#i yearn for dynamics and drama

[hcppyhotel]

i gotta head out soon, so -- imma be lurking on the dash for a bit.

hmu if u wanna plot ?? 🥺🥺

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Ok, now I need to know your favorite Erik and Charles dynamics.

bitter-but-not-too-bitter exes is still really peak to me i fear

[bewitchingbloom]

On a less fun note, I think I'm going to take Elias out of WOTR. Sorry bud, but you know what works better than a witch in my WOTR party lineup? Arue on the backline going "pew pew pew".

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.6.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! (and I can't stress this enough, kids shoo!) Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 7,4K (sorry!)

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: attempt at bondage and then light bondage, light verbal degradation, non-permanent marking (light ownership kink), fingering, handjobs, subspace, domspace, aftercare, switch of dynamics (dom/sub Vik + dom/sub Reader), a very very light angst toward the end, YEARNING.

author’s note: This is my take on sub!Viktor. That's it, that's the note :) And as usual, playlist here, @rennethen my beta, massive thank you and artist is @petitesieste ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Viktor doesn’t know when things settled into a routine, but he is very far from complaining. Even though not everything has fallen into the category of easy, the way his little arrangement with you has begun to take shape manages to keep him afloat—amongst the chaos of the Institute, trouble with investors, and all the side work he has to do with Jayce to prove greedy people wrong.

The last goes as expected—slowly, yet steadily. He and Jayce have managed to gather documentation from work they’ve done more times than it was worth, compiling it into a few neat folders. Having Mel on the back end of the plan has helped too, though not without casualties—Viktor had to not only agree to, but express enthusiasm for, a very pressing invitation to yet another social gathering orchestrated by her hand. With everything unravelling close enough to make him relatively content, he deems it a small price to pay, after all.

Another thing that keeps him afloat is the fact that, over the last couple of weeks, you’ve been coming to his apartment in various states—ranging from absolutely enflamed with anger over drama he doesn’t fully understand (mostly involving actors fighting with directors or patrons backing out), to completely deflated, which usually happens at very late hours when the wise thing to do would be going back to Hackney and getting a proper night’s rest. Viktor has to admit, his chest grows a little wider each time you choose otherwise, just to spend a couple of hours with him. And then, on rare occasions, you arrive positively docile—when your work has gone smoothly and without disturbance.

No matter the state you arrive in, though, the state you leave in is what fills him with something adjacent to pride—light, unburdened, a warm smile plastered across your face. The awkward unease of your mornings has fled, shaping itself into something more natural and bare. You are, of course, still skittish, marking your independence at every possible step, and due to that, Viktor is still very much careful. But whenever the haze of discomfort drops low enough for you to muss his hair and give him a sloppy, impatient kiss before you leave for work again, he allows it—no, he welcomes it.

Little signs of settlement are there, all over his apartment—the most obvious one, your toothbrush. The general bag of essentials, containing your sweatshirt, spare underwear (even though you usually bring a fresh pair anyway), a high-collar jumper in case he gets carried away. In the hallway, your warm socks and a pair of trainers he hasn’t seen you wear once, but they are there. There are also things you refuse to bring, like your own shampoo, but he chooses to think it’s because you prefer to smell of him the next day.

This knowledge, as well as many other little pieces, slowly etch their way into his brain like a map of you he has to build from scraps. Starting with the mundane and obvious—your preferred side of the bed, your insane joint flexibility (though here he’s still not certain whether it isn’t something you should get checked), a very firm resentment toward breakfasts, the fact that all your tights get mysterious runs the second you put them on, and the fact that what makes you blush most aren’t the filthiest remarks he gives you but the ones he himself would deem sweet.

Then, sometimes, he gets a glimpse into more serious areas—mentions of your parents and hometown, your firm position on equal chances you try to give theatre creators across the country, the way your social class impacts everything you do, little quirks of your accent when you let it slip into an unguarded tone—those are the tiniest, yet most precious, crumbs he gets given. And day by day, he puts them all together, gluing them into one, while a profound truth shapes somewhere in the periphery of the lie you both have been living in. The lie being: this is all still very casual.

There are moments when he gets to see through the cracks. All of them involve you being at least partially naked—or rather, exposed in a way that leaves the best hidden part of you bare in front of him. From those moments, Viktor has learned the most. And these are the moments when he is not afraid to ask.

Everything he’s learned, he remembers as diligently as his scientific knowledge. Both of them, he’s worked equally hard for. The things you like: cocksucking and cockwarming, thankfully, at the very top of the list—one of the things Viktor is perhaps most grateful for. Light choking, also very high. This provided him insight into the fact that you have no issues with recognising a playful threat as an invitation and a serious one as a warning. Fast learner—that Viktor appreciates as well. Your heart-melting need for handholding once all your guards are down is his utter undoing, and he takes advantage of it shamelessly. He’s also learned that praise mixed with slight mockery can work wonders for your brat-like behaviour. The list remains open and growing.

Then, the things you are not fond of: distance, which you absolutely hate, and have enough nerve to sulk about. Being made to wait also triggers the brat-point meter into dangerously high numbers. Crying, you still perceive as a weakness—you wipe the tears away as soon as they prickle your eyes, much to Viktor’s disappointment. Being told to make a decision, you treat as an absolute chore and sometimes have the audacity to openly whine about it. That, Viktor is not surprised by in the slightest, but he comes back to it occasionally, just to tease you.

At the very far, very well protected end, are the things you don’t want him to see—but he notices anyway. The way you inspect the marks he leaves on you with a lingering smile, fingers ghosting lovingly when you turn in front of the mirror and twist your spine to get a full view of your ass. This he only gets to observe through bathroom door, left ajar. The way you are equally curious about him but refuse to admit it—picking up the books he’s just put down and opening them on the bookmarked pages. The way you no longer ask what some Czech phrases he mutters to you mean—the ones that slip when he’s blissed out beyond control—because you’ve clearly managed to translate them yourself. The way your shared high wears off at similar intervals, so neither of you drops too hard.

These make his heart flutter with something entirely unfamiliar, yet not unwelcomed. As promised, Viktor takes only as much as you grant him, and it feels like enough, so he tells himself it is.

It would be greedy to think otherwise, he believes. It would be greedy to demand more, when—as soon as you see him in the doorway—you obviously force your steps to be dignified, only to let that fake dignity melt away in the first kiss. And the first one is always his dearest, the one you pour all your longing into. It’s the only moment he knows, without question, that you’ve truly missed him through those three, four, at worst five days you two haven’t seen each other. He already associates the thud of shoes being dropped to the floor with something pleasant.

It does inch toward unbearable when it’s five days, but the kiss he gets then is possibly the best. Unhinged. Absolutely greedy. Your hands become greedy as well, usually grabbing his and guiding them to your favourite places—his favourite places. And Viktor doesn’t need to be told twice to undress you.

All of this is why, right now, on another blissful Saturday, his back and forehead are sweaty and he’s growing increasingly frustrated. The entanglement of ropes becomes less and less organised the more he tries to make them form the pattern you both chose. Your sighs, drawn out and distinctly theatrical, are nothing short of unhelpful. He cannot believe that he—possibly a genius, definitely a man who understands geometrical patterns without breaking a sweat—finds the act of rigging not at all exciting. On the contrary, it reminds him of work in a way he would rather not explore during sex.

“Are you alright in there?” you throw over your shoulder, twisting your neck to glance at him from where you're sat in the middle of the bed, arms loosely bound behind your back. He’s certain you’re doing him a mercy; any minute now, you could likely untangle yourself with ease.

“I… yes, I’m just—” he pauses mid-step, rubbing the back of his neck. “Regrouping.” Then, after a beat: “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m just—” your voice cuts in again, dry and amused. “Bored?”

“Oh, thank God,” Viktor exhales, laugh escaping before he can help it, and slumps onto the bed beside you with dramatic relief. “I’m bored out of my mind,” he whines, flopping backward and stretching his arms above his head. The look on your face makes him cackle outright.

“What? It was your idea!” you say, exasperated.

“Well, it seemed like a good one,” he admits, sheepish, flashing you a small smile. “Forgive me.”

“Outrageous,” you huff, freeing your hands with one skilful tug. Viktor’s brows shoot up with incredulity as you toss the rope aside and climb into his lap with the intention of continuing your complaint uninterrupted. “You made me sit here—far from you, I will add—for nearly an hour, and I am the one who has to admit I’m not feeling it?”

“What can I say,” he shrugs, propping himself up on his elbows, “we get to kill our darlings.” His fingers trail apologetically up your thigh, touch feather-light. “At least we can cross it off the list.”

“You can toss these as well,” you mutter, lifting a discarded rope between your thumb and index finger like it stinks.

“Oh no, no, I think I’ll keep some,” Viktor hums, voice dipping low. He leans in and plucks it gently from your hand, eyes not leaving yours. “They can still be useful,” he murmurs. His hands slide behind your back, guiding your wrists together, and you feel the soft pull of rope again, this time with more purpose. He wraps it a few times and secures it with a knot that feels significantly tighter than before. “See?”

“But I can’t touch you,” you pout, twisting a little.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” he says, deadpan, clearly enjoying himself.

“Viktor.”

“All this time and you still think sulking will get you places?” he muses, almost fond. Then his mouth quirks as he adds, “But what am I expecting? You’re just a silly girl after all, aren’t you?”

“Please,” you whisper, rubbing your nose against his cheek, so fast in your surrender. Viktor’s cock already hardening in his pants below you—fully naked. “Please,” you say again, nipping at his lip.

He groans, the sound quiet but unmistakably desperate, and cups your ass with one hand, guiding your hips against his with the kind of pressure that leaves no room for misinterpretation. His other hand snakes up your spine, fingers dragging over the ropes binding your wrists, until he can bury them in your hair and tip your head just enough to claim your mouth fully.

The kiss starts deep—no teasing, no gentle edge to ease into it. It's hunger, plain and simple, drawn out of him like you’ve been waiting with your mouth open since you walked through the door. His tongue meets yours with intent, not chasing but holding, anchoring, coaxing. He breathes you in fully, starving and restless.

Your hips roll down on his, unprompted, and he’s there to meet them, dragging you forward with a firm squeeze of his hand. His cock nudges between your legs, through fabric, and he swallows the whimper you let out. You grind again—instinct, need—and Viktor shudders under you, the kiss breaking just long enough for him to whisper against your lips, “I missed you.”

His voice is hoarse, low, like gravel rubbed between fingers. Your wrists flex behind your back, useless now, and he takes your gasp as invitation to tilt your head again, kissing you harder, this time slower. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth and sucks gently before letting it go, his mouth hovering just an inch from yours.

“And I’m going to take my time with you,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something molten, made to be obeyed.

You hum against his mouth, a spark of troublemaking sliding under your skin like it’s always been there. “Missed me?” you ask, breath audible as you grind down again, harder. “Or just missed this?”

Your wrists tug instinctively at the rope. His grip on your ass tightens.

Viktor leans back just enough to look at you properly. His hair is a mess, lips wet, eyes steady and burning through you. “You’re getting cocky,” he says, voice still warm, but laced sharper in the edge now. “Is it the rope making you bold? Or the fact I let you speak without asking?”

You smile, crooked and lazy, hips undulating in slow rhythm over him. “I’m just trying to make sure your brilliant mind stays… stimulated.”

His brow twitches up at that, and he huffs a laugh through his nose. “Is that what you think this is?” he asks, slanting his head as if observing a particularly insolent experiment. “You’ve been here,” he says pointing to his lap with a tilt of chin, “five minutes and already you’re trying to get yourself in trouble.”

“Am I succeeding?” you murmur sweetly.

“Absolutely.” Viktor’s smile is all teeth now. He lets go of your ass only to drag his hands slowly up your sides, over your ribs, watching you squirm at the drag of his knuckles. Then he taps your cheek, not hard, but enough to make your eyes snap to his. “You think you’re so clever. You think I won’t leave these ropes on and make you beg properly.”

“I am clever,” you reply, challenging, breath catching when he shifts beneath you again. “You like that about me.”

“I do,” he agrees, lips brushing yours again, cruelly soft. “But I also like when you remember where clever little things like you belong.”

His fingers curl under your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze. “Say it,” he breathes. “Tell me where you belong.”

You hesitate, just long enough for his expression to darken. He leans forward, mouth to your ear now, the heat of his breath enough to make you tremble. “Say it, or I’ll show you.”

You swallow, pulse kicking up against the rope at your back. Frightening, the first thing that comes to your mind, rotten with need. “With you,” you whisper, despite everything you believe. “I belong with you.”

Viktor hums, but doesn’t look satisfied. He leans back again, just enough to run his eyes down your body—his body, his rope, his girl, sitting there with the audacity to provoke him and the gall to think he’d let it slide.

“No,” he says softly, like he’s correcting a student and your heart sinks—both at being incorrect and the fact that now he’s the one denying something you had such a difficulty to admit. “Not with me.” His hand ghosts down your stomach, his fingers resting just above where you’re starting to ache. “To me.”

Your lips part, but he’s already shifting—pushing you gently back onto the mattress. The rope holds your arms behind you, tight enough to bite a little as you land, spine arched to keep balance. He moves slowly, dragging open the drawer of the bedside table, and pulls out a black sharpie.

Breath lodges in your throat, eyes wide. Not fear—something deeper. Heat.

“You think you get to play games with me?” Viktor murmurs, thumbing the cap off with a little pop. “You think you get to run that mouth and stay untouched?” He climbs over you, straddling your thighs, the pen poised in his hand. “You want to be marked, my girl?” His other hand cradles your face now, thumb pressing against your cheek, making you look at him.

“You’ll wear this until it fades,” he says. “And if you smudge it, I’ll do it again. Bigger. Higher. Until the whole city knows what you are.”

His hand slides over your chest, your ribs, your stomach. Slowly, precisely, he starts to write. You can’t see what it says yet—he’s crouched in concentration, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth, focused like you’ve only seen him during catching up with work in your shared downtime.

When he’s done, he leans back slightly, his palm still resting warm on your abdomen. He shifts you just enough so that you can catch a glimpse of the dark lettering across your skin.

MOJE DĚVČE. My girl.

Below it, in smaller, slanted script:

Patříš mi. You belong to me.

“You know what it means, didn’t you?” he asks, eyes back on your face now. “You knew what I was saying every time I whispered it into your skin.”You nod, and he shakes his head.

“Now—say it.”

“Yours,” you rasp. “I’m yours.” And it’s crushingly soul-baring to you, to admit it, but it does feel right in the moment. You decide you will face the consequences of this little indulgence later, later when your brain is back in the boss state of mind, in the put-together state of mind, the I’ve-worked-too-hard-to-distract-now state of mind. Temporary ownership you can handle.

Viktor smiles then, slow and devastating. “Good girl.” He sits behind you, and the solid warmth of his chest hugs your back. You lean in and rest your head on the slope of his shoulder, your hips cradled between his spread legs. His hand comes down to smooth over your stomach, his breath is a hot whisper in your ear. “Now I get to play with what's mine.”

His hand moves lower, pushing your legs apart, and his calves come to hook over yours, locking you in place. A simple adjustment, yet it makes you feel completely restrained—anchored, tethered to him. Safe and cradled against Viktor’s stomach, his inner thighs, his feet. You exhale heavily as his palm flattens over your leg muscle, warm and slow, drawing unhurried patterns onto your skin.

The first brush of his fingers between your legs is maddeningly soft. Barely there. You tense, seeking more, but he holds you in place, a scold hanging on the tip of his tongue, but instead, he only hums behind you. Lips graze the side of your throat, and you feel the faintest curl of his smile as he begins to circle.

Bordering between gentle and cruel, above all it’s purposeful. Covering as much skin as he can, it’s three fingers flattening over your sex, dipping lower to gather your slick.

“You’ll have to speak,” Viktor murmurs, his voice low, threading its way through your spine. “You know that, yes?”

You nod, but his touch stills. His hand is there, pressed flat to where you keen for him, the tension in his thighs pinning yours in place. “Words,” he reminds, a hoarse whisper. “Your hands are no use right now.”

“Yes,” you breathe, the answer caught somewhere between need and obedience.

A pleased sound rumbles from his chest. “Good girl.”

His hand resumes, fingers finding rhythm again—slow, firm strokes that keep you just on the edge. His free hand rises, settling first at your jaw, then slipping up, thumb and forefinger curling around the sides of your throat. Your breath stumbles in anticipation, something that could be mistaken for fear, but it never is. You fear nothing with him.

It’s a loose necklace of his fingers around your neck, long enough to reach past the borders of your sterno muscles. The weight of his hand is enough to have your head tipping backward, resting on the slope of his shoulder with your throat exposed. His mouth hovers near your ear, breath warming your skin. “Say ‘stop’ at any time and I will hear it.”

You suck in a breath, your bound wrists press into his abdomen, reminding you again just how little space you have to move. But your voice, at least, is still yours. “I know,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”

“Mm,” he exhales. “Brat, but obedient when it counts.”

Then his fingers press deeper, precise and unrelenting, drawing wet sounds from you that feel too loud in the quiet. He applies the smallest amount of pressure to your throat—just enough to still your breath, never enough to cut it off. Just enough to make you feel the sharpness of every pulse, every twitch, every sensation pooling low and fast in your belly.

You try to hold back, but he knows your tells—how your hips twitch when you’re close, how your breath hitches just before you try to outlast it. “You don’t get to hold it,” he says, low and firm into your ear. “This one is mine.”

Truly, it’s not only this one. It’s all his, singed and marked and he can’t wait to untangle you and have your arms come and drape around his shoulders, you climbing onto his lap and pushing your face into his neck. It’s the most anticipated moment for him—when you are needy and spent and exposed, and he can see the side of you that nobody gets to see. The part that doesn’t have it all as together as you made the world believe, the part that remains after you shed your burdens. The you that he gets to disassemble and put back together two—three times a week when he’s extremely lucky, pure and beautiful and soft, so you can be hardened and strong and relentless when you both say goodbye in the morning. And so he can be patient and kind without feeling weak.

It builds up so thoughtfully with Viktor’s eyes fixed on your mouth, ready for your surrender. As if he’s prepared to read the potential ‘stop’ from the movement of your lips but it never comes. Instead, your thighs flex against his and your back arches, creating a space between your loins and his stomach. Your feet curl and you push against the bindings on your wrists, the burning sensation bleeds, adding to the pleasure between your legs.

The world feels thin when it spills over into a long wave travelling in all directions across your body and has you gasping against him, thighs trembling under the weight of his. He doesn’t let you shy away. Keeps you spread, keeps his hand moving until your moans melt into whimpers, until you sag fully against his chest, spent and breathless.

His hand leaves your throat last, trailing upward into your hair. “There she is,” he says softly. “My girl.”

His girl—tugged safely under a bell jar, where all sounds are muffled, and all worries bounce off the glass surface. He slips the rope off your wrists and closes your legs, rubbing up and down your thighs. You, as on cue, turn in the cradle of his body, climb onto his lap and hug his ribs with your knees, ankles coming to cross on his lower back. Hands tingle once freed and you use that freedom to wrap yourself around him, press your torso into his and rest your nose in the hollow of his shoulder.

Viktor hums, pleased and gentle, when a flat palm travels up and down your spine and another comes to tug at your hair. He kisses your face—your nose, cheeks, jaw, eyes get spattered with soft pecks, slow and kind. He’s always kind, even when he’s mean. Even when he mocks, when he calls you silly, when he calls you a slut, it’s entirely unbelievable with all the affection seeping from his tone.

His warm hands lift the jar and slowly you come back to yourself. One last ounce of neediness, vulnerable and raw tugs at the corners of your consciousness and the words just slip. “Am I yours now?” you ask, quiet and half-submerged, the question sliding out before you can stop it.

There’s a pause. Just a breath, but it stretches.

Viktor stills in front of you. His hand in your hair, his chest against yours—all of him holds perfectly still, save for the way his heart thuds against your heart. He wants to say yes. It's there on his tongue, immediate, instinctive. Yes, of course. Yes, mine, always.

But he knows what that might mean. He knows how far and fast you'd run once you came back to your usual self.

So instead, his hand moves. Down your side, unhurried and grounding. One of his fingers finds the curve of your stomach where the black ink still marks you, and he smears it with a lazy stroke of his knuckle—pulling the words into blur, as if softening the claim itself.

“Here,” he murmurs. “For now. Temporarily.” His voice is low and measured, even as something trembles faintly beneath it.

You shift in his arms, not pulling away but not moving closer either.

Then, quieter still: “But you still belong to yourself. You know this, yes?”

The words are kind. They’re careful. They’re exactly what he thinks you need to hear. What he’s telling himself you want to hear. But they land soft and sad in your chest, blooming just beside the warmth.

You nod. You’re too good at nodding.

And Viktor makes it even worse by explaining, “It’s easier to lose something once it’s yours.” It’s quiet and shy, like a confession he hadn’t meant to make aloud. The notes he made on his copy of Baal ring in your ears—He who demands all is left with nothing.

Then, he cradles you in silence. He even dozes off at some point, head slanting against the bed’s backrest, lips parted in that barely-audible way he breathes when he's too tired to guard it. His arm stays around your waist the whole time, a loose but constant loop. Only when your body cools down enough for Viktor not being sufficient to warm you up anymore, you shift carefully next to him.

He inhales, blinking back to wakefulness. A soft smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as his thumb rubs your cheek. “All good?” he murmurs, voice still husky with sleep.

“Yes, I’m just cold,” you mutter, reaching for your sweatshirt and pulling it over your head, then stepping into a pair of soft cotton pants.

“It’s Saturday,” he hums, stretching his arms behind his head, and the rest of the meaning hangs suspended in the room. You know what he’s asking. “Stay?”

“I would like to,” you say, then glance at your bag. “I have some screenplay reading to do though, if you don’t mind.”

Viktor shakes his head. “Not at all. I have to go through documentation for Jayce.”

“Perfect,” you say, offering a timid smile, and he nods.

You both drift into the living room, quiet but oddly comfortable. You settle on opposite ends of the couch—Viktor with his legs neatly crossed, pen in one hand. You sprawl across the rest of the cushions, your feet propped against his thigh. He doesn’t complain. He just rests a hand lightly atop your ankle and returns to his pages, redlining and humming when something catches his eye.

You, as always, pop your fingers while you read. You murmur lines under your breath, eyes glazed as you stare past him, watching the imagined scenes play out in your head. Viktor never interrupts. He glances at you sometimes, faintly amused, then goes back to his work.

But it���s not enough to quiet the restlessness in your chest. Once the big emotions wear off, all that’s left is cold, meticulous analysis. Dissecting everything. Every word, every look. And Viktor, in your periphery, is too calm for how raw your nerves still feel.

So you stop pretending to look past him. You gather the courage, then ask. “What is it like?” The question leaves you soft, uncertain. Almost naïve. “To be the one in control?”

Viktor’s head tilts. His pen stills in his hand, and he regards you for a moment. Measuring something. “I have a feeling you might know,” he says, thoughtful. Then, after a beat: “But would you like to… see for yourself?”

His voice is soft, almost shy, but it betrays him—he is excited. Curious. His eyes, wide and shining, drill into you expectantly. Then, a thought strikes him. “Unless, of course, you’d rather try that with someone else.”

“No.” The word leaves you quickly, instinctively. The idea of sharing yourself like this with a third party is almost more frightening than baring yourself to him. He does, of course, see right through you but spares you the indignity and only nods. “No,” you repeat, calmer this time.

Viktor tries to smother his triumphant expression, but he’s almost sure he fails. With a smile that feigns encouragement, he shifts on the couch, bringing his foot to rest against the arch of yours. Looking down, he reaches out to hold your palms in his—warm and heavy. You can feel his pulse beneath your touch.

“You can try with me, then,” he murmurs.

Slowly, you rise, your hands still cradled in his. He follows, standing at arm’s length, the two of you facing each other. Then, he steps closer, his hands glide up to your shoulders before giving them a firm squeeze.

“What should I do?” you ask.

“Anything you want.” His forehead presses to yours as he comes closer, his breath warm against your lips. “I will do anything you want,” he whispers—and oh, he means it there and beyond, and hopes that you know.

The golden rim of his eyes is nearly entirely eaten by the black, wanting pupils. His breath trembles as he mutters, “Touch me.”

He guides your hand to his crotch, where he’s already half-hard. Your mouth falls open, eyes dropping to follow the slope of him beneath his clothes. A promise of submission lingers between you—both terrifying and thrilling.

“Tease me,” he breathes, rolling his hips subtly into your palm. “Praise me.”

He rubs his nose along your cheek, his lips brushing yours with every word. Then, in a whisper that feels like surrender—like devotion—he says, “Use me as you please.”

Finally, he takes your other hand and places it at his throat. “I trust you.”

And you are fucking smitten. Breathless, standing there—his cock in one hand, his throat in the other—offered to you freely. He looks at you with nothing but hope and willingness. Gears grind against each other in your head until they stop. Your brain shuts down. All that’s left is the overwhelming need to give him what he’s asking for.

With a steady hand, you undo his belt and tug his pants down, palming him through his underwear. He rewards you with a groan, so sweetly hoarse that it rings in your ears, making you dizzy. Then his eyes roll back as your touch meets the moist tip.

Higher up, your hand cradles the side of his neck, where every open-mouthed swallow flexes his tendons against your skin. Your thumb props his jaw, ensuring he won’t look away. You hold him so dearly he almost melts. A heart hammers in your ears, and you don’t know if it’s yours or Viktor’s.

“Please, talk to me,” he begs, making your breath hitch. His hips stay fixed in place as you tease him gently through the cotton of his underwear, growing more and more damp under your caress.

You yank your hand beneath the waistband and let him rest in your palm for a beat. He twitches and gasps, and you want to freeze this moment—to have it dipped in resin, pressed into an ammonite, carved onto a cave wall on the side of a mountain, known only to you. Possession seeps into your consciousness, wraps itself around your heart, and you wrap your fingers around his cock in tandem with it.

“My sweet thing,” you say. It feels awkward before it leaves your mouth, yet as soon as it’s out, it falls right where Viktor needs it.

“You look so pretty like this.” And he immediately looks prettier—his jaw slackens further, lids grow heavier, and you admire the row of long, dark lashes fanning slowly as he gets progressively more and more drunk on you with barely a touch. Your fingertips brush his balls, and Viktor steadies himself on your shoulders. His lovely weight grounds you, and the moan he spills into your lips tastes almost like love. You wonder briefly if your moans taste the same to him.

More of this, you think.

The temptation to look down is overwhelming, but to lose even a second of those expressions would be a sin. So you fix your eyes on his face, memorizing the arch of his scrunched brows, the wrinkle between them, his parted lips. Emboldened by his need, you move your hand, fingers encircling his head, and Viktor gives you a sound so filthy it has your insides clenching. He is obediently still, yet from the strain in his neck and the grip he has on your shoulders, you can tell how much he’s holding back from rutting into your hand.

“Don’t move. Can you do that for me?” you ask kindly. Something strangled escapes his throat, but he nods.

“You’re doing so well, Viktor,” you coo, trying to mimic everything he usually gives you. Finally, you tug his briefs down, and his cock springs free, slapping against his thigh crease heavily. Another heavenly sound you have to remember.

“Would you like to help me?” you whisper, presenting him with your palm under his chin, and you don’t even have to specify what it is that you want from him. He spits and looks up at you, waiting for praise. It’s there at the tip of your tongue. It’s there—you can hear yourself saying it—it fights to get out, and you don’t have the strength to keep it in.

“My good boy,” you say softly, thumb brushing his lip, gathering the string of drool still connecting his mouth to your palm. And oh, Viktor moans, his eyes flutter, and you have to resist resting your forehead on his.

Your hand comes down to slide across his cock, and you can feel the jolt of pleasure that travels all the way from his stomach muscles to the tip. He’s so painfully hard, so untouched, the underside vein pulsing under your fingers each time you brush it on your way up to smear the precum, mix it with his spit, and give him a teasing swipe on the sensitive spot under the head.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes when you pick up the pace and stroke him in steady, measured passes, mapping every twitch, every quiver under your fingers.

“Please,” he moans, hot and needy.

“Please what?”

“Please, talk to me more.” A whine, so sweet. So warm in your ears that you blank out and don’t notice when his face comes close and loose lips kiss you clean.

“Please,” he whispers again against your mouth.

How can you say no to him? “Look at you, such a pretty mess,” you mutter, caressing his cheek. His skin is painted pink all the way to where your eyes can reach, and you can only guess it’s the same below. A sheen of sweat covers his forehead, and he looks at you so adoringly it pumps affection into you. Fucking infectious. It swells in your chest, between your legs, spills back from you when you whisper, “So needy.”

“F-fuck,” Viktor stutters when you start to pump him harder. The slide is easier now, the rhythm sinfully smooth. He bites his lip so hard it pales. He’s trembling—shoulders taut, thighs flexing. His cock feels silky in your hand, your thumb fitting perfectly into the little pool at the base where it grows out of his groin.

“Would you like to come, Viktor?” You roll your wrist, coaxing another sharp breath out of him, this one rougher. His lashes fan. His hips jerk into your palm before he catches himself, thighs taut and hard.

“Yes, God, please,” he whimpers, and his head lulls back on his shoulders, exposing his beautiful neck to you. You need no further invitation.

Your mouth leeches to his skin, sucking and biting, making him struggle to breathe evenly. “Will you be good and fuck yourself into my hand?” you ask, licking over the mark you gave him.

“Yes.” A wrecked sound spills from his lips, strained and low, the kind of noise that coils hot inside you. “Yes,” he exhales when you still your hand. “Oh, fuck,” comes next when his hips jolt forward, his cock sliding seamlessly in and out of the circle you made for him from your fingers.

“You are doing so well,” you praise him. And truthfully, he’s so wonderful it almost slips out. The one thing you shouldn’t say—it’s there, ready to escape—when you stop yourself.

“I—I—" you start and swallow it down. He looks back at you, almost daring you to say it. Almost as if he wants you to say it. Almost as if he knows what it’s like to not be allowed. Or it’s just your drunk mind playing with you.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper instead. “Be good and come for me.”

Viktor’s hips stutter, losing rhythm as desperation overtakes him. His fingers come to clench around your wrist, urging you to stay steady while he fucks into your palm, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

“Good boy,” you murmur, tightening your fingers just a fraction. “You’re so good for me.”

A shudder wracks through him, his whole body trembling as he chases it. He comes back to brace on your shoulders, his grip almost clumsy, as though he can’t decide whether he’s holding himself up or holding onto you. The weight of him, the way his forehead presses against yours—hot, damp, pleading—makes you ache between your legs.

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice breaking, and you have to hold back a whine. You feel it again, the crushing wave of devotion, you just don’t know who it’s coming from, him, or you.

Your hand on his cheek slides lower, fingertips ghosting down the damp line of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, breath catching when your fingers flex, wrapping firmly around the slender column of his neck. Not tight—just enough to make him feel it, to remind him of your touch, your presence, your control.

Wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your hand fill your ears, when you hear it again. “Thank you,” he breathes, barely more than a whimper, and then he’s gone—

His body tenses, shuddering violently as he spills his hot cum over your fingers, gasping through it, his hips rocking helplessly into your grip. You stroke him through it, smearing some of the seed on his stomach, coaxing, soothing, feeling every twitch, every pulse, as he unravels against you.

“That’s it,” you whisper, brushing your thumb over his fluttering pulse. “Just like that. So good for me.”

His breath, a calour against your skin, his fingers gripping your shoulders like he needs something not to fall over. And as his body slackens, the aftershocks still trembling through him, he lets out a soft, breathless sigh—

“Thank you.”

And with this last acknowledgment, you enter the space that is familiar and alien all at once. If you were to name the feeling, it’s like knocking on the back of a mirror pane until it gives way to a water-like surface, and you can finally slide your hand through. On the other side, your fingers are dry. You step out to envelop yourself in warmth, and it’s all coming from him—trustful and pliant as he allows you to kiss him sloppily, with his eyes closed, utterly and entirely surrendered. Made yours.

On instinct, you help him step out of his trousers and drape his arm over your shoulder before guiding him to bed. Hands cling to you when you reach for the bedside table for water, and you know he won’t let you go to fetch a towel to clean him up. So you make do with a box of tissues, convinced that he doesn’t give a flying fuck if the cum on his belly will dry out and crust over the trail of hair encircling his cock. You know he doesn’t—because when you are in the space he is in right now, all you can think of is your lover’s body pressed to yours so tight you merge into one.

“Will you drink some water for me?” you ask, threading your fingers through his hair and holding a glass under his chin. He drinks without complaint, passes the glass back to you, and looks at you pleadingly, tired of waiting.

It hits Viktor so heavily, he almost wishes he could take back time and never have offered this to you in the first place. It’s frightening to feel so much at once, his chest wide open for you to peek inside, and he is so afraid you are going to see the way his heart thrashes around in there.

His only hope—even though you can surely see it, the way he can see it every time you break apart and he puts you back together, piece by piece—is that you won’t be able to recognise it. The attachment that lingers beyond this sacred space, the one that will keep him longing for you days after you leave, until your next meeting, when he will be able to pour a bucket of cold water over the fiery embers by painting your ass the nicest shade of red.

“What do you need?” Your voice reaches him on the wet side of the mirror, under the comatose, stagnant waters of compliance. He blinks slowly and shakes his head, reaching back for you. Nothing but you, Viktor imagines himself saying, but he is too wrecked.

Thankfully, you know. You slide next to him, keeping your arms open so that he can wrap around you. Viktor’s hands cling to you needily—one squeezes between you and the mattress, fisting into your sweatshirt, while the other sneaks underneath to rest on your ribs. He noses into your neck and throws a leg over yours, trapping you completely. Your fingers return to thread through his hair, and he sighs, the first long breath he’s taken since he came.

And Viktor feels the water slowly draining. It’s at his neck, where you brush your fingers over the love mark you left. Then it levels with his chest, where you rest your hand to check his heartbeat. It goes lower, beneath his waist, where you pull the covers up to shield the naked lower parts of his body from the cold, until it drains completely when he hooks his cold foot into the crease under your knee.

Silence, for a while. Filled with breathing and sighing, until Viktor shuffles his arm out from beneath your waist, rises slowly, and props his head on one hand.

“How are you?” you ask him, and he nudges your cheek with his nose. Lips come to yours in another thank-you. “What do you need?” you try again, mumbling against his mouth.

“You,” It’s so quiet you almost have to read it from his lips. “I only want you,” he says.

Your face goes blank with shock. Completely drunk on Viktor’s sacrifice, it eludes you to stick with your common sense, and you nod faster than you can think.

“You have me,” slips past your mouth. You cradle his cheeks, run your thumbs through the hollows and Viktor breathes heavily through his nose. He wraps himself back around you, exactly the same as you tend to do, catching you in his love trap.

When he rolls off to his back, blissfully fucked out, you sneak for a shower. You just stand under the hot stream, cleaning the essentials, mindful not to touch your belly. Once out, you tap it gently with a towel, trying to not smear any of the letters he’s left on you. With a certain sadness you notice that some of the writing has already faded.

[keepthedelta]

okay it's kinda specific but is there any brocedes fact that is often overlooked but you think that is essential (or perhaps gives a new approach) to the lore?

that's such a good question. i have several, i hope you don't mind

the first one is the "he'll always be my best friend in my heart" quote. i've seen a lot of people use it as a very earnest declaration etc. (or if they believe in the nico is obsessed with lewis shit as a sign of that) but it was actually nico making a joke when he was doing commentary (on the italian comms i think). he was asked a question about lewis and jokingly/sarcastically said "in my heart he'll always be my best friend", and then immediately clarified that it was a joke (maybe recognising the narrative that would be spun around it). i know this seems kind of anti-brocedes but i do think it is essential to the lore that people recognise nico is not a weird as fandom likes to make out. he's absolutely weird, and he's definitely not normal about lewis, but he's not obsessive, and he feels comfortable enough making jokes about them. when you contrast that with lewis who either refuses to say nico's name in conversations where he is the most relevant person (the better teammates than max interview) or brings him up unnecessarily and then panics about it (grill the grid), i think it changes the dynamic of who is yearning, who is "over it", who is winning the idgaf war (it's neither of them but the difference is lewis lost by playing and nico is open enough about giving a fuck that he's not pretending to play). i am biased, but i also think that if you look back at them during their careers, lewis was always weirder about nico than nico was about him, although again, neither of them can truly be described as normal about each other.

then there's nico beating lewis in the 2004 f3 series that they shared. the narrative of brocedes describes it as lewis always beating nico, lewis being the one to win and nico always being slightly behind. and largely this is true. but in 2004 they were both competing in the 2004 f3 european series, albeit for different teams. neither of them won, but nico narrowly beat lewis. now they were in different teams and nico himself has said that some teams had better cars and equipment than others and that made a difference in the end result. but, nico still beat lewis. he had nearly double the number of dnfs/dns (6 to lewis's 3) and triple the number of wins (3 to lewis's 1), finishing highest of all the entrants who eventually made it to f1 (nico himself, lewis, adrian sutil and robert kubica). but nico himself barely seems to remember this. the narrative of lewis always being better, always beating him, is something he seems to have internalised, even though it isn't quite true, or at least, not as true as people make out.

my third bit of lore is that mclaren wanted to sign nico for the 2008 season. following the drama of fernando alonso (affectionate) and spygate, mclaren had an open seat and ron dennis wanted to fill it with nico. he even offered to buy out nico's contract from williams, but frank williams viewed nico as their best hope and refused. the driver that eventually ended up replacing fernando was heikki kovaleinen, nico's gp2 rival and 100% finnish to his 50% (yes nico's national identity crisis does come into this). lewis ended up winning the championship that year. heikki took only 1 victory, and while i think lewis would have beaten nico, i think nico wouldn't have been a doormat for him like heikki, and would have won at least a couple of races, which would have allowed felipe massa and ferrari to succeed. in many ways i think an argument can be made that nico not getting that mclaren seat really helped lewis to win his first championship, in the same way that if lewis hadn't gone to mercedes, nico would have won three, or if nico had stayed, there is a very real possibility that sebastian vettel would have won 2017. their presence and their success dooms the other, and it always has.

my final thing is that they are the most successful teammate pairing in f1 history. it kind of links back to the last one, where the fact that they are each as good as they are hurts the other one, unlike a lewis and valtteri line up or a michael and rubens line up where there is a distinct number one driver and the other one is to be sacrificed for him. but, even though both of those pairs were together for longer (nico and lewis aren't even in the top 5 longest teammate pairings), it takes more than a number 1 number 2 driver lineup to be the most successful. it takes nico and lewis, who are both number 1 drivers (don't come for me on this, nico would have flattened the likes of valtteri, rubens, or mark webber and you know it). although they were only teammates for four years (and one of those was a sebastian vettel/red bull dominance year) they achieved more pole positions, front row lockouts, wins, podiums, and 1-2 finishes than any other pairing in f1 history. they were utterly, utterly dominant, and that's why they hurt each other so badly. they were the dream team, the absolute best f1 could come up with, but they weren't just competing as a team, they were competing against each other, and only one of them could win

[minispidey]

01. Unclaimed Wedding Vows.

Duke James 'Logan' Howlett x f!reader CHAPTER ONE: THE LADY'S DILEMMA

warnings: besides me being extra descriptive, none. Leclaire is just a random last name for reader's family, and isn't coded as any race. OLD MAN LOGAN! ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I had a dictionary and a dream.

summary: A new season has dawned for you, Lady Leclaire, and this time, the stakes are higher. Your father is encouraging you to seek out a suitor, a contrast to the previous season when you made your debut but remained a mere spectator, and avoided the social whirl around you. This year, none of the debutants have managed to capture the queen's eye... that is, until the arrival of Duke James Howlett, who has unexpectedly entered the market. His entrance has changed the dynamics of the season entirely, bringing in whispers of intrigue and the promise of romance.

word count: 4.1k no beta we dying like logan 2017 (edit 12/7/24: edited some parts that i thought weren't needed. It just really stretches out the story. Anyways as usual, english is not my first language)

series masterlist.

The Queen is no stranger to the drama and heartache that come with reluctant or unfortunate brides and grooms—after all, her children often create quite the spectacle. The quest for the perfect match is a thrilling dilemma shared by every woman, even the Queen herself.

Under the dulcet tones of courtly sounds, a buzz of pressure was felt as the mamas whispered amongst themselves, feeling that they were up against unfair competition. With every new lady, the stakes climbed higher, and the probability of their daughters getting one of those marvelous matches became even smaller.

All the mamas, except for yours, panicked. You stood among the other women after being cooped up for the entire season. This time, you felt trapped, as your father had finally returned home to guide you.

You watched intently as each young lady glided toward the Queen, curtsying with grace and poise, only to be waved away almost instantly. The Queen sat majestically on her throne, appearing bored, her eyes glancing over the newcomers without a flicker of curiosity or admiration. Each presentation seemed to blend into the next, as though she were trapped in a routine, her expression one of deep ennui. It was clear she had encountered countless hopefuls before, and they were nothing more than fleeting shadows in her world.

"And I assume you didn't have the opportunity to introduce yourself to the Queen during the last season?" your father inquired, his gaze fixed intently on the unfolding presentation.

You released a quiet exhale. "I did not."

"Perhaps it is not too late to gain her blessing then."

You shut your eyes tightly, yearning for the comforting embrace of your soft blankets, wrapped securely in the sanctuary of your bedroom. The dim light of the suffocating room pressed in on you, making every breath feel heavy and labored. Even the tiny, cramped space beneath a table offered a sense of solace, an escape from the atmosphere that surrounded you.

"I believe I do not need the Queen's blessing to gain a husband." You opened your eyes and met the gaze of the men across the room, all ogling you and vying for your attention.

"But it certainly would help."

"Father." As you turned your head to meet his gaze, he gently pressed two fingers against your cheek, a firm yet tender gesture that redirected your focus back to the Queen. The movement felt like a subtle command, leaving you with a sense of unease.

Everyone knew Lord Leclaire’s sweet but spoiled daughter. You were the cherished only child of his first love, a woman whose memory lingered like a delicate perfume throughout the halls. As the sole offspring of a father who mourned a lost love, you basked in the benefits that came with being the only child of a wealthy widower. One of the most significant perks was the freedom to indulge in every whim, as your father poured his affection and resources solely into you, ensuring that your every desire was met with lavish gifts and endless attention.

Deep down, you understood that you were worthy of nothing less than the finest luxuries.

You favored silk that cascaded softly against your skin over any mere satin; you would always choose a decadent cake, rich with layers of flavor, instead of a simple slice of bread. Lace trim, with its intricate beauty, was your preference over the ordinary ribbons that could never capture the same elegance.

It is no different for your future husband. While your father and governess might worry that your high standards would scare men away, the reality is quite the contrary. Instead of feeling intimidated, they find themselves irresistibly drawn to you, captivated by the magnetic allure that lies behind your icy gaze. Even with the cool, distant expression on your features, it only seems to heighten their curiosity and determination, making them yearn to uncover the warmth that they sense lies beneath.

You chose to disregard the men around you, even those who struggled to position themselves beside you. Each one of them was aware of your allure, for you were undeniably the most desirable woman in the room.

There no doubt that you knew exactly what you wanted.

The ideal husband embodies a man of immense respect and admiration within his community, someone whose character and achievements inspire others. He possesses a substantial income that not only assures financial stability but also enables a luxurious lifestyle adorned with beautiful estates and properties. Above all, he shall be someone with whom you share a deep emotional connection, a person who ignites your heart and soul, making you genuinely fall in love.

Even in tough times, your heart stayed open to romance, a belief instilled by your parents' words on love's power. They taught you that every love story holds magic, so you refused to settle for less than your ideals. The thought of growing old alone felt better than being with someone who didn’t meet your high standards for love.

Some mamas convince their daughters to settle for what they can have, and luckily (or unluckily), your mother had passed away so she had no say in who you would marry. But if she were alive, she would encourage you to keep searching for the one.

You sat in front of your dressing table as your father delicately placed down each one of the gifts he bought for you on your soft carpeted floor. All the boxes were wrapped with bright paper and ribbons that shone under soft light.

You absent-mindedly played with a chest filled with a variety of trinkets: delicate porcelain figurines of cats, shimmering glass beads, and rusty old coins, each speaking of far-off places.

"That presentation was a disaster, if I may say so, Father," you remarked. "The Queen seemed unsatisfied and I feel very bad for those young ladies involved."

"Don't worry, my dear. All the young ladies will have another opportunity to flatter the Queen tonight when she hosts her ball," your father said softly, a gentle smile spreading across his face.

He put a slice of cake in front of you, the scent of vanilla and frosting wafting up to greet your senses. "I just brought it home this afternoon. It seemed to be quite the hit at the bakery."

"Even so, the Queen is fussy. She knows exactly what she wants and exactly what she deserves." And you accepted a slice of cake from him, bit into it, and he made no allowance for such an unladylike manner.

"She knows her choice cannot be just a simple lady—someone who can proudly yet modestly reveal she is Her Majesty's favorite, embodying every trait a lady possesses or desires."

You stood up from your mirror and stepped out onto the balcony. The breeze tousled your hair while the sun danced across your skin. Your presence startled a cluster of doves on the railings, who flew away in a flurry of white feathers.

"Perhaps I have a chance..."

Your father smiled, thinking that you would seek the favor of the Queen and then secure a place of honor in her court. However, as he smiled at you with that gleam of expectation in his eyes, your thoughts went elsewhere. You couldn't help but think that if the Queen wielded the power to select her favored ones, then surely you too could find a husband who meets your expectations— someone who embodies those qualities you want and actually deserves your heart.

Far from the Leclaire house, a lavish carriage adorned with intricate gold detailing, and luxurious silk stopped in front of the Queen's grand palace. The arrival drew the eyes of the servants peering from the ornate windows, their breaths caught in awe as the distinguished Duke Howlett stepped out. His walk was far from graceful, marked by a heavy, almost cumbersome stride; yet, with every step he took, he demanded the whole world’s attention, as if the very air shifted at his presence.

The Queen sat on her throne, her heart fluttering with anticipation for her friend’s arrival. She clapped her hands twice, signaling the musicians to stop. As silence enveloped the grand hall, she took a deep breath, savoring the stillness before her friend's entrance.

The elderly man slowly stepped into the room, his soft curled silver hair glinting softly in the light as he bowed his head, a gesture of respect. A sharp jolt of pain surged through his back, causing him to stifle a groan that escaped his lips. His frame remained strong, but telltale signs of age were etched on his skin, and shaking his hands revealed fragility in his bones.

"Is that as low as you can go, old man?" the Queen raised an eyebrow.

The Duke exhaled softly, a hint of relief washing over him as he straightened his posture, pulling his shoulders back. "If I could humble myself any further, Your Majesty," he said with a wry smile, "I would find myself six feet under."

"Logan! My dearest friend, why have you come?" A chuckle escaped the Queen. "I suppose you will be joining the gentlemen this season to search for a bride. You are getting, oh so very old."

With a long sigh, he nodded. "And you would be right."

The Queen drops her cup of tea and her eyes are blown wide open. "Are you trying to kill me? I could have you executed for attempting to do so." she laughed loudly.

"I am the last Howlett. If I want to continue my family name, I need a wife to bear my children." Logan coughed into a handkerchief before quickly composing himself. "Any lady will do, as long as she won't disturb me."

"Nonsense!" the Queen exclaimed, clapping her hands loudly and surprising her ladies, who were busy cleaning up the spilled tea and the broken cup. "You are a highly respected man. A Duke! Do you think I would allow you to marry a simple lady? You shall marry my diamond!"

"While Her Majesty is very kind, I would prefer not to spend too much time searching."

"I know I am very kind," the Queen huffed. "For I would be the one spending too much time looking— I was not even planning on looking for one. You are very welcome."

"I am not very selective, Your Majesty. Any lady will suffice." The Duke shook his head.

"Then you should have married a maid," the Queen said, cutting off the Duke's response with a raised hand. "I do not tolerate objections. I am doing you a favor, and it is an insult to refuse a gift. As your most humble and loyal friend, I cannot accept your decision to marry merely any lady."

From a tender age, the Duke was aware of the dynamics that surrounded individuals of high status. Placed in the role of Duke early in life, he quickly became the center of attention, a figure that drew gaze and admiration from all. At lavish gatherings, young ladies would shamelessly fight for his attention, their motives often far from innocent. Such experiences led him to retreat from the social scene altogether, burying himself in the labyrinthine of his duties.

Years passed since then, and while he amassed vast wealth and commanded respect, the relentless march of time had etched deeper lines into his visage, a testament to his toil. In his pursuit of success, the concept of legacy slipped through his fingers like sand. The urgency of fatherhood, the need to secure a successor to inherit the family fortune and the sprawling estates, faded into the background, overshadowed by the relentless demands of his work.

He retraced his steps through the grand palace hallways, made elegant with tapestries and chandeliers that spoke of the royal family's rich history. The scent of polished wood lingered in the air as he entered his carriage.

As the carriage rolled through the bustling streets of London, he gazed out at the vibrant city. He was heading to his estate—a property that had been neglected from his infrequent visits. Despite its silence and overgrown gardens, he had ensured everything was prepared, as this time he sought a bride.

The estate needed to be more than just a residence; it had to convey wealth and status, a place where a future wife could envision a life of comfort and elegance. As he approached the imposing estate between tall trees and trimmed hedges, a shiver ran down his spine.

Change loomed over him like a storm cloud, heavy and foreboding. Everyone knew that the Duke didn't take kindly to anything that came between himself and his well-planned world.

In a dazzling celebration marking the start of the season, the Queen organized a magnificent ball.

The grand ballroom was decked with sparkling chandeliers, and the air carried the sweet melodies of an orchestra that enticed everyone to dance. The Queen initially wanted not to attend her ball at all. Her change of mind came when there was the unexpected arrival of Duke James Howlett - a man of nobility seeking a worthy Duchess. His presence sparked great commotion, forcing the Queen to reverse her decision and plunge deep into the celebration before her. Everyone moved graciously in unity across the polished floor within the grand ballroom while soft, sweet melodies filtered in the air from the orchestra, wrapping around each of the elegantly attired couples and bouncing off the ceiling lined with sparkling chandeliers.

Amidst the vibrant gathering, you stood there elegantly commanding the room's attention. The soft murmur of admiration reverberated in the air as captivated gazes fell upon you like the breaking of the clouds. Your beauty shone with an enchanting glow and drew intrigued whispers from those around you. The debutantes, dressed in their finest, exchanged glances, all in agreement that you were the epitome of allure, the most desirable woman present.

The men ogled, all desiring you— the impossible. You glanced at them with a sharp look in your eye, ready to pounce and overpower those who dared to come too close. Intimidation ran through the veins of the LeClaire family, a legacy passed down through generations as an artful weapon to draw out the right partner. Your father never quite mastered it, but you had it in spades.

A coarse hand jerked you against the warmth of a muscular body. You gasped sharply, your breath catching as crimson wine splattered across your silk dress, the bright stain blooming like a dark flower against the delicate fabric. Turning to face the source of this unexpected collision, you saw the culprit—a flustered figure retreating into the collar of his tailored suit, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Now you are looking at the rough, ancient man that pulled you against his chest. For a moment you were lost in the green depth of his eyes: the color of a rain-soaked forest. But then, with a sharp jolt, you feel yourself pulling away from his grasp, looking back to the deep red stain on your dress.

"This is silk-" you hissed, your voice laced with barely controlled anger that threatened to bubble over at any moment, like a pot that is about to boil over. Every fiber of your body was aflame with fury as you clutched the fabric, feeling the smooth texture slip through your fingers, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within you.

Before you can vent your pent-up anger, a voice cuts in on you, surprising you by its calmness. "On behalf of the gentleman, I profoundly apologize, my lady," the old man says, his face showing a hint of concern. His eyes meet yours for a moment before he adds, "I will summon a servant immediately to assist you."

His voice slowly relieved the fiery tension within your heart. You took a deep breath, feeling centered "I accept your apology," you responded with an elegant curtsy as if to hold off the weight of the moment. "However, I feel I should retire for the night."

You watch as he opens his mouth, in probable protest, and you spin on your heel, cutting him off before a single word escaped his lips. The atmosphere in the room grew stressful, as if it was squeezing the air from your lungs.

Every glance is like a sharp dart, piercing through you, and one can almost hear the stifled giggles that lie just under the surface. The picture remains in your head: this once-towering ice princess, now reduced to become the target of their teasing, a crimson wine stain spreading like an unwanted prophecy across her elegant dress, an emblem of the embarrassment from the evening.

You stepped warily through the garden, surrounded by the sweet scent of flowers when suddenly a firm hand gripped your wrist.

You turned around quickly with that swift pull and lost your airy handkerchief. As you regained your balance, you looked up at the grizzled old man, his face a weathered map of worry. "My lady," he said, his voice gravelly yet warm, "please don't go just because a gentleman has clumsily spilled a drink upon your dress."

"I've never been one to enjoy parties," you said, your voice almost whispering above the din of conversation around you. You looked down at the dark red wine stain that seemed to mar the elegant weave of your dress. Your sigh was heavy as you continued, "I want only to go home. This accident is just the right reason to slip away."

He bows his head once more as an apology.

As you moved out of the grand palace, the old man lifted his head, and you caught a glimpse of your eyes for a moment as you passed. You half-turned, nodding towards your footman, who stood there just beyond the entrance. At your signal, he ran off, the fine weave of his livery rustling a little as he hastened to summon the carriage.

The afternoon light seeps through the curtains, and your eyes linger on the deep red stains your dress still bears from last night. Running your hand absent-mindedly over the silk, you hear the creak of the door as your maids enter the room.

"My lady," one of the called you, her voice full of excitement. "A package has arrived for you."

They cautiously approached your bed, where a huge light blue box was lying there. It was shrouded in beautiful wrappings, the expensive and opulent silk ribbon beautifully cascading over it. This sight made you curious; hence, you drew nearer to it.

"Who is it from?" Your fingers played gently with the smooth ribbon that bordered the box, feeling its softness as you waited for the surprise inside.

"We cannot say for sure, my lady," the maid said, furrowing her brow with worry. "What are we to do with it? Are we to throw it away?"

"No, I assure you, it is alright." you said, fingers twitching slightly as you fumbled to loosen the flimsy ribbon securing the tie. You gave it a gentle tug, unfolding the layers of paper under your fingers like delicate silken petals.

As you opened the box with utmost care, your gaze fell on a letter in it. The letter had a deep red wax for its seal, and this was stamped with an intricately designed crest that instantly took your breath away. This was undoubtedly a Duke's crest. A feeling of awe swept over you as you softly gasped and stood up in shock. HOWLETT.

"I don't believe it."

You ran back, your breath coming up in expectation as you unfolded the thin tissue paper that covered an amazing sight.

Lying before you was a gown unlike any you had ever seen—a vision of beauty and majesty. The silk shone dimly in the light, and its texture spoke of the skill of the finest artisans in the land. Your heart races for the reality of what actually had happened at the ball the other night: a real apology at the hands of a duke— and this beautiful gown. It's too ridiculous to think that he— the duke would hand to you something this private for you.

Was he scouting you as a potential Duchess?

You could hardly suppress an excited squeal as you sent your maids off, hoping for a few minutes to yourself. Holding the dress up against your chest, you stared at your reflection in the mirror, mesmerized by its beauty. Reaching your bed, you snatched the letter.

As you read the Duke's letter that accompanied the dress, newspapers fluttered all over town with their front pages splashed with the face of Duke James Howlett. His face was everywhere—the center of attention since last night's ball when whispers and glances revealed he was after a wife to elevate to duchess status.

Despite his age, the mamas eagerly nudged their debutantes to charm the Duke. After all, they had high hopes for a prestigious match in high society.

Every lady in town eagerly flocked to the modiste, set on getting new exquisite gowns that would dazzle the Duke at the upcoming ball. Silks and satins fluttered in the air as they envisioned the moment he would notice their carefully crafted attire. Meanwhile, the Duke, unaware of the flurry he inspired, focused on matters far different from the shimmering dresses vying for his attention.

Like when he received the dress he gave you.

"What is this?" he said raising his eyebrow, curiosity dancing across his eyes as he observed the box that his servant held in both hands, the elegant packaging soft to the touch, a deep light blue, and silky ribbon tied across it shining under the warm light of the room. It was that gift he had picked up for you, and couldn't help but wonder at what your reaction had been when you opened it.

He slowly raises the lid of the box.

Inside, the dress lies perfectly folded in delicate fabric. Alongside it is a letter, its envelope decorated with an elegant wax seal. As he tears it open, a wave of fragrance envelops him, the sweet, unmistakable scent of fresh roses wafting through the air and stirring memories within him of when he held you close. He opens the letter, revealing your beautiful handwriting, each stroke flowing across the page.

“Dearest Duke Howlett,

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I write to you with a heavy heart regarding the exquisite silk dress you so graciously gifted me.

As you may remember from last night’s event, a man accidentally spilled wine on the dress. Despite my best efforts to remedy the situation, the stain has proven stubborn.

Because of this, I think it’s best to return the dress to you. It deserves to be loved and worn as you intended. I am very sad to part with such a lovely piece, which brought me so much happiness.

Moreover, I find myself at a loss for words, as I cannot comprehend why a man of your esteemed stature would choose to bestow such an exquisite gown upon someone like myself. I am simply a lady, while you are a Duke. If my father were to witness this generous gesture, he might very well assume that you were proposing—a notion that brings a flush to my cheeks.

I deeply appreciate your kindness and generosity, and I hope to have the opportunity to discuss this matter further, perhaps with a dance.

With warmest regards...”

He finally learns your name, and as he reads it repeatedly. He softly whispers it to himself, allowing the syllables to linger in the air. A warm ember ignites in Logan’s chest, a stirring sensation that could be mistaken for something as simple as inflammation. Yet, deep down, he senses it might also be the dawning realization that he may have discovered a potential match—perhaps a true Duchess worthy of his affections.

tag list (open!) btw i cried when yall asked to be tagged ilysm: @dragovegogrimborn @manifester3 @buhitosueco @saltedcoffeescotch @angeiulst @moonpascal @v13nx @cleverfestivalconnoisseur @rexmeshlasblog @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @trickstersteve @tighrenicotine @luv4kook @steviebbboi @eldauvs @cards-and-daggers @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @awsome262338 @lustdotlove @jax-the-oregonian @misscrissfemmefatale @hereforthehitsbaby @lightupsketchersperson @st4rrlighttt @cherrypieyourface @blossoming-hotch @freythecrazyfae @sweetenerobert (shout out to robert for cheering me on while I wrote this with one hand and a dictionary in the other)

[7ndipity]

Why They’re Still Single

Ot7

Summary: why I think the members are still single and when/if I think they’ll actually settle down

Warnings: swearing 

A/N: This is pure crack that was conjured up by me and @bethanysnow ‘s brains at like 3am, so don’t take it too seriously, lol.

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jin: He's a romantic in theory, but in practice he’s really just not that comfortable with all the dynamics of relationships(lowkey gives asexual vibes imo) I could see him eventually marrying his assistant or one of his friends when they’re both in their 40s because they’re who they’re most comfortable with, and that’s what he values most in a relationship, comfort and friendship.

Yoongi: Boy has trust issues out the wazoo. He has a hard time believing anyone would actually want him, rather than what he can do for them. He also has an over tendency to intellectualize his feelings. If he learns how to properly process his emotions and finds someone who encourages him to actually communicate his needs, I could see him getting married pretty quickly.

Hobi: He spent so much of his twenties convincing himself and everyone else that he was way too busy for a relationship, but since he’s come back from military service, he’s fully embraced his fuckboy era. He could have girlfriends in multiple cities, but everyone’s on the same page and knows it’s non committal. I see him settling down eventually, but right now he’s just enjoying living his life.

Namjoon: Man has a textbook case of fear of commitment. He’s always been so drawn to domestic married life, but the reality of letting down his walls and actually letting someone in scares the shit out of him, so the majority of his relationships have fallen apart due to lack of communication and trust. I still see him getting married and having kids eventually, he just needs to find a good therapist first.

Jimin: He’s actually the member that’s secretly married and hosts monthly dinner parties at his house for everyone else and their partners. Fr tho, I think he has a highly idealized vision of what he thinks a relationship should be, and he refuses to settle for anything less, even though his vision might be slightly unrealistic. In the meantime, I think he’s content on his own for the time being, dreaming of the perfect partner.

Taehyung: The thing with Tae is that he is in love with the concept of love, but he also loves a tragic romance. He enjoys the drama and angst of yearning and longing for someone, or the tragic beauty of the relationship that he knows must inevitably end, like a summer fling or right person - wrong time. He’s also lowkey under the impression that no one will fully understand him, but if he can find that person who matches his energy, he will fall fast and hard.

Jungkook: Kook still sees himself as in his fuckboy era, but the truth of the matter is that he is a whole ass house husband, he just doesn’t want to admit it yet. He could be in a fully committed relationship, practically living together, but still refuse to put a technical title on what they have because it’s less scary that way. Despite that, he loves playing the protective boyfriend(ain’t nobody fucking with his baby), and I think that’s what will eventually get him to own up and fully commit to the relationship.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @k4ngelz @universal-travel-er

[bunny-hwa]

Popular, Boy

☆ 01: The first beg

Pairings: Nerd!Hongjoong x Popular!Reader

Genre: +18, slow burn, angst, smut, drama, dark academic, love triangle.

wc: 8.0k

Summary: Your world is shaken when Hongjoong, a desperate nerd yearning for popularity and your attention, swallows his pride dropping to his knees, begging for your help and eager to prove his loyalty, he would do anything you want, but he must pay the price of his ambition.

This is just the beginning. This is just his first beg...

Warnings: Cursing, verbal abuse, bullying, public humiliation, emotional manipulation, power dynamics, suggestive.

Series Masterlist ☆02

“YN, our little pet is coming.” You hear one of your friends say. You smile but your sight never leaves the screen of your phone.

Why is Seonghwa not answering your messages? You're supposed to have a date after school, but he just left you on seen… again.

You are not yet a couple, but you treat each other as one, something that is completely wrong, yet you continue to do it.

You scoff when Mindy does the same thing, but only for different reasons “Finally you're here, what took you so long, pet?” The brown haired drop his head down in embarrassment, but says nothing “I asked you something, are you deaf?” Your friend stands up walking towards him, she slaps the notebooks in his hands making them spread onto the floor “When I ask you something you have to answer, fucking slave. Now pick up that mess.” Mindy says with an evil smile, sitting beside you again. Your other friends laugh and you know something it's coming.

“Yes, yes…. I… I'm sorry.” The boy stutters, and drops to his knees.

You roll your eyes while turning off your phone, Seonghwa is not going to answer even if you give death stares to your phone.

You decide to pay attention to the things happening in front of you, and in the middle of the whole cafeteria, where all the students are watching like is a fucking TV show.

A boy is kneeling in front of Mindy picking up the mess of notebooks and paper sheets. He's picking everything in a hurry, he must be so scared.

You don’t know a lot about him but you know his name and the basics. Kim Hongjoong, he's in your class and is a complete loser. Always with those ugly glasses and baggy old man clothes. He's intelligent, he has the best grades in the whole school. In simple words, he's a nerd.

He is part of the nerdy slaves that you and your friends have, always there for you and your scholar needs. Being the queen bee of college has a lot of advantages, everyone loves you (or hates you) and you can have whatever you like in a snap. Nobody will complain about it.

Being pretty and rich can do a lot of thighs.

Suddenly; you feel a little tap on your shoulder by Mindy at your side. She is holding her drink above the boy's head. You smile, nodding. Your friends and some students started laughing when the strawberry liquid covered his hair and clothes, wetting the floor and some notebooks.

“Oh my god, the little puppy made a mess!” One of your girls says pointing at the boy on his knees.

Hongjoong feels his face hot with embarrassment. He is used to public humiliations, but whenever it happens in front of you, the humiliation feels a thousand times worse.

You hear laughs and other cruel words making you smile in hilariously, but it is when he snaps his head at your side, his eyes full of tears and begging, and for the first time you feel empathy for someone.

“Quit it.” You say still looking at him, and slowly everyone gets silent, till nothing is heard “Let him go and call someone to clean this fucking mess.” Taking your stuff, you're able to see him down his head to cover the little smile in his lips, and you roll your eyes in annoyance. You're not defending him, only his big eyes clouded your evil for a moment and you're going to make it clear for him “You have to buy me new notebooks, pet.”

When you remark the nasty nickname you can see a spark of hurt in his eyes, but you ignore it and you stand up to go to class, your friends following you laughing and throwing dirty looks at him.

Hongjoong; still on his knees, looking at you with shame, he is hurt by your words and he didn't have any idea that those notebooks were yours. He sees you walk away in that little pink skirt and white high heels that he loves to see you in, he doesn't pay attention to the mocks other students make about him. He just picks up the ruined notebooks, stands up and walks to the nearest bathroom.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, hair wet and sticky for the sweet drink, tarnished glasses, and his clothes a complete mess. He feels like everyone calls him.

A loser.

And he hates it, he hates himself. He hates that everyone repudiates him just because of the way he looks. How sick must society be to judge your appearance?

He wishes he could be better, for him and for you. He swears to god that he would do everything to be at your level and make you feel proud to be by his side.

He's been in love with you since the first day of his freshman year of college. He loves everything about you… well, he doesn't love how you treat him sometimes, and the strange relationship you have with Seonghwa, but leaving that aside, he has the biggest crush on you he could ever have on someone.

He loves your long, silky brown hair, he loves your pretty deer eyes that every time you see him, even if it's with repudiation, they make him blush. God, he loves your lips, your beautiful and glossy lips, always looking so kissable. He loves your body which seems sculpted by god himself, your curves make many men desire and even him. And finally, he loves it when you wear mini skirts and high stockings, you just look beautiful and he would give everything to compliment you and maybe do something more suggestive while wearing them.

He just wishes he was with you, but he doesn't know how to change and prove it to you.

Prove that he is worth it, he will try, he will try to change for you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

As he said, he spent the whole weekend buying stylish clothes online, and buying a lot of accessories such as earrings, rings and chains. He also pierced his ears (it hurted like hell) he looked for fashion pages, skincare routines and how to style his hair.

Oh! And he bought you pretty notebooks and also rewrote all your notes and exercises.

He was willing to show off a new style at school tomorrow, the only thing he forgot was changing the big ass glasses… but maybe he can look good after he uses cool clothes, or at least he hopes so.

He arrives at school full of nerves, sweaty hands and feeling like a clown.

He woke up earlier than he usually does to get ready. He is thankful that fashion apps exist to help people without a sense of fashion like him. He made a mess in the bathroom trying to get a good hairstyle while watching a TikTok tutorial and he almost ripped his ear trying to put on earrings for the first time, but at the end he was satisfied with the results, he looked like the popular guys in his school and he felt a little bit of faith.

Maybe you will see him differently now, maybe you will finally see him.

Before going out of his house, his mother were surprise seeing his son wearing new brand clothes, accessories and his hair unusually styled, he really looked good and she complement him a lot saying how handsome her son is, and she even tried to take a picture like it was the fucking prom night, but now standing infront of the school he was feeling terrified.

“Hongjoong?” He snaps his head towards the voice calling him “God, you look like a new person, man!” The tall guy compliments him with a wide smile, he approaches Hongjoong while adjusting his glasses, not believing what he is seeing.

“Thank you, Yunho… But I don't feel different.” He mutters, looking at his new clothes.

He was wearing a simple white shirt, black pants, black leather jacket and boots, and he added some accessories to make the outfit look better.

“You do look different, but you are our same Joong.”

“Is what I’m saying, Yeosang” Yunho says to the boy who calmly approaches them “Just wait till Jongho sees you, he will—”

“You look like an idiot.” Yunho is interrupted by Jongho’s voice “What did you do to yourself?” He asks, eyeing him with a grimace.

Hongjoong looks at his clothes again, Jongho’s comment causing regret of trying to change what he is... A loser.

Yunho hit the youngest head, making him hiss in pain “You look great, Joong. Don't pay attention to this asshole, he is just jealous.”

“Jealous? Sure.” He rolls his eyes “Whatever, lets see how YN’s group will treat you.”

Jongho starts to walk to the main entrance, leaving him with Yunho and Yeosang. Hongjoong glare at his two friends, concerned “Do I look that bad?”

“Of course not.” Yeosang shakes his head.

“No! You look cool, maybe like this you finally get a girlfriend.” Yunho jokes, slapping his arm “Come on, let's get going.”

As Hongjoong walked through the halls of the school, he was able to see how several students looked at him with amazement and confusion. He knew that most of them were making fun of him, but he decided not to pay attention. The opinion that mattered most to him at this moment was yours.

✮ ⋆

During lunch, Hongjoong walks toward you and your friends to give you the notebooks he bought for you after scraping them last week. His clothes are more fashionable than usual. His hair is styled neatly, and he wears a fitted black jacket and jeans, trying to look more confident after the compliments he received from his friends.

You are sitting with your group, chatting, when you notice…. Hongjoong approaching? Is that him or you are confusing him with another person?

“Is that Hongjoong?” You hear Mindy asking aloud.

Hongjoong, looking a bit nervous, adjusts his jacket, trying to look more at ease “YN I… I bought you new notebooks like you said.” He says while he gives you the beautiful notebooks, with curiosity you take them carefully, still observing his radical change of look “Also I rewrote all your notes.” He scratches the back of his head, nervously.

Scanning him up and down, there's a moment of hesitation before you respond, unsure how to react “Well yeah… As you should do.” You glanced at your friends, who are all now looking at Hongjoong in various states of amusement and confusion “Thanks… I guess.”

“What on earth happened to you?” Mindy laughs, raising an eyebrow “What’s with the clothes, pet? Trying to be one of us now?” She smirks, eyes scanning him, clearly not impressed.

You frown slightly, sensing the tone of your friend. You know how cruel she can be when she hates someone, because you are just like that. But Hongjoong has done nothing to you, yet.

“I think he’s just trying something new. It’s... nice that he’s, you know, stepping out of his ugly clothes zone.” You try to defend him subtly.

Mindy shrugs, still smirking, “Babe, no amount of new cheap clothes is gonna change the fact that he’s still a total nerd.” She snickers, flipping her hair “Look at him. Trying so hard to be on our level. It’s sad, really.” You look at her with a little smile, she is not wrong, though.

A group of students walk by, to be more specific, it is the football team. Made up of the rich and handsome boys of the school. The main hosts are Seonghwa, San, Mingi and Wooyoung... And of course, we couldn't miss that they are friends and something else, of you and your group. They snicker as they notice Hongjoong’s new look.

“Do you see this? Hongjoong’s playing dress-up now. What a joke” Wooyoung whispers to Seonghwa, but loud enough for Hongjoong to hear, causing him to put down his head in shame.

Seonghwa laughs, shaking his head “Nice try, man. You’ll always be the same kid no matter how many jackets you buy.” He steps closer to where you are sitting, and bends down to give you a kiss on the lips.

You smile at him and force him to sit next to you. Hongjoong swallows his jealousy when he sees such a scene.

“Yeah, dude, you’re still the same geek. Just a geek in a fancy jacket. No one’s gonna buy it.” San laughs along.

Hongjoong; feeling his face flushes with embarrassment pulls at his jacket sleeves, but he lifts his head up high. His voice shakes a little, but he forces a smile “I’m just... trying to fit in. I thought maybe people would treat me differently, that’s all.” He opens up, but he just hears chuckles.

“Fit in? Honey, you’re never gonna fit in. You’ve always been the weird kid, and this little makeover using cheap stuff isn’t gonna change that.” Mindy says while laughing loudly, clearly enjoying hongjoong’s discomfort “You should’ve stuck to your glasses and ugly clothes, at least then people wouldn’t be laughing at you.”

You were smiling, but feeling uncomfortable. You know that sometimes you can be the biggest bitch and cruel person but this time you're not going to lie, he looks good with that style. You dare say he looks attractive, something you never thought you would say about him.

Hongjoong, who is now looking down, his shoulders slump… you feel sorry for him “I think you look fine, Hongjoong. Honestly. It’s just... losers aren’t going to change overnight.” Your voice is surprisingly gentle, trying to offer him some comfort.

At your words his smile fades, and he sighs softly, clearly discouraged, but he tries to keep his composure “Yeah... I guess you're right. It’s just... hard, you know? I thought... Maybe this time, I could make a difference.” He looks down, visibly defeated and walks away.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, and students begin to disperse. You watch Hongjoong as he walks away, feeling a pang of guilt and sympathy.

“Seriously, though. Who does he think he’s fooling? He’ll never be one of us, and let alone wearing second-hand clothes.” You hear Mindy whispering to the others.

You shake your head, rolling your eyes “Mindy, that’s enough.” You stand up, pushing back your chair.

“Calm down, YN. He is just a nerd, why are you so worried about him?”

“I said, it's enough. So please shut the fuck up.”

Wooyoung laughs “You heard the queen, shut the fuck up Mindy, you’re annoying.” He mocks her, making her angry.

You ignore their bickering and decide to watch Hongjoong walk away, a little conflicted. You don't understand why you suddenly feel this way for him, three days ago you still saw him as just a loser... But now you think he's a pretty cute loser.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

It's been a week, and you were able to see the way Hongjoong worked hard every day, wearing cute clothes and different hairstyles every day. You don't deny it, every day that passes you see him more attractive.

Even some students, or more specifically, some other losers noticed his change too. Girls started to notice his beauty and boys envied him, but nothing more.

In the eyes of others, he is still a nerd wearing nice clothes and even you have come to think that, but you prefer to stay quiet instead of humiliating him like Mindy or Seonghwa friends love to do. As they are doing right now.

“Just stop pretending to be one of us and go back with your nerdy friends.”

“Your low class exists only to serve us.”

“You're just a loser in cheap clothes.”

And the teasing is not going to stop until someone does, but you're not going to be the one to do it.

“Don't you get tired of your little group of clowns saying stupid things?” The laughter was tempered by paying attention to the annoyed girl in front of you, and next to a kneeling Hongjoong. He looked at her amazed, no one had ever defended him. But you look at the girl with a grin, who the fuck thinks she is to talk at you like that? She is wearing loose and ugly clothes, round glasses decorating her delicate face, and it is obvious that she is just another loser. "You should start studying instead of wasting your time doing all this."

You stop Wooyoung when you see him trying to stand up and start arguing with the girl.

“Excuse me, but… Who are you?” You ask with a soft voice like you're talking to a little girl. You have never seen this girl before “And why do you meddle in something that is none of your business?”

Raising your brows in surprise, you look how the girl rolls her eyes and takes Hongjoong’s arm, forcing him to get up from the floor “Knowing my name is none of your business, spoiled girl.”

You scoff, watching her walk with a completely astonished and confused Hongjoong.

That bitch doesn't know who she is dealing with.

“Sannie.”

“Yes?” He answers, coming out of his own astonishment, no one had ever spoken to you like that and much less had anyone defended that nerd.

“Find out who she is. I want her name, age, address and what class she is in.” You order him without taking your eyes off those two heading to the school's backyard “Call me when you have the information.”

“Of course, pretty.”

✮ ⋆

“Wait.” Hongjoong says once they are in the garden, away from everyone. He breaks free from the strange girl's grip.

The girl turns to look at him confused “What happened? Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

He looks at her strangely, who the hell is she? And why did she defend him? She must be a new student, no one will ever dare to talk to you and the others in that way.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because they were being mean with you, nobody deserves to be treated like that.”

“But you don't even know me.” He couldn't believe that someone was worried about him.

“I don't have to know you, I just wanted to help.” She smiles shyly, red creeping to her cheeks when Hongjoong stares at her eyes.

“Well, thanks…” He mutters “I'm Hongjoong.”

“I… I'm Dann, I'm a transfer student.” It's been a week since she arrived at this school. His beauty has chased her since the first moment she saw him in the library, and she cannot deny the little crush she has on him.

Hongjoong lets out a sigh, now he knows why she is so bold. She has no idea how things work in this school.

“Listen.” He begins “I appreciate your concern, but don't do it again–”

“Why? Because they are the cliché rich kids?” She scoffs, crossing her arms.

Hongjoong sighs again “Because they can be more than just cruel, especially the girl you addressed.”

“That rich girl sitting in the middle of all those clowns?” Hongjoong nods “I don't care, she's just another mean rich girl. Nothing new.”

Hongjoong closes his eyes with another tired sigh. If only she knew.

And if only he knew that they were going to get along instantly.

After that day, they spend their breaks together in the library sharing their tastes in books and random topics, and to his surprise they have a lot of things in common.

Since that day, they started being friends, and Dann couldn't be more happy.

“See you tomorrow Dann, we have to discuss the science book.” Hongjoong says while tousling her hair slightly.

Dann smiles with his cheeks burning “Sure, see you tomorrow, Joong.”

He says goodbye with a beautiful smile that makes her sigh like a fool, she sees him leave without erasing her smile... Maybe it's too early to tell him that she likes him?

Yes, it's definitely too early.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“Dann, can you help me please? I'm in a hurry!”

The girl sighs, but she goes where her mother is in the kitchen “What do you need?”

“Take this to Mrs. Clarke's daughter." The woman says as she hands Dann a tray with lemonade and chopped fresh fruit.

“I don't even know her, how do you expect me to find her in this big ass house?” She asks, rolling her eyes.

“She is in the pool, and she is the only young lady in this house.”

“I’m a young lady too.” She teases and her mother chuckles.

“You know what I meant Dann.” Dann laughs, and heads towards the back exit of the large house where the garden and pool are located.

Since her mother started working here, two weeks ago, she was delighted with the Clarke’s family mansion and so was she. It is a spectacular house full of luxuries that is scary to even see for fear of breaking something. Because of how expensive everything looks, she doubts that she and her mother can afford it if it ever happens.

Being already at the entrance of the immense garden she could see in the distance a huge pool with elegant edges and lounge chairs that seemed to be made of pure gold, leaning on one of the chairs is a girl in a beautiful bikini and sunglasses.

“She must be her.” Dann mutters slowly approaching the young girl that seems to be sleeping, or that was she thought “Excuse me, miss Clarke.” She says with a soft voice, it's the first time she has interacted with the daughter of his mother's bosses, she must have given a good impression “I brought you what you asked for.” She says as she is getting closer and closer to where the girl is, that for some reason she is kind of familiar.

Her mouth opens in awe as the girl gets up and removes her sunglasses.... Shit, it's the girl she faced last week at school, dammit.

You can't believe what your eyes are seeing. Leaving your glasses aside, you sit straight watching the girl from days ago approach with a tray.

What a fucking coincidence.

“Hello again.” You say with a mocking tone seeing her stiff the moment she is just steps away from you “You can let the stuff here.” You point at the little table next to you. She doesn't say anything but does what you said. Suddenly your phone rings, and seeing San’s name on the screen makes you take it in a hurry “San?”

“Hi, doll. I have what you asked for.”

“Go ahead.” You smile as you lie back again without taking your eyes off the girl who is waiting for you to give her the order to leave.

“Her name is Seo DannWo, she is nineteen years old, she is in her first year of school and recently moved to Seoul.”

“What about her parents?”

“There is no information about her father, but her mother works for rich people.”

You let out a scoff, and then address the girl "What's your name? Or is it still none of my business?”

She lowers her gaze and murmurs "DannWo."

“Last name?”

“Seo.”

And finally you really laugh, you think all this is quite funny “Thank you Sannie, on Monday I have something very important to say to you, goodbye!” You hang up and sigh, eyeing her up and down. She is not wearing a maid uniform, so you assume that only her mother works here “I don't think your mother can pay the tuition with her salary, do you have a scholarship?”

Of all that Dann imagined you would ask her, she never imagined that you would ask that question.

“No, I… My mom asked your parents to help her give me a better education.”

You nod, your smile getting bigger and bigger “You also live here with the rest of the staff?” She nods with her head down “So my parents gave your mom a job, they paid for your tuition, you live here and you still talk to me that way last week?” You ask with a mocking pout.

She immediately denies it, almost scared. She doesn't want to get his mom in a problem with your family just because of what she did “No, no! I had no idea who you were, I didn't do it on purpose, I just wanted to help Joong.”

You frown at that nickname “Joong? Are you two best friends now or something? You don't even know him and–” Of course, that must be “Oh my god.” You giggle covering your mouth, she cannot be for real right now “You like him, don't you?” You see how her cheeks redden and she plays with her hands in an anxious gesture, you scoff “Don't worry, I don't pretend to tell him.” Your smile fades, for some reason a hint of jealousy surrounds you “You can leave now.”

Without thinking twice, Dann says goodbye with a nod and returns inside the house, almost running. You smile mischievously, you're going to have a lot of fun with her.

You put a strawberry in your mouth and while you chew, you take your phone and go to the kitchen, where you assume she has gone and indeed. When you enter the huge kitchen you see her next to an older woman, she must be her mother.

Dann manages to see you out of the corner of her eye and curses internally, she's still nervous about what just happened out there and she's afraid you'll tell her mom what she did last week.

“Excuse me…” You say in a fake sweet tone that almost makes Dann roll her eyes.

The woman turns around and gives you a smile when she recognizes you “Hello dear, do you need anything?”

“Oh no, I just wanted to confirm something.” You smile when you see the panic in Dann's eyes.

The lady looks at you a little confused but doesn't ask any more “Very well, if you need anything else don't hesitate to tell me.”

“In fact, I need something, can you pick up what I left near the pool? I'm full, but still thank you for your effort cutting all those fruits for me.” The mockery in your tone does not go unnoticed by both women, Dann feels anger immediately but before she can tell you anything impudent her mother speaks.

“Of course, miss YN, in a moment I will.” She says kindly, giving little importance to her discomfort.

You nod with a smile but then you make a slight playful grimace “Why doesn't she do it?” You point out the minor without embarrassment, who frowns in annoyance.

“She is not part of the staff, she is my daughter.”

You open your eyes with fake surprise “Ahh... I didn't know, as she was the one who attended me a few minutes ago. I thought that my parents were doing some kind of charity by giving work to a little girl.” You shrug your shoulders letting out the sweetest giggle you can. “Sorry for the confusion.” Your fake pout makes Dann boil with rage.

She clenches her fists furiously, if she thought you were a spoiled child before, now she has it more than confirmed. Now she understands what Hongjoong told her the day she confronted you.

“Don't worry, miss YN.” The woman smiled uncomfortably.

“Anyway, goodbye.” You cynically say goodbye to both of them and head to your room trying not to laugh loudly.

It will certainly be a lot of fun to have her around.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“Her mother works at your house?! Oh my god!” She is such a loser.” Mindy says aloud and you smile nodding.

Your friends laugh when the mentioned girl walks through the cafeteria holding her tray with breakfast, looking for a place to sit. You frown when you see her make her way to the table where Hongjoong and his friends are sitting.

“Mindy, shouldn't Hongjoong give us our chemistry homework?” You ask Mindy without taking your eyes off those two.

She nods “That's right, love. I don't know why it's taking him so long if it's delivered after lunch.” At her complaint, you point to where he is sitting, she turns to look and smiles mockingly when she notices Dann talking calmly with Hongjoong “It's obvious that that bitch is flirting with him, oh god… What a pity.”

Your lips curl into a smug smile as you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms "Babe, why don’t you go remind Hongjoong of his priorities?”

Mindy immediately grabs her bag and stands, flipping her hair over her shoulder "With pleasure." The rest of the group snickers, their laughter carrying across the cafeteria.

You watch as Mindy strides toward Hongjoong's table, where Dann is animatedly gesturing about something, her face lighting up with every word. Hongjoong chuckles, and your perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrow slightly.

It’s been two fucking weeks since then, and now they are this close?

"She’s bold, I’ll give her that" You mutter under your breath. Then louder, so your friends can hear, "Too bad boldness doesn’t equal brains."

The table erupts into laughter again, gaining the attention of more people in the cafeteria, but your focus remains on the scene playing out before you.

Mindy taps Hongjoong’s shoulder with a perfectly manicured finger "Hongjoong." She says sweetly, but her tone carries an edge, "I was wondering where my and YN’s homework is. You know, the one that’s due after lunch? Maybe you should focus on that instead of… whatever this is." She gestures vaguely toward Dann.

Dann’s expression hardens, but she doesn’t back down "We’re just talking. Is that a problem?"

"Who does she think she is?" You mutter, more to yourself than anyone else.

Mindy raises an eyebrow "Not for me, but maybe it’s a problem for someone who knows how things work around here."

Hongjoong shifts uncomfortably, glancing between the two girls "I’ve got the homework, Mindy. I’ll bring it to you and YN before lunch, okay?"

“Joong, you don't have to keep doing this crap! You—”

Mindy cuts her off, her tone icy "Trust me, nerd, I’m doing him a favor." She leans closer, smirking. Dann opens her mouth to retort, but Mindy’s already pivoting back to Hongjoong, ignoring her "It’s so sweet how she’s trying to stick up for you, though. Like a little puppy following everywhere. Does she know?" She says with mock, leaning in conspiratorially, voice dropping just for him to hear "Does she know you’re only doing this because you think YN’s going to notice you? God, that’s adorable."

Hongjoong’s face burns red. He stammers, "It’s not like that—"

"Oh, it’s exactly like that." Mindy interrupts, her grin widening "But keep dreaming, pet. Maybe someday she will, I don’t know, let you carry her books or something."

The laughter grows louder, and Dann stands abruptly, slamming her tray on the table "Why don’t you shut up, Mindy?" She snaps, her voice shaking with anger.

"Dann, stop." Hongjoong said through gritted teeth, cutting her off. He pushes his chair back and stands, glaring at her "You’re not helping."

"But Hongjoong—"

"I said stop!" He snaps, his voice louder than he intended.

The cafeteria falls quiet for a moment, and Hongjoong looks around, realizing everyone’s staring at him. His face burns hotter, and he storms out of the cafeteria without another word. Dann hesitates for a moment, torn between following him and staying put, but Mindy’s triumphant smirk keeps her rooted in place.

"Wow, pet got mad." You say, and your friend chuckles.

Hongjoong, who storms down an empty hallway, his anger bubbling over. He clenches his fists, his mind racing with humiliation and frustration. He thinks of you and your perfect, untouchable world. For a brief, desperate moment, he feels like everything would be better if he were part of it, if you wanted him, if he belonged with you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

It's finally Friday, not much happened this week besides the constant martyrdom of seeing Dann and Hongjoong together, they looked like ticks, together everywhere.

But taking away your annoyance, you couldn't stop thinking about how good Hongjoong looked that you almost forgot that he was still a nerdy. You couldn't deny that his new look was totally your type, you noticed the way he plays around with different textures in order to highlight some clothes, but he always keeps it cool and trendy.

And you love it, and If he wasn't a nobody, you swear you'd already flirted with him, but life isn't perfect.

You were walking through the school’s garden while waiting for the class you skipped to end, your friends warned you that the teacher already had you under his strict gaze and if you didn't attend his class he would fail you. In any case, there is no one who can resist a good bribe with banknotes.

Letting out a bored sigh, you lean your back on the trunk of a tree while you take out a strawberry-flavored cigarette and light it by taking a puff. It’s spring so the sun is intense and the leaves of the trees are a beautiful green color, without realizing it you are appreciating the landscape.

Hongjoong sees you from afar, appreciating your beauty and overthinking if it is a good idea what he wants to ask you. Taking a deep breath he starts to walk towards you, heart pounding as he walks closer. Your glossy lips curled in mild annoyance when you looked at him.

"Hongjoong.” You say, dragging hard on the cigarette "What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be hiding in class answering everything the teacher asks?"

Without thinking Hongjoong drops to his knees, so fast that the sound of them hitting the soil reverberates through the place. You blink, startled.

"Please." He says, his voice cracking "I’ll do anything. Just make me popular."

You raise an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smirk. You know that he is trying to change the way others see and treat him, you know of his efforts by changing the way he dresses, you know it very well. But you never imagined him begging on his knees to be popular.

"Anything?"

He stares up at you, his eyes wild and desperate "You don’t get it, I can’t do this anymore. Being invisible, being nobody. Please, YN. I’ll do whatever you want."

Tilting your head, you exhale a slow plume of smoke, watching the desperation in his eyes "You’re serious." You say slowly, your tone almost amused.

Hongjoong nods frantically, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes "Yes! Just tell me what to do. If you want me to do your homework forever, I will. If you want me to carry your bags, clean your shoes…. Anything."

"That's your dream, to be popular?" You say with mockery. Hongjoong nods again, his knees pressing harder into the soil.

"Yes! I’ll lie for you, hurt anyone you want, sell my soul for you. I’ll even—" His voice drops to a whisper, barely audible "I’ll kill for you. Just… please."

You study him for a long moment, the cigarette dangling between your fingers, your smirk returns "You’re pathetic, but I guess I could work with that."

Hongjoong’s heart leaps "Really? You will?"

You shrug, throwing away the cigarette "Maybe. But it’s going to cost you, Kim. Show me that you’re not just another sad little nerd with a crush.”

His eyes wide open, how did you know about his crush on you? He has always been so cautious.

“How did you…” His voice drops when he sees you smile.

“Oh, honey. It was obvious, the way you looked at me, the way you talked to me, and the way you tried to change just to fit.” You pat his head and scoff when you see him close his eyes, enjoying your touch. “That's why I’m going to give you a chance, but you have to prove you're worth my time.”

"I will," He says quickly, his voice rising in desperation "I’ll prove it, just tell me what to do."

You lean down, your face inches from his and he holds his breath, you look even more beautiful this close.

"Let’s start simple. Seo DannWo. She’s just another nerd following you around because she thinks you're cool.” A cruel smile curves your mouth “Cut her off, publicly. Humiliate her if you have to. Show me you’re serious about being popular."

Hongjoong hesitates, his breath hitching. For a moment, guilt flickers in his eyes, but it’s quickly snuffed out by the overwhelming need clawing at his chest.

"I will do it." He whispers, his voice hoarse.

You straighten, your smile widening "Good boy, you can sit with us today. See you at lunch."

As you turn and saunters away, leaving Hongjoong still on his knees, his fists clenched, and his heart pounding with equal parts shame and exhilaration. But if he wants to be at your side he would do anything for you.

✮ ⋆

Lunch time. Hongjoong had never felt scared to go there like today, not even when you and your friends humiliated him. Dann was the first and only person that has defended him and been friends with. He feels so bad, he doesn't want to do this… But if he wants to change and be with you, he must.

With heavy steps he walks towards the table you and your friends use everyday without looking where his friends are sitting.

“Joong!” Dann calls him with a smile when she sees him step in the place, and you did too.

You smile when Hongjoong ignores Dann. You settle better in your seat, setting aside your food to put all your attention on what would happen next.

“Joong, I saved you a seat next to me.” She grabs his jacket sleeve making him stop there, his friends looking at him strangely. He has been evading them since the last two hours of class. “We need to talk about the new volume of the book, we are going to read it together, right?”

Hoonjong closes his eyes, mentally preparing himself for what he's going to do. He can feel your intense gaze on him “No, Dann. We are not going to read it together." He says letting go of her grip.

"What? Why not?” She asks, totally confused, they have worked together on projects since they met, more than three weeks ago.

“I have stuff to do with YN." He murmurs, it wasn’t a complete lie.

Dann rolls her eyes “If that rich girl is forcing you to do it just to take advantage of you, tell me and I'll put a damn stop to that brat." Dann says furiously, she can't let the boy she likes go through these situations.

“She didn't force me to do anything, I offered myself." Literally, he begged you on his knees "So find someone else to read the book."

And with that he walked to where you were observing everything. His friends made a sound of surprise when they saw him sitting next to you. What the hell is happening?

“What is he doing sitting with the queen bee?!” Yunho asks in shock, believing that his glasses need magnification because he can't believe what he's seeing.

“Is he crazy?” Yeosang blurts out in surprise.

Jongho simply frowns in confusion at his friend's sudden action... Why are you suddenly smiling at him and chatting with him as if you were friends from years ago?

Meanwhile; Dann is in complete shock and with a thousand questions running around in her head. How did that happen? Why did he act so distant with her? Did she do something that made him upset? And most importantly. What are you up to?

“So… is he going to Wooyoung’s party tomorrow night?” Mindy asks carefully, It was strange to have the nerd they humiliated for three years sitting in their group.

You gave the order to treat him as an equal... your reasons? They don't know them, but they don't intend to question you.

“Of course! It's going to be his welcome to our world.” You say giving Hongjoong a smile, which makes him blush and look away.

While you resume your lunch you feel an intense gaze on you, when you look up to see who is the person who seems to be penetrating you. You meet Dann's glance, you make eye contact and it seems that you are challenging each other. She challenges you with a hard look and you just smile and give her a wink before turning your attention to your social circle.

“Do you have a car, pet– I.. sorry, I mean. Hongjoong.” You friend let an awkward chuckle at your raised eyebrow, shit.

It will be complicated to call him by his name.

“No, I don't.” He mutters, feeling embarrassed. Not a minute has passed and his low status is already remarkable.

“It's okay, I will pick you up. Pass me your address.”

Your friends look at you a little surprised, you never pick anyone up. Not even them.

“I don’t… I don’t have your phone number.”

Without thinking much about it, you take his cell phone from the table and turn it on, frowning when you see that it asks for a password.

"Password." You say but with no intention of returning the phone.

Hongjoong opens his eyes in surprise, and regrets not changing it sooner “It's your birthday date.” He mumbles it so quietly that you can barely hear it.

You giggle and type in your birthday date, and your eyes widen when the phone is unlocked... For a moment you thought he was joking.

You quickly add your contact by registering it with your name and a red heart, and return it to him with an innocent smile.

“Give me your address, later I will give you the details of the party.”

He nods as he blushes at the sight of the heart next to your name. He just got your number. The bell makes known the end of lunchtime. You see your friends take their things and get up but you don't do any of that, you just watch them.

“Are you going to skip this class too?”

Mindy looks at you worried, you already have too many reports for doing so. Hongjoong looks at you waiting for your answer, he also didn't move from his place waiting for you to tell him what to do.

“I need to talk to our new member alone, I'll see you later.” You force them to leave and as usual, none of them question you and they say goodbye with their hand.

Suddenly, Hongjoong feels nervous to be alone with you, he never knows what to expect from you.

“Okay, I've got your next step to being popular.” You say with a mocking smile, you still find his plea to be popular ridiculous. He nods and waits for you to speak again “Ask Dann for forgiveness.” When you say that, Hongjoong looks at you confused, what did you just say? “And you have to force her to go to Wooyoung's party.”

“I think it will be strange for me to apologize after what I told her, and I don't think she would go to that party, even if I asked her to.” You roll your eyes annoyed, you hate it when people put ‘buts’ on your orders.

“It's not a suggestion, it's an order, Hongjoong.” He stiffened at your harsh tone “That little bitch will be more than happy if you talk to her again. You got her in the palm of your hands, and you have to take advantage of that, baby.”

Hongjoong blushes at the pet name “If you ask her for something, she will do it without asking. And do you know why?” You bring your face close to his, noticing his cute features. He swallows nervously. Having you so close was always his dream, but now that he has you in front of him, he feels his cheeks burning. Faced with no response, you decide to continue.

“Because she knows you're cute and smart, and she likes you so much that she'll do anything to get your attention. Sounds familiar?” You smile when you feel his gaze go from your eyes to your lips. “If I was her, I would do the same too.” You whisper, raising your hand to cover his cheek, giving light caresses with your thumb that make him close his eyes in satisfaction.

“After all, underneath all those horrible clothes is an interesting boy and I hope to take advantage of him.” He opens his eyes suddenly, your words meaning more than they should “So? Will you follow my orders or not?”

“Of course I will,” He responds immediately “I promised you that I would do anything for you.”

For you or for being popular?

“Good, see you tomorrow night.”

You pat his cheek and stand up heading for the exit of the cafeteria leaving Hongjoong completely alone, processing everything you've said.

What stands out the most: You said that he is cute and intelligent and that he has potential. That's a lot more than he ever hoped for.

✮ ⋆

When the last class was over, Hongjoong quickly grabbed all his stuff and headed to the only place Dann could be at the time: the library on the third floor.

Without looking or saying goodbye to his friends, he hurried to that place and when he entered through the large doors, he could see Dann sitting on a table near the window surrounded by books and scribbling notes in her notebook.

Hongjoong walks toward her clearing his throat nervously “Hey, Dann.”

Dann looks up, surprised “Hoongjoong?” She thought that after what happened at lunch he wouldn't talk to her anymore.

“Mind if I sit?” Dann nods “Look, I wanted to talk about… you know, what happened today.”

She glances back at her notes “What about it?” She mutters while doing doodles on her notebook.

“I didn’t mean to do that, I know I’ve been acting weird since yesterday, but… I really enjoy being with you.”

“You do?” She raises an eyebrow and Hongjoong nods earnestly.

“Yeah. I mean, you’ve been there for me, and I feel bad for… not being there for you, too.”

“It did kind of suck, you know? We said we'd read the book when it was on sale.”

And he really wanted to read that book with her “I know. I messed up, and I’m sorry. I really want to make it up to you.”

Dann tilts her head, curious “How?”

Swallowing hard, Hongjoong says what you told him earlier “Come to Wooyoung’s party tomorrow night.” Hongjoong can see the confusion on her face

“A party? Joong, that’s not really our thing.”

“I know, but… it’s important to me. I think it could be fun.” He smiles nervously, scratching the back of his head.

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t fit in with those rich people.”

“You wouldn’t have to, you’d just… be there with me.” This feels so wrong and something inside of him says that you have something bad planned for tomorrow.

“With you?” Dann's cheeks flush slightly when Hongjoong nods with a smile “Okay.” She whispers, looking down at her books embarrassed.

He looked at her with shock, he didn't think it would be so easy to convince her. You were right, if he asks she will do anything for him.

“Really? Thank you, Dann!”

She smiles shyly “Thanks for saying sorry, Joong. It means a lot, I’ll see you at the party.”

“See you tomorrow.” Hongjoong nods while standing up.

Dann watches him leave, her heart fluttering even though she knows she shouldn’t get her hopes up. This doesn't mean anything, she keeps repeating to herself.

As Hongjoong walks quickly towards the exit, he feels the vibration of his phone in his pants pocket. He pulls it out quickly, and a little smile forms on his lips when he sees your name in his notifications, but that smile disappears when he reads the content.

YN♡: Have you done what I told you to do? I hope so. I can't wait to see that bitch's face when she finds out that your cute action is just a farce.

However, his cheeks turn red, and his heart pounds as he reads the following message.

YN♡: Anyway, see you tomorrow, babe ♡♡

You certainly have him in the palm of your hand, and you will take advantage of it.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Notes: Remember that this is a slow burn romance, so this is just the beginning. The best part is coming in the next chapter!!

Taglist: @m0onchild-98 @luvvvash @a-tiny-thing @cheolright @innocygnet @silenttrxxs @alliecoady98 @posseup

You can be part of the Taglist: Here

All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.

☆○☆○☆

[babyangelsky]

My Favorite QL Couples* of 2024 💖✨

Welcome to Babyangelsky's 2024 Wrap Up! To commemorate my second year of watching QL dramas, and my first year of actually talking on my blog, I've compiled a series of lists to celebrate all the QL things I loved this year!

My only criteria was that the show had to have either aired entirely in 2024 or had the majority of its run in 2024. No other limits at all (except for tumblr's photo limit). Please feel free to take my categories and make lists of your own and tag me in them if you do! I'd love to see what stuck out to everyone this year 💜

💜 All the lists can be found here! 💜

Without further ado, I'm going to kick things off with my favorite couples of the year!

♡ Tongrak and Mahasamut (Love Sea)

My darlings. My absolute loves. I knew Fort and Peat were going to deliver something special when Love Sea was announced and I am so glad that I was right. My love for them is as boundless as the sea that bonds them.

♡ Almond and Latte (Knock Knock Boys)

These two snuck up on me something serious. I never expected them to be this sweet and soft and bring such comfort to each other. They were my unexpected delight this year and I'm so happy I got to watch them fall in love.

♡ Yu and Ai (I Saw You in My Dream)

These two snuck up on me too, honestly. Never ever thought I would love them as much as I do considering how late I came into this show, but I cherish them very deeply. They're the sweetest childhood friends to lovers and they love each other so much. I don't think I've ever been prouder of a confession than when Yu finally confessed to Ai.

♡ Ken, Seiji, and Japan (Deep Night)

*Not a couple, but a THROUPLE! 2024 was a year of many, many BL blessings, one of the best of which was the fact that we got CANON POLY SIDES COURTESY OF CHEEWIN! We all hoped, we all prayed, we all looked at the workshop photos and thought 'surely we cannot be wrong', and when it came right down to it, we all got exactly what we wanted! I only wish that we'd gotten more of them.

KenSeijiPan you will always be famous.

♡ Ozone and Pie (Battle of the Writers)

Speaking of wanting more, I cannot believe it took this long for Mark Sorntast to get to kiss a boy on screen but damn, was it worth the wait. I want an entire spin-off of daddy Pie and his puppy Ozone because they were truly the best part of this show.

♡ X and Namping (Every You, Every Me)

Thanks to its format, Every You, Every Me gave us lots of great couples and fun dynamics but X and Namping were my favorites, even though their story ended tragically. The love was brief but it was beautiful and real.

♡ Meiji and Freya (Deep Night)

As if giving us canon poly wasn't enough, Cheewin also decided to bless us with milf yuri and then stacked one more blessing on top and gave them their own spin-off miniseries so we could have more time watching them fall in love. They're beautiful and I love them. This is how it feels to win.

♡ Yuan and Qian (Unknown)

I can't think of anything to say about these two that doesn't involve making dying animal noises and gesturing helplessly and maybe crying so just imagine me doing that to convey how I feel about this couple BECAUSE THAT'S ALL I GOT FAM THAT'S ALL I'M CAPABLE OF I'M SURE SOME OF YA'LL UNDERSTAND

♡ Tai x Kram (Two Worlds)

These are by far my favorite roles Max and Nat have played to date. The utter soulmates of it all. The every version of me will love every version of you in every universe of it all. Perfection. I only wish the show had been longer so their love really got a chance to breathe.

♡ Anin and Pin (The Loyal Pin)

Now, if a love ever got a chance to breathe, it was this love. They made you feel it. The yearning, the joy, the sweetness, all of it. We followed it all the way from childhood and it was such a satisfying experience. I will always have a soft spot for couples that are deranged about each other, however loudly or quietly they may go about it, and my girls are no exception.

♡ Phee and Non (Dead Friend Forever)

*scream singing* WE COULD'VE HAD IT ALLLLLLLL, ROLLING IN THE DEEEEEEEEP *cries on the floor*

♡ Tan and Fang (We Are)

AouBoom are never not a delight when they're on screen together, and TanFang were a delight in a veritable sea of delights. They got together early on and spent the rest of the show giving nothing but the best most delicious established couple goodness.

♡ Muenfah and Teerak (Your Sky)

At the time of writing we've only had these two for a few weeks but that's more than enough time for their adorable sweetness to land them on this list. They're darling. The relationship may be fake (for now) but the love is real.

♡ Sun and Junior (Caged Again)

The same goes for these two, and isn't that just the surprise of the year? HOW DID THE PANTHER AND PENGUIN TURN INTO PEOPLE SHOW END UP GIVING US SUCH AN ADORABLE COUPLE?

♡ Shao Peng and Zi Xiang (See Your Love)

They're just so soft and so gentle and they make each other feel heard and understood and I love them so much. Their boyfriend era may actually kill me.

♡ Jack and Joke (Jack & Joker)

*gently shakes Yin and War* Would giving us just a little more horny, loving boyfriend era and fewer horrors have been so hard? Do ya'll think you can get away with it because you're so pretty and so beloved?

Because they are. And they can actually. And they did. I adore them.

♡ Yak and Dee (Wandee Goodday)

One of my favorite things in this life is when a fake relationship slowly turns into a real relationship and two people who think they can be casual about each other are actually completely incapable of being so. Yak and Dee gave me exactly that and I love them for it.

♡ Oyei and Cher (Wandee Goodday)

Another side couple for which I would absolutely love a spin-off, but we did get to see them have their wedding (the first GMMTV wedding since the marriage equality bill was passed!) which is just as good. The love they have for each other, the support they give each other is top tier. They have my heart.

♡ God and Diew (Monster Next Door)

If I were to give an award for amazing communication between a couple, I would absolutely be giving it to these two. It was so refreshing to see them not only love and support each other, but talk and listen to each other. They were a delight.

♡ Myung Ha and Yeo Woon (Love for Love's Sake)

They were so sweet and so sad and they saved each other by loving each other so much that it broke reality and I just love them with my entire soul.

♡ San and Vee (Century of Love)

When this was airing I talked a lot about how it didn't actually matter whether Vee was Wad or not and that what mattered was San making a choice but for the record? Vee was totally Wad. He and San were SOULMATES!

♡ Neil and Sea (First Note of Love)

What if a couple was so gentle and soft that it made you wanna cry? What if they saved each other with music? What if they made each other brave?

♡ Moo and Kang (Only Boo!)

My darling boys. My sweetest most adorable boys who make me wanna curl into a ball and cry happy tears because I adore them so much. Moo's singular desire in this life part from becoming an idol is to save up enough money to marry Kang and NOW HE CAN AND I'M IN MY FEELINGS ABOUT IT EVEN MONTHS LATER.

♡ Karan and Achi (Cherry Magic Th)

They're perfect. In every conceivable way. Their love was just so lovely, it was such a joy. Everything about it and about them was so lovely to watch.

♡ Haruki x Jin (Our Youth)

These two have so much potential to hurt me. In fact, I'm almost certain that they will. But they just --*gestures helplessly*--you know? They hit exactly right for me.

[cancerian-woman]

Netflix template by @bitchronan here and this one here! I wanted to practice for once on bits of an AU I had.

AN: Bonnie deserved more familiar dynamics, especially in season 2 with the Martins around the elder vampires around etc. minor plot changes :)

Incase the alt-text was hard to read

Transcripts here:

Description: Feeling lonely after Grams' death, Bonnie yearns for the connection of an other Bennett witch. So she summons two of her ancestors.

Starring: Bonnie Bennett, Emily Bennett Beatrice Bennett.

Genres: Drama, Supernatural, Romance

This Program Is: Magical, Heart-Warming and Inspirational

Episode One: Resurrection: Emily and Beatrice come back to life to help prepare Bonnie on defeating Klaus.

Episode Two: Family Ties: Beatrice decides to attend Mystic Falls High along with Bonnie to blend in as a normal student. Emily plots her revenge. [Emily: Do not worry about me, little one. I have my own grievances to settle with Damon Salvatore and Katherine Pierce.]

Episode Three: The Bargain: Katherine strikes up a deal with the Martin witches in exchange for her safety from Klaus and Emily. [Beatrice: Em, I don't trust the Martin Witches. Something is coming. It has to do with Bonnie. I can feel it.]

Episode Four: Witch Business: Bonnie is more determined and stronger than ever to defeat Klaus, finds herself in a tough position. [Bonnie: After Grams' died, I felt so alone and unseen until I had you two. Thank you, Em and Bea for being my family. Looking out for me.]

Episode Five: Concealed Devotion: With Greta out of the way, and his hybrid curse being broken soon. Klaus needed a new witch. Bonnie desired her friends and family's lives safe. Together, an unlikely romance blooms. Which the young witch feels guilty for as her family searches for them.

This was a fun test run💜.

[bbrainr0t]

For when you flower III

Masterlist

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x Greek!woman/reader x Emperor Geta

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, hints of PTSD/bad mental health, imbalance in the relationship (sexism, oppression, etc.), toxic, violence, mentions of blood, death, and slavery

Tags: Enemies to lovers (?), slow burn (?), triangle drama/love (but no incest!!), unhealthy/toxic dynamics, slave x masters, no use of y/n, 1st person narrative

Summary: The senate calls and Caracalla drags his new pet along. It all seem so harmless, but not in the eyes of his brother.

Word count: 3k

A/N: Seriously thank you guys for all the support. I love answering asks and comments and hearing you guys' opinions. So really, thank you. I am afraid that I cannot stress it enough. Thank. You.

Dictionary for this chapter:

Pithekos = Ancient greek for "monkey" (Pithekon is the accusative form) Operae = Latin - plural form of "opera" which can translate to "business" Kaos = It is what the greek believed happens when the world is out of order (if you were to - for example - act like a god, breaking the 'holy laws' and therefor committing 'hybris') Paidion = Ancient greek for "little child." (but sadly enough also ancient greek for "young slave") Hellas = The ancient greek name for Greece

He says those words with such delight. It’s like a drug to him, intoxicating him time and time again. Rocking from one foot to the other he chirps and sings: “meus flos, meus flos, meus flos!”

It’s been like this ever since he woke up from his slumber. His mood had changed from erratic to ecstatic. But still, he is but a child dressed in the skin of a man. There is both so much and so little to him. It sort of pains me to watch him like this. An unfamiliar woe in my seas of troubles. I try to drown it.

He arranged so I would have some bedding on the floor, not far from his bed. Some thrown straws packed neatly into a rectangle, covered by a sheet and some fur.

When we entered his chambers at night, there wasn’t much to see. The sun had gone down and the moon was out of sight. I was left to wonder and fear in the shadows; no sleep came to me. I was afraid of what he might do to me, if I did fall asleep. Yet his touch didn’t feel like filth when he caressed me with such ease. I try to forget.

This is not the emperor, I am watching, that I am sure of. The only thing hinting of such horrifying picture is the room here, shinning in the sunlight. There’s a twinkle of torment.

The bed big enough to fit three people with silk on silk. Marble on the floor, on the ceiling, the walls and the magnificent pillars - taller than any man can reach. There’s a table with papers not only on top but all around like they’ve been disowned and thrown with a violent temper. There are curtains of brown, gold, and white – vases decorating between every supposed opening, guarding the windows like soldiers.

And then there’s him.

Not the child-emperor but a statue of a man, greater of him. The instance I let my eyes ponder in the light, he stood out like a sore thumb.

It’s a man with a big and bushy beard and beautiful, almost black locks falling on top of his marble toga, colored in a golden brown. He holds a staff with two teeth, a bident, proudly but also somewhat stiffened. His muscular arms tense and alert.

At night, the burdened spoke of his name, but not of one of those I know of. He whispered it so quietly: “Serapis.” Not a roman name, but still, he must’ve been either foolish or brave when saying this God’s name.

The God of the underworld.

No mortal man who seeks life should speak of his name. But what respect does the burdened have? I wonder, and I know I probably should not. But the Gods know that I can’t help it.

I am still seated on the bedding and feeling a bit of disarray. A part of me longs for the mystery liquid. I yearn for silence within. I grow sadder of watching the burdened dance before me. I wonder, how long will it take before I become like him?

He grabs at his hair and at his clothes. His feet deciding to take a break as he pats over to a mirror. It looks as if he has a sudden realization that he must tend his body – but only to the extent that he has servants to help. Privileged.

He calls upon aid which shocks my core. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice me. He is too distressed with himself. I’ve never seen a man so lost before.

Women and men come running and I get to watch as he gets pulled apart and put back together. It makes me sick to my stomach.

I grab at my knees and close my eyes. To myself, I mumble a prayer to the Gods above. I will not let go of the hope that they someday will hear me.  It’s oh so fragile, but I know that all it takes is a prayer for a miracle.

In my mother tongue I pray to pull these riches off him. That the gods shall rob him of what he himself has robbed. I pray that the injustice gets undone, and that Apollo guides me to resolve this myself. I will no longer be of bad health, I pray. I will not become mad like him.

“Apollo, you, the god of healing diseases, if there is no guidance to be given then ready your bow to pierce my heart. Show me the true nature.” I hold onto fear as I mumble. I must not feel betrayed just yet.

Lies, trailing down my cheek as tears.

A wind rushes the curtains and the door to the room opens abruptly, followed by hurried steps. The sight I meet when I once more open my eyes is no miracle. It’s the other one.

“Caracalla, you’re missing the meeting with the senate. It’s disrespectful of you to be absent.”

This one bears a crown and is less fattened in his cheeks. His face is less glassy and more rigid with a deep line between his brows. They have the same hair, but two so distinctive faces. His eyes are tinted black and brown with all seriousness. He bears garments of royal colors. The color of the sea and the color of the sun.

He bears a crown like Apollon.  

“Brother!” Caracalla cheers and smiles widely, revealing a golden tooth that I hadn’t noticed yesterday. He opens his arms, supposedly greeting his brother by showing off. He is wearing the proper clothes but no crown. The color of blood.

Something clicks inside of the other, because he barely opens his mouth before he forces it close and clenches his fist tightly, knuckles white. He forces his eyes closed before sighing heavily. This is no brother, but a caretaker, stressed as revealed by the many wrinkles on his face. No white paint can cover the burden, he must bear. The burden of the dead and the burden, taking form of his brother. Or so he is signaling.

I remain quiet to try and stay invisible.

“Let’s go.” The other, who’s name I’ve forgotten, sighs.

I don’t need to know his name, I know what he has done.

“Can I bring my new pet? I call her flos.” Caracalla refers to me. The other now knows of me. But my name is taken and replaced.

“I do not care what animal you drag along with you.”

“She is NOT an animal!” The burdened snaps, his mask dropped completely. He has stepped closer to his brother, pointing at his chest.

“I DO NOT CARE!” The other yells back, spitting in Caracalla’s face. The veins in his neck almost popping. His fists now whiter than the makeup on his face. He bares his teeth like a lion while drawing a quick breath. “Get yourself inside the hall. NOW.” He pokes Caracalla’s chest before storming out.

The burdened is left to stand there shocked. A tear in his eye that he is quick cover as he removes the spit from his face. “I hate him.” He claims.

Caracalla spots me once again and he sighs, almost shallowly. “Do not listen to such a man, meus flos. He is no good.” Then he says something, I do not understand. “Come. Stand.”

I refuse to show that I do understand. The last thing I want is to be his pet.

“Come on.” The impatience shows on his restless fingers. Something in me calls me to hold them. I am once again conflicted. What is happening to me? I stand up slowly.

He examines me before calling over others to help me. With standing. With my clothes. My looks. They decorate me. Touch me. A panic grows. But they are quick to be gone again.

“Better.” He grabs my wrist and drags me with.

As I walk, I hear jewelry jingle. Not his. But mine. I’m wearing their blood. The pain. It feels as if the gold burns into my skin. They are chains of slavery. Bondage to suppress me and yet they complement my skin so beautifully. It’s a beautiful irony. I yearn for freedom, for death. I see my brother and I see his blood. Maybe he is in this gold or maybe it’s the Gods.

They killed him. Right now, I don’t know if it’s the Gods or the twins. Right now, I fear both. But right now, one is more righteous than the other. I do not know which one.

My blood is boiling beneath Caracalla’s touch. I pull my hand, and he lets go. He’s caught up in his head or maybe he is not. He cares, does he not?  I see my brother in the reflection of his earrings. The lifeless limbs. I do not see the romans; I only see the roman who’s showing my brother. All the symbols are melting into one another.

We walk into a big hall, filled with old men, with filth, and with a stench of death and intensity. It’s those who they call the senate. The dead dream, the Romans call the Republic.

They stare.

“My emperor.” One of them bows and Caracalla lifts his chin proudly, giggling as if he didn’t just shed a tear, one hand over the other. “Accompanied by…?”

“My new pet.”

I hate how proud he looks, flashing his golden tooth. All grief gone from his face. I hate how that comforts me. His smile is holding me upright, hollow is my heart.

I spot the other as he spots me. His eyes widening and yet he looks as if understands. I do not know what. An anger rages in the dark orbs that is his eyes.

“Does she speak?”

Caracalla steps aside and looks at me. He doesn’t seem to know either. Maybe he wonders the same. They do not even know my name.

“She does not.” The other speaks. “She’s mute. You know, how women and pets are supposed to be.”

It’s the first time that I am grateful for him. And hopefully, the last time. The words do not hit as hard as they probably should.

Caracalla clears his throat and nods, agreeing. “Yes. Geta is correct. Flos is mute.”

Of course, his name is Geta.

“What a pretty name. Flos. Like the flores!” The senator tries to encourage this behavior. He acknowledges me and goes back to his seat.

Caracalla shows me to a seat, a bench far away from the assembly, seated next to a dressed pithekos. Like a pet, with a pet.

“Flos, this is Dondus. Now. Behave while I take care of operae.” And so, he leaves me in the company of this tiny animal, eating away. I feel a slight embarrassment.

Following Caracalla with my eyes, I see Geta. He is staring me down with such fury, but he also seems amused by this sight. In him I see the Roman responsible for the death of my brother. The abuse of my land. But he is disguised as a god - Apollon.

I once heard that the Romans truly believed that they, the emperors, were a vessel of the gods. I didn’t believe it at first, because it felt as if it was a nothing but a joke. How would they be the voice of gods, when they do not even seem to experience the agony that they crown the people with? It’s what makes us humans. For there is an order to follow or else kaos will reign – but it just seems that the Romans, the filthy, fit the Gods to their needs. Not the other way around. It’s revolting and distasteful. Disrespectful towards what they claim to be the divine.

They certainly act as if they were Gods. They serve up blood for dinner and expect respect. They bear their crowns and decorate their houses with their furniture. They claim the things that they want and expect people to deliver.

Perhaps they remind me too much of the Gods. However, they are present, my Gods… seem not to be. No, I must not think of such foolishness.

I mutter another prayer. This time for just a sign for them to be present. The pithekos nibs at me but I do not pay it any attention. I pray for a clear sign – for light to disappear, so I can hide in the shadows, and they can light a little candle for me. “Help me, hear me, Apollon, bring darkness over this house, so I can see your light once again.” Yet I’ve never seen it before, but I do not stop my praying. I am desperate, truly desperate. Thoughts about the misplaced empathy towards the burdened slightly disturbing me, so I pray them to take it away. I hope.

And after a while, it darkens. My eyes are closed, and no light seems to shine through my eyelid. A spark ignites inside my heart, turning to a flame. I pray a little more intensely. I feel a presence other than the pithekon. My chest burns.

“What darkness do you seek?” It’s spoken in my mother tongue but broken. It’s a stern voice as I would imagine but so furious.

I quiver. “Darkness over Rome.”

There is a dark and deep laughter. I feel my hands being grabbed and my body thrown towards the floor. My hip slammed towards the cold and hard floor beneath. I hear the pithekos shriek. The jewelry as well. I catch my head before it hits the floor. My fire distinguished. I open my eyes, full of fright, and look up to see the other, Geta. His eyes filled with hatred and dusk. His jaw sharp, but not as sharp as the blade he looks to be pulling from his belt.

“NO!” The burdened Caracalla yells. He jumps to my defense and pushes Geta. He saves me.

It visibly shakes Geta to his core. Something, he hadn’t expected. At the sight of his brother, he removes the blade out of sight, showing that there’s still a part of him that cares. A part of him that is human.

It is there I shall strike, when I get the chance.

“She’s practicing idolatry, brother.” He speaks Latin once more and steps up to his brother, clearly the one with the overhand. They bicker and spit.

First, I wonder how he knows of my mother tongue, then of how dare he, the filthy, use it against me and the gods. And then I fright of the chance of the assembly’s judgement, and what this judgement would lead to. Torture? Death? Or worse.

“You lie, you said, she was mute.” Caracalla corrects Geta. Does he not remember the night? “You are attacking MY pet, MY property – for NO reason!”

“Caracalla-“ Geta furrows his brows so that the line in between becomes darker. “I only said that-“

“You lie! Now leave her alone! Flos has done nothing wrong. She cannot talk.” Caracalla seems to believe his own words so much that he also seems to forget that they weren’t his. He seems so possessive of me. What horrid thing is happening in his head?

Geta seems on the other hand to give up on his brother but not on his anger. He looks at me with such burning fire. It’s like he heard my prayer, like he was tormented by my words. He whispers something to Caracalla that I cannot hear. An order of sorts. And Caracalla looks as if he understands. As if he agrees. I fear.

He turns to me and nods a servant over, who helps me up on my feet against my will. “You are to be escorted back to my room. My brother says you are distracting us.” I hate what that might indicate. What that must mean. My clothes, my body, now infiltrated by filth.

“Apologies, senators.” I hear Geta say. I see him whisper something to a guard.

One of the guards dressed in purple come over and grabs my arm, harshly. “Careful.” Caracalla corrects him. And the guard just nods, his grip not changing any bit.

He escorts me out, but not towards the room from which we come from before. He leads me towards a dark part of the palace. A part which not yet has seen the light of day, where all the dirt is kicked under.

Marble slowly turns to stone. The air thickens. I am led to a room filled with other slaves, but not one dressed like me. I am now the one sticking out like a sore thumb.

The guard leaves me without a word. Confusion strikes as well as discomfort. The others look at me like I am one of them, the romans, and I can not defend myself. My throat is dry like the desert that I seem to be surrounded by. No hope.

But beneath the sand, I hear a familiar voice.

“Thank the Gods, they let you live.”

Mother tongue. It’s the old woman. The woman, which I now believe was sent by Hera. My heart flutters. The world flashes with stars. I cry. And she grabs me. And holds me. It’s like I hear the Gods’ song. The lyre plays with joy. Internal victory.

“I am here now. I have you, paidion.” Her touch is like a mother. I let myself melt into her touch and sob into her shoulder. And I stay like this for a while. For however long she lets me stay there. “There… there…” She pets and undo my hair. Freeing the weight from off my shoulder.

I pull back to look at her face and see how she slightly has livened up. Her cheeks now rosy as her eyes, which are fighting every urge to cry. The dark hides any other imperfection the light before bestowed her. In here she is perfect in every way. She is a mother. A mother of the land, Hellas. I’ve longed for this comfort. I’m home in the shadows.

Next chapter

Taglist: @syraxnyra, @omg-hellgirl, @t6gse370, @duckyhowls, @littlemissholy, @naysha140, @lover-rep-fanfic

[chel-seunghyun]

HOME SWEET HOME & DRAMA ARE BOTH JIYONG'S SONGS FOR CHOI SEUNGHYUN, HERE'S WHY!

Let’s dive into the hidden connection between Drama and Home Sweet Home, two songs that, in my opinion, are deeply personal messages from Jiyong to Seunghyun. These tracks not only share musical similarities but also reveal some emotional layers of their bond, especially Seunghyun’s vulnerability and Jiyong’s unwavering reassurance.

WARNING: MAJOR GTOP THEORY AHEAD!

1. The Lyrics in Drama and Home Sweet Home

One of the most striking connections is the line from Drama in Chinese: "你总是问我爱你，爱得有多深", which translates to “You always ask me how much I love you.” This line is echoed in Home Sweet Home with the chorus: “Do you love me? Nope?” and “Do you love me? (stop)” The repetition of this question in both songs suggests that Seunghyun often seeks reassurance about Jiyong’s love, constantly asking how much he’s loved. It highlights Seunghyun’s insecurity, and it’s clear Jiyong is aware of this.

2. Seunghyun's Vulnerability

In Seunghyun’s Netflix press interview, he expressed how he feels responsible for everything that went wrong with Bigbang and how he feels ashamed to return to the group. His words reveal a side of him that struggles with self-doubt and the emotional weight of past mistakes. It’s understandable why someone like Seunghyun, who carries so much guilt, would constantly need reassurance and validation, especially from someone as close to him as Jiyong.

3. The Lonesome and Delicate Seunghyun

In past interviews, the other Bigbang members have described Seunghyun as “lonesome” and “delicate.” His emotional nature aligns with the lyrics in both Drama and Home Sweet Home, where there’s a strong sense of someone pulling away yet yearning for love and comfort. Seunghyun’s tendency to retreat and block out the members makes sense when we consider his internal struggles. It’s as if he doesn’t want to be a burden, so he distances himself, though deep down, he’s still seeking connection.

4. Breaking Down the Lyrics

Let’s take a deeper look at the lyrics of both songs, which reveal a lot about the dynamic between Jiyong and Seunghyun:

From Drama, we hear:

“You never like it when it’s nice

‘Drama queen’ got it from her mama

Rather hang up to pick a fight

What goes around here comes the karma”

These lines seem to speak directly to Seunghyun’s tendency to push people away, even when things are good. He sometimes seems to prefer conflict or emotional distance rather than confronting his vulnerabilities. The “drama queen” reference hints at the fact that Seunghyun might stir up drama in his own way, keeping his emotions at arm’s length, though his actions suggest he’s struggling inside.

“Let’s take a bow

I’m out the door

‘You want more?’

Go play the role (lol) alone”

“The End begins for us be nice

I bet you like it, Bet you like this”

“I don’t know why can’t we be drama free

More than just a minute I keep asking myself,

What the hell am I doing in this…?”

Here, Jiyong seems frustrated with the emotional games, the drama, and Seunghyun's emotional coldness. “I’m out the door” and “Go play the role (lol) alone” suggest that Jiyong is tired of the back-and-forth, tired of being distanced, but he also can't fully let go. The line “What the hell am I doing in this?” shows that Jiyong doesn’t want this emotional rollercoaster anymore. He doesn't want to play these games, yet his feelings for Seunghyun keep pulling him back, and he refuses to let Seunghyun endure the pain alone.

“I’ve lost an angel, Falling in love

Blessing the curse that we are born with and

I gave it all that I could but

How dare you be so cold and heartless” 

It shows that despite Jiyong's frustration with Seunghyun's emotional distance, he feels a deep loss, almost as if he’s mourning the distance that has grown between them. It also highlights Jiyong's struggle with Seunghyun's coldness, but beneath that frustration is a deep, unspoken love.

This could also be understood in a more personal context. Given their status as public figures and the complexities of societal expectations, the “curse” could refer to the difficulties of their relationship in a society that doesn’t openly support it—especially being men in a relationship that is often met with judgment. Falling in love becomes both a blessing and a curse: a beautiful, deep connection that is incredibly meaningful but also comes with its challenges, due to societal pressures. For Jiyong, despite these struggles, his love for Seunghyun remains something he cherishes, even if it feels like a "curse" at times.

The line “Baby, it’s cold outside, I’ll make you warm. Burn, burn this love.” from Drama speaks volumes about Jiyong’s love for Seunghyun. Here, Jiyong acknowledges that Seunghyun might be emotionally cold, keeping his distance, but promises to provide warmth. “Burn, burn this love” suggests that no matter how cold Seunghyun gets, Jiyong's intense, burning love will be enough to keep them both warm. Even when Seunghyun seems cold and distant, Jiyong’s love is unwavering, fiery, and persistent. It’s a love that will not let Seunghyun stay cold for long—it will melt the distance between them and bring warmth, even when it seems impossible.

This sentiment is echoed in Home Sweet Home with the line: “You’re welcome back home, wherever you are.” Jiyong is offering Seunghyun a safe place to return to, no matter where he’s been or how far he’s pulled away. This line isn’t just about a physical place—it’s about emotional belonging. Jiyong is telling Seunghyun that, no matter what happens, he will always have a place to come back to, a place where he’s loved and accepted.

In the end, both Drama and Home Sweet Home are Jiyong’s way of gently persuading Seunghyun to return to him, both emotionally and physically. Through these lyrics, Jiyong reassures Seunghyun that no matter how cold or distant he becomes, he will never be left alone. His love is unyielding, and Seunghyun will always be welcome back, no matter what. It’s a message of unconditional love and warmth, one that says, “You’re not alone. Come back to me, and you’ll always have a place here.”

These songs are beautiful, not-so-subtle subtle expressions of Jiyong’s feelings for Seunghyun—his desire to keep him close, despite the emotional distance Seunghyun might create. Jiyong understands Seunghyun’s struggles, and he’s showing through his music that, no matter what, Seunghyun will always be loved and welcomed back into his arms.

[heartz4levi]

HIIIII ILOVE UR WRITING SM OML I CANNOT THANK U ENOUGH... just a suggestion but would u be interested in doing a ivan x reader nsfw alphabet?? preferably fem reader or gn,, if thats okay!! Have a great day/ night <3

can't find, my all, your soul, i need !

☆ thinking abt ivan + nsfw alphabet . . .

☆ ivan (alnst) ,, fem reader . . the dom/sub dynamic switches at random intervals ,, guess what i'm doing.. pushing the freak ivan agenda ,, lots of sex talk ,, lots of kink talk also.

a — aftercare :

absolute king of pillow talk. will clean the both of you up, provide food and water is needed, the bare minimum really.

but the pillow talk is unmatched. the gossip goes crazy, whether ivan is the one delivering the news or is the one listening to the latest drama you've heard.

b — body part :

ivan likes his eyes. there's a certain mischievous charm in them, one that's hard to replicate, which only adds on to how much he appreicated them.

not a body part, but ivan adores your smile. he can't pick just one part of your body that he loves more than the rest, but something that enchants him a considerable amount is your smile, something he strives to keep on your face for as long as possible.

c — cum :

ivan's cum is thick and sticky. the taste doesn't have any particularly dominating note to it.

always coming in fat globs, ivan likes to paint either your tongue or your cunt white. not the inside. he likes cumming inside too, of course, but there's something about tainting your body with his cum that gets him going, in an odd way.

d — dirty secret :

not really a secret since he did bring the idea up before. ivan is curious and really wants to know how it'd feel like to be used by you.

he's talking toying with him for your own pleasure, unleashing a never before seen sadistic side, torturing him sexually and not showing even an ounce of care for his personal needs.

e — experience :

not a virgin, but also not a total whore.

ivan has slept with a few people before, just enough to know what he's doing by the time he ends up in your bed. and he's well—versed in a lot of kinks, considering how experimental he is.

f — favourite position :

ivan likes to fold you in some of the most foul positions, but doggystyle takes the cake. a certain kind of doggy though.

yeah, the generic doggystyle position is good, but he likes it best when there's a mirror and you're facing it, staring at your own fucked—out expression. always ends up pulling you up, your back flush against his chest to reach even deeper inside of you.

g — goofy :

ivan is never completely serious during sex, but he isn't actively trying to make you laugh either. he's more so just actively teasing you.

however he'd be quite amused if you tried making him laugh mid—sex, as if he wasn't literally going to town on your poor cunt.

h — hair :

nicely groomed. is not against the idea of waxing, but doesn't feel obligated to do it.

as for his partner, ivan just wants someone who prioritizes their hygiene, doesn't mean that your pussy has to be completely bare. fuck it, let it grow out, so long as it's not contagious he'll still hit.

i — intimacy :

can be very, very romantic at times.

but, being the versatile man he is, ivan can also treat you as if you're nothing but a sex toy. however a small part, deep down inside of him, yearns to be gentle. to love you, to worship you, to handle you like you're a sacred treasure.

top tier deep, slow strokes.

j — jack off :

ivan jacks off a regular amount. doesn't practice abstinence but doesn't get off to something every day.

he likes to prolong his sessions though, edging himself on purpose and making it all the more painful so that the eventual climax he will have will make him ascend spiritually.

k — kink :

a whole entourage of kinks. is into so many things, more than you can count on two hands.

ivan does quite like bondage tho and isn't aversed to being tied up himself. he likes the feeling of helplessness that comes with being restrained but takes just as much pleasure in the sensation of control that comes with having you tied up, at his mercy.

l — location :

like previously mentioned, a total freak. ivan is open to taking you during any time of day, at any location.

in public? sure, let the people nearby watch. in a secluded alley? sure, don't cover your mouth though. at home? has bent you over every existing surface.

m — motivation :

ivan enjoys playful banter with you. he encourages you to engage in it with him, to not be afraid of some unserious bickering.

sass—mouthing is a completely different thing. he still encourages it, just not as blatantly. he subtly adds fuel to the fire that is your sassiness, wanting you to strike the right nerve that'll allow him to put you in your rightful place.

n — no :

ivan likes boasting to others, speaks your praises in the midst of conversations with friends and acquaintances, shows you off at every given opportunity.

but ivan isn't fond of sharing. not because he's possessive, but because he doesn't want your eyes to wander elsewhere, as he is afraid that one slip—up on his part will be enough for you to lose interest in him.

o — oral :

absolute beast at oral. knows how to put that tongue to use like no other. it takes such a long time for his jaw to start hurting and even then he keeps going.

ivan is quite fond of receiving oral too. he doesn't have a favourite when it comes to giving or receiving, but the sight of you on your knees, taking all of him into your mouth while slick begins to coat your thighs definitely awakens something with him.

p — pace :

ivan's default pace always manages to knock all of the air in your lungs right out. he gives you plenty of time to adjust to the stretch of his cock, starts out slow at first, but before you know it he's already jackhammering into your cunt.

try to keep up with him, you can't. however it will be entertaining for him to watch you try and meet his thrusts halfway, ultimately giving up once you realize that your efforts are useless.

q — quickie :

always scowls at the mentions of quickies. but it's not like he can really take his time in public or semi—public spaces, no?

technically he can, but.. yeah, no. prefers to slowly pick you apart piece by piece, dumbing you down with each orgasm that washes over you.

r — risk :

his freak tendencies go hand in hand with the love he has for taking a good risk. ivan simply cannot deny a rush of adrenaline, the overwhelming thrill that courses through his body each time he makes a questionable decision.

s — stamina :

ivan has good stamina. not including foreplay, he can go for about four rounds before his stamina starts to deplete.

sometimes though, maybe on particularly stressful days or when he's a lot needier for you, could go at it until the sun rises. not even exaggerating.

t — toys :

ivan does actually own a few toys. he likes using them on himself and is always open to trying new ones.

similarly to how he likes to use them on you, as well. started off with the classic vibrator and ball gag, will ask you to try sounding with him when you get more used to implementing toys in the bedroom experience.

u — unfair :

such a tease it's unbearable. takes pleasure in bullying you to see the plethora of emotions that swirl within your eyes, enjoys controlling your orgasms to watch you thrash around whenever he denies you of yet another one.

v — volume :

ivan is vocal and not afraid to hide a single sound that comes out of his mouth.

moans and whines. moans. if it's not right in your ear, then it's loud and lewd enough for the neighbors to hear.

w — wild card :

at some point you can't pinpoint the exact start of after becoming sexually active with ivan, nothing surprised you anymore when it came to sex.

ivan as a whole is a wild card. are you surprised? no. you've gotten used to him and his interesting preferences by now. as you should!

x — xray :

ivan's cock is long, a little thick. veiny and it curves a tad. the head always leaks so much pre whenever he's really aroused.

if you tease him, you will feel his cock twitch and/or jump. palm him through his pants and you'll feel his cock straining against the fabric, slap it and watch little spurts of cum ooze out of the tip.

y — yearning :

ivan is pretty much always down to get into your pants.

that doesn't mean he's constantly asking to have sex, it just means that he rarely ever denies you. his self—restraint is surprisingly good.

z — zzz :

never falls asleep before you do. the pillow talk keeps him up, not in the haunting him long after you've dozed off way, but in the he's so invested he needs to know more asap way.

[thirstkanaphan]

ATEEZ FIC RECS (Hidden Gems)

I think it’s easy to find good fic in this fandom no matter your preference, but I am here to provide recs for underrated, perhaps under-appreciated stories that really clicked with me. 

About Me: I have been in fandom and reading fic for YEARS. YEARS!! My tastes are wide-ranging and omnivorous, so I will try anything and everything before I develop certain preferences. I enjoy some ships more than others, but I love a rare pair and I especially love when an author has a non-traditional vision and commits. So you’ll certainly see the government ships, but maybe not always in the ways you’re anticipating. 

Canon-Compliant/Adjacent/Divergent

Here are fics that really capture the angst, thrill, struggles, and joys of finding your soulmate in a fellow idol.

In Mars, There’s Stars by jonnijoongi [Hongjoong/Seonghwa, 140k, Rated M]

Seonghwa thought that Hongjoong hated him. And well, he might as well hate him back. Except, he didn't hate Hongjoong. He could never hate Hongjoong. And maybe, just maybe, Hongjoong didn't hate him either.

This was one of the first fics I read when I got into the fandom, and it remains one of the best canon Matz fics we have. Just reminding us of our roots!

You're My Iron Man by jonnijoong [San/Wooyoung, 78k, Rated M]

Wooyoung was curious about San: the boy who was a shadow. Who liked to act like a duck. And was far too polite. But maybe was actually pretty cool? And cute?

The companion/prequel fic to In Mars, There's Stars, focusing on WooSan from 2017-2018. Delightful and sweet, featuring our boys being confused and falling in love.

Loyalty series by Yeonni [San/Wooyoung, 559k, Rated E]

Part 1: Follows Woo and San through 2018-2020 and their friendship developing into something else, but what? Part 2 Woosan is a top tier ship, unbeatable. After a difficult 2020, San confessed he's in love, and Woosan enters 2021 trying to figure out what they are now. Part 3 Woosan is a top tier ship, unbeatable. After San confesses, and Woo deals with some trauma over the first half of 2021, Woosan have struggled from friends to lovers and had 100 days of relationship drama.

This is, hands-down, the best WooSan story I’ve ever read. However, this story is not an easy read and the author will not spoon-feed you romance. Mind the tags. I've never been more stressed out about the success of a fictional relationship based on real people, but I've also never rooted harder for two crazy kids to make it work. Their happy ending is hard-earned, and by the end of this series I felt like I had completed a marathon.

I'll quote the author: "I [have] a special interest in human psychology and group dynamics, and that's my secret juice. I overthink a bit but not terribly, rather, I love to analyze behavior I see between other people, down to every flick of the wrist." If you want compelling drama, complicated and sometimes toxic relationship dynamics, unreliable narrators and unsympathetic characterizations, and for a story to rewire your brain, then please enjoy!

Sleep Paralysis by idrilka [Hongjoong/Seonghwa, 77k, Rated M]

After they split dorms, Hongjoong starts sleeping in Seonghwa's bed from time to time. Neither of them ever mentions it in the light of day.

There is no better Matz writer than idrilka. Their fics are grounded in realism and filled to the brim with the tension, angst, and restraint that comes with YEARS of pining over your best friend and fellow idol. Thankfully, there are multiple installments in this series, each one based on actual canon Matz events that seem almost lifted from the mind of a fujoshi.

camera obscura by idrilka [Hongjoong/Seonghwa, 29k, Rated M]

Given very little say in the matter, Hongjoong accompanies Seonghwa to Jinju for an impromptu vacation. The four days they spend there prove particularly illuminating.

Another banger from my favorite Matz writer, who puts us in Hongjoong's shoes as he pathetically yearns for Seonghwa in this sweat-drenched, hazy summer vacation of a fic.

Tell them I'm Yours series by Anonymous [Yunho/Mingi, 23k, E]

It's just sex, it doesn't really mean anything. And Yunho's straight anyway.

Hi, do you want to feel super depressed? The thing about canon!Yungi is that nothing is more compelling than their actual IRL story. By the same token, when I read canon!yungi fic, I often gravitate towards the more angsty end of the plausible scenarios for two people who obviously love each other but will probably never get it together (because of the Yunho of it all). Enjoy this heaping spoonful of bittersweet angst and know that there is a sequel and another installment on the way that promises more heartbreak.

Can I Keep You by jasperKjones [Hongjoong/Seonghwa, 62k, M]

They chat lightly for a little while more before Maddox gets around to his real reason for calling; he wants to see if Joong is still doing okay, and to be updated on what he terms the ‘Seonghwa Situation’. “I’ll be honest, dude, when you didn’t call me begging me to break you out of there by day three, I started thinking maybe you’d tossed yourself in the lake.” He pauses. “Or that maybe Hwa tossed you in and you just… sort of let him, like a lovelorn assclown.” “That’s a good album name,” Hongjoong replies dryly. “You should write that down.” “Avoidance,” Maddox notes, “and attitude. You’re down bad. You’re not fucking him again, are you?” Hongjoong winces guiltily. “No.” “But you’re gonna.” It’s not a question.

A great scenario where Hongjoong and Seonghwa start the story as somewhat bitter exes (but can you be an ex if you never had a relationship?) who rekindle their feelings during a KQ songwriting bootcamp in the woods.

Let me also recommend the Wooyoung/Mingi sequel

Genre Fic

While I appreciate and enjoy all the pirate/mafia/royalty AUs that populate this fandom, here are some stories that really felt inspired by genre fiction and feature excellent world-building and prose.

Place Your Heart On the Scales by Yeonni [Yunho/Mingi, 41k, M]

Something is stalking Yunho. Yunho and Mingi have a casual friends with benefits thing, going two years. Lately, Yunho has felt like something watches him from the shadows. Silly, right? But when Mingi discovers what is hunting Yunho, his efforts to protect him opens Pandora's box on the supernatural – and Yunho and Mingi's relationship.

A thrilling, suspenseful romance set in the urban fantasy genre. Yunho and Mingi find out their love transcends death, and it may be the one thing that will save both their lives. Part of a larger series that is followed by:

In Every Life by Yeonni [Jongho/Yeosang & Yunho/Mingi, 127k]

Yeosang is finishing up his police training when he runs into dropouts Yunho and Mingi, and their friend Jongho, a musician. Very soon Yeosang discovers that not only do werewolves exist, but they also in rare cases have soulmates, and he's apparently Jongho's. Together they're flung headfirst into the city's supernatural politics, while figuring out their relationship and the complicated balance between wolf and human. Yunho and Mingi's presence has stirred up the longstanding peace between werewolves and vampires, and the tension is set to blow.

"There's a million ways to live, but the only one I have any fucking interest in, is the one with you."

Fantastic world-building, complicated relationships, morally-gray characters, thrilling action set-pieces, and ROMANCE!! I bought into the soulmate bond as easily as Yeosang did in those first couple of chapters. And the YUNGI of it all!! As with their canon-compliant WooSan series, Yeonni has the powerful ability as a writer to make me shift between anger and defense of a character within one scene. Everyone fucks up, but they all have clear motivations and characterizations that make you understand WHY they do the things they do, even when you want to scream at them. I think about this fic constantly.

Complete, with a WooSan sequel in the works!

The Aurora Society for Paranormal Investigation by quickfixon (obarad) [Hongjoong/Seonghwa, San/Wooyoung, Yunho/Mingi, Jongho/Yeosang, 276k, Rated M]

Yunho is between writing gigs. His mother offers him a killer deal: move into the house she recently inherited and renovate it to sell. It'll bring in some money, if he can get the electricity to stop flickering. Or the heater to actually warm the place up. Or silence whatever is making that scratching noise in the walls. Meanwhile, a small group of men in town have gotten bored enough to begin a project, one they don’t want folks in town to know about. It’s a dead town, people say, one that will disappear in another generation, since everyone who’s anyone moves away the first chance they get. These leftover boys, though, the ones that stayed - they think the “dead town” name has more to it. They think there are ghosts. And they are determined to prove it. With a little luck, Yunho meets The Aurora Society for Paranormal Investigation. Before he knows it, his life gets tied in with all seven of theirs, and tied into the town itself. Will they ever catch proof? Who knows. But they’ll have each other to scream with along the way. Or:

The one where Ateez is a group of small town guys turned ghost hunters and have absolutely no clue what they have gotten themselves into.

This fic feels like a Stephen King novel. Small town, childhood friendships, hauntings and horror, second-chance romance, family trauma...everything you could ask for. I had to read parts of this fic with my hands over my eyes, it got so spooky.

vibrant, violent purple by lackadaisycalb [Yunho/Mingi, 20k, M]

Mingi stands frozen at the threshold of the bathroom, eyes unblinking as he watches the bright purple petals swirling in the toilet bowl, disappearing from sight like the secret it was meant to be. Yunho is looking at him with something like disdain in his teary eyes as he slowly reaches up to wipe at the corner of his mouth. "Knock next time," he says, voice thick and wavering and then goes to wash his hands in the sink. Mingi still doesn't move, just tracks the others movements with his eyes. Yunho washes out his mouth with water and splashes some on his face. Then he grabs the towel that's hanging just a few inches to the left of Mingi's arm and buries his face into it, leaning on the bathroom counter with his hip and groaning.

I love a good Hanahaki disease fic, it's such an underrated trope. This one gets extra praise because it's somewhat non-traditional: Yunho starts the fic suffering from the disease because he loves someone else and not Mingi, the guy he hooks up with occasionally.

ATEEZ in Christmasland (Krampus Night) by KaderinHall [Yunho/Mingi, Wooyoung/San/Yeosang, Hongjoong/Seonghwa, 154k, Rated M]

ATEEZ jet-set to Germany for what they believe will be an easy gig – shooting promotional content inside a brand-new amusement park, “Christmasland.” But after the sun sets, the once-cheerful park transforms into a place of nightmares. Their group was lured to Christmasland under false pretenses by a mysterious man who intends on using them as part of a pagan ritual, offering them up as sacrifices to the demon Krampus. Krampus, leading a motley crew of mythical monsters, embarks on his annual Wild Hunt with a singular mission – to capture the naughty members of ATEEZ and drag them down to hell. However, one lone member has managed to earn a place on Santa’s Nice List this year, making him the only one whom Krampus and the other creatures can't touch. As the last hope for his imperiled group, it's up to him to rescue them all before it's too late. Get ready for a rollercoaster ride of fear as ATEEZ fights to survive a terrifying Christmas tale like no other!

I am so glad I gave this fic a try. I can't believe it actually works. I love that this author committed to the the most bonkers premise and wrote something legitimately thrilling, engaging, and - yes -romantic. I have yet to try their Cabin in The Woods fic, but that's on my list.

And who's gonna be standing at the end? (No one knows) by gvvdlilboy [Yunho/Mingi, Hongjoong/Seongha, 211k, Rated M]

“Come to my gym.” Seonghwa blurted out, “Let me train you properly and show you what boxing is all about, you have the right spirit and the right mindset. This is a golden opportunity.” Mingi’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open and his eyebrows arched before the same confused, “Huh?” He let out when Seonghwa first approached him found its way out of his lips, “Excuse me, what?” He added and rushed to stuff his mouth with chips once again, “Am I already wrecked to the point of hearing things?” Seonghwa snorted, leaving the chips to the younger and leaning to snatch a Pepero from the small pack Hongjoong was holding, “Come to my gym and I’ll turn you into a pro boxer, I’ll give you all the fame and the money you deserve, you’ll climb the ranks.” He promised, Pepero between his lips, “And you know who stands above those ranks?” “The Captain.” Mingi whispered, eyes fixed on Hongjoong who was placidly listening to the conversation. Or: Mingi was an underground boxer until he wasn't anymore. All he needed was for retired boxer, Park Seonghwa, and current middleweight champion, Kim Hongjoong, to spot his abilities and offer him a golden opportunity.

This Boxer AU really rewards your time and attention. The prose may throw you off initially; it's written in a very mannerist style that (imo) elevated this story about rookie boxer Mingi finding his place in the world into something almost Shakespearian. As his journey unfolds, you get fantastic world-building for this boxer universe and really excellent backstories and characterization for the other members. I love Ming in this fic, who is naturally gifted but struggles with anxiety and doubt; I also love his slowly-developing relationship with Yunho and how their progress and setbacks mirror the more action-focused boxer plot. They have one of the more compelling dynamics I've seen in a Yungi-centric fic.

Is it Hot in Here?? 🔥🔥

Smut with plot, smut without plot, kinks, lemons, limes, etc...

HONDA BABY by sugamins [Yunho/Mingi, 121k]

Yunho has a thing for cars. Mingi has plenty of toys to play with.

HONDA BABYYYYY!!!! THE FIC OF ALL TIME!! This fic gets referenced every other day on atiny twt and for good reason. It will rewire your brain. I can't go into detail; you have to experience it for yourself.

Soda Pop Soda Pop by dryad [Yunho/Mingi, OT8, 14k, Rated E]

Mingi just thinks that when one of your boyfriends stares at you in a schoolboy outfit constantly, the very rational, logical conclusion is a uniform kink that requires you to shove yourself into a skirt and thigh highs. Wooyoung makes things better-worse, and Yunho would really like his princess to understand something called real Yearning.

Obsessed with Yunho being obsessed with Mingi in a uniform, which Mingi completely misunderstands to sexy and comedic effect. The smut is so good in this fic, but the ending packed a really sweet and tender wallop to my emotions. This is also my favorite kind of polyteez scenario, where they all love and screw each other but Yungi are in love and everyone is cool with that.

Demystification (San And Mingi Make A Polycule) by ImNotSorryImThirsty [San/Mingi, Yunho/Mingi, OT8, 8k, Rated E]

While rooming with San on tour, Mingi finds out that San and Wooyoung are in an open relationship. San is happy to share his experience with Mingi, and Mingi is an enthusiastic learner. And since San is in love with Wooyoung, he doesn't mind that Mingi's in love with someone else, too.

Another great polyteez fic that leads with the understanding that they're all kind of horny for each other but respect that some members are in love with each other. Part of a larger series, but this is my fave.

I know you ain’t a drug (but you get me so high) by milkocaine [Seonghwa/Hongjoong/Mingi/Yunho/San, 15k, Rated ]

“I can help you.” Hongjoong’s hands rest on top of his, but they don’t move otherwise. Seonghwa’s laugh is strained. “I’m—I’m okay. I still don’t know if this is a good idea.” Hongjoong chuckles, but there’s an edge to it that raises alarm bells in Seonghwa’s head, skin prickling with goosebumps. “That’s not the kind of help I’m offering.” “T-then…?” It takes Seonghwa a few seconds to realize that maybe he shouldn’t have asked for clarification. Hongjoong’s eyes darken, head tilting just a bit, hands constricting down on his own just a little bit harder. “I’m asking if you want us to help you get off, Seonghwa.”

Nothing to see here, just raunchy, canon-compliant polyteez smut but with an undercurrent of something genuine and loving in the way Hoongjoong pays attention to Seonghwa's needs and gives him exactly what he wants. I'm a sucker for dom!HJ and this fic delivers.

Pleats and Thank you by size8font [Yunho/Wooyoung, 22k]

It’s just practice, Yunho tells himself from where he’s sat white-knucking his seat at the top of the tiered seating of the university gymnasium. It’s just practice. Routine. It’s raining outside, they have a game soon, so they’re practising. Yunho’s sure Wooyoung’s also mentioned something about a competition in the not-too distant future too, so it really all makes sense, but Yunho’s brain is currently working at about five percent capacity. If that. It’s drawing snickers from next to him where Mingi is sitting, or, more accurately, folded in half because he has weak core muscles, or finds Yunho’s current predicament hilarious. That is, Yunho suffering from ‘sudden-onsent can’t close his fucking mouth because the new cheer uniforms came in and Wooyoung obviously chose violence insomuch as he’s wearing a skirt.’ AKA: The Wooyoung in a skirt fic that spiralled into 22k of Horny Yunwoo.

YunWoo is an underrated pairing and inspires some of the filthiest smut, so please enjoy.

Honey, Look Who's Talking! by Syster [Yunho/Mingi, 8k]

“We need to fuck,” Yunho says, eloquently, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth once he gets the last word out. Mingi just stares at him, his lips pursing, and Yunho continues before Mingi can say no, or worse, say yes. “Because of my dick,” he motions towards his crotch and, then, realizing what it sounds like, clarifies, “My talking dick. It’s, uh, a metaphor, or something.” “For us fucking?” Mingi says, brow furrowing. or: in a world full of magic, yunho wakes up one morning with a talking dick. he has to go on a quest to figure out how to make it stop before it ruins his career, or worse, his friendship with Mingi.

I LOVE crack treated seriously, and this story actually got me emotional over Yunho's talking dick. Just trust me.

(touch) starved by thanks_its_versace [San/Yeosang, 5k words]

Yeosang peels off his damp clothing and finds that at some point in the night his body has turned to gasoline. And the look in San’s eyes that meet his somewhere in the back of the changerooms, as he strips off his own clothing and Yeosang forces himself to look away, to not take anything that hasn’t first been offered - The look in San’s eyes is a housefire.

This writer gets what makes me so feral about SanSang. It's canon-compliant too, and knowing what we know now about Yeosang's struggles with receiving physical affection from the boys (San in particular) despite welcoming their advances...just enhances the flavor.

Omegaverse (with a twist)

I don't typically read omegaverse as I don't always enjoy how reductive the stories sometimes are about gender and sexuality; HOWEVER, I really do love non-traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics in fic. To be blunt, it feels more queer!

ricochet, misfired, but the bullet hit me anyway by pixiegold [Yunho/Mingi, 23k]

Yunho gets sent into rut early, and Mingi, unprepared and fighting with his unrequited feelings, helps him. It goes about as well as expected. A/B/O alpha x alpha AU

Pixiegold is my favorite Yungi author. They just nail the co-dependent, mutually obsessed, emotionally-stunted dynamic that draws me to this pairing IRL but also writes the filthiest, raunchiest smut for them (mind the tags). Has a sequel!

i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did by pixiegold [Yunho/Mingi, 26k]

Mingi wakes up disgustingly hungover. He squints at the body lying in the unfamiliar bed next to him, taking in the long limbs and sliver of naked back. OR: Mingi, a beta, tries to navigate having feelings for an alpha that was supposed to just be a one-night stand whilst battling his own insecurities.

Another fave by pixiegold, who has a real knack for writing sex scenes that add to the emotional storyline.

i'd walk into these flames if it's for you by pixiegold [Yunho/Mingi, OT8, 17k]

When Mingi finally presents as an alpha, he is twenty-one years old. Not only is his presentation over three years late, but it's also excruciatingly, horrifically painful. He sweats into the bedsheets, crying in pain and Yunho smells strongly like distress and worry, which only makes him sob harder. All he wants is to lie down and never get up again, hating every second of the horrible, itchy, hot feeling that his rut causes, hating what he’s presented as, hating being an alpha. OR: Using bitching as an allegory for transness. (It's fluffier than it sounds).

I LOVE the concept of this fic, which uses the established structures of the omegaverse to delivery a story about trans!Mingi and the lengths Yunho will go to help the man he loves.

a comprehensive guide to unrequited love by Vitexy [San/Yunho, 35k]

San can’t think of a more disappointing moment in his life than the moment he presented as a beta. Betas don't release pheromones. Betas can't imprint. Betas can't even properly mate. Basically life is stacked against San from day one until he meets an alpha who changes his mind.

Another great story that probes at the systemic restrictions and biases that emerge from the omegaverse. San and Yunho make for such a sweet couple!

flora in your lungs by honeyl [Yunho/Wooyoung, Hongjoong/Seonghwa, San/Mingi, Jongho/Yeosang, 101k]

“Move in with me,” Yeosang says carefully, and Wooyoung’s world screeches to a halt. “What?” Wooyoung feels his mouth mumble out. “Just until you can get a new apartment,” Yeosang hurries to say, but he’s kind and there's a note of desperation in his voice that makes Wooyoung’s head spin, “Move in with me and my pack,” it's insistent but not pushy, as if Yeosang is trying to gently coax a stray kitten into safety. or Wooyoung sees kindness' extended hand and takes a leap of faith

This is a fantastic found-family (pack) narrative that centers several interesting romantic, sexual, and platonic dynamics between different pairings. It was really rewarding to see Hongjoong and Wooyoung grow to trust their new pack and form deep attachments. Yunho makes me swoon!!

Hard to Categorize

Like Sun to the Darkest Days by Marauderette [Gen, 305k]

Seonghwa and Hongjoong are already proudly parenting their five foster/adoptive children when their social worker calls. They can't possibly take in another boy, can they? Or: the foster kid AU that stars Seonghwa and Hongjoong as super parents and Wooyoung as their newest ('temporary') arrival. Deals with some really heavy topics, please heed the tags. Romanticisation of fostercare

I really wasn't sure about this fic at first, but it turned out to be one of the highlights of my year. This is a deeply empathetic and beautifully-written story about a family. Hongjoong and Seonghwa's relationship and parenting is so full of love, trust, and care, which allows them to navigate some truly upsetting plot beats surrounding Wooyoung and the circumstances that led him to their home. The author does a terrific job making the other members recognizable and their dynamics feel familiar, even transposed into this new setting.

That's it for now! Happy Reading! Feel free to let me know your thoughts on any of the fics I recc'ed!

[venussaidso]

I just realized. In the Chinese drama “Love Between Fairy and Devil”, there is a very obvious Hades-Persephone dynamic between the two leads. I didn't think of this.

This shall be an extension of these posts ( 1 , 2 ).

Although they're both Mula natives, as the drama is a mash-up of “Beauty and the Beast” meets “Persephone and Hades”, I now mainly suspect that the pairing is Venus-Ketu. The female lead, Yu Shuxin, could have a Venus nakshatra on her Ascendant, maybe, because her character, Orchid, is a flower fairy who lives in the beautiful harmonious fairy realm. Now, I already glossed over the Mula themes with her character. But she just mostly came off Venusian to me before but I couldn't place my finger on it yet! Yu Shuxin does have Libra Moon, either it's Chitra Moon or Swati Moon.

Much like Hades, the Devil Lord or Moon Supreme, played by Mula native Dylan Wang, is a powerful leader governing a much darker, violent realm. He's also depicted as stereotypically detached, being an emotionless sociopath whose roots are damaged.

Orchid unknowingly repairs his roots, her character's abilities literally paralleling the rejuvenating powers of the Goddess of Spring, Persephone! I also love the transformation of her character, almost akin to Persephone's destined transformation upon Hades taking her into the Underworld.

Also, when the Devil Lord falls in love with her, unknowingly, he literally abducts her. Exactly like Hades did to Persephone. And as the story goes, it's a romantic build-up towards their union.

The whole narrative of "she is the light to his darkness" quite literally reminded me of the pairing from “Shadow & Bone”, who are another possible Venus-Ketu pairing. The Venusian is the abundant one (lightness) and the Ketuvian is the tamasic force (darkness).

Alina is played by (possible) Purva Phalguni Moon native Jessie Mei Li, and the Darkling is played by Magha Sun native Ben Barnes.

The Darkling possesses control over shadows and is depicted as a demonic force, while Alina is initially innocent and aligned with light & harmony. Much like the Greek tale, the Darkling takes her into his world. And her identity transforms as Persephone's did when she descended into the Underworld.

Their dynamic speaks to the balance between light and dark, emphasizing, through Alina, Persephone's yearning for freedom and her inevitable bond with Hades.

And similarly to Persephone, she becomes so powerful that she's essentially his match. Although, I did love how Alina ultimately outmatches and destroys the Darkling when he is no longer her balance (again, Persephone and Hades are supposed to be each other's balance). Very, very sexy actually, which I believe is also Ketuvian of her (the actress with her Magha Sun) as Ketu nakshatras, especially with Mula, are related to destroying forces which are out of balance or not operating within their pure roots, as Claire Nakti so recently explored in-depth, countless times, in her Mula/Magha videos.

[qoldenskies]

ive been thinkin about it today and ngl i am not personally interested in envy being a point of contention in leo and donnie's relationship unless it goes equally extreme on both sides, both of them yearning for the each other's particular confidence in their strengths while failing to understand completely that its just one big coping mechanism and not something that should be envied at all. not twins in the way that they complete each other and need the other to feel whole, but in the way that they always feel incomplete no matter what they do, always secretly undervaluing what they have already, and the other has everything they want to feel worthy as a person. i ESPECIALLY enjoy this dynamic if this is contrasted with them being extremely caring and supportive of each other even as they feel stuck in each other's shadows..... so much drama can be derived from the idea