fashion show as ambassadors for YSL.

What started as a quiet, romantic date that Rosie had planned turned into a whirlwind of events when an eagle-eyed fan spotted the two of you together. They followed discreetly, capturing candid moments on camera, but things took a surprising turn when they caught you and Rosie stealing a sweet kiss amidst the Parisian charm.

The fan wasted no time in sharing the incriminating evidence on Twitter, setting off a chain reaction that sent shockwaves through social media and beyond. The photos and videos quickly went viral, sparking a frenzy of speculation and discussion among fans and even grabbing the attention of local news outlets.

In the midst of the swirling emotions and intense scrutiny that followed the exposure of your relationship, you and Rosie found solace in each other's presence. As you retreated to the privacy of your shared space, the weight of the world seemed to lift off your shoulders, replaced by a sense of calm and reassurance.

"I can't believe how crazy things have gotten," Rosie remarked, her voice tinged with disbelief as she scrolled through the endless stream of comments on her phone.

You nodded in agreement, wrapping your arms around her in a comforting embrace. "I know, it's overwhelming. But we'll get through this together," you reassured her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Despite the mixed reactions from fans and the media, you and Rosie remained steadfast in your commitment to each other. As you navigated the tumultuous waters of public scrutiny, you found strength in each other's unwavering support and love.

"It's like a rollercoaster ride," Rosie mused, a hint of amusement in her voice as she leaned into your embrace.

You chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. "Yeah, but at least we're in it together," you replied, smiling warmly at her.

In the face of adversity, your bond with Rosie only grew stronger, a beacon of light guiding you through the darkest of times. And as you weathered the storm of mixed emotions together, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always have each other's backs. It was the two of you against the world.

[avianyuh]

Hey can i get one with nct127 members, commenting their gf ig posts<3

NCT 127 Commenting on their Girlfriend's Instagram Post

[A/N: Because of the public nature of social media, I would assume that in this scenario, the relationship would be public, so that's how I'm writing this piece, hope you enjoy!]

Johnny:

You had just been out shopping with Johnny and was excited to try on this new outfit that you'd bought. You ran straight through the door when you got home and immediately tried on your new outfit.

Johnny stood outside of the bedroom door as you changed.

"Are you done yet?", he called out.

"Yep. Close your eyes", you said through the door.

You opened it, sticking one leg out first before fully emerging. You stood on your tippy toes and uncovered Johnny's eyes.

"Voila", you said with jazz hands for dramatic effect. Johnny playfully raised his eyebrows beofe swiftly pulling out his phone and taking a picture as you posed, playing along.

Johnny is definitely the type to be all over your instagram. As we all know, this boy loves his fashion. So, no surprise that he's the type to want to get all dressed up with you, take a bunch of photos and then comment on your pictures with something like:

Where did you get the inspiration👀

Taeyong:

Taeyong is definitely one of the more vocal members when it comes to social media. So it was pretty common for him to leave a few comments on your posts.

In this particular instance, he had left a comment to take credit for a photo you had posted that he had taken of you.

You had been out at a restaurant while on vacation together. You had been looking over the menu and kept pointing at different things you wanted to try. Getting all surprised and gasping every time you read something out that seemed interesting to you.

This was all very amusing to your boyfriend who decided to sneakily grab his phone and take a photo of the moment. He didn't show you the photo until you guys were back at home and looking through all the pictures you had each taken from the trip.

You had laughed and at first asked him to delete it. But it seemed to grow on you since you ended up posting it.

Taeyong's comment read: Hey, you forgot to credit the photographer!

Yuta:

*I'm divided on if he'd be the type to be loud and proud about his relationship or would want to keep things private. Personally, I think he'd lean toward the private side*

Yuta rarely comments on your posts. But he does like all of them, which nctzens always take notice of. In this instance, you also weren't big on posting a lot on social media. But after spending a day at home with your boyfriend, one that you wanted to remember by capturing a picture of the two of you on the couch...you had no intention of posting it.

UNTIL, it was your anniversary. Like many couples do, you posted multiple photos, the first one being that picture from the day off you had spent together.

And because it was an anniversary post, Yuta responded: I love you

*Yeah I see him as the type to be straight to the point. The man can tell a joke but with you, he just loves to make everyone aware of how much he loves you*

Doyoung:

Also very subtle, doesn't really comment on your posts usually. In this case, he had been busy with work and hadn't seen you in awhile. Don't get it twisted though, you spoke on the phone, FaceTimed and texted as much a possible. But he did miss you a lot and so did you.

He had been scrolling through his Instagram one day while taking a break during practice and saw your new picture.

Just one of yourself, smiling into the camera.

He couldn't help himself, his fingers immediately began typing: I miss you, save the smile for me!

Jaehyun:

Pretty boi here is no stranger to Instagram. Actually it's usually you commenting on his posts, not the other way around.

Long story short, the two of you had gotten in a fight. Funnily enough, you didn't even remember what had started it. However, you do remember Jaehyun storming out and not returning your call the next day.

You knew it would pass but you were still worried that he was mad when you hadn't heard from him. But that was until you had gone out with a friend to get your mind off of the fight with your boyfriend. You had a nice dinner, but you drank a little too much and drunkily posted a picture of your friend and you.

The next morning after you woke up, you checked your phone to see that it had been blowing up with notifications.

I hope you had fun👍 was all his comment said, bit you knew it was his weird way of saying he was ready to talk.

Jungwoo:

The two of you had gone on a date, taken some pictures and uploaded them. Fans connected the dots, noticed the locations were the same and were uploaded on the same day.

Jungwoo thought it was a funny situation so to add to the fans hysteria, he commented:

That was fun!

Mark:

Mark, though never shy with you in private, was very shy when it came to PDA. So he never really commented on your posts.

However, when you uploaded a photo you had taken of yourself, nothing fancy, he couldn't help but support his girlfriend.

He would comment something like:

So beautiful

Donghyuk:

Would definitely be pretty open about your relationship, which would show a lot on instagram.

I think he would comment on your posts all of the time. In this case, it would be a photo that you posted of the two of you together. And I think Donghyuk would be pretty comical when it came to his comments.

I look better than you in this

[A/N 2: I haven't used gifs in awhile and let me tell y'all. Why are the gifs lacking so much now? So I tried my best to get some good gifs that went with the prompt. Anyways, this was kind of short but I have a lot more requests to fill for NCT and Baekhyun. I think the next one in my inbox is an NCT fic so that'll probably be next. Love youuuuuu and thank you to anon for the request!]

[lalunanymph]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐆𝐎

↳ a foul-mouthed, aggressive, pro-soccer player on the verge of being disqualified from the biggest game of his life, is tossed into a fake relationship with a spoiled heiress to salvage their bad public reputation. what exactly could go wrong?

𖨆♡𖨆 itoshi rin x fem!reader

cw. mentions of alcohol, angst, mentions of death, mentions of cheating, violence, blood, mentions of medication, arguments, shidou being a menace, language, internet bullying

masterlist | playlist

#5: VANISH

Milan was a beauty which deserved every single praise from travellers and magazines around the world.

Your little upclass boutique hotel overlooked the city centre, and the wind tugged on your sleeping shirt like a child demanding for attention. Sitting on the cool bench, you bundled your knees closer to your chest, stretching the well-worn Blue Lock jersey down your thighs as you sighed, lifting a cigarette to your lips. 

If Rin were here, he would look on disapprovingly at this bad habit.

His name ignited a fissuring ache somewhere under your left rib where your tender heart still pulsed; your lips pursed around the cigarette, and you exhaled softly.  

I need to forget about him.

Flickering your vintage metal lighter open, the tip of your white stick smouldered and you breathed in the first cloud of nicotine; expelling it out into the autumn air. Your favourite season was far prettier in a city as vibrant as this. 

Below your feet, leaves turned orange, scattering down onto the grey pavement where boots and heels crushed them with a satisfying crunch. A flock of birds darted overhead in a V formation leaving you appreciative of the  simple pleasures of such a beautiful morning.

Today, you had to visit your designers to make sure the changes on your line were reflected as per your last review yesterday. 

You had worked till late last night, never mind the jet lag and your swollen eyes from crying on the plane left your face puffy and heart even more exhausted than when you sought refuge in the arms of another location. 

Far away from Tokyo. 

Far away from him. 

You didn’t know why you bothered in the first place—Rin would not search for you. He had made it abundantly clear what he thought of you, and subsequently, how he wanted nothing to do with you.

Such childish fancies. You sighed, deciding to put Itoshi Rin out of your mind the moment you stub out your dying cigarette in the metal ashtray. 

Your designers welcomed you warmly when you entered the atelier, and you smiled at them, glad that you had this little secret project to buoy you through such intense sadness. 

Soon, you forgot about Rin’s harsh words. His radio silence for the whole three days when you lingered in Tokyo like an idiot, waiting for him—waiting for an apology which never came. If there was a cure for a broken heart, it would be laughter flitting in between tulle skirts, your sketches coming to life and good pasta for dinner.

However, once the darkness came, the empty cavity shaped like him in your chest started to throb again, rendering your earlier efforts useless. 

Heartache was not linear, and neither was grief. 

You were intimately knowledgeable of such a fact. Shifting through your wallet to find your mother’s picture, you sat outside the balcony again, inhaling deeply. Milan’s lights twinkled through your tears and you bubbled a sad laugh, trying to swallow around the lump in your throat and speak through your misery. 

“I’m here, oka-san,” you managed to mumble, tracing the edge of the age-worn square with your thumb. “I wish you could see my first show.” Sighing, you cast your watery gaze towards the beautiful city beyond, hiccuping a sob. “I wish you were h-here, oka-san. I want to ask you so many questions. I’m so confused.” 

All a girl wants is her mother when she’s heartbroken. And in this instance, you would’ve given the world to feel her embrace around you; to shield you from the hurt and tell you everything was going to be okay.

Sniffling, you pocketed her photo back into your wallet and decided to visit the bar down the street. It was barely filled with people, and looked like the perfect spot for you to chase your worries down a bottle of wine. 

Thankfully, no one in Milan knew who you were; your reputation in Japan was left behind, and you were allowed to shed the heavy cloak of hypercritical fans so you could wallow in your sadness for the night. You ordered two glasses of red wine, sipping it slowly while the noises of the city disappeared behind you. In Milan, you felt safer to indulge in the intoxication you were often criticised for back in your country, and you did not pay any mind to the people around you.

If you did, you would’ve noticed his teal green eyes studying from across the room; the long under lashes casting shadows onto his chiselled cheekbones as he quietly drank from his glass of whiskey. 

You would have anticipated his heavy footsteps, the easy way he settled into the empty bar stool next to you.

“Rough night?” 

Snapping your attention back from the edge of staring off into space, you focused your gaze on a man who looked familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly where you had met him. Your sluggishness dissipated when you registered a pair of heartachingly indistinguishable teal eyes on a face more mature than the one you loved. His name was poised on the tip of your tongue, melting into your consciousness like precarious drops of rain. 

Itoshi Sae, right in the flesh.

You gaped at him, and Sae smirked—all arrogance and ego dripping down the corners of his lips right to his muscular build. He was a few inches shorter than Rin, but something about his presence demanded an undeniable majesty; he walked like how he owned the field, judging from your quick snatches of Rin’s frequent gameplay studies regarding his brother. 

Confident. Sure.

He captivated your attention the second he saw recognition flash through your eyes.

“Ah. So, you do know me.” He slunk slightly back in a casual show of masculine conviction, throwing a lazy hand up to order another glass of whiskey which the bartender quickly set down before him; like a King making demands of his court. Sae sipped on the amber liquid, his teal eyes never leaving your face. You shifted back straighter, clutching your purse in a tight grip.

“Itoshi Sae.” His name hummed in your mouth like something forbidden. “What’re you doing here?”

He tilted his head forward, whiskey-soaked lips carved into another smirk. “I have a game soon. Didn’t my dear little brother tell you it’s almost World Cup Season?”

As if on cue, your phone chimed with a Blue Lock update, and his eyes were quick to read off your dim screen. 

Representing Japan, the Blue Lock 11 will make their first ferocious move in France. Catch us on JSN for more updates!

Sae’s carefully constructed expression was neutral, and he hummed. “It’s a little rude of me to not have extended my congratulations on dating my brother, but I hope it’s not too late.”

He was quick to catalogue the minute fall of your expression, the darkness misting over your eyes.

“Oh. Um. Thank you.”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly too aware of how short your dress was. You did not want to give Rin’s brother any idea of your vulnerable state; the walls around your heart firing up towards the sky, keeping your defences manning the perimeter for any signs of a breach from this callous, stone-faced man.

Sae tilted his head forward, and he didn’t have to be a therapist to know how inexplicably terrified you were of him.

“Rin’s poisoned your thoughts against me, hasn’t he?” 

The sound of his little brother’s name uttered between the both of you, shocked him as much as it did for you. 

A short laugh fell from your lips, and you shook your head. “I’m sorry, Sae-san. Rin never really mentioned you a lot back home. I was just taken aback because I didn’t expect you to be here.” Bowing your head forward slightly, you murmured, “I’m sorry for giving you the wrong impression.”

Sae clicked his tongue, and something in his teal eyes had gone hyperborean from your small admittance. Your frayed nerves were at its tether when he leaned forward—close enough for you to smell his clean cologne from his collar. 

“Liar,” Sae murmured, flitting his eyes to your lips, his heavy lashes framing his eyes perfectly. It sent a stab of pain straight to your heart from how familiar those eyes were. “I know Rin told you to never say my name, didn’t he? You don’t have to play dumb, Y/N-chan. I’m your friend here.”

His expression did a 180, and he smirked again, leaning away to give you back your breathing space.

“Truly, I don’t know what you see in him,” Sae snorted and your furrowed brows gave him fuel to elaborate. “Rin. He’s such a sour little brat. I can’t believe you willingly dated him.”

The slight twitch of your lips, and the quickness in how you darted your eyes to the side, spoke volumes. Sae was close enough to unravel this mystery within his short time frame with you, and he was determined to find his brother’s weak spot; needing to understand if this girl in front of him was Rin’s Achilles heel.

His intentions were dirty and foul, but his coach was desperate for a quick win against Japan. Sae’s defection to the European superpower team would be seen as a betrayal for his home country, but no one could fault him. Japanese soccer was abysmal, and he would much rather sow his seeds on much verdant and fecund lands than the ones which he came from.

“He’s nice,” you mumbled defensively, picking up your wine glass by its delicate stem and taking one irritated sip. 

Sae scoffed under his breath. The both of you knew it was a lie.

“I heard a rumour that the both of you were thrown into a fake relationship because of bad press.” 

Your stunned silence did not need to be translated into words. Sae heard your confession loud and clear.

“Ah. That is sad. It must’ve been hard to be with Rin, huh. Let me guess—” Sae sat back, and like a master puppeteer, he pulled your strings tautly till you could not breathe; predicting every play of your relationship with Rin like he was reading from a script.

“He started getting closer to you, making you fall in love with him, and then when the going got tough, he lashed out, didn’t he? Told you that you were worthless and to get the hell away from him. Then, he didn’t come back home. He left you worried and all alone. He suffocated you with his silent treatment until you felt like escaping was the only route you could take, and now you’re here—heartbroken over a man who doesn’t give two shits.”

Sae watched intently as devastation imploded across your pretty features. Your lower lip wobbled uncontrollably, and you sniffled, turning your eyes back to your wine glass. Every fibre in your body was raging at you to run, but you remained rooted in one spot, unable to move. Caught in the headlights like a deer about to be run down by a freight truck. 

His warm palm on your back made you flinch, but Sae did not intend to hurt you. He was slowly patting the tight spot between your shoulders, rubbing reassuring circles to loosen your stiff muscles. A master at pushing and pulling, leaving his victims torn both ways. 

The wine left you slow and sluggish; your defences crumbling until your face met his sturdy chest and he was holding you while you sobbed softly.

Despite his callous manner, Sae was not entirely made of stone. He didn’t know exactly why, but he liked to think you were a lot like his brother.

Young and impressionable. Easily bending to his will.

“Do you want to come back to my hotel?” Sae asked in a low, even voice. Every pore of your touch-starved body craved for a touch which echoed Rin’s—as feeble and farfetched as it was. But, your rational mind took over and you shook your head.

“I think I need to go back home,” you murmured, and as much as Sae wanted to see how much he could push you, he conceded.

“At least let me walk you back to your hotel,” he offered sincerely. After a beat of hesitation, you nodded.

Sae helped you to your feet, letting you hold onto his arm as you tottered in your heels.

“How the hell do you women walk in those?” he asked in a withered tone. Your answer was a short laugh and a shake of your head.

“Black magic,” you mumbled, a shadow of your old self arising from the ashes. Sae rolled his eyes, and put his hand on yours to keep you steady.

“Did you know we’ve met before?” 

You peeled your eyes from your swollen toes squished in your heels and fixed him with a questioning look. “Have we?” 

“The Silver Strikers conference,” Sae murmured. “I was one of the keynote interviewees and you were in the box above with your father.”

You recalled a man of his build with light brown hair and gasped. “Oh my gosh. Yes, we have met.”

Sae chuckled when you smacked his arm lightly. “Why didn’t you lead up with that instead? You made me think you were flirting with me.”

His answer was a snort. “Even if I was, would you have reciprocated?” The ball was back in your court, and he waited for you to make a move. Predictions running rampant in his mind.

He never expected your answer.

“To be honest, I’m done with you Itoshi men,” you muttered candidly, oblivious to Sae’s growing amusement. “If Rin is anything to go by, you two need help. Serious help.”

You were half-joking, and Sae picked up on your teasing. He was about to retort something snarky when you stumbled and he murmured a low whoa, holding on tightly to your waist. He let you lean into his embrace, and you shakily held onto him, your head thumping back intermittently on his sturdy chest with every trembling step you took. 

Any outsider would assume the both of you would be dating from how close you both were, but you suspected Sae was merely being nice.

In fact, he was overtly nice. A little too friendly.

Taking advantage of your sluggish movements, Sae looped your floppy arm around his neck and hoisted you into his solid embrace.

“Wh—whoa!” you gasped when the ground disappeared underneath your heels. A terrified giggle slipped past your gaping mouth, and you held onto him, yelping in fright from every jarring step he took. 

“You’re such a lightweight,” the older Itoshi murmured, and you didn’t have to look into his expression to know he was rolling his eyes. A reaction you were intimately acquainted with as being extremely Rin-like. 

“Wait—hey! Put me down!” This was the second time in your life an Itoshi brother was carrying you because you were too drunk to walk. The thought should’ve miffed you, but all it did was make you miss Rin even more.

You kept quiet when he effortlessly carried you towards the front of your hotel, and set you down with a soft grunt.

Somehow, you couldn't look into his eyes, and only when his fingers slid underneath your chin to hoist your face up to meet his teal eyes, did you find the courage to smile.

“T-Thank you, Sae-san for accompanying me back.” There was a beat of hesitation—a lingering sort of unrest where neither of you knew what else to say. You broke the tension first by bowing clumsily, missing his small smirk.

Sae tipped his head forward in acknowledgement, and turned on his heel. “I’ll see you around, Y/N-chan.” 

You barely echoed his wish when his broad back disappeared down the corner into the night. Like a mirage, he had reappeared and disappeared in a total span of fifteen confusing minutes. Inwardly shrugging, you decided to let Sae’s uncanny presence bury itself in the back of your mind and took one wobbling step forward. 

A few more days to go and you would be splashed on the front headlines of a tabloid for your debut fashion line. You wondered what the critics would say; how they would dissect your entire collection apart. The singular thought sent a stab of nausea through your churning stomach, and you tried to swallow down your trepidation. 

It was too late to think of what-ifs. You had a future ahead of you to look forward to. You couldn’t let yourself be held back by naysayers and those who never wanted to see you grow. 

The courage you kept under wraps for years while you pandered to everyone’s impression of a perfect, soccer heiress started to glow brightly; an unmistakable flare lighting the cavity of your soul.

A wayward seed was planted in the fertile hopes of your invigorated determination, and you took one more confident step forward, the sound of your heels on the pavement steady and sure—miniature applauses which spurred you on forward and out of your slump.

You would wade through whatever hell or high waters the future might throw at you, and you would do it all with a smile.

Despite every nerve in Rin’s body telling him not to react—not to scroll further down this rabbit hole of spiralling thoughts and painful incredulity—Rin continued to read the article.

There was a soundbite from Sae, and he realised this photo was taken a few days ago in Milan. 

His heart leapt from his ribcage to collide painfully against the wad of spit he swallowed, the interview text burned into his retinas, shadowing behind his closed lids.

When asked about his relationship with you, Sae’s soundbite didn’t give much information. His reps reassured that the midfielder “saw her as a friend”’ and was much more, “interested in the playoffs than with his brother’s ex-girlfriend.”

His phone rang and Ego’s name flashed on screen. Rin denied the call and sank back into the sofa, scrubbing a hand down his face.

What the actual fuck.

His phone beeped again, and despite the early hours—the darkness blanketing the city and his stinging eyes—he read every article that Nagi and Reo sent into the group chat. 

His family group was in chaos, too, judging from a whiny cousin on his mother’s side who offered sympathy in a thinly-veiled attempt to mock him whenever the opportunity arose. He shut them out; he shut everyone out and switched off his phone, tossing it harshly onto the glass coffee table where the device clattered noisily right towards the edge.

Rin closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. His mind was boiled down to a stew of cacophonous thoughts, nothing standing out corporeally to get him to focus on a singular strand. Nothing beyond your face, happily smiling at his brother. Ropes of his muscles tenderly holding your smaller frame close to his chest. 

The look of contentment on both your faces.

Saw her as a friend.

Rin shot up to his feet, seething angrily at Sae’s stupidity. Just a friend? A woman like you deserved more than that. You deserved a gentle love which did not discard you in the limelight and left you reeling in ambiguity. You deserved to be loved out loud, right towards the heavens and on top of someone’s lungs.

You deserved to be loved by him. 

Rin felt his breath and common sense physically knock out his body. 

The calendar imprinted in his mind told him it was 3 days till his match in France, and he had to leave for the airport tomorrow to make it to the World Cup Village. Ego had scheduled them for a pre-interview with BBC, and they could not miss such a momentous occasion to bring more attention to Japan’s soccer scene.  That shitty four-eyes could not bear having his number one striker gone from the mix.

As one of the only players who could speak fluent English, Rin was needed to translate interview questions for his teammates, a task he found little pleasure in. However, in this instance, he couldn’t be bothered in the least. Isagi can handle it. Rin brusquely picked up his things, already booking a one-way business trip to Milan. That motherfucker can string an English sentence together—let him play nice with the press. 

Isagi would understand; he would forgive him for ditching the team just this once. Granted they haven’t spoken since Rin broke his nose during practice, but Yoichi was a mild guy in the face of animosities. 

Rin would make sure to hand him a few of his passes on the field to make up for his abysmal behaviour.

But, first, he had a flight to catch and a woman to win back.

The pounding headache from the seventh declined call was starting to annoy you to no end.

Your publicist’s number flashed on screen again, and this time, you didn’t bother to press the huge red button on screen, letting it go to voicemail. Your open laptop on the table scrolled down on its own as more alerts hit the SNS pages; tweets, Instagram tags and emails pinging with your name in the Google Alert tab making your head hurt.

The backlash did not end there after your 2-day old exposed “relationship” with the elder Itoshi brother. 

Jealous girls of every age were sending you death threats on your profile, and one of them even drew your face in the middle of a summoning circle and crossed your eyes out with red paint.

Criticism was nothing new to you, but this was far too much. The chimes were getting on your nerves and you felt nauseous from how you had once again fucked up your public image.

Maybe it would be better if you retreated from the spotlight. You never had any intention of being famous. Your father had decided you were the face of the Silver Strikers one day and pushed you to become his organisation’s spokesperson when you much preferred focusing on fashion. 

Fame was secondary to your peace of mind, and with that thought, you closed every tab on your laptop and sank back into the luxurious leather couch, rubbing your temples. Soft lighting diffused across the atelier, a sense of peace which did not touch your soul floated in the air like dust motes, spinning and twisting like demented ballerinas. 

You sighed, and Damara, one of your Italian designers who worked closely with you to conceptualise the theme of this collection, came to check on you. “Miss Y/N? Is everything alright.”

You eyed the pretty, light-haired woman with a tired smile. “I’m fine. Just some rumours going around which I prefer not to engage in.” 

“Ah.” Damara shifted from one foot to another, unexpectedly candid. “Is this about those two brothers you are involved with?” 

Word does travel fast. You hadn’t expected to make it this quickly over foreign waters.

You decided to come clean and nod, too tired to hide behind any pretences. “Yes.” Tossing your phone onto the couch, you sighed again. “I used to date the younger one, but we broke up and didn’t tell our fans. So, when they saw me out with his older brother, they jumped to conclusions.” A wry smile played in the corners of your lips. “And now, I am a lightning rod for slut-shaming across Japan and even here.”

Damara winced at the defeatedness in your tone. “Don’t worry, Miss Y/N. We all know the truth here. You are a nice person and would never try to intentionally hurt your loved ones.”

“I appreciate the confidence,” you murmured and stood up, stuffing your hands into your hoodie pockets, going back to business. “Please make sure the models have their second fitting. I want them to outshine the Pinacoteca di Brera.” 

She nodded. “Of course, Miss Y/N. We will make the necessary checks and arrangements.”

Once it was sorted out, you trailed towards a nearby cafe, sitting down outside the al-fresco dining spot to nurse a cup of espresso. You barely had any sleep last night, nervous for the show later.

Outside in the bright sun, the tight knot in your chest loosened momentarily. No one in this tiny cafe was giving you a second glance, and for a moment, you were grateful for every shred of anonymity Milan offered you. This bright, pulsing city big enough to hide a woman from her country’s eyes was little like a mother’s arms holding you close, shielding you away from the world with gentle coos and caresses. 

You appreciated the verve of such a serendipitous moment, and tilted your head back, exhaling slowly.

“Y/N.”

The peace you felt in your soul shattered the moment you recognised his voice.

Peeling your eyes wide open, you hastily set your coffee cup back onto the marble table, gaping at the sight of your pretend lover’s brooding, downcasted expression, half-hidden behind his dark green bangs. Dark circles similar to yours shaded under his murky teal eyes. You wondered if the sleep deprivation had taken over and made you hallucinate his presence.

Rin approached you with his hands in his pockets, unaware of the storm he set off in your soul from the sight of his tall silhouette carving through the perfect sunshine of this unperturbed day. He was blissfully oblivious to how your soul screamed to run towards him, but your body stayed frozen, remembering his harsh words; his terrifying anger that led you to this country in the first place.

Your shoulders tightened towards your ears when he hovered close to you; near enough to touch, but far enough to keep you comfortable. A myriad of emotions fired off behind his muddled, bloodshot irises: fear, worry, hesitation, regret. Since when in this lifetime were you adept at reading Itoshi Rin’s reactions? 

It felt like you were going against a sacred creed. Like you were an anomaly within the laws of the universe who was not supposed to uncover such clandestine information. 

“How… how are you?” His earnesty was the second thing to render you mute. You blinked one too many times, as if trying to get rid of a spot of gunk stuck to your lashes. The silence stretched on, and you weren’t sure what to say.

Perhaps, if you had half a mind, you would ask him what he was doing here. Or, why did he come to see you when he had everywhere else in the world he could go. 

Why would he disturb your grieving process by coming back to life when you were resolutely trying to bury him within the sterile soil of your stained memories? 

Realising he was waiting for a response, you cleared your throat and slowly stood up. Rin was forced to take a step back from your sudden proximity, and another when your tight smile swam in his vision.

“I’m fine.” You didn’t ask him the same question, needing to leave before the irrational lump in your throat would threaten to make the sting in your eyes overflow. “I have somewhere to go. It’s nice to see a familiar face in Milan.” Please leave me alone.

You bowed to him even if you weren’t supposed to, and turned on your heel to walk away.

“Hey—” His touch on your wrist gave you a semblance of what it would be like to suffer from a heart attack; throwing off your composure for a split second before you recovered it and tugged your hand away from him. 

This time, the tightness around your mouth was exacerbated, like a lioness holding back a snarl in anticipation of striking a doltish prey. “It is nice to see you, Rin,” your voice coiled around the cadence of his name. “But, I am late.”

Those teal eyes swam with rueful trepidation from your sudden refrain of his touch and presence. “Y/N, I wanted to—”

“Please.” 

Rin was quietly startled to find tears glistening in your eyes. He reflexively took one step back, lips clamping tightly shut. What a sham of a game you two were playing—words unsaid and charades of repressed love shaded in between stark pockets of silence and the fear of being vulnerable. 

You didn’t want to play this game anymore.

“Don’t do this to me. Not now.” 

Your mumble set off his righteous anger, and he was about to call your name again, this time more forcefully to get you talking to him, when another presence joined the fray. 

“I think Y/N made it clear she’s not interested in a reconciliation.”

A voice materialised straight from his worst nightmares and hopeful dreams. Sae strolled down the pavement, tanned skin made warmer from his white dress shirt and thin silver chain gleaming from his clavicle. The sight of his older brother shocked Rin to an inert silence. He watched, wide eyed, as Sae walked up to you and leaned in close, the lines of his body language imprinted with intimacy.

“Go,” Sae murmured. “I’ll handle him.”

You didn’t know where to look or what to say. Around you, the cafe patrons sensed the tense atmosphere, and despite the language barrier, your teary eyes and the stiffness in both brother’s shoulders spoke of an impending altercation. The waiter who served you coffee hovered waveringly by your table, unsure if he had a right to butt in this spat.

Bowing your head forward, you started to walk away, oblivious to Rin’s devastated stare on the small of your back, or Sae’s cool, cruel gaze narrowing at the sight of his sibling. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

Fucking asshole piece of shit vomit brother. Rin’s glare turned hyperborean, and he cocked a brow right at the older man. Discarding the natural order of birth and hierarchy of respect, Rin chuckled sardonically right in his brother’s face. 

“You always did want whatever I had.” Something about Rin’s conviction and his steely tone took Sae completely by surprise. 

“You wanted my luck. My skill. You wanted to crush me and mould me into some kind of monster like you. Now, you want the person I love. You’re always going around thinking you’re some fucking god when we all know—everyone knows—how much better I am than you are.”

Pain exploded right in his temple, and Rin staggered back, hands flying to his face. Sae did not stop there. He slammed his entire fist into Rin’s stomach, and he went sprawling onto the floor, taking his older brother down with him. The scuffle roused a spectacle from the other patrons; some screamed, others cursed, and the sane ones called for the police. 

Rin had never wrestled hand to hand with Sae, but years of his pent-up anger and resentment flowed forward, changing his headspace into complete red. He snarled, slamming his fist into Sae’s jaw, and hearing something pop with satisfaction.

“... stop—Rin! Sae! Stop!” 

Sae snapped his head back, teal eyes wild with fury and clamped both hands around his little brother’s neck. Ready to suffocate him to death. 

You wrenched the older Itoshi off his brother with the help of the pale-faced waiter. Rin struggled to his knees, his acid-wash dark jeans speckled with white dust from the concrete pavement, and he bared his teeth, about to lunge at Sae again when your face appeared in his line of vision; blocking Sae’s ugly glare with your owlishly wide, terrified gaze.

“... stop… come on…” Your hands were on his cheeks, coaxing him to look at you instead of his brother. Through some miracle, the tension coiling like a snake which kept his figure locked in attack mode loosened, and he let you pull him to his feet.

Let you lead him out of the fray, only stopping to turn back and make sure Sae was okay. Shidou’s voice emerged from the din, deep and fraught with worry for his older brother’s face. Fucking annoying bug-like freak. The bastard he called his sibling would live; the most he would get was a busted lip. 

Rin’s right eye started to throb, and if it weren’t for your arms around his torso, he would’ve doubled back in the pretence to ask for some ice only to throttle Sae again. But because he was finally held by you, he didn’t want to lose out on this blissful opportunity, keeping quiet when you brought him back to your hotel room, all tense nerves and furrowed brows which he silently found adorable.

You sat him down on the velvet couch and rushed to your mini bar, pulling out some ice. Rin hated to admit how the familiar weight of your body settling next to his made his heart start to swoon. Or, how your touch was delicate despite your hand shaking with restrained anger, dabbing at his eye which would swell and blacken in a few hours.

“Idiot.” 

Rin snapped out of his thoughts and noticed your deepening frown. The courage he carried all the way from Tokyo with him to this foreign city withered under your blithe look, and he suddenly could not find his voice when you started to tersely speak.

“Our reputation is going to go to shit because of your temper,” you scorned gruffly. “Why did you even come here?” 

To the uninitiated, Itoshi Rin’s glare would be terrifying, but you were familiar with his souring moods, and fixed him with a matching grimace.

He mumbled something under his breath which vaguely sounded like I miss you, and you wished you hadn’t heard it. You wished he could unsay it so your stupid little hopes did not start to stir. But, you did, and your heart soared even as you desperately tried to pull it back down to reality.

This cannot go on. Rin was toxic and you had to cut him off less you lose a part of yourself to his blasé and callous nature. You had already been burned once, and you didn’t want to goad tragedy for a second time.

When he would not repeat what he had said, your hopes diminished, one flicker of light at a time until your chest was left darkened and hollow. The hand holding the ice pack to his face waned, and you set it down on the couch in between both your bodies; the space between was enough to remind you of two separated continents when in reality, only a few inches remained for your pinkies to touch. 

Between that space and silence, you let every unsaid word die in the back of your throat, and sighed, standing up. 

Without looking at him, you shuffled back to your ensuite room and fished for some painkillers in your handbag. No other words fell from your lips when you returned, pressing the aluminium strip into his hand and gesturing to the door.

“I did what I could for your eye, but I think you need to go to the doctor.”

Rin was staring at you from his perch on the sofa, expression agape and struggling to sift through the thoughts in his mind. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Words eluded him, and even if he had spilled his entire heart out to you, would you have cared? Would you have picked up the shattered pieces and tried in vain to glue it back? He was a selfish bastard—he knew that. But, he wished you would. He wished you could’ve been the one to save him when he didn’t even know what he needed saving from.

He slowly stood to his full height, towering over you with solemn teal eyes glimmering slightly in the light and a parted mouth as if he wished to caress you with his words. But, the truth was apparent from your averted eyes and crumpled figure like you were trying to hide within yourself. 

Any touch from him would be unwelcomed, and he hopelessly wished he was a silver tongue like Sae or had a grit of steel like Isagi. 

Maybe he would’ve salvaged this relationship if he could’ve just talked to you. 

Maybe he wouldn’t walk out of your space for the last time or watch your balcony door from a safe distance away in a nearby park, turning the strip of painkillers in his hand like they were prayer beads which would conjure your mercy and reconciliation onto him. 

Maybe his feet wouldn’t take him down the street, past the bent oak tree and towards another park where he bumped into a nasty face from his past.

“Aw, it’s tiny Rin. Lost your girlfriend, huh, Romeo?” Shidou’s pale red eyes glinted tauntingly. He almost crushed the medicine in his hand, forcing himself to loosen his grip and coolly gaze at the antennaed freak.

“Fuck off.”

“Ouch.”

Shidou pretended to wince and kiss his teeth. “Didn’t nii-chan teach you to be nicer to people, hmm?”

Rin swore that if it weren’t for the pulsing migraine on the right side of his temple, he would’ve taken a swing at the blonde freak. He was almost about to, but another voice halted his impulses.

“Rin.”

Sae was cooling off on a bench, holding a packet of ice to his jaw. His teal eyes, so much like his, bore right into his skull. 

Rin didn’t know what compelled him to open his mouth, or for those words to tumble freely from his loosened lips. He liked to think it was grief which compromised his unwavering pride for a split second. Or, the guilt for what he did and said to his brother when he exhaled—

“Teach me how to win her back.”

— feedback, rbs and support and fully appreciated !!

©️ all rights belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[sillystappen]

Come On Over And Ruin My Life aka The one where I write chemaxiel. That's it. That's the fic. Word Count: 5175. Read on AO3 here!

There are several instances where Checo has wondered what his life has come to. For example, when he won in 2020 for the first time after 190 races, when he became a Red Bull driver, when he won in Monaco last year, and quite depressingly now, as he watches Max and Daniel flirt with each other.

Don't get Checo wrong he isn't jealous, he just feels a little left out, like he's a constant third wheel now that Daniel has rejoined Red Bull. It's kind of an open secret in the paddock that those two are dating, and have been since 2019, though Max has mentioned that they were hooking up since a certain crash the year prior. And Checo gets it, they click well and look really good together, especially when they laugh. So no, he is not jealous of their relationship.

The feeling of being left out does confuse him though. He had thought about it in the privacy of his hotel room after a day of recording and has come to the conclusion that he doesn't want neither Daniel nor Max to be less themselves, but he wants to be included in it. This then throws him through another loop because he ends up imagining all three of them laughing at something or being huddled together in some corner of the paddock as they gossip about whatever stupid strategy Ferrari tried that day. An even scarier thought is the picture his mind paints of the three of them cuddled onto one sofa watching some bullshit telenovela with English captions, Daniel's head in his lap and Max leaning into his side.

He can't, no he won't, dwell on it. He refuses to. He's friends, teammates, with them. He's not looking to insert himself into their relationship. He just wants to feel a tiny bit more included when they have to do media events or are at the factory. He doesn't need to be taken to their dates only to be walking behind them on the pavement.

Besides, are 3 people relationships even a thing? Can you even want more than 1 person at the same time? Is that allowed? He has no problem with being queer (he is bisexual after all) but falling for two men simultaneously has Checo all sorts of extra confused.

"Checo!" Max shakes him out of his thoughts, "wanna grab dinner after the race with Daniel and I?"

Checo shakes his head, "I don't wanna intrude, it's okay. I have things I could be doing anyway." He really doesn't want to see Daniel and Max share inside jokes the whole night while he pokes at some overpriced pasta.

Max nods slowly, "ah... alright. Just- You know that- nevermind." Checo watches as Max leaves, Daniel latching onto his arm before he finishes turning the corner.

Checo sighs to himself. He really needs to sort himself out before this spirals...

And spiral it does. It has gotten to a point where Daniel and Max are in his dreams. His dreams! Checo is no blushing virgin either so he has woken up to several wet dreams where he has either been fucked by Max or had his cock sucked by Daniel, the other one always watching and running their hands along his body, providing another source of stimulation. Rather embarrassingly, he ends up rutting against the mattress or into his hand until he comes after he wakes up.

He walks into Red Bull's facilities trying not to think about it as Daniel slings an arm over his shoulder and starts talking about a bird he saw last night. Checo, drawn to the warmth of Daniel, can't find it in himself to move away. He listens and adds in the occasional "yeah?" to keep Daniel talking and giggles (?!) at some of the lame jokes he makes.

What's worse is that he doesn't let go when he spots Max, he just drags him over and only moves his arm so his fingers can play with Checo's curls on the back of his neck which has his cheeks turning every shade of red. Max doesn't seem to mind, and just continues chatting to them as if this is totally normal.

How? How can they be so relaxed about this and not... he doesn't know, jealous? annoyed? Daniel is being clingy with him and not his boyfriend! Shouldn't Max be glaring holes in to his skull by now?

And Checo? Checo is too selfish to push himself away. This is what he wants after all, to be included in their interactions and not be standing off to the side and it feels so good to be standing there, talking mindlessly with the two of them. When he talks he can feel the attention of both of them like they value and treasure every word. It's addicting to have the one thing he craved all season.

"Dan, look at him. He's turned in to a tomato," Max chuckles, noticing Checo's blush.

Daniel's fingers still as he looks over Checo's face, "oops! But Maxy, it's a lovely colour on him."

Max hums and smiles, "it goes well with his freckles."

Checo blinks, his brain not connecting to his mouth - unable to form any response. It's like he bluescreened under their attention. Oh God, he is failing miserably to be normal.

Daniel's phone pings. "Ah shucks, I have to leave. Media just can't get enough of this handsome face." He detaches himself from Checo, pecks Max on the lips as Max rolls his eyes fondly. Then, he takes Checo's hand, pressing his lips to the back of it before saying "later gentlemen," and jogging off.

Checo remains frozen in place, completely floored by the last 5 minutes. He waits to see if Max get's angry or annoyed by whatever happened but... nothing. Max just smiles at him, and wraps his hand gently around his wrist as he pulls him over to their garage.

Which... what the fuck?

"Aren't you mad?" he eventually gets out as they loiter around Max's car and look at datasheets.

Max turns around and tilts his head, "mad about what? The car is doing brilliantly and we're getting podiums and wins. What's there to be mad about?"

"I meant Daniel when he... y'know." Checo vaguely gestures to his hand.

"Oh, no." Max says before he goes back to what he was doing.

Checo furrows his brows, not understanding. He doesn't say anything else and goes over to his own car and try not to think about it.

Later, he sits with his lunch, picking at the crust of his sandwich while he thinks about Daniel and Max, who take up more and more of his thoughts. They're including him more, and have been over the last few weeks since Max invited him to dinner. This is all nice and he feels a lot better generally speaking. However, he can't seem to understand what Max and Daniel want from him. The goal was not to intrude on their relationship but they seem insistent on dragging him into it.

Sighing, he pulls out his phone and googles (in an incognito tab obviously) 'can 3 people be in one relationship?'

The answer pops up on his screen and Checo doesn't know what to think.

Polyamory, or consensual nonmonogamy, is the practice of having multiple intimate relationships, whether sexual or just romantic, with the full knowledge and consent of all parties involved. Polyamory is generally not gender-specific; anyone can have multiple partners of any gender.

So, yes, it totally is a thing. He could feasibly date both Max and Daniel without any of them cheating on each other. He continues scrolling, going through reddit and other sites of similar natures where people recount how they fell in love with multiple people at the same time and enjoy being romantically (and sexually) involved with more than one person at once. Some of the stories are really heart-warming actually. Could he have that?

He turns his phone off and bites the corner of his sandwich. Do Daniel and Max even want him? He thinks they do, but there's this lingering doubt that they couldn't possibly. After all, what are the chances that both of them like him too? They've been going strong for 4 years, why change that now?

"Checo," Max sits opposite him with his own food, "I've been looking for you."

"Where else would I be?" Checo replies rhetorically.

Max lets out an amused huff, "good point."

"So," he says after swallowing another bite of sandwich, "what did you wanna find me for?"

Max nods to himself and pushes his food to the side so he can lean forward a bit. "Look, I know the first time you said no so we decided to keep it more lowkey this time. Do you want to come and watch some trashy Netflix movie Daniel picks out in his hotel room tonight? Just us three, and probably some popcorn that will have our trainers annoyed at us. Totally chill, and neither of us will take offence if you say no but we do want you there and-"

"Yes."

"Huh?"

Checo clears his throat and looks directly at Max. "I said yes. I mean, I third wheel all the time but I enjoy hanging out with you guys." He picks up his tray and stands, "text me the time and room number, yeah?"

He barely catches Max's "okay," as he leaves. He makes it back to his driver's room and locks the door, leaning back against it as he sighs. Why on God's green earth did he say yes? He's just going to be sat on the edge of a sofa awkwardly with a bowl of popcorn as Max and Daniel cuddle up together.

However, he remembers the image his brain conjured of the three of them together, and the revelation that he most likely (read: definitely) has a crush on the both of them deludes him in to thinking that it won't be like that at all. That all of the recent interactions mean something. Please, let them mean something because Checo doesn't know what to do if it doesn't.

At 8pm that night, Checo is standing outside room 411 checking and double checking his phone to ensure that he has the right information. He knows Max didn't make a mistake, he's just nervous and has to force himself out of it so he can at least pretend to be somewhat normal. He's in his thirties for fucks sake and yet he's acting like he's a teenager who's experiencing his first crush.

Still, he knocks on the door. Daniel swings it open and looks absolutely thrilled to see him, which is nice.

"Checo! Glad you actually rocked up. Maxy was worrying you would bail."

"Hey no!" Max protests in the background.

Daniel doesn't pay any attention to him, "you look good! Now come in and sit your pretty ass on the sofa and pick a movie."

Checo nods, not trusting his mouth to not say something like 'would rather sit my pretty ass on you' because he is only here to be a friend. He plops on the sofa, noticing a folded blanket resting on one arm. He runs his fingers over the fabric, enjoying the soft feel of it when Max comes in.

Max plucks the TV remote from somewhere out of Checo's view and hands it to him, sitting to his left. "I don't have high standards just as long as it's something better than Daniel's 80s flicks. He claims that they're 'classics' even though they're really cringe."

"You say that as if you weren't humming grease lightning for a week." Daniel says, holding the biggest bowl of popcorn Checo has ever seen. Of course, Daniel notices his expression and shrugs, setting the popcorn down and sitting on Checo's right, "we do this often."

"I see..." Checo acknowledges. He starts flicking through Netflix, ignoring Daniel going "pick this!" and Max replying with "do not pick that."

It got tiring after a while and Checo had enough. "Both of you just stop talking right now. We're watching Lego Batman, end of discussion." There was no reason why Lego Batman was chosen other than it happened to be the one the remote cursor was on. Besides, both Max and Daniel seem satisfied.

The movie starts and Daniel almost immediately dives for the popcorn bowl. Max grabs the blanket and unfolds it, then throws one end over towards Daniel so it stretches across the three of them. The thing is, the sofa is not designed for three grown men, so everything is a tight fit. Meaning, Checo can feel Max's thigh against his own and Daniel's arm against his. It's so warm, but not stifling nor uncomfortable. It's warm in a way that he gets a swooping sensation in his stomach and the heat rises into his cheeks.

Daniel holds the bowl out to him and Max, and Max takes a handful, leaning closer to Checo in the process before easing up a little. They both seem so comfortable around him, which is good obviously, but he feels like he's in the middle of their relationship, physically too. Though, they don't say anything and just watch the movie quietly, shifting around occasionally (this is mostly Daniel) while Checo is internally screaming 'what do you want from me?'

Because this isn't third wheeling. No, rather he feels that he is equal with them. It feels like a date or some domestic scene that could easily happen in one of their apartments. And Checo cannot bring himself to melt into the moment or even enjoy the movie he picked as the dreaded question of 'what is this?' is on the tip of his tongue the whole time.

The movie itself is fun, and nice and just the right amount of simple where you didn't have to focus too hard to understand what is going on, which is good because Daniel drops his head on Checo's shoulder, pulling his end of the blanket up to the base of his neck.

"This ok?" Daniel whispers.

"Yeah..." is all Checo can think of saying. Daniel then settles and molds himself into Checo's side, one of his hands resting on his thigh. Checo can feel every point of contact like it burns through his clothes and onto his skin. He looks at Max expecting to see annoyance or hurt at the fact his boyfriend his being so cuddly and Checo isn't making any move to stop it, but Max looks fond, like the two of them being like this is - in his words - simply lovely.

Perhaps there is no harm in just taking this for granted. If he doesn't think about it too much, it is really nice to be hugged by Daniel. Checo slowly wraps his arm around Daniel's waist to hold him against his side and Daniel hums contentedly, pleased with the development.

'Just for now,' Checo thinks, 'then I have to do something about this.' Of course, Max choses that exact moment to shift and prop his legs on Checo's lap and lean his back over the arm of the sofa and close his eyes. Daniel feels Checo tense and rubs small circles into his thigh in an attempt to calm him. It works a bit but not enough to stop him from asking "what are we doing?"

"Chilling, cuddling, watching Batman," Max says, stating the obvious.

"No, no, that doesn't help, that's not-" Checo sighs, agitated, before pushing the blanket off him and standing, effectively shoving Max and Daniel off of him. He turns around to face them and takes in their confused expressions. Good, now they know how he feels.

"What's wrong?" Daniel asks, sitting up properly.

Checo laughs wryly, "what's wrong? What's wrong?! Mierda, I can't even begin to describe what the fuck is going on because I have no clue!" His voices raises in frustration but he can't bring himself to care, pacing and gesturing wildly as everything comes pouring out at once.

"I used to feel like such a third wheel with you two but then you started dragging me in to your relationship which is so weird? I initially just wanted to be your friend but this got me feeling all sorts of things that I shouldn't and you refuse to elaborate on it! You just do these things instead of communicating what it is you want from me and now I don't know where I stand or what I should do with you two. It makes me want to kick myself because despite all of that I've caught feelings for the both of you and can't bring myself to hate you at all for any of it. And now? Now you're looking at me as if I'm the one who doesn't make any sense. ¡No los entiendo a ustedes dos y me está destrozando! Y no puedo permitirme el lujo de ser algo en lo que estás interesado brevemente antes de pasar a la siguiente. ¡No seré una conexión para ustedes dos! Me merezco más que eso."

Checo breathes, re-centering himself after accidentally slipping back in to Spanish, before looking and Max and Daniel, who appear less confused and more guilty. "You have no right," Checo finishes in English, "to play with my feelings."

He doesn't waste much time after that and heads for the door, not bothering to hear them out.

Max gets up first. "Checo, wait-"

"Just... stop." He twists the doorhandle and leaves.

He doesn't go back to his hotel room. He can't bring himself to just lie in bed and wallow (and maybe cry). Besides, that would be the first place Max and Daniel look if they chase after him, and right now he doesn't want to see them.

He ends up leaving the hotel and wandering around until he finds a park and sits down on a bench, looking up at the night sky. He couldn't see any stars despite the lack of clouds. That really is just the cherry on top of this disaster cake.

"Checo?"

He lowers his gaze and looks around, the voice lacking a Dutch or Australian twang. He ends up locking eyes with Alex Albon.

"Alex? What are you doing here?" he asks.

Alex chuckles, "could ask you the same thing." He gestures to the empty spot on the bench, "can I?"

Checo nods and for a while neither of them say anything. Just two drivers sat in the middle of a park at night, totally normal. Though, as sarcastic as that sentiment may be, it is probably one of the most normal things that have happened in the past few weeks.

"Why are you here?" Alex says eventually. "Don't get me wrong, I am not judging your choices but something seems to be bothering you. If you want to share that, you can."

"It's... complicated."

"I can do complicated. Lily says that I'm a good listener. Might be nice to get it off your chest."

Checo looks at Alex and sighs, "where do I start? It's Max and Daniel."

"Oh boy. I am far to familiar with those two than I'd like to be."

"How so?"

Alex winces, as if the memory is slightly painful. "Of course, I was Max's teammate before you. I have caught them fucking on almost every surface in the garage and hospitalities."

"Even the car?"

"On multiple occasions," Alex grimaces. "Heck, I'm pretty sure I only saw half the story. I don't wanna know what the poor Renault staff have seen. Though, I suppose it's worse for you now that Daniel is back at the factory too."

"It's not that bad for me actually. I think someone had a word with them when Daniel resigned, though when Daniel was at McLaren I did hear them. But honestly," Checo admits, "that isn't even the problem. I think I'm the problem."

"How so?"

"I... fuck, I fell for them."

"Like, in love with both of them? At the same time?"

"Yes, exactly that."

Alex doesn't look too shocked, but still relatively surprised. His face then settles into a look of contemplation. "That must be tricky. I didn't even know you liked men."

"I'm bisexual. Anyway, these past few weeks have been weird because I like both of them and I can't tell what they want from me. They just suddenly tried to put me in their relationship or at least want to hook up or something and yet they make no move to explain any of it. They didn't even talk to me. They just are very... physical? I mean touchy, and also they have just invited me on their dates and... yeah."

Alex nods, processing it all, then says, "I assume something happened tonight?"

"I snapped," Checo admits before telling Alex every detail. Alex doesn't judge, just sits and listens. When Checo is done, it feels like a weight has been lifted off of his chest and he can finally breathe again. It still stings though, but is less crushing and the relief of it all makes tears spring in his eyes.

"Oh mate," Alex says and slings an arm around Checo's shoulders, pulling him into his side. Checo relaxes into the comfort given. His shoulders sag, a few tears eventually falling and he just feels so, so tired.

They stay like that for a while before Alex says, "they're idiots, you know."

"Hmm?"

"Max and Daniel," Alex says. "They clearly do like you the way you like them but are trying to get together with you the same way they did, which is fucking stupid. They should've just talked with you properly, but you also need to not put yourself down as much. You're a great person and you deserve respect and clarity, so don't feel bad about snapping at them. They had it coming."

"Thank you," is all Checo can reply with, because Alex has really been an amazing friend tonight.

They end up hanging out for a while, turns out Alex just can't sleep and got bored, before Checo finds his way back to his hotel room. He collapses back in his bed absolutely exhausted and welcomes sleep easily.

The next day, with a formed plan in mind, Checo immediately walks up to both of them and simply tells them "room 443, after all this." He doesn't linger, and goes back to discussing strategies and car development with his engineers. He can feels their eyes on him throughout the day, and sometimes he stares back as if he's daring them to do something. They never do. Instead, they flush red, like they're a naughty kid having an extra cookie, and look in any and all directions par at Checo. It's kind of cute.

Not even 15 minutes after Checo makes it back to his hotel room, he hears a rapid knocking. He opens the door to see Max and Daniel. Daniel is pulling on the edges on his hoodie and Max is indiscreetly holding flowers behind his back.

"Come in," Checo says, careful to make voice even. He closes the door and Max hands him the flowers.

"We're-" Max starts.

"Thank you for these, they're very pretty." Checo interrupts before gently placing them down on a side table. "You two are now going to sit down and have one chance to explain everything. No arguments. Only then will I decide what happens next."

Max and Daniel sit down without complaint and Checo stands before them, hands on his hips as he waits for them to start.

They look at each other before Daniel speaks up, "we are so sorry for hurting you."

Max nods, "yeah, we are. We didn't intentionally mean to confuse you. We just wanted you."

Checo raises and eyebrow and looks between both of them, silently telling them to continue.

"It's gonna sound a bit crazy but we both want a relationship with you," Daniel continues, "Max and I still love each other, but we also really like you. We thought if we just slowly integrate you into our dynamic it won't be as weird?"

"Yeah, and do things like how me and Daniel originally got together," Max adds.

Holy shit, Alex hit the nail on the head. They do like him, and they were just being stupid about it.

"And we were a bit scared of asking you about it," Max finishes.

"Fuck, yeah, I mean what are the odds that not only do Max and I like you but that you also like both of us?" Daniel asks in a way that he tries to pass as a rhetoric joke but Checo can hear the sincerity in it. They don't think they're affections are returned, especially now they aren't in Checo's good books.

But, oh, how wrong they are. Checo's heart leaps now he knows that that they like him in all the same ways.

"Pretty high, probably at about 100%" Checo smiles at them.

Max's gaze snaps up from his lap and Daniel looks like Checo just told him the answer to life's biggest mystery.

"Now, I am still a little mad that you guys decided it was smarter to play with my feelings than just straight up tell me," Checo clarifies. Daniel and Max frown. "But," Checo continues, walking around and toward the bedroom, "I think there's a way you can make it up to me." He winks then chuckles upon seeing Max and Daniel quickly scramble towards him.

Checo sits in the middle of the bed, "come here and kiss me then I will forgive you."

Max doesn't waste much time, immediately going over to hold Checo's face and kiss him. Max kisses how he drives: determined and passionate. It makes Checo's body flush with warmth, especially when Max's tongue touches his lips. Checo opens them and softly gasps at the feeling of Max's tongue in his mouth. Eventually, he gently pushes Max off and beckons Daniel over.

Checo moves to sit in Daniel's lap and kiss him instead. Daniel kisses him with a lot more gentleness than Max, but with equal passion. He can feel Max watching them and hears him shift closer, putting his arms around Checo's chest and start kissing down the side his neck, sucking lightly where his neck meets his shoulder, causing Checo to moan into Daniel's mouth and shift his hips a little which earns him a soft groan in response.

The feeling of both of them on him, kissing, touching, loving, is just addictive. He wants more and can feel from where he’s sat on Daniel’s lap and how Max has slinked a hand under his shirt, running his fingers up his torso and down again, that they are all in the same boat on this.

"Can we..." Max says against his skin, fingers travelling down to slightly dip under his waistband.

Checo gets the message, disconnecting his lips from Daniels to reply with more desperation than he'd like to admit, "fuck me."

It takes a bit to figure out their dynamics and learn what everyone likes but it ends with Daniel's fingers up Checo's ass before Max fucks him, and Checo sucking Daniel's cock as Max thrusts in to him. They were probably loud, and Checo definitely has a collection of hickeys covering the base of his throat and down over his pecs, but Checo cannot bring himself to care. He falls asleep just as Max cleans him and Daniel up.

The next morning when they’re all awake, naked and cuddled together on Checo’s hotel bed, Max asks, “Do you forgive us?”

Checo smiles up at Max from where he lies on Max’s chest and presses a chaste kiss to Max’s jaw then takes Daniel’s hand and places a kiss to his palm. “Mis amores, I forgive you, did a long while ago, and I want you. This wasn’t a one time thing for me.”

“It’s not for us,” Daniel says from the other side of Max, looking right into Checo's eyes, “never has been.”

“I’m glad.” Checo sighs and cuddles closer to the two of them.

He sees Alex in the paddock that morning. Alex waves at him and makes his way over. "You alright mate?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty great. You were right by the way."

Alex grins, "told you so." He looks at something on Checo's neck and waggles his eyebrows teasingly, "looks like you had fun last night."

Checo chuckles and adjusts the collar of his Red Bull polo, better covering what he knows is a hickey. "I did. We had a talk before we left about what we are and what we wanted out of all this," Checo looks around for any boom mics or cameras - he's clear, "they're my boyfriends."

"That's awesome mate, I'm happy for you. You guys are gonna be the best trio Red Bull have seen!" Alex claps him on the back.

"Thank you," Checo smiles.

Alex nods, "see you on track!" Checo watches him go back to Williams.

An arm slings over his shoulder and Checo grins, immediately knowing who it is.

"All good?" Daniel asks. Checo's chest floods with warmth and love. They haven't said 'I love you', not yet. It's still fresh for the three of them, but Checo has no doubt that eventually they will get there.

Checo nudges him with the side of his hip, "perfect, you?"

"Never better, love. Now come on, let's find Maxy. Can't wait to see you kill it on track," Daniel says, guiding him back over to Red Bull where Max is leaning against a wall, race suit already on and talking to a mechanic.

"Special delivery of one driver!" Daniel announces dramatically, gesturing to Checo.

Max's face lights up, quickly finishing up his conversation and manoeuvring through the garage to see them. "You doing okay? I mean it might not have been our smartest idea to... before a race."

"You mean how I will have to sit in a car for two hours with a sore ass?" Checo smirks, not even bothering to lower his tone around the mechanics.

"Oh my god..." Daniel groans quietly.

"Yes that," Max mumbles, cheeks flushed all red.

Checo giggles, "I will be fine."

"That's great then, love," Daniel smiles, "now go suit up. Don't want Marko to come after you."

Checo nods and makes his way back to his drivers room, hands brushing his boyfriends' as a subtle romantic goodbye.

He can't be too obvious, that much is a given, but given how Max and Daniel had established themselves as being very touchy-feely 'friends' so perhaps he could find out what he could get away with in the future.

And wow, to think about them in the future makes his heart flutter. This is real. This is the start of something solid. He knows it won't be easy for a multitude of reasons but those seem like future obstacles that he believes they should be able to overcome. He feels lighter, more than he has in a while and something tells him 2023 will be good year.

[carlosfruitsnacks]

spending Christmas with Camilo and Carlos headcanons

summary:

— just some random headcanons on what is like to spend Christmas together with the twins!

genre:

— headcanons

notes:

— gender-neutral reader.

warning/s:

— none

a/n:

— since Christmas is around the corner, i decided to make these headcanons bc i'm still down bad for the twins, merry Christmas to y'all! <33

It was that time of the year again, but Camilo and Carlos thought this year's Christmas is going to be special because they were going to spend it with you <3

Camilo is def a festive person, he likes to get into the mood. He'll volunteer to set up Christmas decorations, he'll help make food (and secretly sneak some to eat), and he'll even wear one of those ugly and itchy-looking Christmas sweaters lmfao

Carlos, on the other hand, could care less about the holiday. It's not like he hates Christmas, he's just not into the festivities. But there are instances where he tries (or is forced) to get into the holiday spirit.

Camilo would definitely force Carlos to wear one of those ugly sweaters hehehe

A few days before Christmas, you'll drag the twins to go shopping for presents. Camilo and Carlos are eager to give suggestions on picking the best gifts until it turns into a competition

"[Name] you should get this" "No, that looks like shit. This is much better" "Nobody asked for your opinion, Carlos" "You're just mad because your opinion is shit"

After shopping, the two are happily helping you carry all the stuff you bought. They're also wondering what you got for them but you'll only wink and say it's a secret, to their dismay.

You'll invite Camilo and Carlos to try and make some cookies or a gingerbread house. At first, it seemed fine until Camilo almost sets your home on fire because he put the heat on high thinking it would help cook the cookies faster. And Carlos almost poisons the three of you because he didn't follow the proper instructions for the ingredients

The festive cooking was definitely chaotic but somehow the three of you managed to make it work

For Christmas eve, Camilo and Carlos invited you to eat dinner with The Madrigal Family. When you arrived, you were greeted with warm smiles and kind faces. Everyone welcomed you with open arms, it tugged on your heartstrings. The twins were glad.

Dinner starts. The food was scrumptious, and you thanked Julieta Madrigal for her tremendous cooking. Suddenly, Alma says something about Camilo and Carlos telling so many stories about you.

"Ay, mis nietos would never shut up about you, [Name]" "Abuela!"

You'll only laugh thinking how cute it was to see Camilo and Carlos flustered. Pepa and Félix are watching their sons, holding hands and realizing how much they've grown. Dolores, Isabela, Mirabel, and the rest of the Madrigal children would try to tease Camilo and Carlos about you. Watching the two turn red and stumble on their words was amusing.

After dinner, you helped clean the table and plates. It was nearly midnight when you decided to spend some time with the Madrigal family. You played games, sang songs, and exchanged stories while waiting for midnight.

At the stroke of midnight, you smiled and said "Merry Christmas!" and hugged each and every one in the room. When you got to Camilo and Carlos, the two pulled you into a tight and endearing embrace, it lasted longer than the rest

THEY'RE BURYING THEIR FACES IN THE CROOK OF YOUR NECK AND YOUR HEARTBEAT IS JUST RACING BECAUSE YOU CAN FEEL THEIR BREATHS ON YOUR NECK HDSGDHSFDHS

You gave some gifts to their family. Finally, you gave your gifts to Camilo and Carlos. The two eagerly tore the wrapper off and clutched their chests when they saw what you got for them.

You gave them matching chameleon stuffed toys, Camilo's in yellow and Carlos' in maroon. They grabbed their gifts and trapped you in a bear hug, chanting "thank you"s

When the twins gave their presents to you, tears almost fell from your eyes when you tore off the wrapper. It was a photo album filled with pictures of you three together. It was decorated with stickers and filled with sentimental photographs. You sniffed and flipped through the pages, you looked at the two and opened your arms.

"You guys are really the best!" You pouted as Camilo and Carlos chuckled before hugging you again.

After everyone got their gifts, Antonio gasped and pointed outside the window to say it was snowing, you gasped and took a peek. It began snowing! Quickly, you grabbed your jacket, scarf, and hat. You took both Camilo's and Carlos' hands.

"Come on!" You said and giggled. The three of you watched in awe as the snow fell down. You go lie down on the snow to make a snow angel, and Camilo copies you. The two of you laughed, but the moment was ruined when a snowball landed on Camilo's face. You burst out cackling.

Carlos snickered and grinned as he watched you laugh at Camilo, the latter was giving him a death glare. Immediately, a snowball fight commences

It's really just Carlos and Camilo throwing snowballs at each other LMFAO

Camilo would accidentally throw a snowball hard against your face. The twins stop to check on you but you got them right into your trap as you threw snowballs at their faces.

The three of you also grabbed some sleighs and went on a sleigh ride around the area. It was super fun! Camilo and you would also make fun of Carlos for always falling off his sleigh lmao poor guy

Camilo, Carlos, and you stayed outside, lying on the snow just enjoying each other's company. It was peacefully quiet and sentimental <33

You can slowly feel your face go numb from the cold. Carlos, being overprotective, insisted you should head inside. But you shook your head, wanting to remain out in the snow. Camilo chimes in and agree that the three of you should go inside because it was freezing.

You three went inside and discovered that Julieta made hot chocolates. So, Camilo, Carlos, and you decided to warm up next to the fireplace while drinking hot chocolate.

The two discover that you're shivering, so they stood up and grabbed the longest scarf they can find.

CAMILO AND CARLOS SHARED THE SCARF WITH YOU. THEY SNUGGLED WITH YOU IN THE MIDDLE AND YOUR FACE IS JUST HEATING UP LIKE PLSSS THEY'RE SO SWEET HDFHSFDHSDS

You're warming up with the twins when you took notice of the decorations, you choked on your own saliva when you realized a mistletoe was hanging above you three

"Ayo is that?" "No way"

Camilo and Carlos realized why you were staring at the ceiling. They looked around and saw their family whispering in the corner, they definitely plotted this!

You couldn't look at the two in their eyes, they notice and reassured you that it was okay not to follow the Christmas tradition

However, you decided to grab Camilo's face first and gave him a smooch on the cheek. HE FAINTS LMFAOOOOO

Carlos turns grumpy because why haven't you kissed him too? >:(

But you rolled your eyes and grabbed his face before placing a tender kiss on the cheek. Carlos.exe has stopped working

It was safe to say this was Camilo and Carlos' best Christmas ever

Bonus: here's a mini Christmas playlist to go with the headcanons hehehe. merry Christmas!

taglist: @pochi-moochika , @cahmilo , @vanevafu , @irisia-ckzkb1109 , @elegantkidfansoul , @candykamikun , @justzei , @try-cry-why-try , @nanaisheretomessupthings , @eichenhouseproperty , @nort-the-simp , @megs2world, @ducky-died-inside ...join here

masterlist

[clownprince]

Batjokes Timeline

This is based in Rebirth/Infinite Frontier but it overlaps with other eras cause yk. Comics. Where possible I tried to put the original comic/arc instead of the Rebirth comic where it was referenced or shown in a flashback, since most of the Rebirth timeline prior to like Year 16-17 is shown via flashbacks or references. Cause again. Comics.

Also this is almost entirely based on info from the Batman Chronology Project I just pulled out the Batjokes bits.

Please correct me if any of this is wrong because I am Not going through every single one of these to double-check. Also lmk if there are any other comics that can fit in a certain place on this timeline.

YEAR ONE

Zero Year: Secret City

Zero Year: Dark City

Bruce adopts Dick as his ward (Nightwing Vol. 4 #32, Nightwing Vol. 4 #69, Batman Vol. 3 #54, Strange Love Adventures #1 Part 6)

Dick begins training, which lasts six months (Detective Comics #1000 Part 9)

Batman: The Man Who Laughs

First instance of the monthly birthday present ritual occurs in early December (Detective Comics #1027 Part 3)

Bruce visits Arkham to meet with Joker and shows him the playing card he found in the Batcave, revealing his identity to Joker (Batman Vol. 2 #17)

Note: Dr. Harleen Quinzel has been Joker's therapist since his first stay at Arkham Asylum

YEAR TWO

Dick debuts as Robin (Batman Chronicles: The Gauntlet and Batman and Robin Vol. 2 Annual #2)

Batman saves Joker from Deathstroke (Batman Vol. 3 #122-123)

War of Jokes and Riddles

YEAR THREE

Dr. Harleen Quinzel, having fallen in love with the Joker (gotta love the horrifying medical malpractice), breaks him out of Arkham Asylum, becoming his girlfriend and sidekick Harley Quinn (Harley Quinn Vol. 3 #17, Harley Quinn 25th Anniversary Special #1 Part 4, Batman Vol. 3 #42)

YEAR FOUR

In March, for Batman’s monthly “birthday present,” Joker sends a crudely drawn picture of himself and Batman with the words “Best Friends” written on it (Detective Comics #1027 Part 3)

I Am a Gun

Note: Batman admitted he underwent those sensory deprivation tests in an isolation chamber so he could experience hallucinations and psychotic states to see a glimpse of how Joker's mind worked (Batman Vol. 1 #673)

YEAR FIVE

Barbara debuts as Batgirl (Batgirl Vol. 4 #0)

Batman chases Joker down to Blüdhaven, Gordon and the GCPD shoot their way through their former co-workers into a warehouse filled with piñatas. Inside each piñata is a corpse (Joker Vol. 2 2021 Annual)

Note: for the past year, Joker had only been pulling pop-crime pranks and small time heists

YEAR SIX

An escaped Joker decides not to commit any crimes for once, instead following Batman around, simply trying to get the grim Dark Knight to laugh (referenced in Event Leviathan #2)

YEAR SEVEN

In February, an escaped Joker defeats the Teen Titans (Robin, Cyborg, Starfire, Beast Boy, and Raven), leaving them bound, unconscious, and underwater as Batman’s monthly “birthday gift" (Detective Comics #1027 Part 3)

Dick turns 18 and quits as Robin (Robin 80th Anniversary 100-Page Spectacular Part 1)

Bruce meets Jason Todd and starts training him (Batman #408-409)

Dick debuts as Nightwing

Joker unveils his "Laughing Fish" gag (Detective Comics #475-476)

Jason Todd debuts as Robin (Truth and Justice #10)

YEAR NINE

Batman: The Killing Joke

A Death in the Family

Tim begins training as Robin (A Lonely Place of Dying)

YEAR TEN

Tim debuts as Robin

Knightfall

Rock of Ages

Batman fights Onomatopoeia and saves Joker's life (Batman: Cacophony #3)

YEAR ELEVEN

Cataclysm

Aftershock

No Man’s Land

Tower of Babel

Note: Batman appoints Cass Cain as Batgirl during No Man's Land

YEAR TWELVE

Under the Hood

Tim stops being Robin, Stephanie Brown takes over temporarily before she is fired and Tim is reinstated (Robin Vol. 2 #124-130)

YEAR THIRTEEN

Batman R.I.P.

Bruce meets Damian for the first time (Batman and Son)

YEAR FOURTEEN

Harley breaks up with Joker for good (Gotham City Sirens #1)

Bruce makes Damian his full-time official partner (Batman & Robin Vol. 2 #1-8)

Joker buries Simon Hurt alive, which is the same way Hurt tried to kill Batman. Hm (Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne #6 and Batman & Robin #13-16)

Joker removes his face and goes into hiding (Detective Comics Vol. 2 #1)

Death of the Family

YEAR FIFTEEN

Endgame

Superheavy

YEAR SIXTEEN

Duke joins the Batfamily (Batman: Rebirth #1)

Batman locates Joker (presumably still amnesiac at this point) and apprehends him, incarcerating him in Sub-Cave Alpha. in exchange for information about Dionesium, Batman tells Joker about his “dark energy” investigation and covert use of the Outsiders and “Black Sites.” He even shows Joker his cloning machine and the “Meta-File” on the Bat-computer (Dark Days: The Casting)

Batman proposes to Catwoman, presumably while Joker is still in his basement (Batman Vol. 3 #24)

Hal and Duke find Joker in the Batcave cell (Dark Days: The Forge)

Batman teams up with Joker to defeat the Batman Who Laughs (Dark Nights: Metal #4-6)

YEAR SEVENTEEN

Joker finds out about Batman’s engagement (Batman: Prelude to the Wedding Part 2 Nightwing vs Hush #1)

The Best Man

Batman and Catwoman call off the wedding but stay engaged (Batman Vol. 3 #50)

YEAR EIGHTEEN

The Batman Who Laughs #1-7

YEAR NINETEEN

Their Dark Designs

Joker War

YEAR TWENTY-ONE

Failsafe

The Man Who Stopped Laughing #1-4

[adickaboutspoons]

🤡🛒⛔ for the meme!

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

I prefer to think of most of my WIPs as in long-term holding patterns, but yeah, there's a couple that will prolly never get developed further. There's one I wrote to entertain my Discord girlies (g/n) as an canon-divergence to 1x7 where Jack is drunk enough to black out before whippies part II & drunken Ed goes to see about Stede reading in his bunk. And I quoted entirely too much "Tess of the D'urbervilles" and there is drunken knifeplay.

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

I'm constitutionally incapable of not comparing Stede to the sun or going on at length about Ed's incredible eyes. You know it's an envinoveritas joint if Stede is deeply oblivious or, at the very least, nobly restrained when it comes to Ed, because he's fundamentally incapable of believing that anyone, much less *Ed*, could be attracted to him. Oh, also I'm a little obsessed with Ed creatively swearing in his head - if the fic is from his POV, there WILL be at least on instance where he's all "Fucking fuck a motherless poxy cock-swallowing twat waffle of a duck taint in hell."

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh? I think I'm a pretty funny writer, but I don't really laugh at my own jokes. That said, I'm not above a self-satisfied smile. Here's a scene from a Taskmaster AU I've been pecking away at for the entertainment of my Discord girlies (g/n). The premise is that, while recording the tasks, Stede got assigned a solo task to send cheeky texts to Greg's phone every day for five months, only to find out at the record for the in-studio part of the show that Greg hadn't received a single one; Stede had sent them all to the wrong number. Which started to text back after the episode aired...

He climbed out of bed, wincing just a little when he stretched and cursing his old bones. He went to the bathroom, brushed the bog-taste from his mouth, pulled on some clean clothes, then grabbed his phone to go downstairs and put on some tea. A calming brew might be just the thing, depending on what William S. Hornberry, Esq. had to say. Will answered on the second ring. “It’s already on telly, Stede. You really just need to put Channel 4 as far from your mind as possible,” he sighed into the phone without any preamble. “No - I mean, yes, I know. This is not about that. Well, adjacent to that. What I mean to say is I got a reply. From the person I’ve been texting in error I mean.” There was another sigh down the line, and the sound of Will taking a sip of a calming brew of his own. “Okay. Let’s have it.” “What?” “Read it to me - what does it say?” Stede picked the Taskmaster phone up off the counter and thumbed the power button. He undid the lock screen (a picture of Greg’s disapproving face staring out at him), and pulled up the text window. “Oh! There’s more since I went to bed last night!” he said. He skimmed over the new message quickly. So far, no indication that this was going to go south! Excellent. He judiciously tempered his excitement until he heard Will’s opinion, though. Will waited in polite silence. Stede cleared his throat, scrolled back up to where the messages started, and read it all off to him. “‘Loved the show tonight.' 'Been loving the texts even more.' 'Keep ‘em coming.' 'Sexy.' That’s all the stuff from before I went to bed. The new stuff says: ‘You deserved more than 2 points for Kings Quest. That game rocked.' 'Let me know when you’re done playing with floppy things. I’ve got something hard I think you might be interested in.’ So what do we think? Doesn’t seem like they’re inclined to sue me, right?” “Well, if he is, he won’t have a leg to stand on now that he’s flirting back,” Will answered with a hearty chortle. “Flirting? What - no! Just being cheeky, surely? Giving as good as they got.” Another heavy sigh heaved its way down the line. “Stede, I say this not just as your lawyer, but, after all these years, someone I hope you think of as a dear friend. You don’t have the best track record when it comes to realizing someone is flirting with you.” “I think I’d know if someone was flirting with me.” Stede huffed. “Name one time you’ve seen someone flirt with me and I didn’t recognize it.” There was a long silence. So long that Stede pulled the phone away from his ear to see if the call had dropped. “Just-” Stede pulled the phone back to his ear quickly, “Just send yourself screencaps from the Taskmaster phone, ok? Just in case it gets deactivated? That way you’ll still have the evidence. Leave it to me to prove intent.” “Okay,” Stede agreed. “Do you want me to forward it to you as well?” “God no - I don’t want your Etonian smut. Not until absolutely necessary at least.” “You’re hilarious,” Stede said wryly. “No, that’s your job. Goodbye, Stede. I’m charging you for the whole hour.” “Hilarious,” Stede repeated and rang off.

[abovethesmokestacks]

once lost, twice found

Title: once lost, twice found

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: general audiences

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: a modicum of angst because look at who is writing, excessive use of  –, the occasional swear

This is my contribution to the Escape Birthday Challenge hosted by @real-jane​. My chosen prompt was “I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do.” and... well... it turned out just as you might expect when I have control of the keyboard. Strap in, enjoy and let me know what you thought!

"Where were you, I thought I had lost you, Bucky!"

His chest is solid under your clenched fists as you give him a one-two punch. Goddamn idiot, he'd really scared you this time. Seeing him suddenly coming down the street, you'd broken into a sprint, almost bowling over a grandma and displayed more courage than even you knew you possessed by running headfirst into traffic without looking for insane bike riders. Bucky stands firm, takes your frustrated attempts at fisticuffs with a crooked smile.

"I'm sorry, I didn't– It was sudden. I didn't have time to tell you," he tries, places his hands over your curled up hands.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his earnest eyes and gentle voice. You look at him, mouth pursed in a pout as you pull your hands back, crossing them over your chest.

"That's the biggest load of fucking bullshit I've ever heard, and I've volunteered for a politician's office."

It does nothing to chastise him. Bucky gives a belly laugh, wraps an arm around your shoulder and starts walking the two of you down the street.

"I promise, next time I realize I need to scram, I'll make sure to give written notice," he says, his other hand covering his heart. "Now, how about I treat you to somethin’ sweet, huh? There's a place around the corner…"

There's always a place around the corner. Every instance with Bucky is an adventure, a time for stories and laughter, there is an ease to the space between you. Whenever he does this, whenever his sentences are left hanging in a challenging invitation, you follow without hesitation. 

Now, you are the one to stand firm, planting your feet steady on pavement warm from a blistering summer sun. 

No, wait. Wait. That's not–

"Bucky, please, just…"

Just. 

Bucky smiles.

It's easy. It's knowing. He holds out his arms.

"Fine," you sigh, rolling your eyes and thinking the sun is too much, too bright.

He does a fine job keeping you preoccupied. The place around the corner is never exactly around the corner, but Bucky leads you with confidence, holds out your chair for you, lets you ooh and aah and hem and haw over a menu. Why is there always so much chocolate? Bucky orders what he always orders, coffee. Black as my soul, if you please, with a wink at the cashier behind the counter.

“Bucky…”

He’s mid-story, some shenanigan or other while you wait for your orders, and he’s windmilling his arms around wildly, face wide with a smile, “No, I’m serious, I went barrelling down the–”

“Bucky.”

Things have always been so easy between you two, all things considered, and your voice settles like a stone even in your chest. Bucky’s smile wavers, as if he’s considering whether he can keep it there, if he can spin another yarn to make you get lost in his tales again. Finally he just sighs, folds his hands in his lap, the picture of a scolded schoolboy. If all of your questions weren’t nagging at you so much, you’d tell him how endearing and completely wrong it looks.

“Are you leaving me?”

You curse yourself, because it’s not the right words, and the way Bucky’s lips press together tells you that somehow, some-fucking-how, he still knows what you’re trying to say. Deep breath, flex your fingers. You are in control. This is– You can do this.

“Is it… Is it time– You can’t stay, can you?”

It’s still not the right words, but they’re better, closer. For weeks he was only a voice, disembodied, incorporeal, and then… Then there was this. Lean muscle, bright eyes, lips that have no business pursing into a pout the way they do. So much like something real and tangible it was easy to forget he was something completely different. 

Your fingers entwine, and you twist them forwards and backwards. If you looked, they’d fan and go on forever and ever and ever and–

You cannot look.

Not when there’s a divot forming right between Bucky’s eyebrows. Not when looking would break everything.

“Because…” You swallow around a slow-forming lump in your throat. “Because it feels like… like it might happen. You– You leave again and again, and I hear nothing from you and then you come back and I never know when and I– I want to know where I have seen you because I don’t remember much from Psych 101, but I know you cannot make up a face, so every face you ever see in a dream is one you have seen before, and I need to know, I– Why is a demon wearing a face that makes it so hard for me every time he leaves?”

Here is a thing that happens: you wake up one morning, and you are not alone. Physically yes, but there is something in your chest, a presence lurking in the back of your mind. You write it off as a hangover at first. Tequila is your worst enemy and vodka is the devil. But then it continues. It persists and twists and then there is a voice when you close your eyes.

“Sorry, I know you said this was fine, but…are you okay?”

He scares you half to death and scenarios of quickly spinning out of control flash before your eyes, each theory as to why you’re suddenly hearing a voice in your head worse than the other. 

“No, no, please, I’m– It’s okay, please, sit down, I’ll– I’m just a demon!”

It doesn’t exactly help. You’ll tease him about it relentlessly later. A demon. Speaking in your head. That’s… You had numerous choice adjectives to describe it, but none of them seemed to entirely fit your situation. A demon. A demon. 

“Please, I… We met, in a way, last night. I asked if you were okay with this.”

“I don’t even remember it!” you’d all but shrieked in your head, wondering if ramming your head through a wall would fix whatever aneurysm you surely must be suffering from.

“Oh. Oh… I thought things were fuzzy. I’m usually better than this. Consent and all. I was just… in a hurry.”

Demon meets girl, and it’s not conventional, and you don’t know much, but you’re pretty sure demonic possession doesn’t come with self-autonomy intact. He never says outright that he’s on the run, not at first.

“I just… I like it here. I don’t– You won’t even notice me. I won’t control you, just… can I stay for a while? I don’t… I don’t want to go back to hell.”

Demon meets girl and girl says, stay a while. It’s got to be your worst idea, you think on the third day, because again, demonic possession doesn't typically include the demon being honest about their intentions. But the demon, who after the first week had turned downright chatty and says you can call him Bucky, keeps his promise. No lost time, no strange occurrences, neither horns nor a tail in sight. Just a pleasant voice to keep you company, to make you smile and keep the loneliness you otherwise battled against at bay.

It’s a month when you realize his presence is missing the first time. Where at first his being had sat like an uncomfortable, angular thing in your chest, right up against your soul, the lack of it had felt like a great big emptiness. For a whole day, you sit with your hands clutching at your chest, mourning the loss of him, thinking it would at least have been nice to say goodbye.

He returns a week later, apologetic but evasive about his absence. You don’t ask any questions.

Bucky disappears again, another week that feels lost to the point that you wonder if this is what true possession feels like. He is so taken when you cry at feeling the familiarity of him that his sharp tongue and rapier wit fizzle out and he insists he is fine and you won’t get rid of him until you ask him to leave.

And so, when he disappears and reappears for the third time, you consider it. The words sit on the tip of your tongue, damning and harsh.

I think it’s best if you leave, Bucky.

This isn’t working.

I don’t want you here.

And maybe he sees them, feels the anguish of having to say them, but that night, you first see Bucky in your dreams, and he smiles and holds you and tries to explain. He wants to stay, but he technically isn’t allowed to. If the ones hunting him finds him there is no telling what they might do to you.

“You didn’t do anything, and it’s not fair that anything should happen to you. So whenever I find out they’re near, I’ll leave for a while,” he’d explained, sat you down somewhere with a cup of coffee and something that was more chocolate than anything else. “It’s not fair, and I get it if you want me to leave. I’ll do it, I’ll leave, no fighting.”

“Please, don’t.”

It’s the face, the earnestness, the feeling of having a person attached to a voice. It’s ridiculous. It’s not his face. Bucky the demon does not really look like a six foot god with storm blue eyes and touseled hair that’s just shy of getting too long. He does not really have a half smile that always quirks up just so, and he does not hug like it’s the first and last time you’ll see each other.

But still.

All those harsh words of dismissal melt away, and you ask him, beg him, to stay.

So he does. He stays until he can’t, and he comes back when it’s safe. You never really ask if he’s okay, he never really tells you about who exactly he’s running from.

Until now.

Bucky slumps in his seat, runs his hands over his face, into his hair, jaw clenching.

(when did you sit down?)

(were there chairs and tables outside when you got here?)

“I should never have stayed as long as I have,” he finally says, eyes avoiding gaze. “I keep thinking every time I reach out for you that this will be the time you turn me away. I put you in danger and you never turn me away. I never understand why you keep letting me come back.”

It hits you at an odd angle. Why wouldn't you? Is it a little… unconventional? Sure. But still. Why would you not welcome him back; this entity, this presence that has become as much a part of you as any limb, any abstract concept, any measurable phenomenon? 

"Why do you come back?" You turn the question, dare to watch him as he wets his lips, seemingly picking his way through an uncomfortable truth.

“I think…” he starts, twirling the untouched spoon that came with his pitch black cup of coffee– wait, why would he get a spoon with a simple black coffee? “I think I’m in love with you and… I don’t know what to do. Because you–”

Bucky sees your astonishment, sees the questions, the whirlwind he has kicked up. The spoon lands with a skittering clink as he reaches over the table, cradles your hands between his.

"Listen, sweetheart, I'm… I could never– Shit, I'm gonna sound like every movie schmuck you hate, but I swear. It's not y-"

Your nails press into your palms, and through clenched teeth and a forced smile, you make your voice work.

"Bucky, if you even think about finishing that sentence, I will find some way to kick you where the sun doesn't shine. I don’t care," you press on, fixing him with a glare so withering it feels like the reality of your shared, fragile dreamspace crackles a little. “I couldn’t care less what you are, but I’m worried that one day you’ll be taken from me. Whoever – whatever – is hunting you might catch up and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you like that.”

Bucky’s eyes are blue, so, so blue, but it’s as if all the vivacity in them have faded, bled out and drained him into a pale shadow. You reach for him, for the hand that he always rests on the table, for the cool skin that never quite warms under the blazing sun.

“But if I stay…” The pad of his thumb runs over one of your knuckles, a gesture so tender you feel yourself fall apart from it. “If I stay, you will always be in danger. And one day I will disappear. I’ll leave because I have to again, and I’ll never come back and you’ll always wonder. Or they find me and they drag me back, and fuck knows what might happen to you in the process. I can’t let any of that happen. Not if there is a kinder option.”

“You’d leave. That’s what this is about, right? You’d still leave. What if I don’t want you to? What is kind about that?”

The smile Bucky gives you is brittle, a fine sheet of ice holding back the dam, but it’s there. It’s there when he brings up your hand to his face, gingerly kissing your knuckles.

“I get to go on my own terms. I get to say goodbye. I get to have this moment with you, I get to see you like I’m not… Like I’m this guy. Like I’m Bucky.”

You look at him again, cataloguing his features. The exact shade of blue of his eyes, the hint of slate grey in them. The stubble adorning his face, almost but not quite hiding the cleft in his chin, the exact quirk of his mouth that manages to hold all of his grief and all of his sweetness. He is… It’s another mystery, one he’s been skirting around since you started meeting up in your dreams.

“Why… do you look like that?” you ask, cocking your head. 

A strangely deserted street, but it doesn’t feel unnatural. In the moment between his confession and your question an eternity spans, lives and breathes and inhabits swaths of time compressed into a blink. It is a dream, but as dreams go, this one, whether by Bucky’s grace or the very nature of dreams, gives you the time you can no longer have.

He keeps his gaze forward, but the question amuses him. Your lips purse, and you give him a teasing hip check.

“Or do you really look like that? Are demons this handsome?”

Bucky gives a little huffing sound, a laugh that isn’t quite one as he shakes his head no.

“Ah. So, Psychology 101 holds up. Cannot make up a face. Can you– Can I see what you really look like?”

He pulls a face, mouth pressing into a thin line before he replies, “Shape is… complicated. This is… I found him. In your memories. I thought… I figured he would not… scare you.”

“I–” Eyes like a storm, a winter’s day. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Your brow furrows, your memory shrinking in on itself, refusing its vastness. “I’d remember you. Him. I’ve never seen him before. Where have I seen him before?”

Bucky, infuriatingly mock-coy turns on his heel to walk backwards, folds his hands in front of himself. Standard demonese for I can’t tell you that. You roll your eyes. You hate that look. You love that look. You miss it already.

“A hint then?”

He makes a show of pondering, of swinging back into step next to you, hands clasping behind his back. Infuriating asshole.

“I won’t be able to change your mind, will I?”

A corner turned. A little ways ahead; worn canvas awnings in what was once rich maroon, now sun bleached. Big potted plants by the entrance. Blink. Little tables and rickety chairs that fold. Blink. Nothing.

“You won’t,” Bucky confirms, his gaze lingering on the doors, the plate glass– the windowed– the– 

No. No, no, no. It’s ending. It’s ending, you’re waking up, and Bucky… Bucky stands there, steadfast, fading.

“I’m not leaving because I want to. I need you to remember that. But you… you deserve so much more than what I could ever give you. It’s not even a life, I could never–” He swallows thickly, managing a wobbly smile as he brings you into an embrace. “This is me giving notice, sugar. I have to go now, okay? I have to go, and it’s– It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. You’ll live.”

There is no scent, there is no warmth, but if you could stay wrapped up in him forever, in his presence that has lived right up against your soul for months, you would.

“Will I ever see you again?” you sniffle, already feeling reality’s harsh, unforgiving pull.

It’s as it should be. No direct answer. You look up right as he fades, as everything fades, and there it is. That infernal, infuriating smile. You know I can’t tell you.

Gone.

You feel it the moment you wake up, the fraction of a second inbetween sleep and wakefulness, that liminal space where everything is just a little wrong.

Gone.

The first day is spent in silence. You don’t cry so much as ache for a part of you that feels like it has been ripped from you, the wound raw and throbbing. You can’t feel him.

Gone.

It’s easy to isolate, to blame the phD that won’t write itself, to blame work that takes its toll, to blame sleep for evading you. It’s not all lies, they are all truths in their own right, if overly convenient hiding places. They are excuses for nights out, weekends of revelry, holidays and birthdays, breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Days become weeks. Weeks turn into months. You wake up from empty dreams clutching at your heart, and it always breaks you a little. Hope is a cruel, incurable illness.

You’re a ghost, you think, and ghosts need to haunt something. There is no seeming anchor, and yet somehow you remain. When you venture out, whether for food or social necessity, it doesn’t feel right. It tugs at you, the sense of wrongness, of being in a place that is both right and wrong. Somewhere out there is a place where you existed, where there was you and Bucky.

Brooklyn, Tuesday. A New York spring that can’t quite decide whether to give into sun and pleasantry. There’s a museum down in Manhattan Beach, not quite what you need for your dissertation, but it’s a way to waste a couple of hours, and this corner of Brooklyn is not a bad spot. Further west, Coney Island has awakened from its slumber. It feels… okay. It’s as close to a regular day as you have experienced since–

Well.

There is no rush, nothing to pull you back to your solitude. Aimless walking, out of Manhattan Beach, past Luna Park, on and on, up and down street after street. Left here, right, another right. Left. Turn a corner, find a new little world. Turn a corner and–

Down the street. Maroon awnings, sunbleached. Potted plants by the– by the black panelled door inset with window panes. A girl unfolding rickety chairs by tables, another sign of spring. It's a double déjà vu. You have been here before. Coffee, black as my soul, if you please. You have been here before.

It's there, right on the tip of your tongue. It's there, and you can already taste the rich, bittersweet chocolate. It's there. It's there. It's there.

Inside feels like home, you know it like a dear friend. You fumble trying to find your wallet in the wormhole that is your purse.

"What can I get for you, miss?"

"Slice of chocolate cake. And coffee," you say, tongue peeking out. Stupid freaking– aha! "Bl–"

Blue and slate grey. Stubble that only just manages to hide the cleft in his chin. A friendly smile and an inquisitive gaze.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that?" the man says, fingers hovering over the register's screen. "One choc– Oh. Wait, it's– Sorry, but… did you come in here last year? I swear, I– I'm terrible with names but I never forget a face."

"I…"

There is no recognition, none that you had hoped for. No sass, no crooked smile.

"Halloween! You– you came in here on Halloween, you and… two friends? Three friends? You had a costume with the–"

He waves and flaps his arm about and fuck.

Halloween. Your last night out drunk. Bar hopping through Brooklyn and you had insisted on mercy, a coffee, my fucking sanity for a coffee and a chair to hang my–

"Wings. Purple," you finish, dazed and disbelieving.

“Purple wings!” the guy all but exclaims, mouth drawing into an elated smile. “You said you’d wanted to dress up as a sprite but–”

“But my friend misunderstood the assignment.”

“I meant Sprite, like the drink. That would have been hilarious, this is derivative. Or I’m not drunk enough!”

They took it as a challenge, and when you woke up…

“Sorry, I know you said this was fine, but…are you okay?”

He was there. He found– 

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?” you ask, looking at his shirt for any sign of a name tag and finding none.

“Oh! I– You caught me right before my break, I’d already pulled off my apron.” He rifles under the counter, pulling up a hastily folded up apron, shaking it loose and holding it up, pointing to the name tag pinned on the left side.

“I’m Bucky. And… you?”

Bastard. Those infuriating smiles at your final parting.

“You’ll be okay.”

You worry you lip, letting the seconds tick by. Bucky’s smile falters a little.

“Oh. Right. Sorry, that’s– Unprofessional. Forget I said anything, I’ll go in the backroom now and–”

Smiling feels foreign, but it’s like welcoming back a dear friend, small and timid as it might be. In one decisive move, you push back the cup of coffee.

“Why don’t you make this to go, and I’ll tell you?”

Brooklyn in spring, and maybe the warmth is a little artificial when Bucky’s panic melts into the sweetest smile, the corners quirked just so. Your soul trembles in response, and in your ears, words carried from a dream echo:

You’ll be okay.

[plaid-maniac]

There is a boy at the clinic.

It is late at night and you at volunteering at a clinic for a family friend. It’s one of the only times you really feel like you are helping people.

You have treated wounds from all sources of violence that surround the clinic. Stab wounds, drug misuse, burn treatments, you have seen it all.

The boy’s wound, for all intents and purposes, is simple. Wipe away the blood, disinfect the area, wrap the wound in a bandage. You have done this a million times.

It is not even a particularly shocking story he tells you. A graze from a gunshot he was too slow to avoid. You have heard the story plenty of times, and have seen far worse outcomes than this. This kid would be a completely normal patient.

He is wearing a mask.

A simple thing, really, enough to hide his face. Not enough to hide his smile.

Not enough to hide the way he stutters around his name. Or hide how he stutters around yours. Only enough to hide himself in the dark.

He isn’t in the dark.

He’s sitting on the patient’s bed, underneath the bright examination light, swinging his legs cause they can’t touch the ground and he has nothing better to do, and chatting away like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

His outfit is bright colors. Reds and greens and yellows dancing throughout what can only be described as a circus outfit. All completed with a cape to hide himself with.

Even with all that said, the outfit is dirty. Wet from the rain or maybe the ocean nearby allowing for the sawdust and dirt to stick to it. The shoes that almost certainly were not built to be run around in are caked in gunk and residue from running around filthy streets, nearly hiding the bright green it’s supposed to be.

It looks like months of built-up dirt, only barely kept at bay by the inexperienced scrubbing of a nine-year old. But you know deep down that it is only worn at night. Only at night when the city really wakes up.

You know because you see him in the light.

At breakfast tomorrow morning the boy will come sliding down the railing, preforming a maneuver professionals struggle with at the end, and walk to the table wondering about the plans for the day.

You’ll tell him about your meeting at 11, how it’ll be with businessmen you hardly know the names of trying to sell you something you don’t want or need just to grab a quick buck and their names in the headlines alongside yours.

You’ll remind him his tutor will be there at 1 to help him get caught up with the curriculum at nearby schools. You’ll also remind him to come to you if he needs anything.

He’ll look up at you with a calculating look, the same look he gives all the new gymnastic equipment every time he’s about to start practicing. He will smile. A little too mischievous. Like you just told a funny joke, or he knows something he shouldn’t. He will say of course I will. But I really should go get practicing.

You want to wonder what he is practicing for as he makes his way up the stairs. You’re afraid you already know.

Your routine is muted with images from last night. Of the bird-like acrobat who had to come to a clinic at 1 in the morning. You think about your own bird-like acrobat, who wore long sleeves to breakfast this morning.

You do not want to connect the dots.

You do not like the picture it paints.

But the dots practically overlap each other. They sit, snug up to one another like peas in a pod. And they only get closer when you read the morning newspaper as you get settled in your office.

Late last night, at about 12:45, the police apprehended a small gang down at the Gotham harbor. Another instance where the police respond to a call only to have every crook tied up in complex knots and covered in bruises in strange spots.

The only ones conscious enough to explain what happened all mumble of a haunting laugh echoing around them, and a swirl of colors before they are taken down.

One of the swore up and down he managed to shoot down the thing that attacked them, only to end up hanging upside down from the rafters.

The picture is glaringly bright to you. As bright as the family you once saw performing at the circus. As bright as a spotlight reflecting off blood.

You send a single prayer to Lady Gotham, perhaps the only god who you know listens, and beg

“Please, please protect my boy. And if the time comes, please don’t let him make the wrong choice.”

[doremiz]

( i don't know where this is set in but whatever )

world tours were - complicated. she remembers briefly her producer had asked her if she was sure she was ready. not for the crowds, or the energy, that kind of thing flowed in doyeon naturally. he had asked her if he was ready for the schedules, for the jet lag, for being away form home and all that made her comfortable. 

in that instance she’d argued that being on stage was how she knew how to be comfortable and it’s the only place that could really do it for her. she’d grown used to the jet lag, she’d grown used to early rehearsals and late rehearsals. she’d started to open up to her labelmates in a way she didn’t think she could. she’d started to meet with them around the cities they’d visited, clad in face masks and heavy coats or sunglasses and laughter. she found more people she graviated to other than her dancers or her closer friends and the welcome buzz of the group when they congregated on the stage for the final songs.

she’d found that she loved being on tour. she loved being out, she loved the rush of it all, contrary to what her producer had thought. but then again, sometimes she’s sure kang knows her better than she thought.

because the tour had lasted approximately six months, give or take. the team took rests in a few cities but nothing longer than a day or two and it only encompassed europe and most of asia, it wasn’t as long as it could have been. but even those four months she hadn’t fully prepared for. no, for those months what she wasn’t prepared for, was keeping up with herself and her emotions. she knew she’d miss home, but she wasn’t sure what she’d missed exactly. naturally there was some level of cuisine that home provided that didn’t quite satisfy in foreign countries, of course there was a comfort in speaking her native tongue that she had to struggle without translators. but what doyeon didn’t consider, was while she might miss a few friends and her apartment, she didn’t think her heart would ache, flutter at the thought of going home. previously - she’d didn’t think she’d have anyone to quite miss like that. 

and yet. the first thing she’s doing when she’s waking up from the final flight, or even the last thing she’d done before going to going to sleep the night prior to boarding - she’d texted him. it had been simple, i’ll be home message with a couple stars and quite the excited emoji next to it. that doesn’t change that the recipient just so happens to have a star next to his name, and had been at the top of her contact list since she’d left for the tour. that doesn’t change the fact that the recipient had taken up all her time while she was supposed to be resting, sharing the ins and outs of her discoveries on tour. her laughter trying to be quiet during obvious time difference and video calls to show off scenery.

no, she didn’t know she would be in this position. rushing past her manager to get in the car, insisting that she’ll debrief about the tour later but she has plans. ignoring the looks everyone gives her and the giggles some of her dancers who’d been closer and heard her late night conversations give. she ignores them all, and ignores how foreign it is to her that she’s rushing, that her heart is thumping at every message she gets back.  

kang really does know her better than she thought. because here she is, tucked in a booth, late night and away from anyone who could bother them. here she is, having rushed to see jaesil of all people. having thrown on anything she could as they’d promised - he’d promised to give her authentic food so he could ‘hear he laugh in person again’ as soon as she got back. jae who’d been insufferable in how he kept up with her during the tour, complimenting her stylists after pictures of night’s show, calling her for her walks on the city, and never failing to text good morning and nights despite time difference. jae - who has been such a constant before the tour and after that she didn’t feel lonely.

jae - who became what she considered home. all the time spent before the tour had made her grown much more fond of his presence, and she missed it - she craved it. 

‘told you i’d show you great food once you got back.’

god she’s even missed his voice. it strikes her as odd, how the easy teasing they’d engaged in before the tour, the quick remarks and snappy comebacks, became something so fond and so dear as she was away. how the ‘what are you doing dummy’ turned into ‘did you even eat yet’ and she could hear the undertones. she started to know him well enough that she’s even missed the smug expression that she could only imagine through text - as it settles on his face. he looks good, well, she knows he’s been busy but he still managed to get this set up.

“please - like you just didn’t want an excuse to bother me.”

because now, whether she wants to admit it or not - something has settled in between all the quips and the teasing. something that it might’ve taken a while for doyeon to admit, let settle in her mind - but it takes one look at him to realize it’d already settled. with how he leans against the booth, how his eyes have found ways to scan every part of her since she’s sat here. how he’s commented about how she looks, her laugh, her smile. all of it comes back full force now that he’s before her, and her face definitely shows it. 

“what is it?”

doyeon’s not shy, in the same why she’s not stupid. she knows tension, she knows attraction, she’s passed it, lived it, she sings about it. but when it’s sitting before her, in a way that’s so calm and confident - it throws her off. jae’s eyes finally meet hers and she takes a sip of her beer to cool off. maybe she just drinks it so she can move, loosen up whatever tighten is in her body.

‘i’ll make up all the excuses to see you blush like this.’

doyeon chokes down the rest of the beer. and if her cheeks weren’t red before - she can definitely feel it now. jaesil’s gaze hasn’t changed, and he hasn’t moved save for the same smirk quirking up just a little bit more. the amusement is even more irritating when it’s on a face she can’t hate. 

‘sorry. was i not supposed to notice?’ “finish your drink and stop looking at me like that.” ‘stop looking at me like you don’t want me to stop.’

doyeon groans because she can almost hear the comeback before he makes it. but in jaesil fashion he leans forward, elbows on the table, beer forgotten and eyes choosing to roam anywhere and everywhere. doyeon can only avert her gaze from the back of the beer bottle for so long. she’s not blind. she’s not daft. she knows what it means when men give her that look, just how jaesil is very picky about who he release any emotions to. she just - hadn’t fully comprehend what coming home meant. she hadn’t solidified that coming home meant coming home to a person who felt like home.

“so what now?”

because there’s the stare there’s the tension but there’s always this comfort that settles over. it’s what made her open up in the studio the first time and it’s why she can smile, laugh and let loose now. 

‘studio.’

because no matter what - she never feels worried - stressed around him. because he makes it clear that the moves are in her ball park and the shots are hers. he gives her time, he gives her space and he does it all while being infuriatingly charming. if it weren’t so endearing she’d be upset. doyeon smiles, beer now forgotten and denim jacket over her shoulders.

“studio.”

she’s home now and she’s spending it with the exact person that’s started to make it feel like one. she can’t ask for anything better. and maybe - if it’ll get jaesil to act like this, she’ll go on tour just a little bit more, just to miss him.

[starseedfxofficial]

The Fibonacci Ninja: Leveraging Weekly Timeframe Extensions for Game-Changing Forex Profits Ever thought about using the Fibonacci extension on a weekly timeframe and wondered why it’s not as common as eating avocado toast for breakfast? Well, let me tell you, folks, the Fibonacci extension on the weekly timeframe might just be that long-lost treasure chest full of hidden forex profits — and I'm here to help you find the key. But wait, why aren’t more traders talking about it? Maybe they’re too busy recovering from buying a pair of shoes on sale that they’ll never wear. You know, like hitting that dreaded “sell” button instead of “buy”—all while watching your trade plummet like a bad sitcom plot twist. Now, don’t worry. Grab your favorite drink, lean back, and let’s uncover why the Fibonacci extension on a weekly timeframe is the Cinderella story that’ll help you dance away with the forex profits. In this guide, I’m bringing you real tips, insider secrets, and a bunch of helpful — but not-too-nerdy — analysis that’ll make you wonder why everyone else is still playing hopscotch on the five-minute chart. The Underrated Magic of Weekly Timeframes Let’s start by talking about the importance of perspective. If you’ve ever looked at a five-minute chart and felt like you’re reading hieroglyphics, you’re not alone. One minute you’re up, the next minute you’re down, and by the end of it, you’re convinced it’s all just a game of “Will the Market Humble Me Today?” That’s why weekly timeframes are like those noise-canceling headphones for the trader's soul — they filter out all the unnecessary market clatter. When you zoom out to the weekly chart, you get to see the bigger picture: the market trends that really matter. Imagine trying to navigate the Atlantic Ocean using a backyard pool floaty as a guide. That’s what it’s like when traders rely solely on short timeframes—you’re drowning in the noise. With the weekly chart, it’s like upgrading to a luxury yacht—sailing becomes smoother and your goals, clearer. Fibonacci Extensions: Predictive Superpowers in Action Now, how about those Fibonacci extensions? You know, the magical lines that seem to know exactly where price will go, almost like some mystical wizardry. It’s true — Fibonacci was probably the kind of guy who always guessed the exact number of jellybeans in the jar at every county fair. The Fibonacci extension levels (like 161.8% and 261.8%) provide traders with an insight into potential price points where market reversals could occur. In the weekly timeframe, these key extension levels act like that friend who always knows where the party’s going to be before anyone else — they’re advanced, early signals of where major price action is heading. For instance, placing a Fibonacci extension on the weekly timeframe allows you to set ambitious yet realistic targets based on long-term swings. Imagine you’re plotting the price movement of a major currency pair—Fibonacci extension can help you target extended moves, such as the 161.8% level, with surgical precision. It’s like having Google Maps for forex profits, minus the robotic voice telling you, “Recalculating.” Debunking Common Myths (And Having a Laugh) Myth #1: You Need to Be a Math Genius to Use Fibonacci Extensions Alright, here’s where I tell you a secret. You don’t need to be a wizard with numbers to use Fibonacci extensions effectively. You don’t even need to know how to spell Fibonacci (I’ve seen “Fibo” and “Fibbonacci” out there). All you need is a good grasp of basic retracement tools that most trading platforms have ready for you. Think of Fibonacci levels as an ancient trading cheat code—you’re essentially playing by the market’s natural rhythm. Using it effectively doesn’t require a degree from Hogwarts—just practice and familiarity. Myth #2: Fibonacci Extensions Don’t Work on Higher Timeframes This one is like saying “there’s no point in buying a coat in winter.” Fibonacci extensions on higher timeframes are some of the most reliable tools you can use. Market movers—the big hedge funds and institutional traders—often operate based on these levels on larger timeframes. That’s where the money flows, and it’s why focusing on weekly charts can give you a front-row seat to where the market is headed. Myth #3: It’s All About Precision Listen, trading is not surgery—nobody’s holding a scalpel to you. It’s more like sculpting: you take what the market gives you and adjust your expectations accordingly. Fibonacci extensions offer areas of confluence and targets that give you an edge, not the absolute millimeter-perfect level where the market will turn. How to Use Fibonacci Extensions in the Weekly Timeframe - Identify Major Market Swings: Start with marking the major swings on your weekly chart. You want to look for the most obvious highs and lows—the kind you couldn’t miss even after having pulled an all-nighter binge-watching TV shows. - Draw Fibonacci Extensions: From that swing low to swing high (or vice versa), apply your Fibonacci tool. The tool automatically calculates extension levels based on the Fibonacci ratios. - Set Your Targets Using Extension Levels: The 161.8% level? That’s your new best friend. It’s a common level where the price moves when it’s feeling ambitious. If it’s feeling extra adventurous, you’ve got your 261.8% level—kind of like aiming for extra dessert after a big meal. - Wait for Confluence: Weekly timeframe doesn’t mean you have to sit around waiting forever. Instead, look for confluence—is your Fibonacci extension aligning with a previous support/resistance level, trendline, or moving average? That’s where the magic happens. Case Study: The Euro-Dollar Saga Not too long ago, EUR/USD provided a perfect example of how Fibonacci extensions could predict long-term price moves on a weekly timeframe. Let’s take you through it. In early 2023, the pair saw a major pullback, only to retrace and hit a key Fibonacci level at 161.8%. Many traders who took profits there rode the wave to its highest point—it was like riding a rollercoaster you knew would end right at the cotton candy stall. The traders who ignored these levels were probably left looking like they just lost at a fairground game, watching others with giant plushies. It’s important to note that these levels aren’t magical on their own—pairing them with a solid strategy, such as momentum analysis or sentiment indicators, can turn them from good to great. The One Simple Trick That Can Change Your Trading Mindset Weekly timeframes and Fibonacci extensions are all about giving yourself space—the space to avoid mistakes, the space to plan, and the space to see the bigger picture. So, the one simple trick? Stop being glued to those lower timeframes. Zoom out, breathe, and watch as the market's natural cycles unfold without the adrenaline-fueled frenzy of a 15-minute chart. If you’re always playing the short-term game, you’re bound to get caught in the market noise, second-guessing every move. But by combining Fibonacci extensions with a weekly perspective, you give yourself the chance to move with intention, just like those big institutions that drive the markets. Final Thoughts: Turn Theory Into Profitable Practice At the end of the day, Fibonacci extensions and weekly timeframes aren’t just tools—they’re a way of thinking. It’s like switching from fast food to a home-cooked meal. Sure, instant gratification is nice, but when you’re making big, bold moves in the market, planning pays off in the long run. Ready to put these tactics into action? Check out our community at StarseedFX where you can interact with like-minded traders, get exclusive analysis, and watch how the professionals do it. And hey, while you’re there, grab our free trading plan and journal—trust me, it’s way more useful than that fitness tracker you wear once every six months. Happy trading, and may your Fibonacci extensions always land where the profits are! —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated   Read the full article

[kaz-curlymonster]

Vent/confession?

Something I don’t understand is how bullies claim they don’t remember the horrible things they did to you. It’s frustrating because it’s like… do you actually not remember? Or is this you being a more evolved form of vile scum?

I wasn’t a frequent bully. I was a loner kind of kid. I had friends with the emos and goths but when they weren’t around I was on my own, so maybe part of it is the fact that I didn’t pathologically bully people. I recall 3 instances where I was a disgusting creature to 3 separate girls in different grades. All 3 I’ve made up with thankfully.

One girl (well call her “Dana”) was chubby and a bit homely, and I remember one of the other girls sitting next to me drew her as a turd on a stick. She told the other people at our table, Dana included, that it was a picture of Dana. The kids started to laugh, myself included, but I’ll never forget the look on her face. She didn’t even cry, she just looked defeated. I apologized and we made up. But every time I see her post online all I can think about is how I made her feel.

The next girl (“Jenna”) I was more friendly with than Dana. Not that I wasn’t friends with Dana, but I spent a considerable amount of time with Jenna. I don’t remember what about, but we had a really small tiff over something. Small even as a child but enough that we would sit next to each other and be a little passive aggressive. Before she came into class one day another kid came up and suggested that when she walks in the door we all boo her. This sounds hella cartoonish and it was, but we did it and it was a shitty thing to do. She did cry. And it took a while but over time she forgave me and we started hanging out at school again.

Fast forward and we have what I consider personally one of my worst and lowest moments of my character (with “Penny”). I was friends with Penny but not super close to her. She was doing something that got on my nerves, and I told her that and I don’t remember her response but I remember telling her that she “didn’t have any friends” and “people are just pretending to be your friend because they feel bad for you” which is really how I felt about myself, that was kind of how it was for me at that specific school for the entire duration I was there (4th-8th, one of those elementary-middle). One of my teachers pulled me aside to tell me I made Penny cry and that she wanted to switch schools. I immediately asked where she was so I could apologize. She forgave me and while I’m happy she did I still don’t think I deserve that forgiveness. I have seen her 3 times after that event in the more than a decade since and apologized each time. I cry every time too.

I remember those things every time I look at them and I feel like such a trash person. For the people who treated my few real friends and me that way, I don’t understand how they don’t remember me bawling my eyes out when I confessed to wanting to hurt myself. A girl who told me I wasn’t one of her “cool friends” —said that to my face— put on the most infuriating display of virtue signaling for anti-bullying at any opportunity. One boy punched me in the stomach. Another kid said he wanted to bomb my house. They talked about my body inappropriately within earshot.

How do you do that to a person for years and “not remember?”