#it was so hard to pick out just seven quotes

[cxvii666]

"WHY'S THIS DEALER? TAKING THE PISS!?"

college au! hanta sero x reader

(part three)

cw: drinking, bad language, recreational drug use, reader sells bud, pussy eating, make out sessions, threesome in air quotes (denki's more of a voyeur than anything else) more like you x hanta(x denki), lots of second base action, 21st century love story, genz romcom type beat - part 2 was better and part 1 was my baby

the party is in full swing, a chaotic mishmash of too-loud music, clinking bottles, people yelling and the occasional cheer from a victorious drinking game. the air reeks of cheap beer and cheaper cologne, and there's this unspoken agreement that everyone is pretending the sticky spot on the floor isn't there. hanta's pretty sure someone just knocked over an entire plate of chips somewhere near the kitchen, and judging by bakugou's growling and yelling, it's about to get cleaned up in the most aggressive way possible.

still, he's not paying much attention to any of that.

not when he's standing near the couch with you on one side and denki on the other, grinning like he just won the lottery. hanta's not entirely sure how this happened-how he went from nursing a lukewarm beer in a corner to being wedged between you two-but he's not complaining.

the three of you were making idle talk about the party, who's a bitch, who hooked up with who, but to be perfectly honest, you have no idea what to say. you know so many cool things about sero, the type of music he likes (from his instagram highlights), that he drinks this special organic green tea every morning (from denki accidently drinking it this one time and screaming it about), that he's super into horror manga, that he likes the same movies as you, that he backstraps when he rolls, and you want him to teach you. but it's like you can't even open your mouth to say any of this to him, and denki has for sure has picked up on this.

the blonde glances at you now from across hanta, mostly out of his own surprise that neither of you two have made a move yet. he mentally rolls his eyes, you all for sure love to call him the dumb one but the only idiots he sees are the two pining next to him.

so denki, as always, is the catalyst. "sooo," he says, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, "y'know, i was thinking..." and the both of you groan on reflex because he's got that glint in his eye, the one that usually means trouble. "we should totally play spin the bottle. or like, seven minutes in heaven or something. you guys down?"

hanta's about to protest- because really?, who even plays those anymore?- but then you laugh. it's that same laugh from the car, the one that's stuck in his head for days, and suddenly he's a little more open to the idea.

"spin the bottle, huh?" you say, leaning back against the armrest of the couch, your hood slipping slightly. "that's so middle school of you, denki.

"hey, middle school was a vibe." denki shoots back, unbothered. he plops down on the carpet in front of the coffee table and waves at the two of you to join him.

"c'monnn, it'll be fun. unless you're scared."

"you're unwell," you deadpan, but your feet follow him to where he's sat and when the smirk creeping onto your face betrays you, and denki catches it like a hawk. you glance at hanta, eyebrows raised. "you in?

"ummm," hanta hesitates, but the way you're looking at him makes it hard to say no. "-sure?"

"that's the spirit!" denki hollers, snatching an almost-empty beer bottle from the table. he's vibrating with chaotic energy as he spins it, barely waiting for it to stop before shouting, "Y'ALL JOINING OR WHAT?"

mina and kirishima are immediately in because they can smell drama from a mile away. a couple of randoms that hanta doesn't from campus join too, and suddenly there's a circle forming, powered entirely by questionable decision-making, and denki's grin widens as he sets the bottle in the middle.

the game starts innocently enough. a couple of spins lead to awkward cheek kisses, overdramatic "EWWWs" from mina, and one insanely disastrous attempt by kirishima to lips bakugou, which ends in a wrestling match that topples half the circle and flipping a table.

but then. oh, then. the bottle lands on you. or more accurately, on you and denki, because the blonde immediately grabs the bottle before it even stops spinning fully.

"alright, alright." denki says, waving his hands like he's running damage control, but his grin is devious. "we'll share."

"share?" hanta asks, an eyebrow raising. "how does that even work?"

denki, completely unfazed, points between you and hanta. "it's simple, dude. a group effort. right, babe?" he winks at you, and to hanta's surprise, you're laughing again.

hanta might actually short-circuit. "you're so stupid." you say, still laughing, but your gaze flick to hanta, and there's no denying the glint of amusement in your eyes.

"what do you say, sero? think you can handle it?"

hanta's not sure if it's the alcohol, the atmosphere, or just the way you're looking at him, but he rolls his tongue across his teeth, a lazy grin creeping onto his face and he nods. "yeah, uh, sure. why not?"

cut to: the three of you sprawled on the couch like you just collectively lost a game of jenga, but instead of wooden planks, it's your sense of dignity. the rest of the group has dispersed, denki's practically in your lap, hanta wedged inbetween, and there's entirely too much touching. it starts simple-a hand on a knee, a brush of shoulders-but then denki's dragging his fingers under hanta's hoodie, and your lips are at his neck, and holy shit, when did it get so warm in here?-

"relax, sero," denki says, low and taunting as he finally slides off of your lap, watching you trail your hands down, down, and back up hanta's chest. "we're just having fun."

"yeah," you add, your voice smooth and teasing. "you trust us, right?"

hanta inhales deeply trying not to lose his composure fixing his beanie back over his head. "yeah. of course."

he looks from you to denki before sniffing as his fingers twitch from where they're gripping the sides of your thighs, fuck he really hopes his hands aren't sweaty. he's chill guyed to close to the sun, his mouth has run dry, his social battery is depleting and to be honest he's growing a bit tired of the chaos surrounding you.

that's when denki leans in with his sly grin and nods at his bestfriend, "you wanna go for a smoke huh?" and he turns to you, "i know a spot if you don't mind supplying." and you're already on your feet not hesitating to agree. hanta nods along, his lazy smile softening at the thought of escape. the three of you slip out unnoticed, the bass of the music fading behind you as the crisp night air hit.

"god, i thought we'd never leave." you mutter, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets checking for your phone, your lipgloss, your wallet and your bud, as denki looks over with a mock gasp.

"what, my party planning wasn't good enough for you?"

"your party planning?" you shoot back, raising an eyebrow. "you're just the guy who shows up with the aux cord and a vape. let's not overstate your role dude."

hanta snickers, shaking his head as denki gasped dramatically. "can you fuck off, hanta, tell her i'm vital to party ecosystems."

"nah she's got a point," hanta replies, his voice laced with amusement. "i don't remember seeing you do much more than yap and hit your pen."

denki groans, muttering about how no one appreciates his genius as he leads the way to a bus stop round the back of the field not far from the mina's place. the three of you settle under the secluded barely lit bus shelter. hanta rolls his own cig while you roll up the joint. you glance over at his fingers a couple times and nearly drop the roach when you watch him lick a stripe down the rolling paper.

you finish up and pass denki the joint, the first few hits were passed around in comfortable silence, as you all take a second to breathe in the crisp night air.

"alright, spill," denki says suddenly, leaning back and eyeing you. "what's your deal with sero?"

your stomach drops. "huh, what?" you replied, grasping onto what's left your pride and trying to play it cool despite the heat creeping up your neck. "what deal? i don't have a deal, there's no-"

"you're super into him."

hanta's head snaps up. "what?" he echoes, looking between the two of you.

"nothing," you say quickly, shooting denki a death glare and snatching the zoot from him. "stfu, what is wrong with," you say with a hiss.

"It's fine," denki teases, leaning into hanta with a conspiratorial whisper. "she told me earlier. said you were her dream guy and everything."

you groan, burying your face in your hands. "i actually hate you."

hanta's laugh rang out, light and easy. "is that true?" he asked, his tone teasing but warm.

you peek at him from between your fingers. his grin was wide, but his gaze was soft, genuine. it made your heart flutter, and for a moment, you forgot how to speak.

"yeah, well," you say finally, taking another hit before passing him the joint. "don't let it go to your head."

hanta smiles, a faint blush dusting his cheeks and when the point of connection where your fingertips touch shoots a spark through him. "wouldn't dream of it."

denki's cackle breaks the moment. "you guys are so cute i might puke," he says, clutching his chest dramatically. "okay, okay, let's get snacks before i lose my buzz."

the room was softly lit, the only illumination coming from the early morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting a golden hue over the tangled pile of limbs on hanta's bed. the three of you were still sleeping, basking in the warm, lazy comfort of the previous night's haze. the air smelled faintly of citrus and smoke, the lingering traces of your late-night adventures.

you stirred first, a soft hum escaping your lips as you blink against the sunlight. you stretch slightly, careful not to disturb the two boys beside you. hanta's arm was draped over your waist, his grip loose and comforting, while denki lay sprawled on his stomach, one hand brushing against your shoulder.

"morning," you whisper, your voice still thick with sleep, as you turn your head to meet hanta's warm brown eyes. he looks at you with a lazy smile, his hair mussed and sticking up at odd angles.

"morning," he replies, his voice raspy and soft, the kind of tone that sent shivers down your spine.

denki groans from his place next to you, stretching dramatically. "why is the sun so loud?" he mumbles, making you and hanta laugh.

"you're the loud one," you shoot back, chucking a pillow at him. "ow fuck." "oh don't be such a baby."

hanta's laugh rumbles in his chest, and you feel it more than heard it. the vibration was comforting, grounding you in the soft intimacy of the moment. "i think you're just mad you're not a morning person," he says, his voice still low and gravelly from sleep.

denki cracks one eye open to glare at you, though his lips quirked into a grin. "well liked it better when it was just us, the food, and the movie."

hanta's hand brushes against your hip as he shifts closer. "yeah, but this is nice too."

you feel the tension shift in the room, subtle but palpable. hanta's thumb traces a slow circle on your hip, the light touch sending sparks across your skin. denki notices, of course, his grin fading into something softer, something more curious as his gaze flicks between the two of you.

"you're touchy this morning," you tease, though your voice was quieter now, your heart picking up speed.

hanta doesn't answer right away, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile as he leans closer. his voice barely above a whisper when he says "can't help it. you're here."

denki's eyes widen slightly, his usual cool guy act slipping for a moment. "whoa, okay, are we doing this? s this a thing now?"

you laugh again, the sound nervous but excited. "are you always this subtle?"

denki smirks, sitting up slightly. "subtlety is overrated. i'm just saying- if something's happening, i'd rather not be the clueless idiot in the room."

hanta snorts, his hand still resting on your hip. "you've never been clueless, denks."

the air grew heavier, the playful banter giving way to something more intimate. hanta's gaze meets yours, a question lingering in his expression. when you nod, his hand slides up your side, his touch firm but careful, testing the waters.

denki watches, his breathing hitching slightly as hanta leaned in to kiss you. it was slow and deliberate, his lips soft and warm.

"you okay, denki?" you ask leaning back to look at him from beside you when you and hanta finally break for air. the brief pause is just that, brief, because hanta's lips are back on yours before you can finish speaking.

"oh, i'm very okay," he replies, his grin returning as he leaned back against the pillows. "don't mind me. just... enjoying the view."

hanta has to physically pull himself off of you in order to shoot his best friend a look that was both completely exasperated and totally amused. "you think you're such a joker-"

"yeah, yeah," denki says, waving him off. "just keep going, don't let me distract you."

hanta turns his attention back to you, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt, his touch igniting a trail of heat along your skin. he guides you onto your back, his lips finding yours again, deeper this time, more insistent. his hands roam, exploring the curves of your body with a reverence that made you swallow down a whimper.

denki shifts closer, his eyes fixed on the way hanta kisses you, his own hands twitching as if he wanted to reach out but didn't quite dare. "you guys are so hot together," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with awe.

hanta pulls back slightly, his lips swollen and his gaze dark. "you want to join, or are you just gonna sit there?"

denki blinked, clearly caught off guard, but the slow grin spreading across his face said everything. "oh, i'm in." what followed was a blur of soft laughter and heated touches. the blonde gets manhandled into sitting behind you as hanta presses you back into denki's chest. hanta's lips trail down your neck, his hands pulling your shirt up and over your head. denki leans in, his fingers brushing against your arm as he tilted your chin toward him for a kiss that was playful but electric.

when hanta slid lower, his kisses trailing down your stomach, you shiver, anticipation thrumming through you. denki's hand finds yours, his grip firm and reassuring as he watched hanta settle between your thighs. his eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"you're beautiful," hanta murmurs, his breath warm against your skin before he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, as your ass jerks back and the blonde lets out a sigh as you make contact with the half-chub in his boxers. your free hand tangling into hanta's soft hair as he continued his slow, deliberate exploration.

denki's breathing grew heavier, his gaze fixed on the way hanta moved, the way you reacted. "holy shit," he whispered, his voice thick with arousal. "you're so into this, aren't you?"

you nod, unable to form words as hanta's mouth finally finds its mark, his tongue moving in deliberate, torturous strokes up your slit that left you gasping. as he ate you out with passion, grunting and groaning into your pussy, hips bucking into the mattress. denki's hand tightens around yours, his other hand resting on your knee, his touch grounding you as the pleasure built higher and higher.

hanta didn't stop, his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady as he worked you over with a skill and dedication that left you trembling. denki's eyes never left you, his own arousal evident as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your temple in a surprisingly tender gesture.

"you're amazing y'know," he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

when you finally come undone, your body arching off the bed and your cries muffled against denki's shoulder, hanta didn't let up until you were completely spent, twitching and whining. he pulled back, his lips glistening and his expression smug as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

denki let out a low whistle, his grin wide and appreciative. "damn, sero. i didn't know you was an eater like thaattttt," he turns to you "he's a keeper forreal-" you cut him off with a pillow to the face as hanta snickers, climbing back up to press a kiss to your forehead. "glad you think so."

you laugh softly, your body still buzzing as you reach for hanta pulling them both into a lazy, contented embrace. the three of you stayed like that, tangled together in the warm morning light, the world outside forgotten as you basked in the easy intimacy of the moment.

HEYYYYY YALLLL this is the last part of this particular series but i love this au and i have some more thingys in my drafts a lot briefer than this and if you LIKED this one then you'll probably LOVE girls who like to fuck

[dragonsaffron]

Heads Up Seven Up Tag

I got tagged by @sj-klapeckis-writing, who has a book coming out for pre-order, so go check that shit out.

Rules: Post seven sentences from your latest WIP and then tag (up to) seven people to do the same.

So without any further ado, here’s seven sentences (defined very loosely) from my current WIP, a dark fantasy by the name of The Chained Flame.

1: All of his efforts to be good, to be human, were for naught, for although he had acted human, he still bore his scales, and the curse that came with them.

2: Razan now annihilated that distance, and came right up to Lindír’s head, which from snout to base measured nearly the distance from her navel to her collarbone. She leaned in very close, and placed one hand upon the crown of his head, sending a quiver down the full length of his spine. Then she bent, and placed her lips very near to his ear.

3: Before him, past the top of the berm, was a sky overrun with stars. Behind him lay all that he had ever known, and all of his torment.

4: Winter faded into spring. Spring bloomed into summer. Lindír’s nineteenth summer died, and from its corpse emerged autumn.

5: Then she pulled a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and said, “Two-meter-tall warrior women who have never felt the touch of a man? Only a fool would not wish to become familiar with the like of them. And I, for one, am no fool.”

6: He would fall and fall and feel, for a moment, weightless, kin to the raindrops and cloud-stuff all about him, and the rush in his guts would fill him with such a light as he had only rarely seen before.

7: “I am not going to humor you by pretending that you angered the Good Neighbors intentionally, but now that you have chosen to apply yourself you’ve done quite good work.”

Tagging: @beedok @zoestorm @chirivulpes @taylor-swift-is-my-robot-dog @storywonker @velexiraptor @dammithawke

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 15 – The One Where I Try to Convince You of Just About Anything

“Don’t compromise yourself. Wait for the right person because you’re worth it.”

These were Nicola’s words the night of the London premiere when she was asked what dating advice she had for viewers. This quote has always stuck with me. Not because it’s actually great advice or emits wisdom well beyond Nicola’s years but because I can still remember the odd sense of foreboding that I felt as I listened to her words. They were just as poignant, if not more so, than the words that first invited me aboard this ship (Luke’s comments in Australia about friends-to-lovers).

And, although Luke “agree[d] with all of the above,” Nicola’s comment always struck me as making Luke uncomfortable. That interaction seemed off somehow. Awkward and strange in a way I wasn’t used to after two months of watching a rom-com style World Tour. In hindsight, and in a rather ominous way, the discomfort I felt alluded to what would happen later that evening – Luke “hard launching” Antonia.

As I was scribbling out today’s post and, honestly, struggling with how I wanted to structure it, I realized that it was not necessarily post-Papsmear (a/k/a Hot Boy Summer) people had an issue with. Instead, it seemed many people were having a hard time understanding – and accepting – Antonia’s existence in the Lukola-verse. This confusion, of course, led many to their own internal battlefield of trying to rationalize Luke’s behavior during that relatively short seven-week period. The reality is no one wants Luke to be the “Bad Guy;” therefore, people struggle to look at Hot Boy Summer with neutrality.

Don’t worry, I’m guilty, too.

I mean, Papsmear went down like a guillotine on a French – uh, well, nevermind that part. Let’s just say it did not go over well with the fandom. After months of “Romancing Mr. Bridgerton,” Luke was photographed walking into a hotel with Antonia snapping at his heels, sending the Lukola fandom into convulsions. What made it worse was that this was the night of the London premiere, the last leg of the World Tour. So long, motherfucking London!

The dark side of the fandom painted Luke as a monster – a man who, in less than three minutes, pissed on the Season 3 World Tour and broke Lukola hearts all over the world by seemingly choosing Antonia over Nicola. And, not only choosing Antonia, but flaunting her. People felt betrayed, shadowed by the possibility that Luke and Nicola had hoodwinked them with a fake PR romance and dumbfounded that Mr. I’m-Publicly-Single had a “girlfriend” (yes, that word is always up for speculation in this fandom). But, as with every dismal situation, you had the light bringers – the true-to-heart Lukolas – firing up on all cylinders and calling, “Foul!” in the direction of Antonia. A few of the less classy ones even picked up bits of old salad they’d found in a dumpster and tossed it in her direction (heehee, did you get my Dad Joke?).

And so Hot Boy Summer began…as did the confusion surrounding it.

In the beginning, I absolutely wanted Antonia to be the villain. But I’ve found that the more I write, the more indifferent I have become on the subject. Of course, that didn’t stop me from theorizing with friends. In fact, at one point, I had so many thoughts on the matter, if I had mapped them out on paper, they’d have resembled a spider’s web, with the hub being Papsmear. However, what I’ve discovered is that each of those theories, regardless of how simple or convoluted they were, took root in one of three central ideas.

That’s what I want to discuss today – those three central ideas from which every one of your sub-theories likely takes root (unless, of course, you’re the conspiracy theorist that believes Antonia is AI generated…). I want to lay out why I believe these theories are plausible (yes, prepare yourself to read some shit you almost certainly won’t find entertaining) countered by why I believe they may be out in left field. Maybe, just maybe, they will shed some light on Hot Boy Summer. But, also, maybe they won’t.

Okay, our three central theories are:

A) Luke and Nicola were simply PR-ing the fuck out of Polin.

B) Luke and Nicola were legit in their feels and Antonia became the jilted girlfriend.

C) Antonia was a PR girlfriend because [feel free to insert any reason you please].

We’re going to get the one nobody wants to consider out of the way first.

THEORY A: Nicola and Luke had a PR card up their sleeve the entire time.

I don’t like this theory any more than you do – the idea that Luke and Nicola were merely playing the part of two infatuated costars during the World Tour. However, this theory does exist, so there is no point in pretending that it doesn’t.

The backbone of this theory is that Luke and Nicola came to some kind of agreement to behave in a certain flirtatious manner during the World Tour to promote viewership of the show. As annoying as this theory is to the Lukolas, it is not unrealistic. For example, Glen Powell and Sydney Sweeney recently admitted to using the dating rumors that began while they were filming to build buzz around their movie, “Anyone But You.” Regardless of how reckless I find this behavior to be, I don’t doubt that we will start seeing it utilized more and more because it does help build interest in a project. That said, and although she admittedly leaned into the Powell romance rumors, Sweeney had an easy out once their press tour ended – she was (and still is) engaged to her long-time partner.

Now, let’s apply this PR romance to Luke and Nicola. It is entirely possible that these two simply played into their natural chemistry and allowed the romance rumors to fuel Polin. We could even go as far as to suggest that Netflix & Co. supported this PR romance because more viewers equaled more money. This, to some degree, also fits with the narrative that Luke seemingly kept Antonia out of the spotlight during the World Tour and, although it was terrible timing, launched her at the London premiere because he was tired of the fake PR. We could also make a convincing argument that this theory aligns with Luke and Nicola never addressing the status of their relationship (i.e., by never openly admitting they were “just friends,” they leave room for speculation and shipping).

To be honest, this would be a nice and tidy answer for how the World Tour went down, with Luke stepping in an elephant-sized pile of dog shit on his way out of the London afterparty and Nicola swooping into to play PR Hero by promoting Season 3 throughout the summer. Meaning, Hot Boy Summer was simply what it appeared to be at surface level – Luke running off with his girlfriend while Nicola continued promoting Season 3 on her own. Sure, this theory would leave us all feeling like we had just been kicked in the teeth, but we could absolutely package it up quite nicely and tie it with a little pink bow. However – nothing is ever that simple, is it?

There are some things that make me question the plausibility of this Luke-and-Nicola-PR-Romance theory, namely, (a) Luke and Nicola’s World Tour behavior, (b) comments made by interviewers, (c) the Claddagh ring, (d) the side trip to Galway, and (e) Chaos Week.

Regarding Luke and Nicola’s behavior towards each other during the World Tour, I don’t believe I need to go into too much detail here. Again, we all watched the same World Tour, and we all had the same reaction to their chemistry. Hell, the Jakolas started out on this side of the fandom because they also saw something between Luke and Nicola. However, to play Devil’s advocate, I will suggest that Luke and Nicola could absolutely be the next Daniel Day Lewis and Meryl Streep, method acting their way through the World Tour. But, in my honest opinion, they’re not. They’re both lovely actors but they don’t compare to the two I just named (sorry, but also not sorry).

I honestly debated with myself as to whether I wanted to include interviewer comments under this section. I finally relented and decided to do so because, for me, it was one of those things that made me question the plausibility of Luke and Nicola being strictly PR during the World Tour – because, yes, I did consider that back in May. For example, in response to Luke drinking from Nicola’s tea cup in Australia, when asked about it, the interviewer, Rachael Evren, responded, “They’re in[ ]love it’s fine.” Also in Australia, we listened to the back and forth between podcasters, Laura Brodnik and Em Vernem, debate Luke and Nicola’s real-life relationship:

Em: “I can’t believe you got her to say such juicy things about their chemistry.”

Laura: “They’re best friends and stuff, yeah, people think they’re together. They’re not, they’re just best friends.”

Em: “No, but they are.”

Laura: “Oh, don’t start that rumor. I want it on the record I’m not saying that.”

Em: “Well, I feel like after you watch Bridgerton Season 3 you would be like, ‘Oh yeah, they’re definitely dating.’”

By the time Luke and Nicola reached Canada, you had interviewers being quite obviously taken with their chemistry. For example, The Morning Show in Canada – have you ever watched Carolyn Mackenzie’s face when Luke and Nicola get into that Ryan Gosling discussion? Or, have you listened to the surprise in Karen Koster’s voice (���it’s like the carriage scene”) after witnessing Nicola touch Luke’s forehead on Ireland AM? Then you had Meredith Shaw from BT Canada and Ciara Kelly from Newstalk boldly asking Luke and Nicola about their real-life relationship, and Ben Shepherd from This Morning calling them out about the Carriage Scene (“you’re blaming the soundproof carriage, not the fact you got lost in the moment”).

And, then we had the written print:

On May 16, 2024, Shondaland’s Valentina Valentini wrote: “But throughout the past three seasons, it’s been a slow-burn anticipation for Newton and Coughlan, who have genuinely become real-life best friends in that span of time. Parallel to that, their on-screen characters have given us such a perfect crescendo of what it’s like to fall in love over decades that I’m not entirely convinced that the real-life people sitting in front of me are not actually in love. ‘Yeah! We’ve kept that one really secret!’ Coughlan jests when I hint at the possibility.”

And, in her June 14, 2024 publication, Fashion’s Annika Lautens wrote: “Nicola Coughlan and Luke Newton can’t stop looking at each other. I mean, they really can’t. As I enter their suite in the Four Seasons Hotel Toronto to interview the Bridgerton stars, all I can hear is laughter. Coughlan is leaning over to show Newton something on her phone. He throws his head back, giggling. It feels extremely intimate but, as the world has seen through countless clips on TikTok and on the third season of Bridgerton…this is just your average Tuesday for the two co-stars.”

These third-party reactions alone – in my opinion – debunk the Luke-and-Nicola-PR-Romance theory, but we will keep moving along.

I am not going to reexamine the Claddagh ring or Chaos Week in this entry as I have already gone into extensive detail of both in my blog Entries 6 and 14, respectively. If you’re behind on the significance of the Claddagh ring or Chaos Week, please take a moment and read those for more context. However, I will briefly discuss that special trip to Galway.

I’ve never quite followed why Nicola and Luke took that side trip to Galway. There was no special visit to Brighton – or wherever Luke’s family lives – so why Galway? I often find myself straddling the line between logic and delulu when I put my thoughts about Lukola on paper. I mean, from a logical standpoint, they were in Dublin so visiting Nicola’s hometown while they were on the island isn’t that farfetched. But to film it? Okay, yeah sure, Nicola is Shonda’s alleged favorite child, so I suppose it’s possible Shonda granted Nicola’s wish to flaunt Bridgerton in her hometown. I can honestly see this fitting into the Luke-and-Nicola-PR-Romance narrative. But –

It also doesn’t fit.

Sending Luke and Nicola to Galway was too close to home. It crossed the line between what could be excused as PR and what was clearly personal.

Not only did we have Nicola wearing her Claddagh ring in Galway in a manner that suggested she was in a relationship, but we also had her introducing Luke to her mother for the first time in what appeared to be an emotional moment. I have tried to convince myself this Mother-Meets-Luke thing was perfectly normal costar behavior. I have tried to convince myself that her sister-in-law’s reaction to Mother-Meets-Luke didn’t make me side-eye the entire situation. I have tried to convince myself that the Irish folks I’ve spoken with are exaggerating the significance of the Mother-Meets-Luke moment. I have also tried to convince myself there isn’t additional footage out there of this Galway Gathering just waiting to surface.

But, ugh, I just cannot convince myself that Luke and Nicola were strictly PR. This theory is as confusing as Sanrio telling us that Hello Kitty is really a human girl.

Verdict: NOT GUILTY.

Yes, we are marking this one as debunked.

THEORY B: Antonia became Luke’s jilted ex-girlfriend.

Hey, hey, USS Lutonia! I’ve got your flank.

No, actually I don’t. If the USS Lutonia was ever afloat, it sank somewhere off the coast of Italy. Sorry, but not really because I didn’t mourn you even a teensy bit.

I will preface this section by asserting my opinion that Luke and Antonia are not currently in a romantic relationship. Outside of “insinuation” posts made by Antonia, there is no evidence directly linking Luke to Antonia after July 30. Feel free to try to convince me otherwise but, when you do, make sure to include at least one photograph of Luke and Antonia in the same place at the same time with convincing evidence that it is current and that they are a couple (and, no, I will not accept blurry or Photoshopped images or metadata pulled from Instagram as evidence). That said, I will not argue with the idea that Luke and Antonia could have dated at one time. In fact, for this theory to play out, we have to agree that Luke and Antonia dated at some point.

Let’s pretend for a moment that Luke and Antonia dated before, during, and for a period after the World Tour. In this theory, the chemistry between Luke and Nicola was real (seriously, I think we’ve debunked that PR theory). The Claddagh ring and the side trip to Galway both suggested a romantic relationship between Luke and Nicola. Regardless of how real things were between Luke and Nicola, Luke still had Antonia lurking in the background. Perhaps Luke didn’t know how to break things off with her; maybe his friends and/or family made it difficult; maybe Antonia made things difficult. Everything came to a head at the London premiere, with Luke stepping on a landmine with Papsmear. But, because they can’t help but gravitate towards each other, Luke and Nicola found themselves back together – either immediately after Papsmear or, at the latest, by early August – and have continued their affair since. Oh, and Luke finally got around to breaking things off with Antonia on or after July 30.

This would – in a scorned woman kind of way – explain the “trolling” behavior Antonia was accused of during and after the World Tour. Those random posts that insinuated she was “with Luke,” even though the only evidence that directly linked her to Luke were (1) leaked and/or since-deleted pictures and videos from sources other than Luke, or (2) pictures of Luke’s friend group, which included Antonia, that, from time-to-time, alluded to Luke’s presence. Speaking of the friend group, the fact that Antonia appeared to be part of that group would support the idea that it was difficult for Luke to completely shake Antonia. This theory would also support the cat-and-mouse game played out on social media between Antonia and Nicola, which seemed heightened during and after Hot Boy Summer. Surely, you noticed that pattern by now. At the end of July, Luke’s friend group suffered some kind of catastrophic blow and Luke abandoned ship, officially breaking things off with Antonia as he went. This would explain the continued trolling for which Antonia has been accused; she hates Luke and is jealous of Nicola. Yeah, I can see this theory working. In fact, this is my preferred theory because it is the simplest. However –

For this theory to work, you must accept that Luke and Nicola are not perfect. That the two of them started an affair behind Antonia’s back. That “Nice Guy” Luke isn’t quite as sweet and kind as you have been led to believe; perhaps he’s even a bit of a fool. That “Good Girl” Nicola intervened in someone else’s relationship, making her the “other woman” and a tad disingenuous.  Does this make Luke and Nicola horrible people? No, it makes them two people who found themselves in a situation they didn’t know how to handle properly.

That said, this theory has its flaws.

For starters, it does not explain Luke’s apathy towards Antonia during and after the World Tour. I am not going to deep dive into my thoughts on this as I have already outlined them in “Entry 1: The One About That Weird Ass Cressida Post” and “Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea.” But, I will reiterate that, to date, Luke has never acknowledged a relationship with Antonia, and he has never made an effort to rescue her from the fandom’s jaws of death. The only consistent link between the two of them was the friend group (that seems to have disbanded) and “insinuation” posts made by Antonia. I am sure there are people out there who will disagree with my next statement, but I don’t consider a New Year’s Eve kiss or a date to a tennis match a “relationship.” That would be like saying “I love you” on your first date (I know, I’ve offended at least one person with this remark – I apologize but I’m still leaving it in). It’s the lack of interaction between Luke and Antonia that makes me question whether they were ever in a real relationship; and therefore, I must question to the validity of this theory.

And, because I know some of you will bring up those goddamn Instagram likes, the only comment I have is, “Get the fuck over it.” For real, it is far more fun to sit back and laugh at the “obligatory likes” than it is to freak out about them. Those likes are the only visible interaction between Luke and Antonia, and it’s becoming less and less frequent. The sad reality is, when Luke stops throwing a like in Antonia’s direction or unfollows her, she may lose the followers she gained after being linked to him. But, honestly, at this point – almost half a year later! – Antonia losing followers is her problem. And as much as I hate to admit it – this whole “like business” suggests some sort of arrangement was put in place post-breakup.

Verdict: HUNG JURY.

It’s a plausible theory – if I could be convinced Luke and Antonia were ever in a real relationship.

THEORY C: Antonia was the Real PR this whole time.

I hope you’ve read “Entry 1: The One About That Weird Ass Cressida Post” and, at a minimum, the “Mrs. Danvers” section of “Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea” because they both detail my blubbering bullshit thoughts on Luke and Antonia’s “relationship.” I’m not going to rehash them here because I’m confident most of you also find this “relationship” suspicious for the exact same reasons I do.

For the longest time, I believed the absurdly popular “Antonia was the Real PR” [conspiracy] theory to be the fandom’s excuse for not wanting to believe Luke could ever be in a real relationship with Antonia, and that (gasp!) he could have chosen Antonia over Nicola (I mean, what a prick!). In truth, I refused to give this theory much weight until my dad – yes, that guy ­– said to me, “Sounds like PR,” during one of our fireside Lukola chats. My father has a whole sub-theory on this, actually, and yes, I will explain it momentarily.

Honestly, I hate this theory because it’s complicated. And, damn straight, I’m going to throw some Benjamin Franklin at you and say, “Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.” This theory takes things beyond two celebrities playing into romance rumors to boost interest in their project, and brings in a third wheel, Antonia, to – fuck, I have no idea – blur the lines a bit?!

Alright, time for Dad’s theory…

Per my father, this was not just any PR deal; it was an arrangement struck with a “friend of a friend.” No need for an actual third wheel; just someone who was already part of the friend group that could provide the illusion that Luke might have a girlfriend. All they had to do was plant the seed and let the rumor grow, all while never outwardly confirming or denying it; that way the PR relationship could disappear as easily as it was planted.

I allowed my dad to carry on with his theory because, as he pointed out, Antonia being part of the friend group explained why (1) Luke didn’t mind her being around over the summer (it wasn’t personal, it was business), and (2) Luke had no romantic interest in Antonia (she was simply a “friend of a friend”). The fact that my father picked up on this “fandom dilemma” intrigued me.

After listening to my dad’s theory (there’s more, I promise), I spent an afternoon researching “PR relationships” and whether they existed or not. Turns out, they do. Well, they do, if we trust Mr. Google’s search results. It’s a bit of a quid pro quo thing. For example, one, usually more famous person, strikes up a “relationship” with a lesser-known person. The lesser-known person receives exposure while the more famous person receives [fill in the blank]; both gain some kind of benefit from the arrangement.

Now, the question of why Luke would need a PR relationship is – seriously – “fill in the blank” material. Some people have suggested it was to keep Luke and Nicola’s real-life relationship private; some have suggested it was Netflix stepping in to protect Polin if Lukola went south; others have suggested it was to bolster Luke’s image. I find the latter reason offensive because it assumes that having Nicola by his side wouldn’t help his image. But the other two sub-theories are reasonable to me (but also don’t really matter in the scheme of things).

The problem with the Luke-and-Antonia-PR-Romance is that it seems to have gone terribly wrong. What very possibly started out as an “illusion” became “real” with Papsmear. What I find interesting is, like the New York City premiere, Antonia was only seen in the background of the London premiere. Even as Luke was leaving the London afterparty, she went to the car while he met with fans. It wasn’t until they were papped at the hotel, that Antonia was suddenly “next to” Luke grabbing at his hand, thus “launching their relationship.”

Ruh-roh.

My dad’s theory goes on to assume that – after Papsmear – whatever “deal” Antonia was given (for example, Luke’s online support of her Instagram page or invitations to attend certain events over the summer) would be carried out as agreed. However, during that time, Antonia would return to her place in the shadows. I will confess that this is what seemed to happen – Luke never acknowledged a relationship with Antonia and evidence of their relationship seemed virtually non-existent. To the general audience, Antonia was simply a “woman in the background,” unrecognizable by most.

Assuming this PR theory is true, I’d like to believe Antonia was simply doing what she had agreed to do – feed into the illusion of a relationship with “insinuation” posts, for which she could later claim plausible deniability. However, I find this hard to believe when leaked photographs and videos started to surface in July and they were always preceded by DeuxMoi (see, I’m starting to support this theory).

At this point in his theory, my dad quoted a line by Paul McCartney, “You took your lucky break and broke it in two.” What he was saying was Antonia was given an opportunity and, due to her own actions, she mucked it up. She became fame hungry and the insinuations of her being in a relationship with Luke became harder to dispel when they were being leaked online by third party sources. However, as I reminded my father, we cannot prove Antonia was involved with any of the pap pictures. We can speculate, sure, but please keep in mind we cannot prove it.

Did I warn you my dad deep dived into this? Because, haha, he sure did.

By mid-July, per my father’s theory, Nicola was fully aware of the game Antonia was playing and recruited (not the right word, but we’ll go with it) JVN to fire subtle insults into Antonia’s camp with the intent of discrediting her.

The game ended after the Italy pap pictures were published, with Luke seemingly cutting ties with his entire friend group, which included Antonia. However, the game didn’t actually end there, at least not for Antonia. Due to whatever agreement Luke and Antonia had in place before Italy, Luke was still obligated to fulfill his part of the deal. We’re just going to speculate here that part of that included those “obligatory likes” of Antonia’s Instagram posts.

Thank you, Dear Dad, for that rather practical theory.

My issue with this is that Antonia’s antics repeatedly bring hate to Luke’s doorstep. Every time Antonia posts something on Instagram and Luke likes the post, the fandom – namely, the Sincerely Ignorant – get riled up and start slinging hate missiles at Luke (at this point, Luke can’t have nice things). And Antonia slipping things in like that balcony from the Spanish resort doesn’t help to dissuade the fandom from believing her to be a petty bitch.

My initial reaction to this theory was, no way, because at this point Antonia would have breached her contract and Luke wouldn’t still be bound by it. But then I realized, in order to breach it, one had to prove Antonia violated it. Okay, fine. But why not negotiate terminating the agreement early? Oh, well, yes, I suppose it is possible that the cost to do that outweighed the benefit. And, since those “obligatory likes” still seem to be in place – even when they bring Luke hate – I’m going to make a wild guess the agreement remains. For now.

In closing, and since I mentioned that Spanish resort nonsense, the fact that Antonia only ever posts things that insinuate she may have been in the same location as Luke supports the idea that Antonia is simply doing what she agreed to do – create an illusion. So, before anyone starts bashing Antonia, recognize she may simply be complying with her end of the arrangement. She may be just as ready to get out of that agreement as we imagine Luke to be. You know what I’d love to see? Antonia unfollow Luke and be like, “I’m out, bitches!” Honestly, I’d probably give her an “atta girl,” if she did that.

Verdict: HUNG JURY BUT WILLING TO CONSIDER A RETRIAL.

I hate to admit it, but I think this is a plausible theory. Not full proof, but strangely (and annoyingly) credible.

***

Alright, so there you have it. The three central theories that act as the spider web’s hub to all your sub-theories – because I’m certain you have them. You’re welcome to spin off in whatever direction you please, and no, you don’t need to loop me in – because, in truth, I don’t care that much anymore. And that’s not in any way meant to be negative.

For the longest time, trying to rationalize how Hot Boy Summer played out was the missing piece of my Lukola puzzle. I mean, I needed the answer. I needed it so badly; I practically presented an entire Lukola documentary to the wisest person I know – my dad – so he could solve it for me.

Dad: “Why does this matter?”

Me: “I don’t know, it just does. I just want to know what happened.”

Dad: “Will it change your opinion about whether Luke and Nicola are together?”

Me: “No.”

Dad: “Then why does it matter?”

Me: “I don’t know. It just does.”

Dad: “But you’re never going to know, are you?”

Goddammit, no, I’m never going to fucking know.

And, that is the reality of this situation. No matter how many hypotheticals we present, no matter how many sub-theories we create, we will never know what happened over Hot Boy Summer. We will never be able to justify Luke’s behavior during that time. We will never be able to explain with certainty Antonia’s role in this whole shebang.

You may not like that answer. In fact, the theories I presented today may have fueled your ambition to continue trying to solve Hot Boy Summer on your own, or with your friends. I admire that determination. But I also admire those who can let go and accept that it is what it is.

And what it is – and what it will almost certainly always be – is unknown.

[reshinless]

──── seven minutes in heaven (or hell.)

𝜗𝜚 synopsis. your friends play a game, and force you to join, and just so happens the bottle lands on you, and you forget you're playing 7 minutes in heaven with them, and the bottle lands on your dear trailblazing friend too.

𝜗𝜚 pairings. dan heng, caelus, sampo, welt, gepard, jing yuan, blade, arg

𝜗𝜚 director's notice. repost of my best work back on my old blog and the very late pt 2.

𝐈. Dan Heng ꒱

really calm outside, freaking out internally inside. the person he likes, in the same room with him? that was something that already made him have a somewhat red tint on his cheeks,

and his fate slowly being determined, and into a closet with you instead. the person who invited you just had to be the one person who knew he liked you- march 7th.

the scolding later on that he'd give wouldn't out match how much he's feeling right now. march outside the closet lowkey cheering for you two though, because she knows you both like each other back, yet, it seemed like you were blind to it, to his obviousness, it was annoying!!

you both were so obvious with liking each other.. ugh just kiss!

kind of awkward, but trust me he's just really nervous. thinking that the person he loves and admires silently is in a closet with him, the idea isn't something he thought would ever happen (in real life at least, he has dreams about you.) more utc.

while he's there, you probably gotta start the conversation. it's definitely hard to try talking while people are waiting for 7 minutes to be over to see what might've happened to you two. besides everyone already knows you both like each other.

probably really soft lips, they smell like peaches or maple, or both. and honestly and quite literally a great kisser. knows where to put his hands, probably cups your cheek while kissing you, pretty long kiss too, like after him confessing to you, will hold the kiss for pretty long, and maybe into a mini makeout session.

when you both are out of the closet or when they open the door, whether or not you guys are still kissing she'll go eww i hope you both already confessed and kissed!! you both will get angry at her later, but it was definitely a push you both needed. so a small scolding and thanking her is better.

𝐈𝐈. Caelus ꒱

such a gentle giant with you, always making sure you're comfortable with him.

if you look at the replies in game when you use him instead of the female mc aka stelle, he's much more gentle with it. and as someone who picked stelle instead of caelus she's way more reckless with responses..

super passionate about it too. kind of shy when the kiss between you two finally happens. it was also march who set you both up by the way, no shame at all she invited you to play while he was beside her.

'c'mon! live a little! plus you could even get to kiss you know who!' march quoted. a real matchmaker honestly.

like i said he's kind of shy, not awkward at all, he's the first to talk, and started to confess. he didn't care if march was on the other side of the door listening to your conversations.

if he wanted to stop being shy around you and stutter, this is what he had to do.

and who knows, you might like him back! march was sure that you did, because you also told her, and the only person whoever knew about you two. holds your hands in his while he confesses.

all he could do was continue and turn red. after he was finished, you initiated the kiss, one that was both passionate, and definitely awaited.

most likely he took so long saying that he liked you that you guys had less than 2 minutes to finally kiss, march opening the closet, to see you to share what looked like a quick peck, when it's only really you two that really knew what happened there.

as caelus took his seat on the floor back down next to march, while you took the seat next to the opposite side of where caelus was, all could do was laugh and congratulate you both, and continuing the game.

every little glance you both shared, with a smile.

𝐈𝐈𝐈. Sampo ꒱

big tease about it. 'haha we're both here together. <3'

he's had his fair share of kisses in the past, but you're his first actual romantic crush, the first to actually catch his attention, march probably didn't know you liked him and didn't mean to put you in there with someone so... eugh!!!

he's such an ick it's undescribable!! - march, but honestly his slyness and attractiveness wasn't the only thing that caught your eye. inside he's a really genuine guy.

teasingly sweet, that's what made your heart flutter. other than a few obvious red flags, he's a real sweetheart.

and it's okay we're colorblind together. at the very start it's already a makeout session inside that closet. probably moans a bit to piss you off. definitely leaves hickeys on you after every little kiss he gave, now that he knows you're his, you know?

overtly possessive of you too and rightfully so. he may look like a player but in the end he's also really new to all and everything romantic.

march opens the closet, pinching her nose, "ew get out of there!! gosh, i hope you didn't do anything bad to them.." brushing dust particles off your shoulders,

looking up and down for any bruises, and spots the hickeys, "ew.. you both really did more than just talking in that closet.."

she took a breath of relief and sat you down next to her, far from sampo, who kept smirking at you, winking even, all you could do was look away, covering the red on your face.

but march gave a disgusted look in return, mouthing the words "stay away from them!"

𝐈𝐕. Welt ꒱

experienced dilf and great kisser, not shy when confessing. cups your face for you to listen to him,

and okay this time is wasn't march even though it was so obvious that you guys liked each other, it was himeko AND march.

ok it was mostly march but himeko helped convince welt, that's a big part. anyways! such a romantic.

total sweetheart with you, wraps his arms around your waist while you place your arms around his neck like a new years' kiss happening.

remembers when it's time to get out anyway, so makes sure it's just you two who know what went down, but one arm still around your waist, to let march and himeko know their plan was a success, he already knew what they were planning,

he just let it play out, honestly didn't think they had a plan so the bottle would really land on you and him. was it.. really just by chance..?

march is over the moon with himeko celebrating you and him finally being together, honestly the people who cheered you both on the most during your dating phase.

i forgot but his kind of kisses are long lasting, patient, and.. i don't really know how to explain this but just super genuinely passionate. honestly you guys probably went more than just 7 minutes... and maybe more in the bedroom? only if you want of course!!

𝐕. Gepard ꒱

has never kissed anyone before, like other than kisses on the cheek, or forehead, he's never done that stuff.

this time the person who set you two up for this was his dear sister, serval.. plus a bit of march, because march would!! serval asked for her help anyway.. new to kisses, and new to relationships / romantic feelings,

so please guide him, so precious when he does confess, it feels like it's scripted almost honestly. but he's really so genuine with it i promise, probably starts as a kiss on your cheek, and escalates from there.

probably a really messy kiss, but just tell him he did great and that you feel the same, sprinkled with i love you and kisses all over his face, you both end up going out the room holding hands <3

march and serval are the happiest people, like parents really, all in all he's really happy you accepted his confession, serval is so happy, even gepard takes you home after the party finishes up, all that cheesy stuff like a kiss before he goes on the doorstep, <33

𝐕𝐈. Jing Yuan ꒱

who invited this hottie to the party though!!!! anyways, he's so calm and sly with it too..

he the type to put your hair behind your ear and whisper how much he loves you, and joking around on how it took you so long to realize it, then his soft lips crash into yours, aa he's such a hopeless romantic the whole moment felt like a dream <3

has kissed a fairly okay amount of people, he probably smells like strawberries and cherry blossoms. or maybe trees, either of those, and his lips are super soft,

and it's like he's always prepared for a kiss, especially when it's from you, and this time no march didn't plan it, more surprised than you are when she sees the dark hickeys scattered on your neck,

lowkey you started smelling like him too... that's at least what professional matchmaker march 7th said!

𝐕𝐈𝐈. Blade ꒱

it's probably kafka who set you both up instead, she knows blade liked you for longer, can't tell if you feel the same, to be frank, and that's impressive because she can usually read people pretty well. but she thought you both were a match made in heaven!

but it took you so long to see his obvious hints, ever since you joined, you really hadn't realized after the asking of what you love, what flowers you like, what's your favorite food, literally throwing the smoothest pickup lines at you ever?

hell i'm not even that blind and i have glasses (i am that blind)

kafka shoves you both into the closet really fast and waits outside in excitement

"oo i hope they're gonna be together now after the 10 millionth hint <333!!! what do you think silver wolf?!"

"what if they end up having sex what then-" cut to the part where he's pinned you to the wall and making out with you really harshly, probably degrades you a bit,

will leave hickeys, and bites your lip when you guys kiss. lots of tongue action, honestly is not shamed at all, is willing to strip you

like legit is chasing for your lips, bro DOES NOT play.

'till kafka opens the closet doors super happy and giddy

"you guys together now or what??" after pulling you both out of the closet, hickeys painted on your skin, blade's face tinted ruby, and eyes glowing red,

"what if you just left them there in the closet, maybe we would've had a kid on board joining us-"

overall um, kafka and silver wolf are happy (and relieved) you guys are together now plss stop being blind.

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈. Argenti ꒱

i read a little bit on his wiki that he's described as forthright, and forthright implies straightforwardness, honest, direct, and outspoken. so i think while in the confined space you both, he'll get straight to the point about his feelings, maybe a lil blush here n there.

trust me though, when argenti, a literal knight of the knights of beauty, is in love, he's in love. like he means everything he does for you in the best way possible. oh and his love language is definitely words of affirmation, and acts of service.

type of guy to hold your hands and get real close to your face to say all he has to tell you

and you know how it mentions in his story that he's very loyal to the missing aeon of beauty, i know, i just know as soon as he finds the one, he'll stay with them for a long time, even if its just one sided, because he knows that you were the one, even if you didn't think he was for you, he just knows his heart, and his soul (or at least a big part of him) that he belonged to you

kind of similar for the way he feels about the aeon of beauty iykwim. but he definitely is a loyal man, that's all i'll say. ok back to the 7mih stuff

saw the clip of him getting onto the astral ship thingy so i like to think the trailblaze gang made allies with him and like

ok well just go with it, march knows about his lil thingy for you, even if to others (himeko, dan heng, and welt) it seems like he just cares about you a lot, more than others. march just has a sixth sense for love (especially if its mutual pining, which is both of you)

march definitely put a little bit of metal on the bottle and put a little magnet on the floor to the both of you cause that bottle never landed on both of you at the same time sighhh

anyways, like i said, straightforward, and honest confession, just one kiss in that closet though.

actually even if it was only one, if you accepted your confession, expect to receive more later, and in the bedroom.

oh but march is proud, happier than ever

𝐈𝐗. Luocha ꒱

i have a lot to say about this pretty man, very similar to welt + argenti, experienced dilf, great kisser^3!!

its dan heng + sushang as your matchmakers today!! definitely met you while dan heng was looking for the trailblazing gang, sushang js thought you n luocha were cute tbh

the same as argenti, will love you for an eternity, and will stay loyal even after death and in life now.

why.. how.. who convinced bro to play 7 minutes in heaven with these goofballs (astral gang)

it was sushang and dan heng and march btw!

definitely planned this for it to be on midnight in the last days of december............ corny!! ok but to be fair luocha was pretty set on the plan too, just hoped the bottle would land on you when it landed on him.

first 2 minutes in the closet, silence and awkwardness till he speaks up

the way this man confesses..... SO SWEET MY LITTLE BABY UGH,, not necessarily straight to the point, beats around the bush a little, kind of is just like 'so ive been wanting to tell you something for a bit but idk if i should'

'promise you won't be mad?'

once he actually tells you everything, it's kind of like a word puzzle because he's very poetic, he's been preparing for this moment for more than just a few weeks, credits to sushang

asks to ring his arms around your waist while he's behind you in this dark closet

and then asks if he can kiss you while he does

maybe more than just one kiss was shared in there, but 5 minutes wasn't enough for this poetic man's long ass confession and his plans (to make out w u)

sighh

march and sushang would be jumping like the sheep in my dreams jumping over a fence when the lil smirk on luocha's face when you both get out

lol wait sushang as a sheep

i died while redoing some of these

[vivwritesfics]

Fake It Till You Make It - CL16

The Princess of Monaco is wild and out of control. She needs to stop being in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons. Charles Leclerc has had a spot of bad press since his very public break up. He needs some good PR. What better way to fix their problems than to pair them up?

Fake Dating turned real dating trope

6.3K

For the purpose of this story, I have fabricated the royal family of Monaco. I have created the members of the family, their roles and what they do, using only the fact that Monaco has a royal family

ROYAL MESS

In the early hours of the Morning on Friday, the 19th of May, Princess Y/N of Monaco was found lying in the street outside of MK Club Monaco after what appears to be a wild night out. Fans of the princess know this is no new occurrence for her.

When asked, employees in the club were quoted as saying: “It is always a delight to serve the princess. She is always polite and kind when ordering from the bar, always offering to pay for the drinks of those around her."

"Princess Y/N is fun to party with, sure. But she takes it too far, gets too drunk, and leaves us all wondering how far is too far?" Said one club patron to our reporters.

It leaves us all wondering how far is too far for the Princess of Monaco? When will her family finally take action against her partying ways?

Pictures such as these are not uncommon for the Princess of Monaco, showing us just how far royal privilege goes. It is at times like these where we thank any higher power above us that she is just the spare

Y/N's brother threw the newspaper down in front of her. His jaw was tense and his eye twitched, having just read out the entire article. "Seriously?" He said and leaned forward on his desk, staring down at his sister.

"I don't know what you're so upset about," Y/N muttered as she picked at the dirt beneath her nails. "You're not in the article."

Her brother, Herni, Prince of Monaco, let out a huff. He wanted to grip his hair and pull out of frustration, but he couldn't do that, he had to be pristine and perfect.

For years he and his family had been working to try and improve Y/N's image. It was no easy task. Well, Y/N certainly didn't make it easy. The royal family had tried to control the press, control what the night clubs were saying; they had tried to control Y/N, but none of it was working.

Henri was at his wits end.

He stood straight and turned around, looking towards the window. "How do you not understand that your actions reflect our entire family? That this shit makes all of us look bad, not just you?"

"Like the article said, I'm just the spare," she spat back, not looking up from her nails.

"Oh, don't give me that shit." Henri tried to keep his composure calm, tried not to lose his shit, but Y/N was making it very, very hard. "You're just a spoiled, little brat," he hissed.

Y/N let out a dry laugh. "I'm the selfish one? Seriously, Henri?" She called and he shot her a dirty, venomous look. So, she continued. "Who was it that threw a tantrum like a child when he didn't get the Ferrari 250 GTO for twenty-third birthday?"

Her brother glared, easily hiding his surprise that she remembered the name of the car he had so desperately wanted seven years ago.

But then Henri dropped his glare. She was just lashing out because she was pissed off about the article, he realised as he sat in his seat. "Go on, get out of here," he said to her, his head falling into his hands. He grabbed the newspaper article and slipped it back into his desk drawer.

Y/N didn't have a job. She was twenty-two, living fast and living off her family. Her family had tried to force her to get a job, but that had only pushed her into being more wild and out of control. Henri, though, he had a job. Their father had given him the important task of keeping an eye on Y/N and putting out her fires. It was an exhausting job, one that had him losing sleep.

He had to do something, he had no idea what.

There was one thing Henri could force his sister to do. And that was attend the Monaco Grand Prix.

Every year Henri and Y/N went to the Monaco Grand Prix. Y/N could still remember the first time she ever attended the Monaco Grand Prix. She was just ten years old, an eighteen year old Henri holding her hand as they walked through the paddock. She remembered standing up on the podium, watching as her brother gave a trophy to Jenson Button, and going to give Fernando Alonso a trophy of his own.

This happened every year. And, every year since she was a little girl, Y/N looked forward to seeing Fernando Alonso. The Spaniard always seemed to remember her, always greeting her with a kind, wide smile. Although Y/N loved the races, this was her favourite part of the weekend.

Because she really did love the races. As much as she tried to act nonchalant, Henri knew she loved it, loved the sounds of the cars as they came driving past.

This year, Henri kept Y/N in front of him as they walked through the paddock, waving at the drivers and the teams. The Grand Prix was full of celebrities, as it was every year. And, as with every year, Y/N and Henri were the talk of the town.

In the Red Bull garage, Y/N and Henri met Tom Holland, the Spider-Man, who was awestruck. He couldn't quite believe it as the youngest member of the Monaco Royal Family stood in front of him, talking to him about his role as Peter Parker.

At the Aston Martin garage, Y/N ran straight into Fernando's arms. "There she is," he said as she hugged him back. The bond Y/N had with Fernando was special. They'd saw each other only once a year at the Monaco Grand Prix and, in a weird way, it was like he had watched her grow up right in front of his eyes.

He knew of her partying ways and it worried him, just like it would a father to his daughter. "How have you been?" He asked, his Spanish accent thick.

As Henri moved onto the Ferrari garage, his favourite garage, as Y/N chatted to Fernando. Her favourite garage was wherever Fernando was, and she wasn't afraid to admit that. They caught up on the last year and Fernando introduced her to his teammate, a man Y/N had only met briefly before.

In the Ferrari garage, Henri said hello to Carlos Sainz. Carlos and Henri had always been friendly, that friendliness growing into some kind of friendship when he moved to Ferrari.

But then then was Charles Leclerc.

Herni loved Charles. He had several of his old F1 cars, including one of his Sauber cars, in his private collection. He'd been following Charles's career closely as he represented their country. The day he had his first win in Monaco was going to be a big day for Henri.

"Ah, Charles!" Henri called as he spotted him, already in his race overalls.

The overalls themselves were red and white, matching the flag of Monaco. Charles grinned when he saw Henri, striding over to the prince. "How are you? How is your sister?" He asked as they walked together through the Ferrari garage.

Henri pulled a face. "She is... she is Y/N," he answered with a curt nod. "Anyway, how about you? How is your season going?" He asked.

Charles gave a pained smile, and that was answer enough for Henri. "Ah," he said as they continued to walk. "Well, today will be your day."

The pair continued to chat as they walked through the paddock, catching up like old friends. Because, by this point, they were old friends. Herni asked about Charles's family and his plans for the summer break, and about his girlfriend.

Again, Charles gave Henri a look. "Ah, no girlfriend," Henri said and Charles nodded.

"I got a bit of bad publicity from it," Charles said. "I'm surprised you didn't hear about it."

Suddenly, Henri got an idea. An incredible, wonderful, terrible idea. He looked at his friend, wearing a grin, and said, "I think we can help each other out."

It was clear Charles was confused. So, Henri continued. "My sister wild and out of control," he said. "She needs somebody to get her imagine under control, and you need some good publicity. Take my sister on a couple of dates, take her to some grand prix and it'll make the both of you look good."

Charles suddenly frowned. "What? Henri, we can't do that," he said.

Henri checked his watch. The race was bound to start any moment now, he needed to grab Y/N and go sit. "Think about it," he said to Charles, wished him good luck, and went back to the Aston Martin garage to find his sister.

Henri didn't say anything to his sister as they watched the race. They watched Charles go from pole to second, Henri trying not to let the disappointment show on his face as he watched Y/N give Charles his second place trophy.

There was a good few weeks where Henri didn't hear anything from Charles. So, he didn't say anything to Y/N, whilst also trying to get her under control.

It wasn't working; Henri was close to begging. He kept an eye out for Charles's name in the press, looking for that bad bit of publicity he was talking about. And there was a lot of it, international news outlets accusing Charles of cheating, saying his bad start to the season was because of Karma.

It wasn't looking good for him, thought Henri as his phone vibrated.

He picked it up and read through his messages.

Charles Leclerc

I'm in

***

It was rare for Y/N and Henri to eat dinner together. He was always busy and she didn't give a shit. But, today, Henri insisted.

They sat across from each other, a ridiculously long table between them. Any attempt at conversation was near to impossible with the distance between them.

So, with no thought of decorum, Y/N picked up her dinner and moved down the table coming to sit right beside her brother. "What were you saying?" She asked as she tucked into her dinner.

Henri cleared his throat. "I've been speaking with Charles Leclerc."

"Okay?" Y/N looked up at him, her brows furrowed. "Good for you, Hen."

"Just listen, please," he insisted and Y/N fell quiet, returning her attention back to her food. "Its been decided by your PR team, dad, and I, that it would be best if you were seen to be with someone more... presentable. And our friend Charles if also in need of a bit of good press at the minute."

"So you want me to fake date Charles Leclerc?"

Henri nodded his head. "Not fake date him, exactly. Just be seen with him."

Y/N sat back, tapping her fork against her plate. "Okay, why should I?"

Grinning, Henri used his fork to scoop everything into a pile on his plate. "Because, if you keep up with your partying lifestyle, we're cutting you off."

She said nothing. Throwing her fork down, she pushed her chair back and stormed off.

That was the thing with Y/N. She didn’t care for propriety or her image. She did what she wanted, without much thought of how it made the royal family of Monaco. She was the weekly scandal in the newspaper, the wild child.

Henri’s head fell into his hands.

For the next week, while Charles was away from Monaco at another race, Henri set everything up. He booked out a restaurant for them, picked out something for his sister to wear and prepared her for her date with a script. Henri was controlling everything. He had every move planned out and had Y/N run through it with him several times.

He was a complete control freak.

For the date, Henri gave his sister a set of rules. Charles was his friend, after all, and this was a PR stunt. Anything he could do to prevent Y/N from embarrassing the royal family any further.

That was how she found herself in an empty restaurant, an almost empty glass of wine in front of her. Charles Leclerc hadn’t arrived at the restaurant yet; fashionably late, Y/N assumed. She was five minutes away from leaving.

But then he walked in. It was not possible for this man to look bad, Y/N realised as he strode towards her. His outfit was simple, a white shirt, buttoned almost to the top (just revealing a bit of chest) and a pair of black trousers. His hair had that usual fluff, that he seemed to achieve effortlessly.

Y/N had seen pictures of him online since his career began. He always looked good, so it was no surprise he did now.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said as he sat in the seat opposite her.

As if to prove a point, the princess finished her drink and placed her glass down. There was a flash to her left, a camera going off. But she didn't care - Henri could put out the fire he created.

Henri had given her a script, but Y/N wasn't going to follow it. That was boring. "Your brother is in F2, right?" Asked Y/N as food was brought over to them (Henri had decided what they were going to eat when he booked out the restaurant, arranging the food to be brought over as soon as Charles arrived).

Charles looked at her, clearly confused. "Um, yes," he answered. "He's with the Ferrari Drivers Academy," he said and took a sip of his own drink. "What is it that you do?"

She snorted. She hasn't meant to snort, but she couldn't help it. "I'm a princess, what do you think I do?"

But it wasn't clear. To Charles, it seemed like all she did was party. According to her brother, all she did was party. So Charles couldn't be blamed to think that.

He didn't answer her. This dinner wasn't going too well. That much was clear to everyone.

Letting out a sigh, Y/N sat back in her seat. "We need to make this look good," she said, glancing to her left. At the paparazzi not quite hidden in a bush outside of the restaurant. "You know what the news articles will be, right? 'Monaco Royalty... something something else."

Charles thought for a moment. The restaurant wasn't the right setting, this was clear.

So, he finished his drink and looked across the table, at the princess sat opposite him. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Fuck yeah Y/N wanted to get out of here. She grabbed her coat and, together, she and Charles walked out of the restaurant. A crowd of paparazzi followed them as they made their way to Charles's Ferrari SF90 Stradale.

It was a beautiful car, one Henri had wanted for the longest time. He he was going to flip his lid once he learnt that Y/N had been inside of it.

The paparazzi continued taking pictures of them as they drove off. "Where are we going?" She asked as he drove her through the streets of Monaco.

Y/N and Charles found themselves in a bar, three drinks deep. They talked casually, more like acquaintances than anything else.

Nothing happened in the bar, they just got to know each other a little better, without the awkward conversation of a formal dinner. Y/N found out about his love for music and he learnt that she was more than a just a party girl.

The next morning Y/N woke up in one of the many guest rooms with a pounding headache. She didn't remember getting back to the palace and was still in her dress from the night before. "Shit," she groaned, the light shining through her windows hurting her eyes.

She sat up and ran her hands through her knotted hair. Painkillers. She needed painkillers and she needed them now.

With no clothes to change into, she searched through the drawers for the much needed painkillers. And when she didn't find any, she made her way to her brothers office. "Henri," she sang as she pushed her way inside. And then she was leaning against the door, holding his head.

"I did it, I went on a date with Charles Leclerc."

"Well done," Henri said as he sat back in his chair. "He's taking you to Canada next week, so pack warm," he said and went back to his work.

Y/N glared at her brother and stormed off, making her way back to bed.

***

Canada. The only reason Y/N agreed to go was to see Fernando Alonso. She was there as Charles Leclerc's guest, but she didn't care. She ran straight to the Aston Martin garage, ran straight over to Fernando.

The Spaniard was surprised to see her, that much was clear. "What're you doing here?" He asked as she threw her arms around him.

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm here as Charles's guest," she answered.

Fernando's eyes went wide. "Really?" He asked, his brows furrowing.

"I know," she answered.

It really was a surprise. Fernando had never even seen the princess of Monaco so much as interact with the Monégasque driver. He knew Prince Henri was a fan, but he didn't know Y/N was. So, he asked about it.

She didn't want to lie to Fernando. But she had to seel it. For the sake of the tabloids, she had to sell it. "Well, we met at the Grand Prix, hit it off, and the next thing I knew, we were going to dinner together."

"Dinner together? Wow," said Fernando. "So, do you want me to go easy on him out there?"

Grinning, she shook her head. "You do what you need to do to bring home a win for us Aston Martin fans," she said.

They said their goodbyes and Y/N made her way to the Ferrari garage.

It wasn't as if she and Charles knew each other; they'd drunkenly discussed things, but that was it. But now, she was playing the girlfriend, tucked into his side as he kept his arm wrapped around her. Before the race he held her close and she tried her best not to look uncomfortable. Play the part. All she had to do was play the part.

During the race she stayed in the Ferrari garage, watching alongside Charles's brother. Y/N had met Arthur before, she just couldn't remember where.

"So you're dating my brother?" Asked Arthur as they watched the race.

Y/N kept her eyes fixed on the screen and nodded her head.

"How did that happen?"

She just pretended not to hear him.

This went on and on, the pair going on the odd date in random countries and Y/N joining him at races. But they were putting on a performance around each other, trying to play that part. They weren't being themselves and, therefore, not getting to know each other.

She'd joined Charles in Silverstone. They'd held hands as they walked through the paddock, smiling and waving at cheering fans. Their relationship was public knowledge now and, first the first time in the last four years, she wasn't in the tabloids for a bad reason.

Henri had arranged a date in Monaco for the pair once they got back from the British Grand Prix. They flew back with Pierre Gasly, an old friend of Charles. Y/N had only met Pierre earlier that year, in Monaco when her brother had introduced them.

Pierre was good fun for the flight home. But, by the time they got there, Y/N was exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and shut her eyes. Looking at Charles, their was no doubt that he was just as tired as she was; he was the athlete after all.

As he drove, he blinked continuously and rapidly, his tiredness evident. Her apartment was just around the corner, she realised as they were stuck in traffic. It wouldn't be the worst thing if they blew off the dinner, right?

"I live near here," she said, looking at him.

Charles blinked as he looked at the stationary cars in front of him. "Am I not taking you to dinner?" He asked, somewhat surprised.

"Well, I was thinking we could go back to my apartment and eat some pizza," she said.

"But what do we have to gain from that?"

That was right, everything they were doing had an objective. Everything they were doing had a purpose. Having dinner in her apartment, where there were no cameras to watch them, had no purpose.

"We wouldn't die on the road from you being so tired if we went back to mine."

Charles realised she had a point. When the traffic began moving, he took her directions and drover to her apartment. They made their way inside, practically collapsing on the couch.

"Sorry for the state of it," Y/N muttered as Charles sat on the sofa beside her.

Her apartment really was a mess. Clothes, dirty dishes, pizza boxes everywhere. It wasn't very royal of her. "Don't worry about it," he said quietly as Y/N gathered up the dishes and placed them on the counter in the adjacent kitchen.

Charles didn't want to ask, but he was wondering how the apartment of the Princess of Monaco was so disgusting. He hadn't even realised she had an apartment of her own, assumed she just lived at the palace.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Asked Y/N as soon as she had ordered the cheese and pepperoni pizzas. It was a safe choice, considering she didn't know what Charles wanted. "I've got beers, wine, spirits, anything you want."

She didn't hide her surprise when Charles requested a beer. "I thought you were all... fancy and stuff," she said as she handed him the opened bottle.

"The princess of Monaco is passing me a beer and she thinks I'm fancy," he said with a laugh.

But he was undeniably tired. His laugh turned into a yawn and Y/N turned on the television. They watched in silence as they waited for the pizza to arrive.

"I didn't think you'd be allowed to eat pizza," said Y/N as she checked her phone, checked where abouts the delivery driver was. Just a few minutes away. "You know, considering you're an athlete."

"I won't tell my trainer if you won't," he answered.

Just a few minutes later and Y/N was running to get the pizza. She didn't have to worry about disguising herself, running down to the lobby of the apartment in her comfiest pyjamas. She wasn't like her brother, where he was always prim and proper; she hid in plain sight.

When she came back up with the pizzas, Charles was already snoring lightly on the sofa. Y/N would have left him to sleep, left him on the sofa, but he hadn't eaten since his race. As soon as he'd eaten something, she'd let him go to sleep.

So, she gently woke him, placing one of the pizza boxes in front of him.

Again, they were in silence as they ate. But the food was giving them some sort of strength and energy and, by the time they were finished, neither were quite ready to go to sleep.

So, they talked. They talked and talked, properly getting to know each other. Charles told her stories of his karting days, of his friendship with those on the grid. Y/N told him about her childhood as a princess and her friendship with Fernando Alonso. She didn't get into the subject of her partying habit, not when she realised she didn't miss it.

"No way," Y/N scoffed, sipping her beer.

Charles laughed as he nodded his head. "Seriously. I woke up shouting 'box box'!" He insisted.

She let out a laugh of her own. "Looks like I'll need to have words with the strategists."

Their evening continued much in this fashion. She hadn't realised he was an artist, not until he showed her some music that he hadn't yet released. He was a talented pianist, and Y/N couldn't stop herself from calling him a tortured artist.

There was no way she was going to let him sleep on the sofa. That would be like letting the Queen of England sleep in the dog house. So, she let Charles sleep in her bed, a wall of pillows keeping them separated.

***

There was a shift in their relationship dynamic after that. Things came easier to them. They were still faking it, but they weren't putting on a performance anymore. It was natural.

When they weren't together, she found herself texting him. Any time she had something to say, she texted him, without caring whether he had time to text her back yet. When Y/N wasn't at a grand prix, Charles was pictured laughing at his phone, and everybody knew who he was texting

CL16

what do you want your contact picture to be?

Please don't make it something embarrassing

Oh come on, Charles

I doubt there are any embarrassing pictures of you

okay i take it back

oh god

look at this little guy

you were so cute

what happened?

Hey!

I'm still cute!

The ladies love me

sure they do, sunshine

She found herself sending him anything and everything that made her laugh. Whether they knew of this shift, it wasn't clear.

But Henri certainly did.

The next part of this story takes place during the Belgian Grand Prix. Y/N hadn't attended. She'd been to the last few and, for once, her brother wanted to spend time with her.

"I'm impressed," Henri said as they sat on the balcony, tea in front of them. "You're selling this whole relationship really well."

But his sister wasn't listening. Instead, she was giggling down at her phone as she texted. "Y/N," Henri prompted and she looked up from the phone. "Can you put it down? I'm trying to have a conversation with you."

Reluctantly, Y/N put her phone on the table. "What were you saying, Hen?" She asked and picked up her little tea cup. The rim was decorated with pink, yellow and purple flowers.

"I was saying that you've really made this relationship with Charles look real. If I didn't know better, I really would think you were dating," said Henri. He straightened his posture and sipped his tea. "What is he doing during summer break?"

She shrugged her shoulders. Summer break was something they'd only briefly talked about, while Y/N was in his apartment, trying out his sim rig (spoiler alert, she was fucking terrible at sim racing. But it was still good fun, pretending to be her pretend boyfriend). He'd invited her on his yacht by literally saying, "join me on my yacht during summer?"

It was an invitation Y/N couldn't turn down, so she just said, "sure."

Henri continued. "Why don't you invite him to the palace for dinner?"

That was too much of a step into real relationship territory. Immediately she shook her head. "You do know that he isn't actually my boyfriend, right?" She pressed, placing her teacup back down onto the saucer.

Henri waved her off. "I know, I know," he said. "It would just be nice, you know?"

Suddenly Y/N felt a little sick. This was skidding way too far into relationship territory. Fake boyfriends didn't have dinner with her family, fake boyfriends didn't take him to her apartment just because he could.

The next time she saw Charles, Y/N was on his yacht. She laid in the sun, arm across her stomach and her eyes shut. It was lovely, so fucking lovely.

Charles sat beside her, passing her a drink. "Thank you, Charlie," she said with a smile as she sat up. "Best fake boyfriend ever." He patted her knee and stayed at beside her as the yacht gently moved on the water.

They spoke and, as they spoke, Y/N realised they never spoke about how fake their relationship was. In fact, Charles wasn't acting as though their relationship was fake. Even as they walked to his apartment, through the building and away from prying eyes, he still held her hand.

When she sat on his yacht, talking to him about whatever, he kept his hand on her knee.

As they day got later, the two began drinking. "To us," He called and tapped his glass against Y/N.

"To us," Y/N repeated and drank her drink. They slept on the yacht that night, with Y/N changing from her swim wear into something a little warmer as the sun disappeared.

They ate together, drank together, and just spent time together. It was nice, giggling and leaning on each other. Charles just loved spending time with her, it seemed. He gave her his hoodie when she shivered and, when that wasn't enough, he tucked her into his side.

They were both getting tired and were both ready to go to bed. Y/N glanced up at him from her place against his side. That was when he leaned down to kiss her.

Y/N stood up immediately. "Woah, what the fuck?" She cried as she jumped away from him. "Charles, what the hell are you doing?"

"I... Just thought..."

"Well you thought wrong!"

Y/N stormed off, heading to the bedroom. She set up the bed, placing the cushions between them. They'd slept in the same bed several times since that very first time in her apartment, but hadn't since.

The next day, she got Charles to take to back to the marina. Whether paparazzi saw them or not, she didn't care as she stormed away from him without so much as a goodbye.

OFF THE RAILS

Just when we thought things were looking up for the Monégasque Princess, it seems she is, once again, off the rails.

Princess Y/N has spent the last few months seemingly dating Formula One driver, Charles Leclerc. In this time, it appeared that the princess had halted her wild ways. The clubs she so often frequented were quiet without her presence.

But, after a rocky night on his luxury yacht, the couple appeared to go their separate ways. The Princess was seen storming away from the yacht on Monday morning.

Fans had been hoping that this was just a little spat between the popular couple, but after the Princess was spotted partying in Monaco just the night previous, fans soon lost hope.

She'd done so well staying in the medias good books for the last few months. But, ever since that night on the yacht, Y/N needed to get out. She needed to get out and have a wild night.

She'd never been a relationship person. When Charles had gone to kiss her, she'd been terrified. Why be in a relationship person when every relationship you've had was somebody trying to screw you over?

Because she had loved every minute with Charles. Every fucking minute. For once it felt like she wasn't being used, and they weren't even in a relationship. But Y/N couldn't see a future with him, not one where at least one of them didn't get hurt.

So, she ran away from it. She ran from him and her feelings, ran back into the embrace of the bottle. She partied the night away without caring who saw it.

Of course Charles saw it. It was the first thing he saw when he opened any form of social media. Her face plastered across his screen. Her in a low cut dress that perfectly showed off her figure. He sucked in a breath. She was meant to be his girl, and she didn't want him.

Even though they weren't together anymore, Y/N did stop with the partying. She calmed down immensely, no longer appearing in the tabloids. No longer appearing anywhere, actually.

Charles tried his best to forget about her. He didn't sleep around, he just put all of his energy into his work. He took sponsorship deals, did photoshoots and spent all of his time training. All to get Y/N out of his head.

Well, it didn't work. Charles couldn't forget about her. It was taking everything in him not to go to her apartment and tell her how he had fallen for her while they were supposed to be pretending to date.

Charles messaged Henri, asked how Y/N was doing, but Henri didn't seem to know.

That was because she hadn't been seen outside of her apartment in weeks.

When Henri told Charles, he knew he had to do something.

After attending the Italian Grand Prix alone, Charles made his way to Y/N's apartment. He had all of his things, having not made his way back to his own apartment.

When he knocked on her door, there was a moment before anything happened. He listened out, listening as she got off of the couch with a groan and walked over to the door.

The girl that answered the door was the girl that Charles was in love with, but she was hard to recognise. Hair a mess, bags under her eyes, wearing clothes that hadn't been washed in days.

When she pulled open the door, her face dropped. "Oh," she muttered, leaning against the door, not letting him see the mess inside. "What are you doing here?"

"Your brother told me you're not doing good."

"So?"

She was so quick to shut him down, to try and get him away from her apartment.

But, Charles pushed on. "So, I came to check on you. I'm worried about you."

Finally, she pushed open the door and allowed him inside.

The apartment was a state. Trash everywhere, dirty clothes about the floor, all of her dishes used and piled up around the apartment. There was half eaten food that was definitely rotting.

"Shit, Y/N," said Charles as she pushed the door shut.

She glared and threw herself back down onto the sofa. "Oh, fuck off," she said.

Charles sat on the end of the couch. It was the only place in the apartment that filthy. "I just want to help you," he said and began picking up the clothes on her floor.

And then Y/N sat up, causing Charles to stop what he was doing. "Why? Our entire relationship was fake, so why do you care?" She spat.

"Because." Charles stood up a little straighter, dropping her clothes into a little pile. "Because I love you. I know we were only fake dating, but it felt so real! And I realised that I actually do love you! I want to date you for real! I want to be the best real boyfriend ever, not the best fake boyfriend ever!" He exclaimed. "I don't know why you're so opposed to the idea. Those dates we went one, the ones after that first night in your apartment, they were amazing. I wouldn't have invited you to my yacht if I didn't seriously like you."

Y/N scoffed sarcastically. "Sure you do, Charles. Sure you, a world famous Formula One driver who can have anybody he wants, wants me, the troubled spare, the princess that nobody wants." She said it quietly, picking at her nails.

He leaned down in front of her, taking her hand in his and kissing the back of it. "I do. I really do want to be with you. Princess Y/N of Monaco, I want to take you on dates and I want you to join me at races. I want to show you off in the paddock and I want to take you on my yacht, kissing you with your permission. I want you, Y/N."

But the way she looked at him, she looked ready to cry. "I can't do heartbreak," she said and pulled her hand away from his. "Not with you, Charles. I can't handle you breaking my heart," she said and stood up.

Charles suddenly pulled her close. "I won't break your heart," he whispered and kissed the top of her head. "Now, go take a shower. I'll sort out... all of this."

Y/N did just that. She turned on the water and hopped into the shower as Charles picked up the rubbish. Mainly empty wrappers and bottles of soft drinks. There were plenty of pizza boxes that he shoved behind the bin, just for the time being. After that, Charles picked up her clothes from the floor. He shoved what he could into her washing machine and turned it on, leaving to pick up the plates.

When Y/N hopped out of the shower, the apartment wasn't clean. But it was better. The floor was now visible. As Charles cleared up the space between the couch and the television, Y/N set about washing the dishes.

"Pizza?" Charles offered as he walked over with some half full glasses and cups.

But Y/N shook her head as she scrubbed a bowl that was once full of cereal. "You know, for the first time in a while, I'm not feeling like pizza."

"We'll get you something better, then," Charles said and set about ordering food.

They sat on the couch, Y/N in the last of her clean clothes, tucked into his side. "If we're gonna try this, we'll need to go on proper dates," she muttered, her head against his chest. "And, eventually, you'll need to come and have dinner with my family."

Charles let out a laugh. "Relax, chérie, we're gonna take it one step at a time."

One step at a time.

[ravens-two]

Mini-PAC: Your Person's Love Language

This one is a smaller reading, and it has no extended version. It includes your person's love language and how they express their love/feelings/emotions.

Disclaimer: this is just for entertainment purposes, and as a pick-a-card reading it may not resonate for everyone.

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Five of Pentacles, Two of Wands, Gratitude

"All that I am and all that I'll be, forever in gratitude I'll eternally be."

Words of Affirmation/Acts of Service

Hi, pile 1, this person has been through a lot and knows that life can be incredibly hard. That's why they do their best to make it easier for you. That's their love language, making life easier for you. They are quick to show their support and to offer help whenever you need it. They don't have any problems with saying thank you or apologizing when they're wrong. They might have in the past or they might still struggle in other relationships (with people they aren't as close with), not with you though.

They know what it's like to not have anything, including support from others, and they never want to see you there. They could have become the type of person that tells you to get it together and pull yourself by your bootstraps, but they're not. Again, this comes from a deep sense of empathy. (It actually reminds me of that Doctor Who quote "All that pain and misery, and loneliness, and it just made him kind".)

They're the type of person to do the whole "I love you, no I love you more" game. I also see them telling you that they love you as soon as they wake up or before falling asleep. They just really like to say it. They have no problems with expressing their feelings, although I'm getting that they're also private people (this side of them is just for you). I also see them being like "do you need me to listen or do you need advice?" whenever you have problem. They are quite selfless when it comes to you.

Pile 2

Seven of Cups, Judgment, Bear Medicine

"There is no tomorrow without the healing of the past for in stillness you shall find yourself right where you are."

Acts of Service/Quality Time

Understanding is the word I keep getting for your person, pile 2. I get the feeling that your person is quite silent. They remind me of a cat actually, they love spending time in the same room as you while each one does their own thing. They enjoy just reaching out a hand to you and hold hands while doing something else. In general though, I see a lot of silence. This is a comfortable silence, though, there's no awkwardness here. I also think that they're deep thinkers, so when they share their thoughts with you you'll know that it's something important for them. I don't think that saying "I love you" comes easy for them, but you'll know that they really mean it when it comes out.

A bit similar to pile 1, is that when you have a problem your person is ready to step in and help however they can. They're the type to silently act, instead of talking about what they would do. Where I really see the Acts of Service thing though, is them just doing things for you without you having to ask. Like offhandedly mentioning that you need to change your tires, they'll just do it without even saying anything (always respecting your boundaries of course). Or you might mention that you really like a certain brand of chocolate so they always keep that brand at their house so that you can have some. Your person is really thoughtful and they pay a lot of attention to what you say - and what you don't say too.

I get the feeling that they like to be left alone whenever something's wrong, so I feel like they'll do the same for you. Instead of asking what's wrong or try to cheer you up, they'll just sit beside you and keep you company.

Pile 3

Tower, Ace of Pentacles, Cardinal Medicine

"Thy self bleeds of sacredness, an honor fit for the Gods. You are worth all the seas and all the skies and all the desires you hold inside."

Gift-giving/Quality Time

Your person wants to give you the world, pile 3. Their love language is definitively gift-giving, but it's not just about big gifts or luxury (although it could be the case for some of you). For most of you I just see your person being like "look at this cool rock I found today" or "I saw these flowers and they reminded me of you". They just love giving you little trinkets. Especially things that they find unique or special in some way. They think that you deserve something that no one else can possibly have. This can even include commissioning art work or jewelry just for you.

On a more day to day level I also see them just buying your favorite treats. They just want to get home with something special for you, be it your favorite meal or candy. They are very giving in general, and if you say you want something they won't hesitate to buy it for you. Also, I get the vibe that they're incredible gift-givers. Your birthday presents are always incredibly thoughtful.

They might also enjoy creating things for you or singing/playing music for you. They like to have a good time, so having enjoyable experiences is also a love language for them. This could be a dedicated date night where you try new stuff (food, places, activities), going on vacation to new places (just the two of you), or even going to the cinema to watch a new movie. They want to spend time with you while you both do something that you enjoy.

Pile 4

Three of Wands, Emperor, Ringing the Bells

"Ring thy bell to cast them out, ring thy bell and dance about. Swirl the sounds amidst the winds, nowhere to hide, for all will ring."

Physical Touch/Words of Affirmation

Right away I can tell that this is a physical touch kind of person, pile 4. They are very fiery and might get too handsy at times, but it's not just about that for them. They just love to feel your body against theirs. They love to hold hands, wrap their arms around you, and for some of you they love biting (gentle and playful bites on your hands, arms or shoulders). They're not embarrassed by other people and just really love PDA. They like to be touching any part of you all of the time, I feel like it gives them a feeling of safety and comfort. For some of them, they were a bit touch starved for a long time, and now they're making up for it.

I also get the feeling that this person gives the best hugs! It's probably their go-to to comfort you. They'll have no problems telling you that they love and how much you mean to them (although I feel that they crave more to hear you say it, rather than saying it themselves), but their way of showing you how they feel is through touch. They might kiss you to show you that they love you or to communicate their anger or frustration with a problem. This also means that for them sex is also a way of showing you how they feel. They expect you to pay attention to the way they behave during sex to know how they're truly feeling.

When it comes to Words of Affirmation, again I don't think that they struggle to tell you that they love you - in fact I think that they say it rather often - it's more that they struggle with expressing their emotions. Again, they also prefer to receive love this way. They want to hear you say that you want/love them.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Seven Deadly Sins pop-up event.

Not Just Sundays

Prompt: Sloth | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Corroded Coffin Trying to Make it On the Road, Steve Back Home in Hawkins, Failing at Managing the Distance, Good Uncle Wayne, A Touch of Angst w/a Happy Ending

Another night, another show, and another missed phone call that he promised he'd make over a week ago. Fuck. Time is just slipping away from him. From the studio to gigs to party after party. They've really got a good thing going, and slowing down right now just isn't an option. Once the ball is rolling, you gotta keep it going. Steve will understand. Steve always understands.

He's good like that.

Eddie knows Steve wants the band to make it. Succeed. Even if that means Steve's been getting a smaller slice of Eddie's attention right now. It won't always be like this, Eddie's sure, so for right now he's gonna strike while the iron is hot.

He'll call Steve tomorrow. For sure.

A week later, there's a note waiting at the front desk of the next hotel. An order to call home. Eddie looks at his watch, but doesn't really have time to call Wayne right now. 

"Make time," Jeff says, as if Eddie had said that out loud for everyone to hear. He didn't, he doesn't think, Jeff just knows him that well.

"Fine," Eddie says, and drags his ass off to one of the phone booths in the lobby. It's cheaper than using the room phone, he's sure.

Wayne picks up after three rings.

"I had a boy here last night, pretty upset after not hearing from you in sixteen days," Wayne drawls by way of greeting. It's a condemnation, and Eddie feels it. If he hasn't talked to Steve in sixteen days, he doesn't even know how long it's been since he's called Wayne. 

Longer. Much longer.

"Shit," Eddie says.

"I'd say," Wayne answers.

"I'm just busy," Eddie says, and he knows it's an excuse. He could make time, he just hasn't prioritized it. Like getting out of Hawkins just spread his wings a little too far.

Wayne sighs. 

"What will it profit anyone, if they were to gain the whole world, but lose their own soul?” Wayne quotes, and Eddie leans his head against the glass.

"Are you proselytizing to me again, old man?" Wayne grew up with religion in a way that Eddie did not, and therefore can pull verses and lessons out of his coveralls pocket at any time. It's annoying.

Wayne sighs, "No. I'm not. Not really. But what good will it be to you, boy, if you make it to the top, and then take a look around, only to realize you're all by yourself?"

He's not all by himself. He's got Gareth and Jeff and Goodie. 

But he knows what Wayne means. Will the fame be worth it, if he loses Steve in the process? No. No way, and he knows that. He does. It's just been hard to juggle both right now.

"I'll call him," Eddie promises.

"It's not that," Wayne says, as if that wasn't the reason for his whole call.

"It's not?"

"Think long and hard, Ed. If you don't have space for him right now, if you don't want to make space, it's okay."

And Eddie starts to argue.

"Eddie. It's okay. But don't string him along while he waits back home. It's not right."

"What do you-"

"Shit or get off the pot, kid."

And Eddie laughs. They've moved from a sermon to Midwestern idioms. Great.

But he knows Wayne is right. 

Goddammit.

He calls Steve next, and he's not home. Which, that serves Eddie right. He doesn't leave a message, feels that's too easy. Steve will hear it, forgive him, and Eddie thinks he deserves to get a little bit of his anger. A little bit of his hurt.

They have a four-night break. He could run home. It's not that far. See Steve. See Wayne. Put out the fires he's caused.

Yeah. He's doing that.

Eddie throws some clothes in his duffle, as the other three watch him pack.

"And you'll be back by Thursday?" Jeff asks, and Eddie swears he will be. He knows the schedule. 

"Okay then," Jeff says, tossing the keys onto the bedspread, "go apologize."

Eddie will grovel, will beg if that's what it takes.

It was a long drive to think. The house is dark. He pulls out his keys and lets himself inside. It's kind of a mess, which is so unlike Steve. There are dishes piled into one side of the sink, and laundry sitting in baskets waiting to be folded.

Maybe he's just been busy at work. Picking up extra shifts or something.

Eddie dumps his bag in the bedroom, and no Steve there either. 

He needs something to do to keep his idle hands busy, and he starts the dishes. Folds the laundry, then moves on to running the sweeper. 

It's after ten, and still no Steve. Maybe he's staying at Robin's. It's too late to call her, she'll either be pissed or worried about where Steve is, so Eddie can't do anything except wait and worry that maybe he's too late.

Then a key's sliding into the lock, jiggling the handle, door swinging open, just before eleven. Eddie's been sitting on the couch in the dark.

And he doesn't mean to, but he scares the shit out of Steve.

"Jesus Christ, fucking hell," Steve snaps, clutching his hand to his chest like he's decades older than his years. Like he's terrified.

Well, that's probably fair. He spent his teenage years being chased by monsters.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just me," Eddie reassures, holding out his hands as if to prove that he's harmless.

He's not harmless.

He's hurt Steve, and that's a bitter fucking pill to swallow.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asks as he takes a couple big steps forward, barreling into Eddie's chest. He smells like sweat and, well, Steve. 

Eddie hugs him back, but feels like shit that Steve has so easily opened his arms, and heart, after Eddie's been so careless with him.

"Everything okay?" Steve asks, face presses into Eddie's neck.

"Yes, yes, I just missed you and I've been pretty shitty about showing that," Eddie explains, hugging him as tight as he can.

"Missed you, too," Steve says, "I'm glad you're home."

Eddie wants to know where he was, wants to know how he's passing the time. But isn't sure if he should barrel in and start demanding to know things. He's the one that hasn't been around, hasn't been reaching out, he probably doesn't get to start grilling Steve.

"I probably stink," Steve says, trying to take a step back, but Eddie won't allow it and just hugs him tighter.

"Love it, wouldn't change a thing," Eddie teases and Steve laughs, his voice rumbling against Eddie's chest.

He really wouldn't change a thing.

"Sunday night basketball," Steve offers, as if that's an explanation. 

"Yes, of course, that," Eddie says, teasing him a little more, and Steve giggles, pressing his lips to Eddie's neck.

"Mr. Clarke unlocks the gym. And the dads and old men in town get together and play basketball at the gym," Steve says, fingers digging into Steve's back.

Eddie laughs, "Mr. Clarke plays basketball?"

"Not well," Steve admits, biting him, just a gentle nip, and fuck Eddie's missed him. "But good isn't a requirement. Just gotta be outta high school and willing to show up."

Eddie should know this. Should know what Steve does every night, not just Sundays. 

"I'm sorry I've been scarce," Eddie apologizes, "I've been an asshole."

"You've been busy," Steve counters, "but I wouldn't mind hearing from you more often. Even if it's just for a few minutes."

"I'll do better," Eddie promises, and hopes that's true. Steve deserves for him to do better. Eddie wants to do better for him, for them, for their whole future, for their present.

Where he's a touring musician, for real, and Steve is playing basketball with Mr. Clarke for fun.

Eddie wants it all with Steve.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: Sloth was interesting to approach! Of course, at first I was like, sloth = lazy. Then I read this:

"Sloth becomes a sin when it slows down and even brings to a halt the energy we must expend in using the means to salvation."

Obviously, I'm twisting the religious take here, but Steve's his salvation, and he can't neglect expending his energy to love him.

[taergalive]

A collection of incorrect Radioapple quotes because I have a problem and I'm making it yours

Lucifer, talking to Alastor on the phone: Did you preheat the oven like I told you to? Alastor: You bet! Lucifer: At what temperature? Alastor: 535. Lucifer: That's the clock. Alastor: Lucifer: Alastor: 536. -- Lucifer: Alastor was banned from the buffet, so we had to go out of town to get some. Alastor: Well, they shouldn’t say “all you can eat” if they don’t mean it. Lucifer: Alastor, you ate the chef. -- Alastor: Okay. I get it. You've had a really hard time lately, you're stressed out, seven people died- Lucifer: Twelve, actually. Alastor: Not the point. Look, they're dead now and really whose fault is that? Lucifer: Yours! Alastor: That's right, no one's. -- Lucifer: Okay, truth or dare? Alastor: Truth Lucifer: How many hours have you slept this week? Alastor: Alastor: ...Dare Lucifer: Go to bed. Alastor: I don’t like this game. -- Lucifer: Stop buying plastic skeletons for Halloween! It's terrible for the environment! Alastor: Yeah! Locally sourced, all-natural skeletons are much more environmentally friendly! -- Lucifer: I’m gonna need a human skull and I can't have you ask any questions why. Alastor: Only if you also don't ask why Alastor: *Pulls out 7 pristine human skulls* Take your pick. Lucifer: Alastor: Lucifer: This one is fine -- Lucifer: Oh just so you know, it's very muggy outside Alastor: Alastor: Lucifer, I swear, if I step outside and all of our mugs are on the front lawn... Lucifer: *Sips coffee from bowl*

[hardcandycigarette]

Long Way Down Part One

Part Three

Here's the story of married Harry who's a dad to three small kiddos, and married for over seven years to Y/N. Marriage is always hard work, but what happens when being married to a pop star becomes too much for Y/N?

WARNING-slight references to sex, curse words

This is angst angst and more angst. There are other parts to the story, and with enough feedback, I'll post more to this story.

Word Count 4.7K

“Japan. Chile. Australia. Oh, and let's not forget Madagascar. Mada-Fucking-gascar, Harry. Who goes to Madagascar? Why the one and only Harry Styles? That's who. You realize most people never see any of those places in an entire lifetime, right? But you, you went to all of those places THIS YEAR!” Y/N stomps to their daughter's room picks her up from her crib, hoists the baby on her hip, and walks out of the nursery and down the hall.

Harry follows her to the kid’s bathroom. "Y/N, baby, it was all for work. I don't care about those places, don't even get to enjoy them."

"It doesn't matter. You still got to go. And that's in addition to your normal New York, LA, often Paris or Rome. Those places are just another day at the office for you. Do you want to know where I've been? Whole Foods. Baby Gym. Holmes Chapel. The park. School runs. Yep, that’s about it. Oh, the doctors, and kids' birthday parties; on wild days, a friend comes for a glass of wine when I can finally relax at 9 PM. So don’t do this with me, not this time.” She begins to undress the baby. She’s seething but keeps her voice down so the little one isn’t upset.

“Do you know how many days you’ve been home since the tour ended? I’ll tell you because I know exactly. 26. You could’ve paid someone to do your dirty laundry and brought home clean clothes. Even the slightest gesture to show you get how hard it is around here.”

“I’m sorry. I was so focused on just getting home I didn’t even think of having them done.” Harry turns on the bath water and tests the temperature.

“Oh, poor thing. Traveling the world in the lap of luxury must be torture.”

Harry walks to the door. "No, Y/N, no. You know what a tour is like. You've been on the road with me. You know how utterly chaotic it is. Yes, I should've thought about the laundry, but I didn’t.”

She places the baby in her bathtub seat, squats, and begins soaping her up. “Of course, you didn’t think of me.”

Harry is leaning on the doorframe of the bathroom now. “Babe, swear if you give me just a bit to decompress, I'll be happy to give you whatever ya need. We’ll take a family vacation, go someplace nice, the five of us, any place you like, you pick.” He extends his hands in her direction.

“You've been home 26 days. That's how long you've had to decompress.” She uses air quotes around decompress. You've done zero loads of laundry. I do at least four a day, trying to catch up with everything. Laundry never ends even when it’s just me and the kids. You leave a trail of mess in every room. You do nothing to help, nothing. It’s like you’ve completely checked out on the fact this is supposed to be a partnership.”

“My job isn’t just dancing around in sparkly trousers for an hour or two. I’m fucking exhausted too. You’re not playin’ fair, Y/N.”

"Thing is, I'm not playing at all, Harry.”

“A vacation with the five of us is a vacation to you, Harry, not to me. I love you guys, I really do, but I need a break. I needed this just for me. I wasn't asking for much, Harry. Five days for myself, time to decompress, as you call it. I wanted to be with my friends and sisters, but you know what, never mind. Go. Just go. We’ll talk about it when I’ve put her to bed.”

“I’ll put her to bed.” He closes the door behind him when he steps out.

Harry hears her singing Adore You. The song always makes the baby smile. Y/N can’t be completely furious if she’s still singing his songs. Harry couldn’t be more wrong.

When Y/N finishes with the bath, she wraps her daughter in her little duck towel with a hood and exits the bathroom. Their son’s door is cracked down the hall, and she hears Harry talking with him. She stands just outside the entrance to eavesdrop.

“That sounds like a good time, buddy. I’m glad you had fun with your friend. Did you make sure to hug him and say thank you before you left his house? Did you thank his family for having you over?”

“Yes.” He sounds so tiny for someone who wrecked Y/N’s nerves with his big voice the entire time Harry was gone.

“So, let’s get snug as a bug in a rug.” Harry wraps the blanket over their son and kisses his forehead. "Have a good sleep, and we'll have some fun in the morning, yeah?”

“Love you, Dad.”

Harry walks across the room and turns off the light. “Love you even more, bud. See you in the morning.” He closes the door when he leaves the room.

“Thank you.”

“He’s m’ son too, Y/N.” Harry walks toward the couple’s room, head hanging down; he drags his finger along the wall.

He doesn’t stick around to help put Lola down, be it because he forgot he said he would put her to bed or he's just upset.

Y/N walks to Lola’s nursery, dries and lotions her, dresses her for bed, and places her in the crib, hoping she will go down without a fight. "Love you, punkin’. Good night.” She kisses her and stands near the bed. She waits to see if she cries. When she only babbles, y/n turns on the baby monitor and nightlight, then crosses the room, turning off the light as she exits, but only closes the door partially.

Y/N heads toward the bedroom, dreading how the rest of the evening will go. Harry is sitting on the bed reading a book about Japanese art, his readers slide down his nose as he pretends to be intensely focused, but she knows him and knows he’s not focused.

She walks to the dresser, opens a drawer, and gets some pjs. She’s too pissed off to bother with a shower but goes to the ensuite to undress. “Don’t have to pretend you’re reading Harry.” She changes her clothes and tosses the dirty clothes in the hamper, does her skincare, and brushes her teeth. She picks up a pair of Harry’s gross, beat-up sneakers as she enters the bedroom. "These are nice," she says, tossing them across the room.

“Cut the crap, Y/N. I know what you're doing. You're not getting a fight out of me, so toss all the shoes you want. I'm not going to argue with you. The passive-aggressive stuff stopped working a long time ago."

She exhales and sits on the bed. "Not being passive, Harry, just aggressive. I'm tired. I'm so tired." She falls back on the bed.

He crawls over to her and plants a kiss on her lips. “Mmm, minty.” He smiles.

“Yep.” She closes her eyes.

He kisses her again. “Come over here; Let’s have a snuggle and a good night’s sleep.”

“I can’t tonight. I just can’t.” She sighs as she climbs to the pillows, placing her head down on the fluffiest one-her favorite one.

“Can’t what?”

“Have sex.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

She rolls her eyes. "Okay. I don't know your pattern exactly; whenever you want to get frisky. Just met you, have no idea what you're like when you want to pretend an argument didn't happen, makeup, move past it, and get what you want.”

Harry’s eyes narrow. He swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow. I can’t believe you just said that. That’s one of the worst things you’ve ever said to me. To imply I manipulate you for sex.” Harry stands, grabs his pillow, and walks to the door. “I’ll be in the guestroom.”

The following day she slowly opens her eyes and reaches over to Harry, but he’s not there. She thought that after he cooled off, he'd return to bed. She thought he’d slip under the covers once he knew it was safe and she was asleep. But he didn't come back to bed. She sits up and looks around the room. Gross sneakers are still across the room, three of Harry's hoodies over the recliner, one of Lola’s toys, and an empty water bottle next to Harry’s wallet -the room is a disaster. She sighs, rubs her face, and flops back down. The house is quiet, almost too quiet. Why is it so quiet? In a panic, she sits up, throws on her robe, and walks to the door. She flings it open and rushes down the hall. When she gets to Lola's room, she pushes open the door; the light is off, and Harry, bare-chested, sits in the recliner, rocking her. "Is she sick? What time is it? Where is everyone?"

"No, she's not sick, Y/N, she's m’ daughter, and she needed a cuddle with her daddy."

"Oh. Look about last night…."

"Not right now, Y/N. Let me enjoy this. Archer and Poppy are in the playroom watching a film. They’ve had their breakfast.”

She nods and leaves the room. She can’t hold back her tears as she walks to the kitchen. But her tears abruptly halt when she enters the filthy kitchen. Harry obviously made breakfast for everyone. Pancakes and bacon are covered with a cloth and a note with Mumma written in crayon to let her know it is hers. But the tenderness she feels doesn’t last long as she scans the kitchen. The dirty plates, cups, pots, and pans litter the kitchen and breakfast nook. The stove is splattered with grease and batter, and God knows what else. She starts to gather the dishes to clean them and load the dishwasher. Once everything is in the sink, she sits at the table in the breakfast nook, picking at the plate of food left for her. She isn’t hungry. Lately, she never is.

"Not as good as yours, but not half bad.” Harry breaks the silence as he stands next to the fridge arms folded over his muscular chest.

“Where is-“

“Living room in her pack-n-play.”

“Okay.” She picks up a slice of bacon and bites into it. She tosses it back on the plate.

She stands, walks to the sink, and begins cleaning off the excess food.

“I was going to do that as soon as I got done with the baby. I didn't have time to juggle it all."

“Really? Didn’t have time? Couldn’t juggle it all? That’s rich.” She shakes her head and chuckles as she places the cutlery into the designated basket in the dishwasher.

He shakes his head, looking at the ground. He cocks his mouth to the side and clicks his tongue. "Touche." He walks over and begins placing the dishes in the dishwasher.

She moves, allowing him the glamorous opportunity of a lifetime. “Wonder when the last time you did this was. Long before X-Factor, I’m sure.”

“Don’t.” Harry scrapes off a dish.

“But why not? You get to have all the fun. You get to do all the talking. You get to see all the things. Meet all the people. You get it all.” She leans against the counter, tapping her fingers.

“Y/N, I’m warning you-don’t.”

Her eyes widen, and she stands with a smirk on her face. This man bought all the audacity. “Warning me? Warning me? What are you going to do if I don't stop? Nothing.”

To get her attention, he throws a glass, aiming it at the sink, but not realizing the force behind it, it crashes into the stainless steel and shatters.

They both jump back, then freeze.

He reaches toward Y/N. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to."

“Get out. I mean it, Harry. And I don’t mean the kitchen. You leave this house. You leave this house now, and don’t come back.” Her words are low and deliberate as she stares at the floor.

“That was out of order what just happened. I'm sorry; you know I'd never lay a hand on you or do anything in the world to scare you. Don't know what came over me."

“I said get out.”

“Excuse me? Don’t come back to my own frickin' house? You've got to be kidding. I'm doing no such thing, Y/N. Will I go downstairs and stay in the entertainment room or sleep in the guest room? Sure. Will I take the kids out for the day? Sure. But leave? No. We’ve never spent one day apart in anger, and we aren’t starting now, so get that idea out of your little head.” He points to his temple, gritting his teeth.

“Fine, then I will.” She pushes him out of the way when she passes him to leave the kitchen.

Harry follows her. “You’ll what, Y/N?” He grabs her arm, attempting to stop her.

“Get your damn hand off of me, you big bully.” She jerks away, storming toward the bedroom.

Harry goes to the living room to get Lola. He hears their bedroom door slam. Poor girl is probably scared. She’s never heard people shout before, especially her mama or daddy. And now her mama says she’s leaving? The words don’t even sound right when Harry says them to himself. Harry approaches the bedroom, tapping on the door. “Y/N, the baby, it’s time for her feeding.”

She marches toward him and takes the baby. “Of course it is; one more thing your pathetic ass can't do around here. Now, get out." She pushes against the door.

Harry walks out and closes the door.

***

Downstairs, Harry talks to Poppy and Archie, making sure that if they heard the yelling, they aren't scared. "Arch, you okay, bud?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t look up just keeps playing with the Barbie and Ken dolls.

“Pop, you doing okay?"

“Yes, daddy. Are you?” She walks over and hugs his legs.

“Yes, baby, Daddy is fine. Are you guys in the mood for a trip to the zoo? Maybe some pizza and ice cream after?

“Yeah.” Poppy detaches herself from her daddy and jumps up and down.

“Can we go now?” Archer says, dropping the dolls and standing up.

"We can. Let's go get dressed, yeah?" Harry walks toward the stairs to the home's main floor.

The kids follow him up.

“Are mumma and the baby coming?” Poppy asks.

"Not sure, baby girl.”

Archer interjects. “If they’re gonna yell, I hope not."

Harry turns around. "There won't be any yelling, buddy, but that's not nice what you just said. We never say things like that, especially about your mummy or baby sister. We always want them included in whatever we do, always. Don’t ever say anything like that ever again.”

Archer is crying now. "Sorry, Daddy, I didn't mean it."

At the top landing of the stairs, Harry stops and kneels to Archer putting his arms around him. "Come here. Let's hug Daddy, yeah?"

Archer slowly puts his arms around Harry’s neck. “Didn’t mean it, Dad.”

"I know, buddy, we're all having a bad day, but what is the one, very most important rule in this house."

“Treat people with kindness.” Archer releases himself from the embrace.

"That's right, treat one another with kindness and love and goodness."

Archer sniffles. “I will.”

“All right, to our rooms, we go.” Harry leads the kids into the hall.

Harry feels like his heart just broke in two. The one thing they’d both agreed on before having kids is they would raise them in a peaceful home. They both came from divorced parents and knew what it was like when the family was immensely unhappy.

Harry ushers the kids to their rooms once back in the central portion of the house. "Okay, lollipop, do you need daddy's help getting dressed? Or do you want to try by yourself today?"

“I can do it, Daddy,” Poppy says. She pushes her blonde curls off her face.

"Good girl. Now, if you need me, call me, okay? And if you want something hanging up, remember no climbing; call for me, and I'll get it.” Harry pats her on the back.

“Okay.” Poppy skips to her room.

“Arch, do you need help?" Harry asks, following Archer as he walks to the room next to Poppy's.

“No, I got it.”

"Okay, guys, I'm going to help mummy with Lola. I'll be just down the hall."

Harry takes his time to get to the end of the hall. He taps on the door before entering. “Love?” He pokes his head in the door.

“Yeah.”

“Can I come in?”

“Yes.” She snuggles the baby closer as she nurses her.

“Gonna take the big kids to the zoo. Can I take Lola?”

"She's your baby too, Harry. Please don't ask me a question like that. Of course, you can take her.”

“All right, by the time I'm dressed, she should be finished, and I'll get her ready." Harry walks to the bathroom.

“Pretty sure I’m capable of getting my child dressed,” she mumbles.

Harry snaps around. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Y/N?" He's angry, but he keeps his voice down. "First, I do nothing, and then you pop off like that when I try to do something." Harry turns to walk back to the ensuite.

"Daddy's a grumpy pants, isn't he, baby girl? It's okay; you've got a mummy. She’ll take care of you, just like she always has.”

Harry stomps out of the bathroom, mouth full of toothpaste. “No, Y/N. No. You aren’t going to do that shit," he says, toothpaste foaming from his mouth as he flings the toothbrush and points it toward her.

She sighs. “Okay, Harry, whatever."

“Whatever? Whatever?” I’m done with this Y/N. Do what you will, hate me if you want, but don’t bad mouth me to our kids.” He walks again to the bathroom sink, and turns on the water, rinses his mouth out, dries it off.

“It’s not exactly like she understands what I’m saying.”

"Not exactly the point, Y/N.” He returns to the bedroom, then walks to the recliner, grabs a hoodie, and puts it on as he approaches the bed. "These babies are my entire life, Y/N. You know that, so think what you will of me as a husband, lover, and partner, but don’t you ever talk about me like that to our children.”

She’s burping the baby now, patting her on the back. “The kids are your entire life? I get it. Performing is your first love. No room for me.” She pulls her bottom lip in with her teeth and stares at nothing, looking at anything but Harry. Her eyes water, holding onto her tears.

Harry walks to her side of the bed. “You know that’s not what I meant, baby.” He sits on the bed next to her, his voice calmer now.

“No, I get it, Harry. Trust me, I do. I wouldn't blame you if you stopped loving and wanting me. Furthermore, why would you want any of this? I mean, look at this whole thing, and then there’s me. I’m a mess.”

“I’m looking at you. I see you. What are you talking about? And I love this mess, and I love you.” He places his hand on her knee. He pushes his eyebrows together and searches her face.

“It’s over, Harry.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re tired and frustrated, but that’s life. It’s not over.”

"It wasn't a question." She hands Lola to him and stands. She tugs at the bottom of her t-shirt, the shirt she borrowed from him when they were dating and never gave it back. It's faded and stretched out, a picture of One Direction but with the words Spice Girls written on it.

Harry says nothing and watches her. She walks to the closet, grumbles, and grunts, knocking about with a few curse words sprinkled in. Once she finds what she's looking for, she returns to the bedroom, drops a suitcase on the bed, and then unzips it.

"Y/N, baby, what are you doing?"

"I told you I'm leaving. You didn't think taking the kids to the zoo would stop that did you?"

“This is crazy. I’m gonna put Lola in her crib. I’ll be back.” Harry stands, walks across the room, and exits.

A few moments later, he returns. She removes clothes from the dresser. Harry approaches her and places his hand on her elbow. "Baby, let's talk about this. You can leave me, in theory, until we can figure something out, but you can't just walk out on the kids."

She shrugs him off her. “Don’t touch me. There is nothing to figure out, not between us. As for the kids, of course, I'm not leaving them forever, don't be so dramatic, but I am leaving for now."

She goes to the bathroom. Harry can hear her gathering items from the vanity. He sits on the bed, dropping his head in his hands, then lifts his head resting his fingers tips under his chin. He stares at two crayons on the floor under the dresser. He makes that his sole focus, unable to look at her when Y/N returns and tosses the cosmetics bag into the suitcase. She huffs and sighs.

“I might not help as much as I should. I get it, but this, this is one time I’m not lifting a finger to help you. So you can cut the sound effects.”

There’s a soft knock at the door before the handle turns, and small hands push the door open. “Daddy, are we going to the zoo?”

Tears have started to roll down Harry’s cheeks. He wipes his face and sniffs before Poppy comes in. “Yes, baby girl, but give Daddy a minute. Go play nice in your room. I’ll come to get you when it’s time. And Poppy, please wait to be invited in before opening the door. You know the rules.”

“Okay.” Satisfied, she pulls the door closed.

"You see that, Y/N. Our kids need us. Our kids know when something's wrong. They heard our shouting earlier. We can't do this around them." He stands and walks over to her. "Listen, let me call Mitch and Sarah, and see if they can take them for the night, yeah? Or Jeff and Glenne might not mind, then we'll get dressed, go have a nice dinner, come home, and relax, just the two of us.”

“Why so you can get laid, Harry?”

"Y/N, where is all of this coming from? That's the second time you've remarked that I’m somehow this sex-crazed maniac that has to jump through hoops to trick his wife into having sex with him, yet you also say there is no way I could still want you.”

She shoves sneakers into the suitcase. “Oh, believe me, I know you can find someone to have sex with, no doubt about that." She shakes her head and smirks. "Never had any problem getting that, did you?"

“What is wrong with you? Do you think I’ve been with someone else? Is that what’s got you like this?”

She continues throwing things in the suitcase, then zips it up. She returns to the closet, retrieves another bag, unzips it, kicks it along the floor, and continues packing. “I told you. I can’t do it anymore. I’m tired. I’m forgetful because I’m overwhelmed. Important things aren’t given their proper attention. I mess up more often than I will admit. This isn’t good.”

“If this is about going out of town on that girls’ trip, then go.” He extends his foot and closes the top of the luggage. “Have fun. Go, but don’t ruin our family just because you weren’t getting your way.”

“Fuck you, Harry. Because I wasn’t getting my way? It’s not that. It’s that it’s always about you. Always. It’s when are you leaving, when are you coming back, coming in late from the studio, FaceTiming at 3 AM just so I can see you and hear your voice, important events, meetings, everything is about you, and I'm sick of it. You know you're the one that wanted a third baby, or hell, a second baby, for that matter. I was happy when it was just the three of us, all traveling together, but you wanted a larger family, and as usual, I wanted to give you what you wanted.”

He stands next to her, reaches over and takes her face in his hands, and turns her toward him. He sees her face, but she’s a stranger. He hadn’t noticed the new lines between her eyebrows, the dark circles under her eyes, or the sallow shade of her skin. “Tell me you don't regret Poppy and Lola. Please tell me you don't regret those two perfect little girls. Because I love you, Y/N, but if you tell me you regret them, I can't forgive you. Ever.”

She pulls away. "I do regret the timing. I should've insisted you take a multi-year hiatus before expanding our family because I made my life worse to make your life better."

He drops his hands from her and walks across the room to the window, which overlooks the expansive garden below. “Worse? How could anything about those babies make your life worse? Take it back before I say something that can’t be unsaid.” You knew what you were signing up for, Y/N. You knew the life I live and how hard it would be, but you said ‘I do’, you agreed this was the life we would live,” he says.

“You don’t see that even then, it was about you. It was what I agreed to, but what about me? What did you agree to do for me? What sacrifices were you willing to make? I gave up my career, so I could give you a home, take care of the kids, and always be available to support you in anything you needed me to support you in, travel with you." Sitting on the bed, she shoves her legs into her denim flares and stands. She walks over to the dresser and retrieves a black sports bra.

Harry turns to her. "Okay, what do you need? What do you need my support with? Besides the house, the kids? What is it that you’re missing?

She removes her t-shirt and puts on the bra. "Everything."

“You've got to give me specifics, love. Have to help me here, at least with this. I can't read minds, baby. Believe me, if I could, this wouldn't be happening." He walks to her.

She pulls on a lightweight black sweater. "I need you to know me, Harry.” She goes back to the luggage, bends down, and zips closed the second bag. “I needed you to pay attention, to see that I’m drowning here.”

"Okay. We'll have the maid come more days during the week, and we'll get a sitter, nanny, or whatever will make life easier for you. After the three nights in Manchester, I'll devote my time to you. But I have a contract I have to do these nights in Manchester, besides it’s kind of home. We can stay at Mum’s. All of us go together.”

“It’s not just about the housework or the kids. And I don’t want to follow you to Manchester. I need you. I need a husband, a partner, not a sugar daddy who keeps knocking me up.”

“Oh, get off it. Lola's over a year old, and never do I push you for sex, not ever.”

“Whatever.” She pulls the two suitcases upright, rolls them to the door, exits, walks down the hall, and passes the three bedrooms along the corridor. She can't stop, or she'll never go; if she stays, she'll make things worse. She knows she's on the brink of breaking completely.

Harry is behind her.

They make it to the front door, and she slides her feet into her loafers. As she opens the door, she turns to him. "Everything you need to know about your kids is in a folder on my desk in the office. There’s frozen milk in the fridge.”

He reaches out, but she shakes her head. “Don’t.” She snatches her purse from the hook by the front door.

"Y/N, please, baby."

"Goodbye, Harry." With that, she steps out, dragging the luggage behind her. She doesn't look back.

[wreckedandpolemic]

forgive me? - matty healy

prompt: lovers' quarrel

(mdni) and we continue ahead with valentine75!! ok pls do not look too closely at the argument here i suck so hard at angst i cant even half ass it as a setup for porn lol

warnings: oral (f receiving), hand stuff, idk there isn't huge amounts to this

The silence in your flat is deafening, stretching between you and Matty like a chasm, your anger welling so deeply at the bottom that you want to drown him in it.

“I’m sorry?” he ventures, and you whip around to face him. The sheepish grin he wears is, admittedly, distractingly adorable; usually, it’s enough to melt you at least a little, but this time you can barely see it through your blinding anger.

You scoff. “You’re sorry, huh? Oh, well, I guess that makes it totally fucking fine, then!” You kick off your shoes with more force than necessary, sending your expensive heels skittering across the floor. “Tonight was important to me, do you even realise that? Are you so up your own arse that you think everyone wants to be on the Matty show twenty-four seven, or do you just not care?” A sense of sick satisfaction spreads as he processes your words, expression crumbling for a split-second and reforming into a sharp sort of anger that warns that Matty isn’t going to make this easy for you.

Which suits you just fine. You’ve never been one for an easy win. Never been much for losing, either. You fold your arms as Matty rounds on you. “I’m up my own arse? That’s fuckin’ rich, comin’ from you, treatin’ me like a fuckin’ toddler all night!” He’s gesticulating wildly, accent thickening through his frustration, and it takes a tremendous amount of your self-control not to laugh. “Matty, don’t touch that. Matty, don’t talk to him. Matty, come back here.” He puts on an affectation of your voice and accent that’s equal parts insulting and hilarious, and you’re lucky he doesn’t pick up on your quiet snort of laughter. “You actually said come back here! Like I’m a damn dog!”

“Dog would’ve been better behaved, probably,” you mutter. “Wouldn’t have got belligerently drunk and accosted the press, either.” Matty steps closer, breathing hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips tantalisingly. Your traitorous eyes flicker down to his mouth, soft and pink and wet and tempting, and it’s a mission to haul your mind back on track.

“I didn’t fucking ‘accost’ anyone. I told them to get the fucking cameras out of my face, ‘cos I wasn’t gonna give them a fuckin’ story at your fuckin’ event.” Matty defends, and, okay, the sentiment is there, but he had just made everything endlessly worse.

Groaning, you bury your head in your hands. “I told you. I fucking asked you, one time, just nod your head, smile, say you’re proud of me. Was that so fucking hard for you?” You hadn’t meant to admit that part. That it stung not to have his approval.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Matty snaps. “Of course I’m fucking proud of you. You’re a fucking star. Just wish you weren’t so embarrassed of me,” he adds, and whatever part of your anger that had crumbled at first sharpens in your chest again at his attempt to guilt-trip you.

He’s not being fair — of course you’re not embarrassed by him, but his behaviour fucking embarrassed you! “You told a fucking crowd of journalists that Jamie, who I have been on a fucking months-long press tour with, and I quote, ‘acts like a massive wanker.’ And he fucking heard you!”

Matty shrugs. “Well, he does. Don’t like the way he talks to you. Could’ve called him a rude cunt, too. Would’ve been even more true.” he mutters sullenly, scowling at the ground.

“God, Matty, you are so— mmph!” You’re cut off by him surging forward, crushing your lips together in a bruising kiss. You pull his lower lip into your mouth and bite down on it, iron spilling over your tongue as the skin tears beneath your teeth. After a long, indulgent moment, you force yourself to shove him away, gasping. “You never fucking listen! You can’t just kiss me ‘cause you don’t wanna hear it,” you snap, pushing down the heat that wells instinctively between your legs.

He’s flushed, breathing hard, unfairly gorgeous like this. “You look so pretty when you’re mad, baby,” he murmurs, tucking a wisp of hair behind your ear, the gentle touch making you shudder. He’s a master at this; resolving your arguments with doe-eyed pouts and wet, needy kisses.

Your resolve is crumbling. “Matty, don’t,” you warn feebly, lust spinning dizzily in your mind and swelling until your rational thoughts are dissolved. Matty grins, predatory — he has you pinned, and he knows it.

”My pretty girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “My little star. Forgive me?” His eyes are wide, faux-innocence shining down at you as your last thread of self-control breaks. It isn’t lost on you that he hasn’t actually apologised, but as his lips press against yours and his tongue sweeps into your mouth, you can’t remember why you care.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours as he walks you to the sofa. Your stomach swoops as he pushes you down, desire thrumming in your veins. Every last thought falls out of your head as it knocks against the armrest, your back arching up towards him. “C’monn,” you whine, reaching out to him where he stands above you, his gaze hot as it roams eagerly across your skin.

Matty climbs over you, adjusting your legs so he can kneel between them, goosebumps breaking out where he slides a hand up your thigh, agonisingly close to where you need it. “Lift your hips for me, love,” he instructs, sliding your dress up your body until a puddle of satin pools around your waist, cool and slick against your heated skin. His warm fingers crook around your panties and he drags them down your legs, exposing your dripping cunt. A soft moan escapes you as he rubs a slow circle into your clit, pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “So much better than fighting, hm?” he teases, and a flash of annoyance cuts through the lust as you remember exactly how you got into this position.

”Don’t push it,” you hiss, raking a hand through his curls and tugging harshly. He whimpers deliciously against your skin, a pulse of heat spiking deep in your bones. “I’m still mad at you,” you warn, searching your rapidly-blurring mind for your long-foregone anger.

“So take it out on me,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your cunt, your body tingling under his gaze.

”What?” Your mind is already hazy, the sight of his head low between your thighs infinitely distracting, the promise of his tongue unfathomably tempting.

“I’m going to put my mouth on your sweet little pussy, and I’m going to listen to everything you have to say until you come. Call me names, if you want. Tell me everything I’ve ever done in my life that’s fucked you off, and I won’t say a word.” It’s such a Matty way of resolving an argument that you can’t find a response. “You get to yell at me and you get to get off. Pretty good deal if you ask me.” Matty’s smirk splashes you with a bucket of cold water, latent frustration blooming under your skin — a sudden need to slap the smugness off his face overtakes you.

You beckon him, waiting until his eyes are closed and his lips are parted, a gentle breath brushing against your mouth. He relaxes, expecting a kiss, expecting to be off the hook, and you crack a hand hard across his cheek with a grin. “God, that felt good,” you say as he recoils, rolling your eyes theatrically at his punched-out moan. “Such a fucking slut. Put your mouth to better use before I change my mind.” He shouldn’t make it so easy for you to take back the upper hand.

It’s almost comical how quickly his tongue is buried inside you, a thick pulse of heat sent kicking in your cunt. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you swallow a moan as you bury a hand in his curls. “Wish I could fuck your pretty mouth. Shut you up proper for once.” Matty moans into your cunt, the sound deliciously gratifying as it vibrates through you. “That’s your problem, you know,” you continue, the effort of keeping your voice level monumental against the waves of pleasure rising inside you. “You never fucking shut up. You’re— mmh, so fucking arrogant. You act like— ah!” His teeth scrape over your clit and you cry out, grinding your hips against his face as heat throbs sharply under your skin.

”Go on,” he says, grinning up at you with wet, slick lips. He hisses as you yank his curls harshly, dragging his mouth back to your cunt. He licks at you like a starving man, heat pooling in your belly, your limbs trembling and toes curling.

”You act like the fucking world revolves around you,” you continue, struggling to drag the words to the forefront of your soupy mind. “You’re so fucking— God, Matty, fuck!” you whimper, the rest of your sentence lost in the mind-numbing pleasure swirling through you. Matty isn’t playing fair, licking and sucking and kissing at you sweetly, your world blurring around him.

He pulls away and quirks an eyebrow at you, like he’s waiting for your surrender. As fucking if. You take a moment to catch your breath, fingers digging into the edge of the sofa to anchor yourself before he dips his head again, licking a broad stripe along your cunt that makes you whine pathetically at him. “You’re ridiculously pretentious,” you bite out, gasping as his tongue fucks into you in an obscene, glorious rhythm. Ecstasy coils in your limbs, your body heavy at the edge of oblivion. “Disrespectful. And you just. Don’t. Fucking. Listen.” You punctuate your last words rocking your hips against his face, your cunt fluttering around his tongue.

Matty presses wet kisses to your thighs, sweet and teasing as you whine. “Are you done?”

“Repeat it back to me,” you order as he licks his lips, framed prettily by the V of your legs. “So I know you were listening.”

“I’m irresponsible.” He kisses your inner thigh. “Arrogant. Inappropriate at the worst times.” He licks at your clit and you buck your hips against his face, fighting to hold at bay the flood of heat waiting to overwhelm you. “The people you work with think I’m white trash.”

You fist a hand in his curls, tugging hard enough that you feel him hiss in pain against your skin. “Don’t be a smartarse.”

You can sense that he’s about to argue, but thinks better of it at the last second. “I’m pretentious. Disrespectful,” he continues. “And I just.” He laps at your clit. “Don’t.” Heat floods your body as Matty slides two fingers into your sopping cunt and crooks them at an angle that has molten pleasure spilling over you. “Listen.” He sucks gently on your swollen clit, the pleasure enough to pull you over the edge, ecstasy coiling deliciously around your insides. You whimper, grinding down against his face as you come, your cunt fluttering around Matty’s tongue.

You sigh contentedly. “Good boy,” you murmur, savouring his shudder. “So good when your mouth’s full of my cunt. Like you so much better when you’re not talking.”

Matty looks up, eyes wide and face soaked with you. “Forgive me?” he asks, wearing the same sheepish grin that had failed to sway you before.

You sigh dramatically, the seeds of an idea taking shape in your mind. “Come here,” you say, a fond smile tugging at your lips. It’s a struggle to keep it from turning cruel as he takes the bait. “Silly boy.” Eagerly, Matty climbs over you, cupping your jaw and pressing his lips to yours, gently at first, turning hungry as you swallow down the taste of yourself. He moans into your mouth, grinding his clothed cock against your sensitive core. “Needy, are you?” you tease, a faint edge of danger lacing your tone. “Want me to get you off?” Glassy-eyed, he nods down at you, sweet and pleading. “Use your words.”

He swallows thickly, blinking hard. “Want you to make me cum,” Matty murmurs, casting his eyes down like he’s ashamed. You raise an eyebrow when his gaze lands back on your face, and he adds a reluctant, “Please.”

Sliding out from under him, you lead him into your bedroom, laughing derisively as he strips out of his jeans and boxers before the door even shuts. “God, you’re pathetic,” you scoff, smirking as his eager expression falters slightly with the realisation you haven’t let him off the hook.

“Mhmm,” Matty agrees, switching tack and plying you with sweet doe eyes.

“Get on the bed,” you order, kneeling in his lap when he obeys. His hands wander to the hem of your dress, brushing over your thighs as he starts to lift it, and you swat him away. “Think you deserve to fuck me after the way you acted today?” You glare down at him, pulling at his hair to tip his head up towards you. After a long moment, his internal war clear on his face, Matty shakes his head mutely. “No. But you’re being good now, so…”

Matty inhales sharply when you wrap your hand around his cock, flushed and sticky with want. You pump him slowly, spreading precum over him, and he trembles with the effort of holding himself still, sweetly pliant under your hand. “Thank you,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly.

You lean down to press your lips against his, swallowing his needy, suppressed moans. “It’s okay, baby. Being so good. Can fuck my hand if you need to.” You’re being cruel, now, knowing how you’re going to leave him, but it’s sickly thrilling having him in your power like this.

Murmured thanks fall from his lips between sweet little whines, his hips bucking into your fist as his cock leaks over your skin. Languidly, you press your tongue into his mouth, trading long, sloppy kisses broken up by Matty’s pleasured moans.

Taking Matty apart under your skilled hands is easy, now; you’re practised in everything he likes. You dig your thumb into his slit, twist your wrist just so, swallow every sweet noise he makes. His body tenses, his groans deepening, turning rhythmic, signalling his orgasm. You let him chase his release up until the very last second, pulling away and smirking meanly down at him.

Confusion clouds across Matty’s face as he looks up at you, reeling from his ruined orgasm as if you’ve slapped him. You let him catch his breath before you take him in your hand again, working over him, pulling him to the edge again. “Do you have anything to say, baby?”

Matty’s mouth falls open, the struggle to pull any meaning from your words plain on his face. “Please?” he tries, face falling when you shake your head, a moan escaping him as you flick your thumb over his slit. “Thank you,” he mumbles thickly. “I love you.”

You cock your head, appraising him. “That’s nice. But not quite. Try to think a little bit harder, yeah? I know that’s tough when I’ve got you all stupid for me, but try,” you croon, tone sympathetic and deriding all at once.

Matty’s face scrunches in concentration. “‘M sorry!” he chokes out, whining when you press a kiss to the head of his cock.

“That’s it,” you breathe, kissing him softly in reward. “Good boy.” Arousal coils in your belly at the sight of him, breaking into a thoughtless mess under your hands. You stroke over his cock a few times more, watching his stomach tense and relax as his orgasm builds. Then you stop, letting him whine desperately into your mouth.

He hasn’t wised to your game, still hopeful through his lust-hazy gaze. “You embarrassed me today,” you chide. “Why?” You dip your head, lapping over the tip of his cock, letting him thrust into your mouth, a spit trail connecting your skin for a brief moment. You kiss the salt of him back into his mouth, devouring his desperate moans as you stroke him. “I asked you a question,” you murmur against his lips.

There’s an answer forming on his tongue, you can see, watching him struggle to swallow it down. You pull away, lifting your hand to lap the taste of him off your fingers, giving an exaggerated moan. Matty whimpers, desperate, hips rocking against nothing as you batter against his defences. A burst of pleasure licks up your spine when you drag your fingers through your still-soaked cunt. Matty’s answering moan as you wrap your wet fingers around his cock is nothing short of pathetic, low and thick with lust. Clicking your tongue disapprovingly, you repeat your question, the ensuing silence thick with the unsaid. You know the answer, but it’s no fun not to pry it out of him. “I was jealous, okay!” he gasps out. 

He won’t meet your eyes, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Aw, I know,” you croon sympathetically. Your touches turn tender, coaxing. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t need to be jealous. Don’t want anyone but you. I’m yours, yeah?” you promise, lifting his head to deliver your words into his shadowed eyes.

“Mine,” he echoes faintly, rolling his hips up into your hand and whining. Your thighs clench at his possessive tone; you love being his, being the only one who gets to have him like this. “Gonna cum, fuck, please let me cum, fuck!” The last syllable crumbles into a sob as you pull away, ruining him for the final time. “‘M sorry, ‘M sorry, please let me cum,” he whimpers, so sweetly pathetic that you almost want to let him cum.

Almost. Matty’s chest heaves, struggling for breath and sanity as you climb off him, smoothing your dress down nonchalantly. Pouting down at him, you click your tongue condescendingly. “Poor baby. You don’t get to cum tonight, okay? How are you gonna learn a lesson if I give you what you want now?”

He gasps, chokes, twitching as he fights to stay still. “Please?” he murmurs, so quiet that you aren’t sure whether he’s addressing it to you or subconsciously voicing his need.

Either way, you shake your head at him with a shrug. “Get control of yourself and we can watch a movie, yeah?”

Matty gives a shuddering nod as you turn to leave, squaring your shoulders so you don’t look back at him.

After a few minutes, Matty slopes into the living room, dressed but still looking fucked-out, hair wild and eyes downcast. You rest your head in his lap when he comes to sit beside you, smiling blithely and uncaringly up at him.

“Are you still mad?” he ventures, petting your hair tentatively.

“Depends,” you answer, feeling his body tense at your words “Are you gonna pull that shit again?”

“No,” he replies without hesitation, shuddering at the thought of what you just put him through

“Then no,” you grin, and Matty relaxes under you. “But you still don’t get to cum,” you can’t resist adding.

He pouts down at you, but his eyes are shining with mischief, any lingering tension fully faded now. “Can I make you come again, then?”

Sitting up, you climb into his lap and kiss him for a long, luxurious moment, heat swelling between you as his tongue slides against yours. “Say please.”

[liillyliilly]

All Night Long

iwaizumi hajime x reader words; 1162 synopsis; the whole pen pal thing had been his mom's idea. now? he was glad that he had someone like her to tell everything to.

(So, if you just give me a chance, I can still show you romance)

Iwaizumi doesn’t quite remember when he started sending letters to Y/n. All he remembers is that his mom wanted him to diversify his communication skills, since he had only really ever talked to the boys on his volleyball team.

So, sending letters back and forth with a girl from Tokyo seemed like a rational solution to Mrs. Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi would send one letter one week and then she would send a letter the next one. And that’s how it had been for four years.

At first the letters were strictly professional. Asking about goals, academics, and life plans. Gradually, the shells of both Iwaizumi and Y/N were chipped away at. Divulging details of a bad kiss, or something hilarious a friend did. When she started to cut out classic memes, putting cardstock editions of volleyball player trading cards and writing out various links to Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up", Iwaizumi thought he met his almost heavenly match.

While she didn't play volleyball, she treated it like something special, and respected Iwaizumi's love for the sport. He felt proud when she acknowledged how much of a hard-worker he must have been to be ranked so highly in his prefecture with his team.

She also always knew what to write to him to help motivate him. Quotes from famous people never made an appearance, she just had the old soul wisdom to articulate exactly what needed to be said to him.

Iwaizumi does remember when he started to wait right next to the mailbox just so he could read her letter as soon as possible. And he does remember when it starts to take him longer than five hours to write a response. And he definitely remembers when Oikawa starts to tease him about his hobby.

“You actually write to her every week?” Oikawa holds up the basket that Iwaizumi keeps all of her letters in. Carefully they are sectioned off by year and then by month. He has written the date they arrived in the corner of the envelope so he can keep all of them organized. When Oikawa starts to pull out letters, Iwaizumi rips the basket out of his hands and holds it close to his chest.

“No, Shittykawa. It’s every other week.” Iwaizumi sides the basket under his bed before slumping back down into his beanbag.

Oikawa grins before sitting down on a chair opposite to Iwaizumi. “Have you ever thought about asking her for her number?”

“Why would I?”

“Because then you guys can talk, without having to wait two weeks before the other responds.” Oikawa shrugs pulling out his phone to mess around on it, eyes peeking out over his glasses to look at Iwaizumi. “Unless, of course, you're afraid.”

“I am not afraid.” Iwaizumi grabs his clipboard to start writing his response letter, her most recent letter sitting on his side table so he can reference it.

Except, this time, instead of a nice long handwritten letter, it’s a simple series of numbers. And a small phrase. “Text me?” Iwaizumi considers drawing a smiley face, or even just a small shrugging stick figure drawing. But he thinks that what he wrote is enough. He hopes it’s enough for her to contact him.

The walk to drop off the letter in his mailbox is agonizing. He retreats twice before his mom yells at him and tells him he needs to send it today or else the letter schedule will be all messed up. The thought of Y/N having to wait longer than seven days to get his letter suddenly becomes more of a worry than his potential rejection of swapping numbers.

On day one, the day after the mailperson picked up the letter, Iwaizumi's hands were perpetually sweaty.

On day two, Iwaizumi felt a little better, he could forget all about his pen pal and then it would be perfectly fine. Except he could never forget her.

Days three to six were a blur. His phone felt heavier each day, and he even decided to leave it home from school on day six because he kept looking at it for too long. Checking again and again for any new messages.

(I wanna get real close to you)

Iwaizumi almost faints when an unrecognized number sends the phrase, “I know who you are Hajime.” He grips at his heart before easing up when the next message is sent. “Because it's me! Y/n L/n.”

She sends him a lot of Godzilla memes. She talks about her day. She asks him about volleyball. She rants about the people she goes to school with. She is perfect to him.

His palms are sweaty as he wipes them onto his joggers as he stares at Y/n’s contact. The phone icon mocking him for his nervousness. He takes a deep breath. She had told him that she’s used to having her friends call her an obnoxious number of times, but that she likes talking on the phone because she likes hearing people’s voices. Iwaizumi leans back on his desk chair and runs his hands through his hair.

He had drank his mother's throat soothing honey lemon tea for at least a week leading up to his decision to call her. But the nerves about what his voice sounded like still irked him. He had been told that he had a rough voice by his friends. A dorky voice from Oikawa. A lovely voice by his mom. What would she think though? Her opinion was the only one that really mattered anyway.

He stands up and shakes his legs and hands in an effort to get rid of his anxiety. He jumps around in his room for a bit as he tries to get his energy out. Iwaizumi puts his hands on his face and reminds himself, calling people is normal. Totally and completely normal. But his reminder does nothing to ease how his right hand is shaking while it hovers over the call button.

He presses the button and hold his phone to his ear, biting down on his lip.

“Hello?” Y/n’s voice asks. And Iwaizumi’s heart races as it tries to find a way to ingrain her voice upon itself.

“Y/n! Hi, it's me Hajime!” He cringes when he realizes how alike he sounds to Oikawa. Enthusiasm didn’t fit the way he acted, but the way Y/n interacted with him made him want to be as keen as possible.

“Hajime! What’s up?” A large smile overwhelms his face as he rubs the back of his head.

Neither really knows how long they spent on the phone talking. But by the time it was around two in the morning, Y/n was snoring softly over the phone and Iwaizumi was breathing at an even pace with his phone sitting on his pillow close to his ear.

(All night long)

[dearfae]

୨🌸୧ - dating headcanons!

the seven : heroes of olympus

girlfriend version.

4.8.24

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

percy jackson :

lots and lots of kisses

hand holding

loves your cooking/baking (especially blue waffles *wink wink*)

every time you go on a date it’s water related - the beach, aquarium, underwater restaurant etc.*

*sometimes you go to the movies or amusement parks too tho

constant compliments

lets you choose what he wears sometimes

cute nicknames

very protective and loyal (ofc)

teaches you how to fight (if you don’t already know)

swimming competitions but he goes really easy on you

pegasus racing

braids flowers into your hair

sarcastic and funny jokes to cheer you up

would literally die for you

his mom and step-dad paul LOVE YOU

takes you shopping

buys all your favourite foods when you’re on your period

needs comfort after his nightmares

annabeth chase :

teaches you a lot

hours long talks about each other’s interests

reading and museum dates !!

forehead, nose, cheek kisses

wakes up really early so you’re always awake before everyone else too

spends lots of her time thinking of ways she can make you smile

would do anything for you

picnics :)

takes great joy in annoying you by correcting your grammar or spelling

will make you do a hundred pushups if you insult any author ever

will also make you quote shakespeare

sneaks into your room at night by picking locks instead of just knocking (chalice of the gods reference)

hesitant to let you meet her parents at first

but when you do she’s really happy because you get along with them really well

you always help her win capture the flag (she protects you 99.9% of the time)

death glares/will fight anyone whose mean to you

you never have to google anything because she’s right by your side

needs constant reminders that you’ll never leave or she needs to take a break

hates surprises

jason grace :

literally the sweetest

is only relaxed/vulnerable with you

learnt how to break a few rules *wink wink again*

always cleaning his glasses

the person who dares to be mean to you better count their days

surprisingly smart

deep conversations

doesn’t really know what to do when it comes to dates or anything romantic

forgets things sometimes

keeps a little notebook in which he writes everything he loves about you

makes your birthday cake from scratch

physical touch for reassurance

teaching you about roman history is his love language

pretends to hate the nicknames you give him but secretly loves them

keeps a picture of you with him at all times

quiet around others

never raises his voice at you

sometimes you act like his mother figure (is that what it’s called?)

winks or smiles at you when others aren’t looking

leo valdez :

shit music taste (I’M SORRY)

treats you like the queen that you are

holds doors open for you

points at you and says really loudly to everyone else, “HAVE YOU SEEN MY BEAUTIFUL AMAZING WONDERFUL GIRLFRIEND??”

inside jokes

you gave him a bracelet and now he never takes it off

gives you flowers!

sleeps in

cuddles, kisses and his arms are practically glued to your waist

teaches you spanish (especially the swear words)

he COOKS

there’s never anything broken because he fixes them immediately

always makes you laugh

does skincare with you<3

shows you off to anyone that’ll listen (even if they won’t)

the kindest, most golden retriever boy ever

he’s still wary about opening up to his trauma

his severe adhd makes it hard for him to calm down so you always sing to him or play with his hair

excessive use of the words bro and dude

frank zhang :

picks you up bridal style whenever you get tired (he likes to impress you by showing off his strength)

gentle and caring

if you’re out eating together and you buy different things, he’ll let you taste both of them so you can have the one you like the most

gets flustered really easily

cheesy pick up lines (that you secretly love)

LOVES TO EAT

uses his title of praetor to take the mick out of you (as a joke)

cautious about trying new things

very punctual with time and chores

whenever there’s a praetor meeting he lets you sit next to him

you make sure that there isn’t any dairy in the food you make him

he was so happy when you learnt canadian for him

you let him teach you about his family tree

if you’re feeling sad he’ll shapeshift into a puppy or something to cheer you up

he can actually be pretty snarky when he wants to

you’re literally the safest girl on earth when he’s around

the poor boy gets really shy when you flirt with him

really good at making different accents

his writing is SO hard to read😭

piper mclean :

likes to make you blush

let’s you taste the lipstick she uses by kissing her

swears

candlelit dates, stargazing, mall shopping

buys you perfume and clothes

definitely asks for you to rate her outfits

she thinks you’re prettier than anyone else in the world, so much so that’s she’d straight up call her mother ugly

really excited for you to meet her dad

she’s your BIGGEST supporter!

you have to stop her from slitting peoples’ throats when they say anything remotely harsh to you

plays with your hair and brushes/styles it for you (she lets you do the same for her)

SKINCARE NIGHTS<3

binge watches 2000s movies - bratz, mean girls, the devil wears prada etc

you call her lots of playful names

rips down any posters of her father she sees, makes it her personal mission to burn every single one of them (you laugh every time)

loves flipping people off

she’s actually really sweet and caring

loves when you hold her hand

paints your nails :3

hazel levesque :

loves exploring abandoned underground tunnels

she made a bracelet for you out of the gems she pulled from the ground

every time you swear she chases you with a bar of soap

you help her with her curly hair

she’s so innocent (unless she’s angry, hungry or tired; then she goes ballistic)

you tease her when she gets flustered

she takes you for midnight rides on arion

she always smells like fresh rain

calls you ‘miss your surname’ whenever she scolds you

she sleeps with extra pillows

if you pass a graveyard she’ll wave to the ghosts

graceful and kind

loves nature

really good with kids

bakes you cookies on national girlfriend day

if there’s one thing she hates, it’s when people misquote the bible

sometimes she’d have major deja vu moments from her past life if you go somewhere she did the first time she was alive

gets really excited when it’s date night!

she can be so incredibly fierce and powerful but if a butterfly or something dies she’ll literally start bawling her eyes out

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

that’s all i can think of lol

let me know if i missed anything or you disagree with what i’ve put! i’m open to any criticism :)

hope you enjoyed! i might do another one with different characters!

©dearfae

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Question for Jon stans: so I think a lot of us expect Jon to leave the watch at some point in his story, whether in Winds or sometime in Dream. I tend to think he’s going to straight up desert the Watch, like going ‘fuck it I’m done here’ much like Bloodraven and Mance, instead of leaving on a technicality (i.e., a ‘he’s dead so he’s technically done his service’ type of thing). 

BUT the question is, does he go north or does he go south? I think it’s reasonable to assume either direction works narratively.

We have this:

Lannister studied his face. “Yes,” he said. “I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers.”

Plus he’s been set up to parallel Bloodraven and Mance both of whom go north, and there’s this quote from AGOT that could be foreshadowing:

Far off to the north, a wolf began to howl. Another voice picked up the call, then another. Ghost cocked his head and listened. “If he doesn’t come back,” Jon Snow promised, “Ghost and I will go find him.” He put his hand on the direwolf’s head.

“I believe you,” Tyrion said, but what he thought was, And who will go find you? He shivered.

(Tyrion III)

There’s also symbolism in him embracing the name “Snow” and living in the snowy north….

But then we these quotes from AGOT as well that’s essentially about him finding the Wall to be stifling and equating freedom with the south:

“Yes. Cold and hard and mean, that’s the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the stories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This is the way it is, and you’re here for life, same as the rest of us.”

“Life,” Jon repeated bitterly. The armorer could talk about life. He’d had one. He’d only taken the black after he’d lost an arm at the siege of Storm’s End. Before that he’d smithed for Stannis Baratheon, the king’s brother. He’d seen the Seven Kingdoms from one end to the other; he’d feasted and wenched and fought in a hundred battles. They said it was Donal Noye who’d forged King Robert’s warhammer, the one that crushed the life from Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He’d done all the things that Jon would never do, and then when he was old, well past thirty, he’d taken a glancing blow from an axe and the wound had festered until the whole arm had to come off. Only then, crippled, had Donal Noye come to the Wall, when his life was all but over.

(Jon III)

He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King’s Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isles of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road … and he was here.

(Jon V)

And if Jon is to live his best wildling/crow-deserter life, it’ll be about finding freedom - just like Mance.

Plus there’s the whole thing with him seeing three different trees which could serve as representing his arc in the series, and the final tree faces south… 

Just north of Mole’s Town they came upon the third watcher, carved into the huge oak that marked the village perimeter, its deep eyes fixed upon the kingsroad. That is not a friendly face, Jon Snow reflected. The faces that the First Men and the children of the forest had carved into the weirwoods in eons past had stern or savage visages more oft than not, but the great oak looked especially angry, as if it were about to tear its roots from the earth and come roaring after them. Its wounds are as fresh as the wounds of the men who carved it.

(Jon V, ADWD) 

So which one is it?

Also if you think he goes south, where does he end up? 👀 

[glorious-spoon]

💘 for your writing prompt; buddie unless you’re tempted to do an Eddie/Taylor dared to kiss while Buck watches snippet

okay, well, obviously i had to go with the second one. this is set just after 'Treasure Hunt', because i think it's the only time they were plausibly on friendly terms, lol. featuring confused buck, repressed eddie, and taylor who just wants to stir the pot.

Truth or Dare 608 words | eddie/taylor | pre-relationship buck/eddie

-

"What are we, twelve?" Eddie asks, but he seems amused. "Are we going to do Seven Minutes in Heaven next? Spin the Bottle? Bloody Mary?"

"You were still doing Bloody Mary at sleepovers when you were twelve?" Buck asks. 

"I don't think I was even allowed to go to sleepovers when I was twelve," Eddie says.

"Wait, seriously? My parents would take any excuse to get me out of the house for a night."

Eddie makes a face at that, the same face he tends to make when Buck accidentally lets something telling about his childhood slip, but all he says is, "Most of my friends were girls back then. It was 'inappropriate', apparently." He doesn't actually make the air quotes, but Buck can hear them anyway.

Taylor leans across Buck's lap to pick up her margarita glass from the coffee table. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm game."

"Wait, really?" Buck asks, which is kind of—well, it was his idea. He doesn't even know why. He sort of thought they'd both laugh it off. Truth or Dare at their age, on the floor of his living room after half a bottle of tequila, high on the aftermath of the treasure hunt and more friendly than he's ever seen Eddie and Taylor be with each other. It feels like a ceasefire or something, which means of course he has to push it.

Kiss and make up, you know, like, literally, laughter bubbling out of the edges of the words. Expected to get slapped down by one or both of them in short order. He even had a back up dare for Eddie all set for when Eddie told him to go to hell.

Taylor gives him one of those cool, sphynx-like looks that he can't read. "Sure. Why not?"

"Yeah," Eddie says. He downs his drink and fixes Buck with a look of his own. Buck can't really read that one either, which is weirder, because he can usually read every thought that crosses Eddie's face. But not this one. "Why not?"

Buck doesn't actually have a good answer for that. His palm feels sweaty on his drink, so he sets it down. "Okay. I mean, if you're both cool with it."

Taylor scoffs. Eddie rolls his eyes and moves away from Buck's side, which feels cold in his wake even though they weren't actually touching to start with. Taylor tilts her face up toward him with that same unreadable smile, and the corner of Eddie's mouth twists a little before he touches the side of her cheek and dips his head to kiss her on the mouth.

It doesn't last long. A handful of seconds maybe—nothing like the sloppy makeouts that Buck half-remembers from his own teenage kissing games. Eddie keeps his fingers on her cheek. Taylor tilts up into the kiss but doesn't touch him otherwise. 

Then they break apart, and Buck exhales, hard. His heart is pounding. He doesn't know why.

"Huh," Taylor says softly.

Eddie scoffs and sits back on his heels like he's finding his balance, then pushes himself back to settle on Buck's other side again. Still not touching him. He clears his throat and reaches for the tequila, sloshing more into the bottom of his glass before taking a long drink. Then he says, "Alright, Buck, your turn. Truth or dare?"

Truth, Buck thinks, and his heart is still racing, because he doesn't know—he looks at Eddie, who isn't looking at him, and then at Taylor, who is, and he doesn't know what might come out of his mouth if one of them asks.

"Uh, dare," he says finally, and reaches for his own drink.

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Fantasy High Incorrect Quotes

Fig: I can explain.

Sandra Lynn: Can you?

Fig: If you give me thirty seconds to think of a lie.

~

Kristen: A theif.

Adaine: Thief?

Kristen: Theif.

Adaine: I before E, except after C.

Kristen: Thceif.

Adaine: No

~

Somebody: How many kids do you have?

Jawbone: Biologically, emotionally, or legally?

~

Riz: Ok, maybe playing ‘whose family is most dysfunctional’ wasn’t the best idea we’ve had. Fabian's been crying in the bathroom for an hour. We can’t get him out...

~

Kristen: Change is inedible.

Gorgug: Don't you mean inevitable?

Kristen, spitting out coins: No, I did not

~

Riz: I think I'm having a mid-life crisis.

Sklonda: You're like 15 years old

Riz: I MIGHT DIE AT 30!

~

Fig: If there's going to be a big dramatic scene, wait until I get back.

Fabian: Of course. I can't flip this table by myself.

~

Jawbone: You often use humor to deflect trauma

Kristen: Thank you

Jawbone: I didn't say that was a good thing

Kristen: What I'm hearing is, you think I'm funny

~

Fig giving bardic: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them.

Gorgug: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.

~

Riz: Please, I'm begging you go to Kristen.

Fabian: I'm sorry is this OUR stab wound? Stay out of it.

~

Kipperlily: Okay. I get it. We’ve had a really hard time lately, we’re stressed out, seven people died-

Ivy: Twelve, actually.

Kipperlily: Not the point. Look, they're dead now and really whose fault is that?

Oisin: Yours!

Kipperlily: That's right: no one's.

~

Fabian: Okay, truth or dare?

Riz: Truth

Fabian: How many hours have you slept this week?

Riz:

Riz: ...Dare

Fabian: Go to bed.

Riz: I don’t like this game.

~

Gorgug: Why are you on the floor?

Fig: I'm depressed.

Fig: Also I was stabbed, can you get Kristen, please.

~

Store Worker: Would a Mr. Jawbone please come to the front desk?

Jawbone, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem?

Store Worker: *points to Fig and Kristen*

Store Worker: I believe they belong to you?

Fig and Kristen, simultaneously: We got lost :(

Jawbone: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-

~

Riz: Here’s a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it.

Sklonda: Riz no.

Adaine: Mistlefoe.

Sklonda: Please stop encouraging him.

~

Adaine: Hey Kristen,

Kristen: Yes?

Adaine: Can a person breathe inside a washing machine while it’s on?

Kristen:

Kristen: Where’s Aelwyn?

~

Fabian: I’m kind of crushing on someone, but I’m worried about telling you who it is, because you’re not going to like it

Adaine: Just rip the bandage off.

Fabian: It’s Aelwyn.

Adaine: Put the bandage back on.

~

Riz: I love you guys, you're the best thing that's happened to me.

Fabian: We're the best thing that's ever happened to you?

Riz: Yes!

Kristen: I'm starting to feel a little sorry for you.

~

Jawbone: I trust the Bad Kids.

Sandra Lynn: You think they know what they're doing?

Jawbone: I wouldn't go that far.

~

Fig: If Kristen and I were drowning, who would you save?

Adaine: You two can’t swim?

Kristen: It’s a hypothetical question, Adaine! who would you save?

Adaine: my time and effort.

~

Fig: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night.

Gorgug: You were flirting with Ayda.

Fig: So what? She’s my girlfriend.

Gorgug: You asked her if she was single.

Fig:

Gorgug: And then you cried when they said they weren't.

~

Fig: What if I press the brake and gas at the same time?

Kristen: The car takes a screenshot.

Gorgug, fixing the Hangvan: For the last time, get the fuck out.

~

Cop: You’re receiving a ticket for having three people on one motorcycle.

Fabian: Shit.

Riz: Wait, three?

Cop: Yeah?

Fig: OH MY GOD KRISTEN FELL OFF!!!

~

Fig: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

Kristen: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

Fig: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING ADAINE WITH ME

Gorgug, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

~

Riz: *Gently taps table*

Adaine: *Taps back*

Kristen: What are they doing?

Fabian: Morse code.

Riz: *Aggressively taps table*

Adaine: *Slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

~

Gorgug: Riz isn’t answering his phone

Fabian: I’ll call

Gorgug: Adaine and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi-

Riz: Hello?

~

Adaine: Good responses for being stabbed with a knife?

Fabian: Rude.

Fig: That’s fair.

Kristen: Not again.

Riz: Are you going to want this back?

~

Adaine: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses.

Fig: This knife is actually a magic wand.

Kristen: Meet me in the Denny’s parking lot for a wizard duel.

Riz: *cocks gun* Magic missile.

Sandra Lynn: What the fuck is wrong with you people.

~

Adaine: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Fabian: Several traffic violations.

Kristen: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Riz: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

Fig: Also, that’s not our car.

~

Adaine: Are we really going to let Fabian keep Riz?

Fig: We kept Kristen.

~

Fabian, walking into his house: Hello, people who do not live here.

Kristen: Hey.

Adaine: Hi.

Gorgug: Hello.

Fig: Hey!

Fabian: I gave you the key to my place for emergencies only!

Riz: We were out of Doritos.

[astarionfixation]

Am I Fu**ing Insane !?! Chapter 3

A multi chapter adventure in Astarion’s mind

Chapter 3: *is she fu**ing…?!?!?*

Rating: yep, this time it's smut. Explicit

Word count count: 1.9k

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/137935969

I have a quite serious praise kink. Which also means compliments in the forms of tags and/or comments might very well spur me to write and post more

** Thoughts "" Dialogue - - Remarks ++ Quotes / Memories

Her body has been stirring for a couple of minutes, she's not quite awake yet but he can tell she's close to. It would be imperceptible for anyone else but her legs are just ever so slightly pulling up and his entire body is now beset to the attack of her back pressing against his chest, his hips, his legs, her head tilting back so that the tip on his nose is now trapped between her soft, dark curls at the nape of her neck. The familiar challenge posed by her scent reaching up his nostrils and all the way down to his stomach hitting him with a pang of hunger that now continues further down his body. His hand reaches out to her tummy and sits there pressing softly but resolute against the fabric of her shirt, pulling her further to his body. And because her soft, languid movements seem to have stirred something that connects his own stomach to his crotch he finds himself smirking as he’s biting his own tongue before he relents and whispers against her neck

“Be a good girl and stay still”

And he can tell some part of her did hear him because her stirring comes to a halt, but after a moment a trembling whimper resonates from her throat and grows into a full groan followed by a new set of stirrings and stretching that have her push her lower body insistently against his own hips and he's not even sure he should have enough blood in his own body to justify the growing hardness just between his legs.

But she keeps pushing her soft curves back into his body and 

*Hells if she's playing with fire here*

The hand on her stomach pulls her to him and now the pain of his erection yet comfort as it presses against her backside is an excruciatingly sweet conundrum. If he was ever asked under torture what part of his body he’d rather sink into her right now he’s not sure he could pick fangs over cock sincerely. A rather loud groan resonates in his own rib cage and he’s counting down from ten to regain composure.

*and if she hasn't stopped torturing me by then, to hells with it, she’s in for a penny, in for a pounding. Ten*

And that thought in his mind is roaming now, and it would be so simple to let his hand wander from her belly, past the waistband of her trousers and tease the edge of her underwear and another twitch stirs his lower abdomen at the idea

*Nine*

Maybe his long, delicate fingers could find the lace at the edge of her undergarments, and he could follow the line of it until his entire hand is buried between her thighs and surely he would find her warmth already moistened…

*Eight*

It would be so easy to pull at the edge of her underwear to set them aside, trace the margins of her warm sex, surely wet for him, and if she dared buck her hips into his hand…

*Seven*

He swallows emptily, at that point he would be done for, and so would she. The idea of the tip of his fingers dipping just enough to get coated in her honey has his eyes roll back into his head

*Six*

His nose pressed against her head and he inhales sharply as his mouth is flooded with saliva at the image his mind has now conjured and he would bring his now slick finger to his lips and find out what insanely delectable flavour completes the bouquet of mulled wine and flowers she is immersed in all the time

*Five*

Would she still feign unawareness at this point? Could she still pretend being unaffected when surely she would protest at the absence of his fingers now, her backside pressing more against his crotch and his name spoken in a deliciously obscene moan leaving her throat

*Four*

And the minx might as well be inside his head just like the wriggling worm because the soft curve of her backside is now pressed more insistent against his straining hardness and 

*Shit! She’s begging to be taught a lesson! Three*

She needs to have her wrists pinned above her head while his fangs tear every treacherous bit of fabric that dares hiding her warm skin from him. She deserves to feel his teeth and his nails dragging against her soft and supple curves until her blood blooms under them

*Two*

She entirely qualifies for a slow and torturous exploration of every fold of her skin exercised by his expert tongue tasting every last bit of her while she can wriggle all she wants but his hand would not release hers and if anything, he would make sure the other one goes back, cupping her sex, his middle finger tracing the folds and pressing just enough to torture her and leaving her guessing how much further she'd need to arch her body for the tip of his digit to finally graze at her entrance.

“How late is it?”

*Fuck!*

Her lethargic voice sends a jolt down his entire body and he stills his hands and 

*What. The. Fuck!*

When did his hips begin to slowly push and rhythmically thrust against her backside?!?! His entire body stiffens and he's very careful now not to breathe her in, no matter how much he needs a full gulp of air to straighten his senses. He's pulling at the corners of his mind to evoke any semblance of vocabulary as he tries to push the images he conjured in its far recesses.

“Is everyone up?”

She continues, seemingly unaware of how close, pressed and pushing against each other their bodies are, and the presence of clothing is the only excuse he will present to support the official version of the story that this was nothing but an innocent, shared rest.

“Don’t worry darling, no one saw their bed before sunrise. Apart from us”

How many centuries of practice did he need to be able to grasp a sentence in that inebriated state? And he can tell from the way she's now trying to make herself smaller in his arms that there's hesitation. Maybe she doesn't want to concede and admit to how compromising this position of theirs could be…

*Or maybe she's enjoying it and doesn't want this to be over either*

Another low moan rises from her throat and he feels the resonance directly onto his chest as her body stretches now and

*Why is she not pulling away?!? Doesn't she have a pretence to keep up?!*

But if anything she seems to relax into his embrace, only now there's no excuse and no sleep abandonment to blame. He can swear she’s pushing her body back into his and the hand on her stomach is about to grip unequivocally at her softness when he hears her voice again, clearer this time.

“I should go gather mugwort then, they will need an antidote for their heads not to explode”

*Really!? Now!?!* He clenches his teeth just for a moment because yes, composure, words, brains over soft, warm, tempting skin…

“Ever the altruist darling, what about your pretty little head? Wouldn’t you like to indulge a little longer?”

She hums and he’s sure he has convinced her, and she can confess all of her needs and desires for him while he peels every item of clothing off of her and *That is an excellent start of the day*

“Thank you for staying, Astarion” and yes, again, he has a few ideas of his own about the exact way she can show her gratitude. He’s just about to show her when in a swift movement, she’s out of his embrace and sitting up, legs already down the side and feet back on the floor.

He pouts, his arms unnaturally empty now, his mind vaguely starting to grasp again at his charlatan persona to play the part of the seduced and abandoned himself.

“You are no fun in the mornings darling” 

He lies through his sharp teeth because if anything -he- is supposed to be the one leaving her high and dry. But she seems all lost in her resolve now, her long dark hair being pulled in a ponytail. He would also have ideas about that given other, much less clothed contexts, but it’s evident things have to wait now. A small growl coming from her stomach alerts him to the fact he’s not the only one who’s gone without a meal and 

*what a perfectly accidental way to resume the role of the chaste watcher.*

“But if you insist in your charitable endeavours, I must simply persuade you first join me downstairs so you can break your fast.”

And with that he’s now kneeling on the bed, just behind her in the twinkling of an eye, his nose almost brushing against that sweet spot behind her ear, all the more exposed with her hair tied up. And her head is turning enough for his nose to now be against her cheek, and he can tell from the sound of her voice she’s smiling

“How about, you let me run a bath, and I'll be with you as soon as I’ve put on fresh, less worn clothes?” 

The words have not entirely left her lips that she's now standing, getting closer to open the curtains just enough that the day is truly impossible to deny or delay any longer. She’s still giving her back to him when he can almost tell the corners of her lips are slightly pulling as she continues

“You could have helped me change, you know?”

*is she fucking…?!?!?*

“You’ll find I’ve been the perfect gentleman darling, after all… this was your idea, I distinctly remember your request slipping easily into prayer territory…”

And it’s weird because she’s not agreeing nor she’s denying it, but even with the faint light coming through the curtain he can tell her expression is… amused? 

*Is she enjoying this?*

And the fact she’s now pulling her shirt above her head whilst still giving her back to him confirms the fact that yes, there’s a game at play here, and he’s about to very happily forfeit his win if her next move is in any way an invitation to finally drop the act and explore every inch of her exposed skin. But she turns around clutching the fabric to her chest *the vixen!* and lolling her head slightly to one side, the dark waves in her tail still drawing swirls around her shoulder

“Thank you, truly.”

Her tone is slightly more solemn now, just for a moment her eyes linger onto his and he just wishes they could speak plainly, but she’s clearly not going to concede now.

“But of course my dear, besides… I look forward to come collect at your door next time I find myself in need of a rescue” 

And the back of his hand is now theatrically on his forehead, eyes closed in the perfect pose of a damsel in distress. After the dramatic pose he's quickly back on his feet and glides close to her grabbing her hand with his. For a moment the shirt she clutches threats to betray the skin she’s so appropriately protecting. But it’s just the time he needs to plant a flirtatious kiss on the back of her hand, his thumb grazing her skin after his lips, from the centre to the tip of her finger.

“Pray darling, don’t leave me waiting too long”

And with that his nimble steps take him to the door. When he’s closing it the last thing he can see it’s that her eyes are still firmly planted on him.

*You can feast your eyes sweetheart, but it is you who owes me now.*