#put it is so worth it to take out the word bubbles

[chronichlesofnillory]

Alternatives to Visualization

Images are fun and they can convey so much information. A picture is worth a thousand words right?

"To make an energy shield visualize it as a bright light surrounding you"

But hey, maybe you're like me and that just doesn't cut it.

Maybe you have aphantasia. Maybe visualization alone just feels kind of sterile because you have a really active imagination already so there's no "spark" when you just visualize things. Maybe you have some non-neurotypical thing where you get visual OCD like intrusive thoughts and using visualization alone can kind of trigger you.

I got you friend!

We have other senses too and I think when people talk about energy manipulation and activating magic and creating things with our "minds eye" we tend to only talk about images.

--> physical: you might have heard of people say to do "body scans" where you feel your body and try to find where you feel energy pooling or coming in and out. Or maybe you have heard people say that moving energy can feel like the tingling when you rub your hands together really fast. If you're going with the shield example maybe your "visualization" is you feeling your muscles flex and tighten, or you breath out and air around you feels heavier and more dense. You can "imagine" or "visualize" a lot of bodily sensations that can correspond to what you're doing. What does drawing down moonlight physically feel like to you if you don't want to imagine in your minds eye pulling down the chords of energy from the moon? Maybe it feels kind of cold and like the surface of a mirror. Maybe it feels watery or like silk and when you're pulling the energy from the moon down into your moon water jar you get the sensation in your hands of that silky coldness. Sometimes it also helps to do the actions even if it feels silly. (I think this is called psychodrama? but not totally sure!)

-->sound: Sometimes certain energy can sound a certain way right? Like the low hum of the refrigerator sounds different to the crackle of a flame. If you're creating a shield maybe what you're "visualizing" isn't the bright light but the cessation of sound or dampening of it. If you're creating a bubble around you then maybe the sounds of the outside world have a tougher time coming in. Maybe people's voices have less edge to them. Maybe when you're trying to connect to that tree or ground yourself you don't visualize the roots, you hear the rustling of the leaves in the wind. Maybe to ground yourself you hear the deep movement of a river in a cave. In my own experiences you can even call certain spirits with just certain sounds alone, or travel to certain places through imagining the sound of the space you want to go.

For me, these two other senses have done a lot of heavy lifting with connecting to energy and spirit work. Sometimes my brain is too overloaded to really deal with images and I will even just get emotional impressions. That could be a way you visualize too! Maybe a shield feels like the way you do when you're emboldened by defending yourself or a friend from injustice, so when you're creating and activating your shield you take that feeling and "push it out" of you through the place in your body that you feel it.

There's so many great posts out there that go over ways you can visualize energy and visualize activating energy or manipulating energy, but if you're like me and that just never clicked like you wanted it too I hope this helps some. I feel like the greatest thing about magic is that if you really want to you can find ways to make it work for you.

My most favorite workings weren't ones where I visualized anything, they were ones where I felt the magic in my chest and my hands and I could hear the sound getting dampened as I funneled it into what I was doing. It was when I realized that grounding wasn't visualizing putting roots into the ground but it was listening to a river in a deep cave and then feeling mud on my skin and a kind heaviness in my body. It was learning to blow out a burn on my skin by making myself feel all the heat at once and then hearing and feeling a void where the burn once was.

[lemonyinks]

LoSHweek Day 2 | Denouement

Take a low quality edit of one of my favorite endings to a LoSH arc. All panels are from Legionnaires #80. i did cut some of the dialogue to make it flow better and make sure none of the panels stuck around too long, but that just means you have to go read it now to see what didn't make it in :)

The audios I used can be found here and here.

[makkir0ll]

between you and your husband, you were the one more…vocal about your love for him. leaving him sweet notes with doodles of the two of you in his lunch, ending all heartfelt messages with x’s, planting a big kiss on his cheek that he pretended to cringe at but in reality he looked forward to it everytime he left the house.

people would always come up to you, telling you that he doesn’t reciprocate his love with words and such and asking you how you dealt with it. truth be told it took a while for you to get used to but soon enough you began to see the signs.

it was the way that every time he got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom he would tuck your feet back into bed. the way he spent a solid twenty minutes cleaning your phone screen, and with furrowed brows as he placed your new screen protector on, making sure there were no bubbles. it was when you opened his wallet that you saw all the notes you wrote him saved in one pocket of his shitty leather wallet that was begging to be put to rest. it's the way when you come home after a long night out with your friends he takes his time undressing you, removing and placing your jewelry carefully on your bedside table and making sure to gently take off your makeup and of course do your skincare routine that he has memeorized. when he goes out and he spots a little something with your favorite character on it he buys it immediately, not bothering to look at the price tag because the way your eyes would light up when he brought home the little gift was worth more than a billion dollars to him.

it was when on your third month anniversary when the two of you were still dating, while the two of you sat down on the booth next to each other at a restaurant he held your hand and squeezed it three times. signifying the words, i love you. he knew he loved you from the start but was scared it was too soon to say it and this was his silent way of telling you so. and you picked up on it quickly when he started to do it more often.

and on your wedding day, as the two of you stand in front of all your loved ones and the officiator he says the most beautiful vows ever, telling you that "if death do us part then i hope to find you in every lifetime" and once he ended with that sentence, he squeezed your hand three times. i. love. you.

you always knew your husband loved you because his actions spoke a thousand words to you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜

sigh. TSUKISHIMA FREAKING KEI!!!!!!!!, akaashi keiji (he writes notes back to you), KITA. SHINSUKE., iwaizumi hajime (30) athletic trainer, suna rintarou, USHIJIMA, kageyama tobio (squeezed your hand a lot when you started dating), MIYA OSAMU, sakusa kiyoomi, OH OH OH AONE!!,

[domjaehyun]

i ❤️ hot nerds (l.dh, n.jm)

PAIRING. pervert!nerd!haechan, pervert!nerd!jaemin x popular!fem!reader  GENRE. smut, slight fluff CONTENTS. explicit smut (kissing, fingering, oral (receiving), titfucking, breast play, lots of drool and spit, overstimulation, snowballing, dirty talk, rimming, anal play, missionary, riding, mating press, breeding/creampies) WORD COUNT. 8.7k SUMMARY. when your professor pairs you with the two smartest students in your class for a group project, you find yourself making an interesting deal with them. or, alternatively: the one where you have to help two nerds learn to get girls so you can pass your class. PLAYLIST. n/a NOTES. remember when i said i was up to something with these two? this is it! teehee :3 i hope you enjoy!!

“Professor Kwon, I really need to pass this class,” you say with a worried frown, and she nods in understanding, reaching over to pat your hand gently.

“I’ll see if I can scrape up any extra credit assignments for you to do, but in the meantime, you can try and do your best on the group project coming up. It’s worth thirty percent of your grade, and if you want, I can pair you up with some of the stronger students in the class to help ensure you get a good grade.” she offers helpfully, and your face lights up with a relieved smile as you nod.

“I would love that,” you gush gratefully. “Thank you so much, Professor Kwon! I really appreciate all your help.” You can tell from her kind expression that she knows your words are sincere, and it warms your heart that she’s been so helpful and generous.

“No worries, dear. I’ll email you tonight with some extra credit assignments for you, okay?” she says, and you nod in agreement as you pack up your bags to leave her office hours.

“I’ll be waiting! Thank you again, and have a great rest of your day!” You chirp, slinging your bag over your shoulder before exiting her office.

As you head down the hall, you think about who, in your thirty-person class, she could possibly pair you up with that could help your grade.

“Okay, class, I’m going to pair you up with your partners for the group project. Just a reminder—it is worth thirty percent of your grade, so please take this seriously. I would hate to have to fail any of you.” Professor Kwon says as she looks out at the classroom. 

Indistinct mutterings go around, and you look around as you contemplate who she might put you with. There’s Mark Lee, the sweet, endearingly bubbly English major in the year below you who’s also an RA for the building across from your dorm.

There’s Huang Renjun, the smart, quiet art major junior in the same year as Mark, and he could be a good partner, you suppose—

You’re dragged out of your reverie by the sound of your professor saying your name, followed by, “Lee Haechan, and Na Jaemin.”

Oh. Well, you’re certainly not upset by that development. You look across the room, where Jaemin and Haechan are sitting together, to see that they’re already looking over at you. Haechan smiles nervously and averts his gaze quickly, but Jaemin leans into the eye contact, giving you a small wave. 

You smile and wiggle your fingers back in greeting, making Jaemin grin and Haechan dissolve into excited giggles, the older male pushing his thick, black-rimmed glasses up on his nose absentmindedly.

Your professor finishes reading off the groups and waves her hands at you all, gesturing for you to get situated with your partners. You move to stand only to see that Haechan is rushing to stand up and make his way over to you, clutching his notebook and papers to his chest almost protectively.

Haechan and Jaemin are also the year below you, and you know them relatively well, given that you’re the RA for their dorm building—well, you know a bit about them: they live across the hall from you, they’re avid gamers, and, if you’re not mistaken, they’re two of the top students in the class.

You watch with an amused smile as Jaemin leisurely slings his bag over his shoulder, the cool, calm, and collected counterpart to your other partner, and they both make their way over to where you sit, Haechan sitting in the chair in front of you and turning it around to face you while Jaemin sits beside you.

“Hi,” Haechan greets quietly, and you shoot him a friendly smile.

“Hi, Haechan,” you reply sweetly, and his face breaks out into a brilliant, shy grin. 

“Hi.” he says again, and Jaemin snorts.

“You said that already.”

“Well, I’m saying it again.” Haechan counters, and you chuckle.

“Hi,” you say, “again.”

“...Hi.” he mumbles shyly, barely able to get the words out past his excited smile.

“Hi, Jaemin,” you greet, turning to look at the male beside you.

He shoots you a dazzling smile that makes you wonder, for a moment, how he even got the label of “nerd” everyone classifies him as. Haechan is a bit more understandable, given his general flustered nature around girls, but Jaemin’s always been calm and easygoing—you’d even go so far as to say he’s smooth. However, you suppose that after hearing Jaemin rant and rave about video games and the like, you can see why someone might label him as one even if you don’t find video games all that nerdy. 

“Hi,” he replies easily, lifting his eyebrows in greeting. It’s your turn to avert your gaze, the mildly suggestive gesture making you feel a little hot under the collar when you couple it with the fact that he can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“So, um,” you say, clearing your throat slightly, “I think we should meet up after classes today to talk about what we’re gonna do for our group project.”

“Okay,” Haechan agrees instantly, nodding vigorously. “We can meet up in the library? Or the cafeteria—or—well, maybe you’d wanna meet up somewhere private—” he starts to ramble, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion, holding up a finger to stop him. He falls silent immediately, widened, slightly starstruck eyes gazing at you so intently you find yourself growing more endeared to him.

“Why would it matter if it’s in private or not?” you ask, brows furrowed, and Haechan nibbles at his bottom lip, exchanging a wordless glance with Jaemin. “Haechan?”

“In case you… y’know… don’t necessarily want to be seen with us.” he mumbles quietly, and you frown deeply. 

“Why would I not want to be seen with you?” you ask, already feeling like you know the answer.

“Because—” Haechan looks around the room to see if anyone’s paying attention to him before continuing, “because we’re nerds,” he says, whispering the word like it’s a slur, “and you’re—well, you know who you are.”

“How about you tell me who I am?” you press gently with a playful smile. “Just to refresh my memory.”

“You’re you. You’re one of the cool seniors—you’re one of the only RAs that everyone likes—and you’re…. y’know… popular.” Haechan whispers that word both like it’s a dream and a word that doesn’t belong in his mouth, and you won’t lie and say it doesn’t bother you slightly.

“Haechan.”

“Mm?” Haechan replies, and you drum your manicured nails on the table in front of you to stop his gaze from wandering furtively around the room. 

“First of all, this isn’t a stereotypical clique-y high school movie.” you chuckle. “I can be seen with anyone I want; it never mattered to me.”

“Okay,” he replies hesitantly, but you can sense some of the tension leaving his body as he gradually relaxes.

“Second of all: don’t call yourselves nerds like that—like it’s a label that actually matters. You’re just Haechan, and he’s just Jaemin, and I’m just me.” you finish carefully, and he cracks a smile, looking up from where your hands rest on the table to meet your gaze.

“Okay, cool.” he mumbles, smile growing as your words sink in.

“We can meet on the quad after class if you want,” you say, deliberately choosing the most public location you can think of.

“Well—” Jaemin cuts in, and you turn to look at him to see that he’s looking between you and Haechan. “There are no outlets on the quad… it’s just grass and some trees.”

“True,” you muse thoughtfully. “Where do you guys want to meet?”

“The dorm? Oh, but—” Haechan cuts himself off, shooting a panicked glance Jaemin’s way. “I don’t think my side of the room is presentable right now.”

“Okay,” you say with a laugh. “How about we meet in my room?” you offer, and Haechan’s eyes get so wide you fear he might hurt himself, while Jaemin’s brows shoot up in surprise. Looking between the two of them with growing amusement, you add on, “My last class ends at 4:30pm, and I can be back at my dorm by about 4:45pm, if that works for you guys.”

Neither of them speak for a moment, Haechan seemingly rooted in place with surprise, while Jaemin looks at him expectantly, eyes widening pointedly before he sighs and shakes his head. “Yeah, that works for us.” Jaemin answers finally, and you smile, nodding in confirmation.

“Great!”

“Class is over, everyone! Good luck on your projects, and I’ll see you next Wednesday!” Professor Kwon bids you all goodbye, and everyone starts to gather their things. 

“Well, I’ll see you guys then; you know where my room is!” you say, putting your notebook in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. 

“See you later!” Jaemin replies easily, and Haechan nods as if to second Jaemin’s words.

“Bye, Haechan,” you say with a playful smile, finding it cute how flustered the male is by your attention.

“Bye,” he croaks weakly, and you giggle, turning to leave but not before catching a glimpse of Jaemin swatting Haechan’s arm in a scolding gesture.

“Would you relax? At least try to play it cool,” Jaemin whispers loudly from behind your retreating back.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it!” Haechan exclaims in a hushed voice. “She’s so pretty.”

You can’t help but smile widely to yourself as you keep walking, pretending you haven’t heard a thing.

They’re perfectly on time—in fact, if your ears don’t deceive you, they’re five minutes early, the two of them standing outside and bickering quietly.

“Listen,” Jaemin says in a stern whisper, “you’re going to act normal when we get in there. No being weird and quiet and awkward.”

“Yes, sir,” Haechan replies sarcastically, and you snicker quietly. “You try staying calm when she looks at you with those eyes.”

“I do,” Jaemin replies flatly. “If you can’t… skill issue, I guess.”

“Wh— skill issue? I bet I’m skilled at putting my foot up your ass—”

“Shut up, she might be able to hear you!”

“Why don’t you knock, then? We can meet early.”

“Why don’t I knock?” Jaemin replies incredulously. “Why don’t you?”

“Why would I knock?”

“Why would I?! You’re the one all eager to see her.”

“I’m not that eager.” Haechan mumbles bitterly, and Jaemin scoffs.

“You showered to see her.”

“So did you!”

“I always shower after classes. You also put on cologne.”

“Well— Is it a crime to want to smell good in front of a pretty girl?”

“No, but it is a crime to act like a wuss when she so much as looks at you,” Jaemin snarks, and Haechan sucks his teeth.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

There’s a brief scuffle on the other side, and you hear faint slapping sounds like they’re smacking each other back and forth, and you giggle softly, walking over to your door and waiting patiently. 

“Would you cut it out? Here–” Jaemin snaps, and three knocks sound out on the other side of your door. 

“Shit! Do I look okay?” Haechan worries.

There's silence before Jaemin replies. “No.”

“Fuck you.”

You decide to end their bickering and open your door, smiling at the two of them. “Hi, boys.”

“Hi,” Haechan mumbles shyly, and Jaemin elbows him, glaring at him.

“Hi,” Jaemin greets pleasantly, and you step aside to let them in.

“Make yourselves comfortable.” you offer, and they enter slowly, Haechan moving cautiously like you might change your mind at any moment. “I have snacks, water, and juice if you want anything to eat or drink.” 

“Oh, dope,” Haechan says eagerly, heading to your mini fridge and opening it, retrieving a blue Gatorade and plopping down on your fluffy pink rug. Jaemin takes a bag of chips from the basket on top of the fridge and sits beside Haechan so there’s room for you to sit across from them. 

You take a can of pineapple juice and frown down at the metal tab. “Can one of you open this? I don’t want to break a nail.”

“I’ll do it!” Haechan exclaims, leaning forward and taking it from you. He opens it with ease and hands it back to you, blushing when you smile gratefully and slip a straw into the opening.

“Thank you, Haechan,” you hum, and he smiles bashfully, nodding.

“You’re welcome.”

“So,” you say, sitting on your bed in front of them as you sip your drink. “What should we do our project on?”

“We were thinking we could do it on something cool, like…” Haechan says, trailing off towards the end and looking over at Jaemin with a clear request for help in his eyes.

Jaemin rolls his eyes slightly, sighs, and says, “Sex.”

You can’t help but smile slightly. “Sex is cool?”

“Well— well, I guess it’s not cool,” Haechan mumbles, unsure of himself, and you cross your leg over the other, watching as his eyes drop to the hem of your skirt, a latent hunger in them as he eyes your bare legs. “But something, like, trendy and relatable.”

“So sex is trendy?” You can’t refrain from teasing him slightly, admiring the way his cheeks flush. “It’s the cool, hip, new thing all the kids are getting into, huh?”

“Well—” Haechan stammers, and you hold up a hand to stop him, the male falling silent instantly and watching you intently.

“I’m just messing with you,” you assure him, and his shoulders slump in relief. “I’m okay with that! I just wanna be super transparent and let you guys know that my passing this class is riding on this grade for this project, so it’s really important to me. I’ll do my best to pull my weight, but I’m not doing as well as you guys, so—”

“We’ll do all the work,” Jaemin offers, and you stop short, blinking at him in surprise. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Haechan chimes in, pushing his glasses up his nose slightly. “You won’t have to lift a finger.”

“...Why?” you ask carefully, and they look at each other, now both a bit shifty. “Guys?”

“Hm?” Haechan asks, and you raise an eyebrow when he doesn’t meet your gaze, clearing your throat and waiting until he does.

“What’s in it for you?”

“Well… we were thinking we could trade services.” Jaemin interjects when it becomes evident that Haechan won’t be answering your question.

“Services?” you question, sitting forward slightly. Shifting your position, you cross your legs at the ankle instead, your knees falling apart slightly, and Haechan’s eyes zero in on the space between your legs, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips as he watches you. “Your service is helping me get an A, and my service is… what, exactly?”

“Um… we were thinking you could help us socially.” Jaemin says carefully, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion.

“How?”

“Teach us how to get girls!” Haechan blurts out.     

“So, let me get this straight,” you say, looking between the two of them. “You’ll make sure we get an A on this project, and in return, I have to… help you get girls?”

“Teach us how to get girls,” Haechan stresses. “Don’t just help us get one girl.”

“What’s that quote? Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day, but teach him how to fish and he’ll eat for a lifetime.” you recall proudly, and Jaemin nods, pleasantly surprised.

“Exactly,” Haechan confirms. “I’m trying to eat for a lifetime.”

“Noted,” you giggle, and you shrug before nodding. “I don’t see why not.”

Haechan pumps his fist and whispers some sort of victory affirmation that you don’t catch but Jaemin stands up, walking over to your bed, and extends his hand in offering, making you blink at it in confusion.

“Shake on it?” he says slowly, and your mouth makes a little “o” of realization as you nod in understanding, now reaching out to shake his hand. His lips curl into an unnerving yet attractive smile as he grips your hand and pulls you a little closer to whisper, “I can’t wait for our first lesson.”

Something about his intent, unwavering gaze and the way his fingers drag against your palm as you retract your hand—the longing of it all, the lingering touch like he doesn’t want to let go—has your mind reeling in that dizzying feeling from earlier, and you wonder for a minute just what you’ve gotten yourself into. 

It’s been about a week of meeting up with Haechan and Jaemin every day to work on your project, and you’ve been giving tips and tricks on how to get girls every day, both boys studiously and dutifully hanging onto your every word.

“I have a question,” Haechan states about twenty minutes into your study session, and you look at him expectantly. “When do we get to the makeover portion?”

You make a small hum of confusion. “Makeover?”

“Yeah, where you style our hair and our wardrobe and get us contacts and stuff.” Haechan says eagerly, and you chuckle.

“Your wardrobes are completely fine, my only advice for your hair is to style it off your forehead more often, and I happen to like your glasses.” you reply, and Haechan sighs in mild impatience, waving his hand dismissively.

“You don’t get it—we need to be fuckable!” Haechan stresses, and you roll your eyes in exasperation.

“Haechan, you’re already fuckable.” you explain calmly, and he opens his mouth in preparation for some witty remark, but after processing your words, his eyes widen and his mouth hangs open uselessly, his accusingly pointed finger now pointing meekly at the floor at an angle. 

“I—So—so you would fuck us?” he stammers, and you nod slowly, looking from him to Jaemin.

“Why do you think I let you get away with your numerous dorm violations?” you snort in amusement, and he blinks hard.

“I thought you just took pity on us, y’know? Like you had a soft spot for nerds or something.”

“I don’t have a soft spot for nerds.” you answer. “I have a soft spot for hot nerds, though.”

His mouth opens and closes pathetically as his normally quick-witted brain scrambles to process the information you’ve just presented to him. Jaemin is quicker to act, sitting forward so suddenly the move could be considered as predatory, and you’re not sure if it’s the lighting reflecting off of his glasses or what, but there is most definitely a glint in his eye as he regards you, his lips gradually stretching into a toothy grin.

“So you let us get away with stuff? Because you like us? Like what?” he questions, and you tilt your head to the side as you think. 

“Your candles, for starters. Haechan’s tapestry, your many many noise complaints from your neighbors when you two get too heated as you’re gaming,” you start to list off on your fingers, and you cross one leg over the other, not missing the way both of their eyes shift to your newly exposed skin and how… hungry they look. “The way you—” you point at Haechan, “always try to get away with looking up my skirt.”

Haechan’s face flushes a pretty shade of red, and you smile, amused, as he scrambles to defend himself. Before he can, you hold up a hand to silence him. 

“Haechan?”

“Yes?” he replies meekly.

“If I minded, I would have said something by now. I certainly wouldn’t have kept wearing skirts and accidentally flashing you.” 

His eyes roll back into his head with a whimper and he nods in understanding. 

“And you—” you round on Jaemin, who’s still perched like a lion about to pounce, and the male just smiles wider, tilting his head to the side curiously.

“What about me?”

“You probably think you’re slick with the little lingering touches on my back and waist when you’re ‘trying to get by,’ but I only let you do that because I like it.”

His grin widens more than you even thought possible, the glint in his eye now unmistakable. “Oh, yeah? Where else do you like being touched?”

“I mean,” you hum, uncrossing your thighs and smiling as both of their gazes hone in on the space between your legs, “I could tell you, but I think you’d rather have me show you.”

“I have a better idea,” Jaemin murmurs, moving towards you slowly. “How about you let us find out?”

You pretend to think about it for a moment, relishing the way they look at each other with equally worried expressions as they silently pray you won’t back out, before you shrug nonchalantly. “Okay.”

No sooner than the last syllable’s left your mouth do they spring into action; Haechan clambers onto the bed beside you and Jaemin lunges forward to settle himself between your legs. Large, warm hands glide up your inner thighs, pushing them apart as he hikes your skirt up to reveal your light blue boyshorts. He moans loudly at the sight, immediately running his thumbs over your clothed mound, eyes flicking up to your face when your breath hitches softly. 

“Princess likes being touched here, huh?” he marvels quietly, leaning in with a slow lick of his lips. “How about kissed, hm? Do you like being kissed here, too?”

“Yeah,” you exhale with a smile, and he grins, wetting his lips once more before leaning in closer and pressing his wet lips to your core, bottom lip barely grazing your concealed clit. As he does, he takes a deep, loud inhale followed by a lust-filled groan that has heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“Jesus, Jaemin—”

“Not now.” His reply is distracted, but blunt and domineering all the same, and you find yourself falling silent in surprise. When he pulls back, there’s a wet spot on the fabric where his mouth used to be, and the cool air hits it, making you hiss quietly.

“As hot as these look on you, I want them off.” Jaemin mutters, hooking his fingers into your underwear and tugging it down and off your legs. “Wanna taste it.” he mumbles—you think it’s towards himself—before he’s burying his face between your legs with another loud moan that makes you curse under your breath, overwhelmed with desire.

His tongue lies flat against your folds, languidly and deliciously dragging upwards to circle around your clit. He grunts in delight and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, hooking his arms around your thighs and pushing forward again, the bridge of his nose pressed against your mound. 

You gasp and clutch at the nearest thing in your grasp, which just so happens to be Haechan’s thigh. “Fuck,” you whisper loudly, and Jaemin chuckles.

“Stop neglecting Haechan,” he scolds playfully through a mouthful of your pussy. “This was his idea, you know.”

You manage to redirect your attention to Haechan, whose eyes dart around as he watches you and Jaemin with a wild look in his eyes, the male seemingly frozen on the spot. 

Your nose nudges at Haechan’s, the male tilting his head towards you and parting his lips in a soft sigh as your lips meet. It takes a moment for him to reciprocate, almost long enough for you to pull back, but he finally starts to kiss you back with a whimper caught in the back of his throat. 

“Haechan, touch me,” you urge, gripping his wrist and bringing his hand to your waist. He clutches your waist, but there’s a hesitance to it that leaves you wanting more.

“Yeah, Haechan, touch her.” Jaemin chuckles before massaging your clit with his tongue. Your eyes roll back into your head with a groan and he rewards your reaction by pressing the wet muscle against you more insistently. “Maybe he needs some incentive.”

“Incentive?” you hum curiously, and he nods, that wicked glint returning to his eyes.

“Take your shirt off.” he presses, and you oblige without hesitation, discarding the shirt behind you on the bed and looking at Haechan expectantly, finding yourself endeared by the way he nibbles his bottom lip nervously. “Haechan, doesn’t she look so good like that?”

“Amazing,” Haechan breathes reverently, and you smile at the praise, eyes closing in bliss. 

“Kiss her.” Jaemin suggests, and Haechan does just that, tentatively approaching you and gently connecting his lips with yours. As your mouths move together, you can’t help but notice the same reservation in Haechan’s movements, drawing a plaintive whimper from your lips. “Stop kissing her like you’re scared, Haechan,” Jaemin scolds. “She likes it. Don’t you, princess?”

“Yes,” you reply instantly, reaching up to cup Haechan’s cheek. He shudders at the contact, eyes fluttering shut before reopening with a darkened intensity that clues you in to the fact that Haechan seems to be done holding back.

Sure enough, Haechan clutches your chin and pulls you closer to him, tongue boldly slipping between your lips and exploring the wet warmth of your mouth. His thumb pries your lips apart with a forcefulness that delights you, and he hovers above your open mouth, eyes scanning yours before letting a string of saliva drip down from his lips onto your waiting tongue.

You whine when the spit connects with your tongue and he grunts, “Don’t swallow,” before kissing you again, tongue swirling confidently around yours even as a mix of your saliva drips down your chin and onto your chest. He’s quick to act, leaning down and dragging his tongue up the trail of spit before connecting your lips again in a more heated, desperate kiss that slowly takes your breath away. It’s wet, and hot, and messy and sloppy and everything you could have wanted from him and more as he leans in, pressing into you and leaning you back onto your mattress. 

Jaemin seems to be done assisting Haechan, as he returns to eating you out with a renewed fervor and, as Haechan kisses down your body to your breasts, it dawns on you that they might be competing for your attention. 

With every swirl of Haechan’s tongue around your nipple, Jaemin echoes the action around your clit, their synchronization sending you spiraling into a frenzy. When Jaemin flicks your clit back and forth with his tongue before taking it into his mouth to suck, Haechan does the same to your breast, lapping at your nipple eagerly before sucking on the sensitive bud.

“Fuck—” you hiss, realizing—perhaps a moment too late—that you may have bitten off more than you can chew as you let the two sexually frustrated males have their way with your body.

Before long, you feel that tightening sensation in your stomach as your climax approaches, and you whimper in lieu of a verbal warning, Jaemin picking up on your cue instantly and diving back into your core with an eagerness that both startles and delights you. With another well-timed suck at your clit, you’re climaxing with a cry of pleasure and a full body tremor as you curl in on yourself. 

Before you’ve even recovered from your high, Jaemin’s pressing on your stomach to keep you in place as he resumes lapping at your core, his tongue gliding with ease against and between your slick folds. 

“Fuck—Jaemin, it’s sensitive—” you moan, squirming away from his touch, but he ignores you, two fingers prodding at your entrance before slowly easing their way in. “Oh, shit—”

“That’s it, just take it, princess,” Jaemin coos, swirling sinful circles around your clit as his fingers move in and out of you slowly. “Feel so good around my fingers like that, angel.”

“Can I—” Haechan swallows thickly before continuing, “Can I fuck your tits?” Before you can answer, he adds, “Please?” fully laden with desperation and you can’t even fathom saying no to him—so you don’t, instead nodding and watching his face light up with excitement.

He rushes to pull off his pants as if you’ll change your mind at any moment, and when he pulls his boxers down, his fully erect length springs up, girthy and long with an upwards curve. You watch with fascination as he straddles just below your chest, laying his length between your breasts and pushing them together with a groan. 

With his eyes locked on your breasts and where his length disappears between them, he starts to move, slowly fucking himself on your breasts. His gasps and whimpers are both adorable and arousing, his fingers greedily clutching the mounds of flesh as his thumbs swipe over your nipples rhythmically. 

Apparently dissatisfied with the sensation, Haechan pauses, smearing his precum over your chest and pauses thoughtfully before leaning forward and letting several large droplets of saliva drip down from his tongue to your breasts, the clear liquid landing on either side of his cock and slowly sliding down the insides of your breasts to coat his length. “That’s more like it,” he grunts, and resumes fucking your cleavage, his eyes rolling back into his head at the sensations, his length gliding between your breasts with ease. 

Meanwhile, Jaemin curls his fingers inside of you, fucking them into you quickly and mercilessly as you cry out in pleasure. His tongue keeps swirling around and flicking at your clit, massaging your little bundle of nerves as his fingertips fuck into your other patch of nerves along your inner walls that has you seeing fireworks.

“God, that feels so good,” you whimper out, and Jaemin nods vigorously, tongue messily gliding along your folds with every movement of his head. 

“Mm, I know, princess—tastes so good, too.” he purrs, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to peek past Haechan at Jaemin, noting fondly that his glasses have almost completely fogged up. 

Haechan shoves his glasses up his nose hurriedly with one hand, mumbling something about wanting to see better, before he speeds up, small moans leaving him as he approaches his high.

Jaemin digs his tongue into your core, greedy muscle slurping up your arousal as it gushes from your hole, and you moan loudly, walls clenching desperately around the intrusion. His fingers slide up and down your slit, parting your folds, and he uses the combination of your slick and his spit to lube up his fingers for when he presses them to your asshole. He chuckles darkly when you squeal and squirm, fingers pushing into your tight rim without pause. 

“You can take it, right, princess?” he coos, and you nod, panting, even though you’re not sure he can see you. “That’s it, pretty, just like that. So fun to play with,” he murmurs, the last part almost sounding like it’s to himself as he moves his fingers inside of you, tongue gliding up and down to swirl around your clit and your entrance teasingly.

“So good,” Haechan moans, still using your breasts to stroke his length. “Wanna cum—fuck, you’re so hot—gonna cum, pretty—where d’you want it?”

You find that you can barely form thoughts, let alone words, so, in lieu of a verbal response, you open your mouth, tongue dropping out slowly, and he moans again, this one higher and audibly overwhelmed before he thrusts his cock faster between your breasts, the tip of his length occasionally rubbing against your tongue. With a low groan, Haechan cums, abdomen tensing as he pants his way through his climax. He releases onto your waiting tongue, one spurt of cum landing on your cheek and bottom lip. 

He admires the sight of you with his release painting your face and swipes up the stray seed with his finger, pushing it into your mouth and groaning when your lips wrap around it and suck it clean.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs reverently, shuffling down your body to kiss you sloppily, tongue swirling around the inside of your mouth to taste himself. 

Looking behind himself, Haechan takes one look at Jaemin’s fingers diving in and out of your core, slick arousal and Jaemin’s saliva dripping from your entrance, and groans, rushing to get off of the bed and shove Jaemin out of place none too gently to take his place between your legs and study your glistening core, eyes roving over how your entrance is still clenching reflexively around nothing and how your clit twitches with every clench, both overstimulated and in search of something more.

You’re barely done with coming down from your last high when Haechan moans loudly, at his limit, and buries his face between your legs, tongue delving into your folds as you squirm and whimper.

“Haechan, holy shit—” you gasp, squirming away from him, but he just winds his wiry arms around your thighs and tugs you back to the edge of the bed, roughly massaging your clit with his tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, slow down—”

“Tastes so good,” Haechan moans, gaze flicking up to look at you. His hair is all messed up from the numerous times your legs closed around his head and his glasses are fogged up with the heat radiating from your body and his heavy panting, but you can clearly see a wild look in his eyes, his gaze hungrily drinking in the sight of you in front of him. “Don’t wanna stop—don’t make me stop—please—”

“Haechan, baby, please take it easy,” you pant, but Haechan pays you absolutely no mind, his thick tongue slithering into your entrance and drawing out a sharp whine from you as you struggle to sit up, trying the whole while to swat his head away so you can catch your breath.

Your hand barely clutches at a lock of Haechan’s hair before Jaemin’s pulling your hands behind your back and settling you against his chest, his incredibly strong and firm grip leaving you stuck in place as Haechan has his way with your pussy.

“Let him have his fun,” Jaemin purrs in your ear as Haechan laps at your entrance before stuffing his tongue back in as far as it’ll go. “Can’t tell you how long he’s been waiting for this moment.”

“But—” you whimper, walls clenching helplessly around Haechan’s greedy tongue. 

“Doesn’t that feel so good, princess?” Jaemin coos fondly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. You turn your head slightly to look at him with pleading eyes in the hopes he’ll have mercy, but he just chuckles, moving both your wrists to one of his hands before cupping your chin with the other and tilting your face back to his to connect your lips in a slow, passionate, deeply overwhelming kiss. 

You can taste your arousal on his tongue as well as a hint of the gum he was chewing earlier, and you keen weakly into the kiss, sloppily moving your mouth with his as Haechan slurps your arousal eagerly before he sucks your clit into his mouth, presses it between his lips, and moans loudly, the vibrations mixed with all of the lewd noises making you hurtle towards yet another high.

“Oh, shit—” you cry out against Jaemin’s lips as Haechan tongue-fucks you to another orgasm, his blunt nails digging into the flesh of your thighs as he claws at you in a desperate attempt to keep you against his mouth. Jaemin’s hand leaves your chin and moves to grope your breast, his large hand kneading and massaging the flesh and tugging at your nipple as he dots slow, wet kisses down your neck and shoulder. 

“Could stay down here forever,” Haechan grunts, and your eyes widen even in their exhausted, drained state as you start to struggle against Jaemin’s grip and fight to close your legs.

“Please leave my poor clit alone,” you plead, finally wrenching one of your hands free from Jaemin’s clutches and clapping it over your core protectively. Haechan barely even pauses, just starts licking at your fingers with desperate little moans and grunts. “Can one of you please just fuck me?”

They both go stiff, looking at each other wordlessly, before Jaemin releases you completely and switches spots with Haechan, maneuvering his length out of his sweats and boxers, and oh—

“You’re big, too,” you mumble in surprise, and he arches an eyebrow with a smirk.

“Did you think it was going to be small?” 

“Well, no, but I definitely didn’t think it’d be that big.” you mutter, and he snickers, lifting your hips to push you further back on the bed. He spreads your legs wider and looks at your core, eyes roving over your glistening folds and inner thighs with such unadulterated desire that you’re tempted to close your legs out of embarrassment.

“Haechan got you nice and wet for me, yeah?” he murmurs, pumping his fist up and down his cock slowly before slapping the underside of his length on your poor, hypersensitive clit and grinning when you jolt from the stimulation. “Think you can take all of me, princess?”

“Only one way to find out,” you reply breathlessly, and he laughs, nodding in agreement.

“You’re right about that,” he grunts as he pushes into you. Both of you react instantly; his jaw clenches while yours drops, and he sucks in a deep breath through his nose as a breathy half-whimper, half-sigh escapes you. 

Haechan watches you two with rapt attention, eyes flicking from your face to your breasts to where Jaemin’s length is slowly disappearing into you.

“Sweet pussy’s sucking me right in, princess,” Jaemin drawls with a smug grin. “Wanted this that badly, huh?”

“Shut—up—” you gasp as he bottoms out, the absolutely full-to-the-brim sensation dizzying and overwhelming and delicious all at once.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jaemin obliges, brows knitting together as he pulls out slowly and thrusts back in with a quick snap of his hips. You cry out in pleasure and the corner of his mouth quirks upward in smug satisfaction and amusement before he does it again… and again… and again until he’s built up a steady rhythm, every thrust punctuated by a plaintive moan from you.

His hands glide over everywhere he can reach before seeking purchase in your hips, fingertips digging into the flesh there as he drives his length into you.

“You love this, don’t you?” Jaemin coos as Haechan presses your breasts together and wraps his lips around one nipple, sucking as he tugs at the other bud. “You gonna tell your friends how good we fucked you?”

“Mm—yes,” you pant, and Jaemin grins. 

“Gonna tell ‘em that two little nerds from your Biology class fucked you stupid, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, nodding vigorously. “Mm-hmm—”

“Thought so,” he replies with a dark chuckle before draping one of your legs over his shoulder, angling his hips toward it, and fucking intently into a spot that, you realize after the burst of pleasure from his first thrust, must be your g-spot. 

“Ho–ly shit,” you gasp, clutching at Haechan for something you can use to brace yourself. Jaemin’s thrusts send him into you nice and deep and you’re slowly but surely losing your mind with every stroke, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he fucks into you. Your fingers catch Haechan’s thigh once more, clutching onto the warm flesh in an attempt to ground yourself.

Haechan groans and responds by swirling his tongue around your nipple slowly before flicking it back and forth quickly, using a finger to replicate his actions on your other breast.

“Please—fuck—I’m gonna cum—” you warn Jaemin, and he nods eagerly, letting a hand drag across your body from your hip to your clit, thumb sliding between your messy, wet folds to reveal the sensitive button between them. You inhale sharply when he starts to rub it in circles with the same thumb, fingertips resting lightly on your stomach as if he’s not driving you absolutely insane. “Oh, my God—cumming—I’m cumming—!”

“Me too, princess,” he groans, his hips speeding up as he chases after his own high. You climax first, letting out a drawn out whine, with Jaemin following shortly after, the male burying his length in you and pumping you full of his cum as he groans in pleasure under his breath.

“My turn,” Haechan grunts as Jaemin pulls out of you, both males watching as milky white cum drips from your entrance. “That’s so fucking hot,” Haechan mumbles in awe before reaching for your hands to gently guide you to a sitting position. “Can you ride me, pretty?”

“If my legs don’t give out,” you mumble, and he chuckles, sitting against where your bed meets the wall and patting his lap invitingly. You carefully straddle his lap, fingers wrapping around the thick head of his length as you guide his tip to your entrance and start to ease down onto him. Haechan gapes up at you, prompting you to coo affectionately. “Do you mind if I do it myself?” you ask sweetly as you sink down on it further, your nipple grazing his lips as you move against him, and he shakes his head emphatically, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose slightly. “Good,” you praise softly. “You’re not going to cum early, are you?” you ask with a small frown, and Haechan shakes his head again, the glasses sliding further and further down his nose. You gently push the glasses up, and he smiles appreciatively, tongue darting out to lick at your nipple while it’s near his mouth.

“Feels amazing,” he moans, and you smile fondly. You didn’t get a chance to see his length in all its glory, but you can definitely feel every thick inch of his cock as it stretches you open. He’s not quite as long as Jaemin, but he makes up for it in girth, his length barely fitting in your fist as you finish settling down on him.

When you’ve finally managed to fit all of his girthy length inside of you, you lift up slightly, rocking your hips forward for more friction, and Haechan moans out loudly, leaning forward to suck your nipple into his mouth. He cups your breasts, holding them up and together, and alternates running his tongue over both buds, occasionally sucking on a nipple with a low moan of satisfaction.

“More,” Haechan gasps out.

“More?” you ask, confused and lightheaded from all the pleasure you’re receiving.

“Yeah—need you to move faster,” he grunts through gritted teeth, and you suck your teeth.

“You wanted me on top when I told you my legs might give out—” you start to protest, and he pulls your face to his, kissing you to shut you up.

“Need it like this,” Haechan growls under his breath, swiftly maneuvering you two around so you’re lying on your back and he’s on his knees on the bed between your legs. “Hold these for me?” he asks, pressing your knees as close to your chest as they’ll go. As you tentatively hug your legs to your chest, Haechan spreads your folds apart with two fingers, sucking in a loud breath at the sight before he spits directly on your core, a gasp escaping you at the sensation of the warm saliva dripping down your folds.

He rests the underside of his cock on your clit, slowly rocking his hips forward to drag his thick length against your clit, and chuckles when you keen with pleasure.

“You’re so nasty,” Haechan sighs the words like you’re his dream come true, and based on the way his face contorts when he pushes into you, you just might be. He wastes no time, drilling into you at a quick, ruthless pace that has you moaning mindlessly with literally no idea what’s coming out of your mouth. “So fucking nasty for letting me do this to you,” he grunts, brows furrowed as one hand cups your chin. “Open.” 

You oblige, tongue lolling out without being asked, and he grins, leaning over you and letting more saliva drip from his mouth to your waiting tongue. Haechan dips down lower, maintaining his thrusts as he messily moves his lips against yours, his tongue and spit getting everywhere, and he whines desperately into the kiss, his hand moving from your chin to between your legs where he starts to toy with your poor clit.

A choked wail of overstimulation slips from you before you can even process it, and Haechan silences you by kissing you again, mumbling, “I can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you—perfect little fuckdoll—gonna fuck you so full of cum, gonna breed you—”

“Holy shit—breed me, yes, breed me—” you pant, nodding eagerly, and you might be imagining it, but Haechan’s thrusts seem to get impossibly deeper like he genuinely might take you up on that offer.

“Gonna breed you, pretty girl—stuff you full of my cum—give you a fucking baby—make you all mine—”

“Want it—Haechan, please—yours, I’m yours—” you can barely keep up with his heated dialogue, your eyes rolling back into your head in ecstasy as you fall apart on his length.

Haechan’s lips seal over yours, tasting your desperate cries as he fucks you foolish, making a weak, overwhelmed moan come from you and your body produce a deep, full-body shudder that travels as pleasure races through you, electrifying your bloodstream. 

Haechan isn't far behind, his tongue playing with yours almost lazily as his thrusts slow to a stop before he buries himself in you, emptying his seed into you and filling you with an impossibly large load of cum. He groans against your lips, slowly pulling out to the tip and staring down at how his length is coated with a blend of all of your cum with a deep-seated satisfaction.

“Holy shit,” he pants, flopping onto his back. “That was incredible.”

“You’re telling me,” you laugh. “Where did you two learn all that?”

“We watch a lot of porn.” Jaemin says, sheepish for the first time.

“And it taught you all of that?” you remark, incredulous.

“It taught us more, too,” Haechan adds, leaning over you with a grin. “Wanna see?”

“So, you’re telling me those two nerds from your class dicked you down… and they did it well?” Jimin remarks over your lunch in the cafeteria, eyes wide, and you scowl at her.

“Their names are Haechan and Jaemin.” you correct her, and she chuckles sheepishly. “But yes, they may have been the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Well, who would’ve thought…” Jimin comments, her expression thoughtful, and you snap loudly to get her attention. “What?”

“Those two are mine now. You can’t have them.” you state, and she frowns.

“Both of them? Aren’t you greedy?”

You shrug. “Don’t care. Mine.”

“What if they find out you’re actively laying a claim to them? Hm? Aren’t you supposed to be helping them get girls?” Jimin points out, and you frown slightly before pulling your phone out and scrolling through your messages before pressing the “Dial” button. “Who are you calling?”

“Shh.” you say distractedly, placing the call on speakerphone and waiting patiently as it rings once, twice, then stops, the other person on the line picking up. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Haechan greets, sounding slightly concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you assure him. “Is Jaemin with you?”

“Yeah, he’s right here—did you wanna talk to him?” he asks.

“Both of you, actually. Can he hear me?”

“Hi, princess,” Jaemin calls through the phone, and Jimin’s brows lift in surprise.

“Princess?” she mouths at you, and you smile, nodding.

“Hi, Jaemin. I just wanted to ask you guys a question.”

“Shoot,” Haechan says with audible wariness in his voice.

“You’re both… mine, right?” you say carefully, and Haechan sucks in a sharp breath before you hear a thudding noise. “Haechan?”

“I’m here!” he squawks, sounding slightly far away. There’s a rustling noise, and then his voice comes in clearer. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckle. “What happened?”

“He dropped the phone because he’s an idiot.” Jaemin calls out, and you laugh as Haechan shushes him forcefully. 

“An answer to my question would be nice, you know.” you tease lightly.

“I’m yours if you want me to be,” Jaemin replies smoothly, and you smile even though they can’t see you.

“Honestly, I’m yours even if you don’t.” Haechan adds, and your smile only widens as you shoot Jimin an “I told you so” glance.

“That’s good to hear.” you reply, your smile creeping into your voice, and Haechan clears his throat pointedly. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, are you ours?” Haechan asks hopefully, and you look over at Jimin as you reply.

“Absolutely.” 

“Oh, thank God.” he mumbles, and you giggle.

“So, I’m guessing you two are done with your lessons on how to get girls?” you suppose, nibbling your bottom lip nervously.

“Yeah,” Haechan confirms, and you’re surprised by just how relieved you are. “We got the only girl that matters.”

“You’re too cute.” you chuckle. “Wanna come over later?”

“Yes���” Haechan blurts out before composing himself to say, “yes, absolutely.”

“Good. Six sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” he sighs happily. “See you then, pretty.”

“Bye, baby,” you coo into the phone, and his excited squeal is quiet but unmistakable. “Bye, other baby.”

“Bye, princess. See you at six.” Jaemin calls out, and you smile widely before hanging up and smiling proudly at Jimin.

“My boys didn’t disappoint me.” you remark, pleased, and Jimin huffs petulantly.

“Man. I’m happy for you, but I wish I had two cute nerds at my beck and call.”

“Stop calling them nerds,” you correct, and she rolls her eyes.

“Wish I had two cute guys at my beck and call.” she amends her statement, and you smile, satisfied.

“Yeah, I’m pretty lucky, huh?” you muse, and Jimin sighs, a smile curling at her lips.

“Yeah… would you ever wanna share?” she asks with a wiggle of her brows. “Ow! There was no need to flick me.”

“There was every need. Avert your eyes from my men, you lustful wench.”

“Lustful wench? You’re horrible. And greedy! And selfish. Just horrible and greedy and selfish.” she complains, and you shrug, uncaring as you compose a text to your new… boyfriends?

you have created a group message. you have named the group message “power throuple.” you [17:05pm] hi boyfies :)  haechan [17:07pm] boyfies…. i’m weak in the knees jaemin [17:08pm] haechan stand up jaemin [17:08pm] hi baby girl you loved “hi baby girl” haechan [17:10pm] why would i stand up if i could lie down and have our pretty girlfriend sit on my face? 😁 you [17:11pm] you’re bolder over text, huh? haechan [17:12pm] can you blame me? have you seen yourself? you [17:12pm] i have…  haechan [17:13pm] so you know how good you look. don’t judge me when i can’t get my words out in person you [17:15pm] i happen to find it cute when you can’t get your words out jaemin [17:16pm] i find it cute when YOU can’t get your words out you [17:16pm] and when would that be? jaemin [17:17pm] don’t tell me you’ve forgotten so soon… you [17:17pm] i have :( maybe i need a reminder? jaemin liked your message “i have :( maybe i need a reminder?” jaemin [17:18pm] maybe we should come over earlier to jog your memory you [17:20pm] maybe you should. how about 5:45? jaemin liked your message “maybe you should. how about 5:45?” haechan liked your message “maybe you should. how about 5:45?” you [17:22pm] great!! it’s a date :)

“What am I, chopped liver?” Jimin complains as you giggle down at your phone.

“Sorry… and I’m even more sorry for having to cut this short.” you apologize sheepishly as you start to gather your things. 

“You’re kidding…” Jimin remarks, incredulous. “Flat-leaver!”

“I’ll text you after everything,” you assure her, stuffing your notebook in your bag and your phone in your bag’s front pocket. “Gotta go get ready!”

“You’re the worst.” she huffs, but there’s a smile on her face as she rolls her eyes. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Rawr.” You make a claw with your fingers, and she stops short, blinking at you with a blank expression. “Too much?”

“Never do that again.”

You nod in understanding. “Copy.”

tadaaaaa i hope you enjoyed! if you liked it, please shoot me an ask or write something nice in the tags :D i love (positive) feedback!

[redeemingvillains]

veritaserum - mattheo riddle

summary: when mattheo drinks veritaserum on a bet, he's confident he doesn't have anything to hide... until you show up.

word count: 3.1k

a/n: gosh i love this messy boy. just a little something sweet + fun!

"I don't know... shouldn't we save it for something... important?"

"Like, what Blaise?" Malfoy responded, exasperated.

"Yeah, got any plans you want to share?" Theo asked.

"All ears, bud" Mattheo joined in.

Blaise threw his hands up. "Fine, fuck it, do what you want with it" he said, resigned, referring to the small vial in Malfoy's hand that had the group's rapt attention as they huddled in the corner of their dormitory like they were first years at a sleepover.

"We should put it in somebody's goblet at dinner."

"We should slip it into Dumbledore's cup, Merlin knows what the geezer would say."

Theo got a wicked look on his face, "I'll give any of you lot 100 galleons to drink it."

Eyes widened around their circle at that.

"You're joking."

"Piss off."

"No, listen to me, we think we know everything about each other, don't we?" Theo continued, letting the sentiment linger "Which means the things we don't know are deep."

He grabbed the vial from Malfoy and dangled it in front of them; Veritaserum, the most powerful truth serum in the wizarding world, even having it in their possession was breaking about 15 Ministry laws.

Members of the group stared shiftily at one another, but Theo found Mattheo's gaze staring boldly at him as he leaned casually against his four-poster, a smirk on his face.

"Make it 200 and you've got yourself a deal" Mattheo grinned.

Snickers of laughter took the group as they punched one another in amusement and excitement.

"Bottoms up" Theo said, tossing the vial at him.

"I've got nothing to hide" Mattheo replied with an air of emblazoned confidence as he deftly popped the cork and threw the liquid back like a shot of firewhiskey before anyone could stop him.

It didn't taste like anything other than water, and for a moment Mattheo thought this was the easiest 200 galleons he'd ever make, but then he felt a sort of bubbling in his chest, like every feeling, every sentence he'd ever held back wanted to burst forth.

"...Well?" asked Malfoy, cautiously, leaning in, "How do you feel?"

"Bloody weird" Mattheo said, looking down at the empty vial in his hand. "And apprehensive, like I definitely don't want you to ask me things." His eyes widened at the words that had come so truthfully and vulnerably out of his mouth before he could stop them, suddenly realizing that he'd made a horrible mistake.

Theo was howling with laughter, leaning in and rubbing his hands together as he got ready to obliterate his best friend for being so cocky; he was going to make every galleon worth it.

"Did you take Blaise's Chudley Cannons scarf last term?" he asked.

"Yup, sold it to a fifth year for a bag of weed— SHIT" Mattheo said quickly, eyes wide before slapping a hand over his mouth.

"Mate, what the fuck?—" Blaise started, but Theo was on a tear.

"—Did you cheat off of Lorenzo's potions exam this week?"

"Of course" Mattheo admitted, the words blasting by his hand, "I've been doing it since fourth year, his handwritings the size of my fist, thanks for that by the way" he said, looking at Enzo.

"Prego, amico" Lorenzo said smiling and shrugging, "happy to help."

"Alright then" Blaise said, the anger and frustration clear in his voice as he eyed Mattheo, "better own up, didn't you slip McLaggen a galleon to let Theo score on him last match?"

"Yeah, fuck, and I'm not sorry about it. I'm tired of hearing Theo piss and complain about losing when he barely shows up to practice and lets the rest of us down."

"OOHHH!" shouted several of the guys.

"Fucking harsh mate!!"

"What the fuck?!?" Theo shouted angrily as he lunged for Mattheo and the others tried to hold him back.

Amidst the shouting and commotion, they didn't hear you knock on the door.

"Guys?" you asked, raising your voice to be heard.

Five heads turned your way as they stopped mid-brawl and began to stand up and right themselves, adjusting their ties and smoothing their robes. For his part, Mattheo's heart nearly shot out of his chest. No, no no no not right now he thought as you pushed your way into their room. On any other occasion he'd be thrilled to see you, but now the bubbling in his chest was reaching its peak at the sight of his deepest, most tightly held secret: you, and every single thing he felt about you.

He took in your amused smile, the light laughter on your lips, the way it made your eyes sparkle and he felt his palms tingle with sweat as he grasped them into fists and swallowed deeply, like he could ingest his own thoughts. You were his best friend, had been since the moment he met you on his first train ride to Hogwarts and he had no illusions about ruining your friendship by trying for anything else; girls like you didn't end up with guys like him.

"Are you alright?" you asked, looking at him strangely before his friends chimed in for him.

"S'fine!"

"Yeah, yeah!"

"Never better!"

"What do you need, love?"

"I am NOT fine!" Mattheo said boldly and rather loudly before he could stop himself and your eyes shot to him with concern.

"Wait, what's wrong Matty?" you asked, using the nickname he only tolerated coming from you.

He pursed his lips tightly and shook his head, averting his eyes to the floor, physically warring with the words that were flooding his subconscious.

What's wrong? A lot of things are wrong, YN. For starters, I love you. I love you so much it physically pains me to spend as much time as we do together and not to grab your hand, to pull you onto my lap, to nuzzle into your neck, to kiss you; I have a list of things I want to do to you every time I see you. Especially in that godsdamn skirt you're wearing. It's my favorite. You should know that. And I wish you would stop wearing it, you have no idea the ways guys look at you. I wish you'd wear it only for me. I wish you'd want me the way I want you, because I want you so badly. I wish you were mine, but I'm scared, no, fucking terrified of the way I feel about you because love is vulnerability and vulnerability is weakness and I can't tell you any of this so please, please don't ask me anything and please, please stop looking at me like that.

"Matty?" you asked again, now thoroughly concerned as your best friend slammed his hands over his ears as you walked towards him.

Theo was burning hot with anger, stewing over what Mattheo had said about him, he wanted to take him down a notch, to embarrass him in return. "Admit it" he interrupted, staring at Mattheo "you have a thing for Pansy and you've tried to make a move on her even though she's with Draco."

You stopped short of approaching Mattheo and stared at Theo.

"What?" you whispered, feeling physically ill, jealous and hurt even though you had no such right.

Mattheo straightened up and glared at Theo.

"What the fuck did you just say?!" Draco said, brushing past you as he came for Mattheo.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Theo pushed further, so smug, so certain he was right.

"No you fucking prat" Mattheo spat at him.

Draco grabbed Mattheo by the front of his robes. "You swear it, you haven't made a move on her?"

"I swear it."

"Not even before we were dating?" Malfoy pressed.

"Not even before you were dating" Mattheo confirmed.

"What the fuck is going on?" you said, exasperated, almost to yourself as you tried to calm down.

"Veritaserum" Blaise said by way of explanation as he leaned in to be heard over the continued shouting of your friends. "Theo bet one of us to drink it and, well..." he said, gesturing his hand by way of explanation at the calamity in front of you.

Malfoy was shouting questions at Mattheo who looked genuinely surprised if not annoyed, and Enzo was looking back and forth at them like it was a tennis match. Theo had a deeply skeptical look on his face as he listened on, "No, you're always weird around Pansy and YN though, I thought..." then, like a lightbulb went off, Theo looked at you, to Mattheo and back again.

"Do you think Pansy's hot?" Malfoy continued.

"Bro, give it up" Blaise said finally, stepping to pull him back, "I think you're in the clear."

"I mean yeah she's hot, but she's not my type. FUCK!" Mattheo replied, rubbing a hand over his face at the admission.

"She's not, but YN is" Theo said finally.

Mattheo bit his bottom lip and stared at the floor, concentrating very hard on the tassels of the rug beneath his feet as he shook his head, a grimace on his face.

Your heart trilled in your chest, which was literally rising and falling in both panic and excitement. Mattheo was shaking his head no, but his whole body was fighting something, there was something he didn't want to say... about you.

"So, she's not your type? Not attractive to you at all?" Theo pushed.

Mattheo's face was turning a dark shade of red as pursed his lips closed and shook his head vehemently, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, his own nearly watering with the exertion of fighting the potion within him.

"Totally platonic? Didn't give a shit when Seamus Finnegan asked her out last term?"

Mattheo glanced at Theo, gathering himself, as he tried desperately to say the only truth he wanted to share. "He's a prick, no secret I didn't think it was a good idea—"

"—You never told me that" you said quietly, confused, and not a little bit angry. "But you avoided me for a few weeks after, I remember..." you said, trailing off as you stepped closer to him, and Mattheo's looked genuinely afraid, outstretching his hands to stop you from coming any closer.

"What don't you want to say?—"

"—I don't want you here right now!" he said loudly.

You physically reared back at the harshness of his words. You caught his eye, trying to communicate the way you often did with one another, to ask things that could only be said without words, but you got nothing in response.

"R-Right" you said, your voice wobbling as you turned to leave, thoroughly embarassed.

And the sound of it nearly broke Mattheo's heart.

"Wait, wait, I didn't meant it like that, I don't want you to be upset, please don't be upset" he said, moving to reach for your hand urgently, the unmasked care and compassion in his voice making you turn and making Draco and Blaise bat at each other's arms in excitement like school girls at the scene unfolding in front of them.

"I don't want you to hear my truth" Mattheo said quietly, and just like that it was just the two of you, you who knew more than any of these idiots, you knew about Blaise's scarf (you had told him not to sell it), about him cheating in potions and paying off McLaggen, but even you didn't know his most deeply held secret and this isn't how he wanted it to come out.

"Please" he begged, in way none of his friends had ever heard him speak before.

"I just... I thought I knew all of your truths?" you said vulnerably, your chin wobbling, saddened at the idea that there was a part of him you didn't know.

"You don't. I'm sorry" he said simply.

"But they get to hear them?" you said, gesturing towards your friends.

"No, they don't know them either."

"What would be so bad that you wouldn't want anyone in your life to know, Matty?"

He bit his tongue as he tilted his head. "It isn't bad. I didn't say it was bad" he said.

You could tell he was playing with you, selectively choosing his words. Your curiosity piqued as you turned to face him fully with your arms crossed.

"What don't you want us to know?" you asked.

"How I — FUCK — feel — mmhmm" he tried to physically shove the words back into his mouth, clapping his hands over his mouth again as his body betrayed him.

Theo stepped forward, trying to pry his hands back. "Say it!" he said.

Mattheo tried to wiggle out of his grasp, the two of them thrashing back and forth.

"C'mon mate, time to earn those galleons! Cough it up! How you feel about what?" and Theo yanked Mattheo's hands away from his mouth just long enough for Mattheo to all but shout:

"HER!" he said, loudly, pointing to you. "About YN. I — FUCK — fucking love her."

You could have heard an owl feather hit the floor.

"Oh shit" Malfoy whispered.

Theo took a step back as he realized the enormity of what he'd just done. He'd thought Mattheo had a little crush on you, I mean, didn't they all? He thought it was just a bit of fun. But love? He'd know Mattheo for 7 years and he never so much as heard him say the word, let alone direct it at another person, in fact he knew just how much the concept had been beaten out of him as a child.

"Mate, I'm—" he started.

Mattheo glared at him in way that reminded you for a moment about the family he came from, and it was the first time you'd ever seen Theo genuinely afraid as the smile dropped from his lips and he took an unconscious step back.

"Fuck you" Mattheo said, stepping towards him, the measured control in his voice somehow more frightening than the alternative. "You always take shit too far, you know that? That's why—"

"—Matty?" you said, your quiet whisper and the questions that lingered behind it tugging at his heart and pulling his attention back to you.

He met your eyes and the fury he felt at Theo dissolved in an instant, like it had apparated from the room, because the way you were looking at him was an expression he'd only seen in his dreams. You didn't look angry or confused, you weren't laughing or embarrassed, the sparkle in your eye was back and a soft smile rested on your lips, your eyes were blown wide, hopeful even, with a hint of something else underneath that had a sensation like melted honey spreading throughout his entire body.

"Can we maybe talk... outside...?" you asked.

"Yes, for the love of the gods" he said, walking quickly to your side, letting his hand rest gently at your back, the intimate gesture not lost on anybody as your friends wolf-whistled and snickered and he flipped them the finger over his head.

Now that the truth was out, there was nothing stopping the words that flew out of Mattheo's mouth as you led him to a nearby secluded corridor.

"I really want to talk to you about this" he said, the moment you were outside of the dormitory, "I am so embarrassed that it came out that way, that's not at all how I wanted to tell you, well, I didn't want to tell you at all, I was terrified actually. I've liked you for a long time, really since the first day we met, do you remember? On the train? You were wearing that blue jumper, you smelled like cinnamon and vanilla... You always smell so fucking good—"

You laughed as you pulled him with greater urgency by the hand away from prying eyes as he continued to ramble on, the truth serum creating a veritable waterfall of words out of his mouth.

"—You're so fucking beautiful, I love your hair, your eyes, your smile, your nose... that sounds weird, but it's true, it's so fucking cute—"

"—Mattheo" you said, as you stopped, placing your hands on his chest and pressing him gently against the stone wall to get him to slow down. "Breathe."

He shook his head.

"No, it's out now, and I don't know how long this shit lasts and if I don't say this stuff now, I'm not sure I'll ever have the balls to say it to your face, I've held onto this for 7 years YN."

Your lips curled into a small pout at how sweet he was being, at the idea that your best friend had been pining for you since you were 11 years old.

"I love you" he continued breathlessly, "and not like a little bit. Like, a lot. I don't know..." he said, carding his hand through his brown curls, "I've never felt this way about anyone, anything. I'm all consumed with you. You're the only thing I think about, the only girl I want, I'd do anything for you. And I'm sorry if this is going to totally wreck our friendship, if you want things to stay the way they are, I will try my level best—"

But his words were cut short as you pressed your lips to his, capturing his truth, letting it wash over you, every word you had been desperate to hear, every thought you'd shared the same. It surprised him for only a second before his hands grasped your face and he pulled you further into him.

"You're fucking perfect" he whispered after a moment, his eyes dancing over your features.

"Remind me again why I didn't give you veritaserum like years ago?" you said, smiling against his lips.

"It's a felony?" he said, laughing.

"...Right" you said, laughing back.

You were only gone a few minutes, but as you scurried back to the dormitory you tried to fix your hair, and wipe the lipgloss off of Mattheo's face as he smiled down at you with puppy dog eyes.

"They're going to lose their mind" you said quietly just outside the door, "let's just play it cool, alright?"

And before he could respond that there was no way on earth he could possibly do that, you pushed the door open and all conversation stopped.

"...Alright?" Theo asked, turning to face you both, nervous at the potential mess he may have caused.

"Fine, we were just talking—"

"—She macked me!!" Mattheo shouted truthfully with a huge grin on his face as he wrapped his arm around you.

You gasped and swatted at him playfully, your cheeks blushing a rosy pink as your friends erupted into cheers, hoot and hollers, descending on you both as Mattheo looked down at you, glowing, happier than you could ever remember seeing him.

taglist: @girllblogging777, @iamdnb, @bookworm124, @zatannasrealgf, @r-a-c-h-e-l

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: omegeverse, omega reader, forced mating, near noncon, threats

♡ GN reader

You tried running away from your mate again. And he decides to teach you a life lesson by taking you to the only place stray omegas earn a living.

He’s not giving you the time to catch your breath—keeping his hand unforgivingly tight around your wrist, pulling you along while you cry at his back—grip so tight you think he might squeeze your hand clean off as he drags you through the funhouse—through horror-filled corridors featuring piles of sweaty bodies belonging to big grunting alphas and smaller whimpering omegas.

“This where you wanna end up?” He yanks you to a stop once you reach the thick of it—holding you harshly against his chest with a mean grip on your face, forcing you to look at the fray. “Another free-use whore?”

You shake your head, but you struggle to make the words known, “N-no–no.” Breath jumping in your throat while new tears keep bubbling in your eyes, streaming heavy down your sore cheeks. 

“Tch–you wanna be a stray that badly. That's fine by me,” he scoffs and shoves you forward where a sticky bed receives you—slipping between busy bodies that immediately notice the arrival of fresh meat. 

“No–please-” you squeak, but no one can hear you. 

Or maybe they do, but your voice doesn't matter. Not here.

Not anywhere…

Greedy hands, much stronger than you, grab at you, ripping your clothes, yanking your hair, doing what they want with you because that’s the only thing omegas like you are worth—to be used until you’re not wanted anymore.

Or, that’s the lesson he’s trying to teach you anyway.

But he pulls you out of the pit before you’re devoured—left shell-shocked and shaking. Cloths torn and hair wild, you can barely stand on your own two feet—looking faint yet wide awake in panic all at the same time—clinging to him with trembling fists.

“Do you understand now?” He cups your face roughly, forcing you to look at him whilst declaring, “The only safe place for an omega is by an alpha’s side.”

Your lip warbles, eyes large and glassy, looking up into his harsh ones while he grits his teeth and continues to bark, “You can either be my mate, or I leave you here for good.”

You sniffle—body still reeling from almost being savaged by a pack of rut-happy mongrels—wanting nothing more than to go back the way you came—preferring to be kept within his gilded cage above being a bone in this awful scrapyard he threatened to abandon you in.

“Which will it be?”

You wring his shirt as tears continue to roll down your sorry cheeks, held tightly in his rough palm.

“Home…” you cry weakly. "I wanna go home."

He sighs and eases his grip, letting you hide your face against his chest, left sobbing from the hard-learned lesson.

He puts his hand on your head, giving it a pet.

“Good.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Illumi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[dreamsteddie]

Wowza. Part one blew up way more than I thought it would so here! Part two! I do have more thoughts about this so there might be a couple more parts to come. We'll see ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

------

Eddie takes half a second to consider just not answering. Maybe throwing his phone away and never going back to the restaurant they went to last night so he never has to confront whatever it is that's about to happen. Maybe even fleeing the country and living alone on a sheep farm with no friends and go relationships ever again so something like this never happens again.

But then he thinks of Steve. Kind, funny Steve with the bright eyes and soft skin who looked at Eddie like he could fall in love with him and he knows that whatever comes next, Steve deserves for Eddie to see it through with him.

New Message: Steve H.

Hey

Just that one word sends Eddie's heart into his throat. He can see that Steve is still typing, those little ellipses of doom popping on and off the screen. Realistically, Steve probably doesn't know what happened, right? Eddie's pretty sure Steve wasn't in on it and it's been less than an hour since Eddie himself found out, so probably not.

Steve H: Gareth called me

Fuck.

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.

If Eddie's heart was in his throat at the first text, the second one has it dropping through his body and out of his goddamned ass. It's not that he doesn't want Steve to know. He was always planning to tell him, he was just hoping he could be the one to do it. Gareth being a little shit and calling Steve first was not part of the plan.

Steve H: He told be about the prank. I'm sorry if I wasn't what you expected and you were just being nice. We can pretend it never happened. No hard feelings.

Eddie slams his head into his pillow. This is such a cluster fuck he can hardly bring himself to look at the text but he needs to come up with some kind of response, like, yesterday if he wants any chance of keeping the man of his dreams from running for the hills because apparently, Eddie's friends are trying to destroy his life. He takes a deep breath and starts typing.

Eddie: Hey, I'm so sorry about that. I just found out about what they did an hour ago at practice. I didn't think they would just call you out of the blue like that, I was just about to text you.

Not completely true, but Eddie was going to text him about it, just after screaming into his pillow and making a couple Vudu dolls first.

Eddie: For what it's worth I really do like you and I would love to still take you out on that second date, but I understand if my friends scared you off and you want nothing to do with me. I know it's fucked up.

It takes a minute for Steve to respond, the typing bubbles ebbing and flowing as Steve types and retypes whatever it is he wants to say. Eddie is about ready to call it a wash and start googling sheep farms for sale in Ireland when a new text comes in, dispelling all thoughts of learning to sheer wool.

Steve H: Are you sure?

And fuck if that doesn't hurt his heart. Eddie has spent all of two and a half hours with Steve, he's a virtual stranger, but Eddie can swear he can feel all of Steve's secondhand insecurity through that one lonely sentence. Before he even registers what he's asking, he send a quick reply.

Eddie: Can I Facetime you?

Before Eddie can try to rethink his decision, his screen lights up with a notification. Steve is calling him.

Eddie scrambles to answer, fumbling his phone a little in his haste and almost missing the call completely. He manages to get it on the last ring, breathing heavily in a way he knows can't be flattering.

All thoughts about his lack of dexterity fly out the window when he looks into his screen. On their date, Steve was perfectly put together. Hair meticulously done, clothes freshly pressed, and a light sheen of lipgloss accentuating the perfect curve of his mouth. While Steve is still beautiful through the lens of his camera, it's clear that he's been crying. His eyes are red and a little puffy, hair out of order in a way Eddie thinks is probably unusual for him, and Eddie can see that he's wearing a well-loved beige hoodie.

"Hi," Steve says, waving a shy hand almost the same way he had last night.

"Hey sweetheart," Eddie says, keeping his voice low and gentle, desperate to soothe Steve however he can through the distance of their phones.

For a minute they just look at each other, neither one knowing what to say in a situation like this. Eddie sees Steve gearing up to say something, but he cuts in before he starts. There's something he needs to say while Steve can see him face to face.

"I'm really sorry about what happened!" He says, much lounder than he intended. "My friends were being dicks. I haven't dated in a while and instead of being normal fucking people they set up this whole stupid prank but I swear I wasn't in on it!"

Something about what he says draws a small smile from the corner of Steve's mouth, so Eddie keeps talking. "Besides, if they wanted to prank me they should have picked someone that isn't a literal fucking model in disguise. There wasn't a chance in hell I wasn't going to beg you for that second date."

At that, Steve gives a little chuckle and it lifts Eddie's heart from where it'd fallen onto the floor and puts in back in his chest 10 times lighter than before.

"Jesus, are you always such a flirt Munson?" he says.

"Only when the boys are especially pretty," Eddie responds.

Steve gives another little laugh at that before sobering up. He gives Eddie a long look through the phone, and Eddie lets him.

"Are you sure you don't want to just call it quits here man? Gareth was pretty adamant that I'm not the kind of guy you usually go for. I don't want you to feel like you have to humor me out of kindness." There's a forced flippancy to Steve's words that Eddie knows well from his own Munson Coping Strategies Handbook. Steve is trying to give him an out, but Eddie can tell that he doesn't want to.

For the first time since this all started, Eddie is well and truly mad. Gareth and Jeff had absolutely no business poking around in his love life in the first place, but now they've reached out to the guy Eddie already told them he liked to what? Tell him never mind actually, we don't think you're the right guy for our friend even though he told us very explicitly how into you he is.

Eddie lets all the frustration, anger, and tenuous hope building up in his chest fuel his reply. This one has to count, he can feel it. It's a charisma saving throw with the whole campaign on the line. He can't miss this one.

"Honestly Steve, if you asked me two days ago what I was looking for in a partner, I probably would have said I wanted to date another alternative metalhead or punk who likes playing DnD and getting high on the weekend." Eddie can see Steve's shoulders slump as his eyes dart away, but he pushes on, determined to make his point.

"But, I haven't had as good a time as we had last night in a really long time." Steve looks back up, eyes alight with the same tentative hope Eddie himself is channeling. "I think you're funny and interesting, and you have the absolute worst takes on ice cream flavors, and you're hot as hell. Like, seriously the hottest guy I've ever seen in real life."

Steve smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling.

Critical success.

"So, about that second date."

-------

Tag List

@wheneverfeasible @the-dark-hearts @sofadofax @wrenisfangirling @whatfinestandsfor @lilpomelito @raisedbylibrarians @ollyxar @mugloversonly @xxbottlecapx @hezaaxdexangelous @kimsnooks @that-one-gay-crow

[sunshineyuyu]

princess treatment (j. yh)

★ summary: you have a crush on jongho, but he’s chatting up someone else. so, you end up getting high and hooking up with yunho instead. ★ pairing: yunho x f!reader ★ genre: college, smut (mdni!) ★ word count: 4.3k ★ tags/warnings: weed & alcohol consumption, yunho calls reader princess, high sex, piv sex (with a condom!), vaginal fingering, spanking, choking, slight dom/sub undertones, ig under-negotiated kink?, big dick!yunho, yunho manhandles reader, yunho is taller than reader, yunho has tattoos lol, dirty talk, intentionally lowercase ★ notes: this is the prequel to the jongho fic chained and the final “part” of this series! yunho from chained was just a lil too hot for me to not write something for him too! let me know if i missed any warnings!! ofc beta’d by the bestie @starhwas-bunny ★ masterlist | read on ao3 | chained (jongho sequel)

you look so hot tonight. you’re wearing your new favorite top—with a deep deep cut that makes your chest the center of attention—and a pair of jeans that you know makes your ass look good.

all of this to hopefully attract the attention of one choi jongho, who you’ve been crushing on for the better half of the semester, since san introduced you to him. he’s built and tan and nice and smart and sexy.

and he’s currently leaning against a wall—cradling a red solo cup and swirling its contents like he’s james fucking bond or something—and chatting up some pretty blonde girl.

you practically feel smoke coming out of your ears as you stare at the two of them—the way jongho leans forward so that he can hear the girl amidst the blaring sounds of somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper. ryujin puts a hand on your shoulder and the warmth of her palm makes you realize how tense you are. she shoves a beer into your hand.

“forget about him, honey,” she says. “he’s not worth it.”

“it’s not like he’s a fuckboy,” you whine, struggling to crack open the can with your recently cut nails. ryujin takes pity on you and opens it for you. you take a deep drink from it before wiping the edge of your mouth with your wrist. “he’s nice. he brought homemade coffee to class for me the other day.”

“mmm,” ryujin says. “i know, honey, but no boy is worth it. c’mon, let’s go play rage cage.”

you let ryujin pull you away to a different room, where the birthday girl yeji is parading around on wooyoung’s shoulders while spraying everyone with bubbly champagne. you don’t even really know yeji—she’s an acquaintance of an acquaintance, but you came because you wanted an excuse to get drunk and look hot and get jongho’s attention, only two of which you’ve managed to succeed in.

you finish the beer at an alarming rate and crush it in your fist.

“i’m gonna go get some air,” you say. “i’m not really feeling rage cage right now.”

“i’ll come with you,” ryujin says.

you venture to a different part of the house, trying to locate the stairs back down to ground level, but instead spotting a balcony. ryujin follows you here, where up close you realize it’s not empty.

the balcony is big—big enough to have several foldable lawn chairs strewn around, all occupied by various zooted-adjacent individuals. you and ryujin find a small opening against the railing, and you push up against it to feel the wind blow against your hair.

“men are shit,” you proclaim, apropos to nothing.

“men are shit,” ryujin agrees.

“you wanna smoke?” this voice is new, and it doesn’t belong to ryujin. it comes from your other side, and you turn slowly to appraise the person it originates from.

he’s holding a blunt out to you, a small thin thing between his thumb and pointer finger.

it’s jeong yunho. 

you don’t really know yunho, but you know him enough. he’s a friend of seonghwa’s, which means you’ve seen him at enough parties—been shoved next to him during rage cage, had him hold your hair back while you took a bong hit. he’s tall, with soft black hair, and has a tattoo of a dragon curled around his right forearm. there’s a perpetual lazy look to him—a smirk always playing at his lips.

he’s attractive, and he’s offering you a smoke from his blunt. you don’t think twice before you’re stepping closer, pressing your lips against the end of the blunt and inhaling. a low tsk comes from ryujin, but you focus on letting the sour smoke fill your lungs, all while you maintain eye contact with yunho.

“ryujin,” you say, coughing a little since it’s been a while since you’ve taken a direct hit. “can you get me some water?”

ryujin gives another tsk, but then you shoot her a look that she understands in an instance, and she slips away to “get you some water.”

you turn back to yunho.

“you looked like you needed it,” yunho says, taking a pull from the blunt and then blowing the smoke back out. 

you hum lightly, crossing your arms from both the night chill and because you know it makes your tits look better.

“you’re right.”

yunho holds the blunt back out to you, right in front of your mouth. you take another hit. this time you close your eyes and you breathe it back out, letting your head fall back and your hair hang loose.

“it’s nice,” you say. “thank you.”

“anytime,” yunho says.

you continue the back and forth of the blunt a few times, until you’re starting to really feel it, which is good because the blunt is practically finished, yunho barely pinching onto it after your puff.

“last one,” yunho says, a little breathy, and eyes more hooded than usual. 

on this last one, you meet yunho’s half-gaze and blow the smoke directly into his face. he’s closer than you really remember him being, but you don’t mind. he’s big and he blocks the wind. he flicks the stub of the blunt onto the ground, grinding it with the toe of his shoe. he raises his head back up to you.

“that was hot,” he says.

“i’ve always wanted to have high sex,” you say.

“i can make that happen,” he says.

he leads you to the stairs, down them, and out the front door with a surprising amount of clarity. meanwhile, you’re letting the sound of whatever chainsmokers song is playing drag you back to your high school days. an uber appears out of seemingly mid-air, and you’re suddenly in the backseat of a sedan. yunho’s shoving the armrest into the backseat and pulling you into him.

the ride is smooth, and you take it in turns to focus on different things. first, the dulcet sounds of a jazzy trumpet, fragmented and dusty because of the car’s worn speakers. second, the rushing of lights in the windows, leaving behind trails of white, yellow, a smear of blue.

finally, yunho’s hand on your waist, his thumb rubbing soft circles in that sliver of skin between your top and your jeans. it’s nice, makes you feel warm. you press deeper into his chest, your hand pressed into the cotton of his shirt.

he leads you up to his apartment and throws his keys into a ceramic bowl near the front door. 

“do you want water?” he asks, heading towards the kitchen like you hadn’t propositioned him fifteen minutes ago after sharing a blunt together.

“yeah,” you admit, when the full feeling of cotton mouth hits you.

after several gulps of the most delicious filtered water you’ve ever had, yunho’s crowding you into the countertop. he towers over you, but that works because you like feeling small, overpowered.

“you sure about this?” he asks, and if you weren’t high you would’ve said something about appreciating the ask for consent. instead, you lock your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height and pressing your lips against his.

the kiss is immediately intense, his tongue roving against yours, while his hands—jesus, they’re massive—press into your sides, palms hot and fingers digging.

“yes,” you say.

he picks you up effortlessly, and you manage to wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you into his room. he sets—no, throws—you down onto the mattress. you bounce a little and fall backwards onto the pillows. you’re getting ready to bite out a retort at being tossed aside so roughly when you see his face: calm, emotionless, but a distinct darkness in his eyes.

“fuck.” you mean it as a breath, but it comes out like a moan. 

yunho pounces.

he kisses you briefly, before descending to your neck, your collarbone. he’s pushing your top off your shoulder, mouthing at the flesh at the top of your breast.

“take it— take it off,” you say.

yunho obliges, sitting back to push your top up past your chest and over your head. he lingers there for a little longer, eyes running over your tits and your nipples hardening under his heavy gaze.

“hot,” he says. “you’re so fucking hot.”

“touch me,” you say.

he obliges, palming your tits and pinching your nipples. rolling them between his fingers and revelling at the way you keen under his touch. 

“sensitive?” he says, all breathy while watching you.

“y- yes,” you say. “the- the weed—”

“mmm, yeah, i know what you mean.”

you reach down to the button of your jeans, but yunho catches your hands and lifts them above your head. he presses into it, hovering over you.

“i’ll take care of you, princess,” he says. “be patient.”

this pulls a squeak out of you. the assertive tone, the pet name, combined with the way that it only takes one of his hands to lock your wrists in place—it’s new to you, but you’re suddenly so fucking desperate to get out of your pants.

the unoccupied hand goes to your jeans, and you close your eyes, as yunho deftly unbuttons it, but drags down the zipper slowly to reveal your mildly scandalous underwear: red and lacy with a little bow.

yunho whistles. “y/n. that’s kinda sexy.”

he releases your wrists to use both hands to slide your legs out of your jeans. he goes slow, trailing behind his hands with his lips, which leave a scorching trail of lazy kisses. he’s looking at you as he goes, his eyes never wavering. you almost blush from the heat of his glare.

“you shy?” yunho teases, reaching up to palm one of your tits. 

“no,” you say. “just- just ready.”

“mmm,” yunho says. “i told you, princess. be patient.”

in an instant, you’re suddenly on your stomach, bouncing again. your waist feels a little tender from where he gripped you hard to turn you over, and your head feels a little woozy from the sudden movement, but then you feel yunho tapping on the outside of your thigh.

“up.” one word, one syllable, but coated in dominance, and you’re on your knees in an instant, ass up.

“fuck, that’s a nice view,” you hear yunho say, and you feel his hands splay out on your cheeks. he squeezes a little and chuckles.

slap! 

you fall onto the mattress, arms slow to catch yourself. did he—? did he just smack your ass? the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done in bed was some light hair pulling, but you’re finding that you don’t mind the buzzing you feel in your ass right now.

in fact—

“oh.” it comes out like a whine, and yunho hisses in satisfaction.

“you like that, huh, princess?” yunho says, his voice low.

“mm.” you can’t manage words.

“good,” he says, but even then you can’t anticipate the next slap. it’s harsher this time, and you jerk from the touch. “gonna make ur ass red to match those panties.”

it’s filthy. the way he’s talking. you’ve only heard talk like this in porn, and you’d always thought it was overly scripted. but yunho’s just talking, eliciting tiny squeaks and squeals of surprise from you that you also have only heard in porn and thought was fake.

“p- please,” you say, lower lip trembling a little. you finally chance a look back at yunho, and you find him still completely clothed, kneeling on the bed behind you with his hands on your hips.

“please what?” yunho says, smirking.

“touch me,” you gulp.

“where?”

“here.” before you can overthink it you’re taking his much bigger hand and moving it to your core, to where your underwear is already soaked. 

“okay, princess,” yunho says. “since you asked nicely.”

he starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, a feathery touch that still makes you shudder. his other hand slides up your back and settles between your shoulder blades, pressing you down into the mattress.

“stay still, okay?”

you whimper in response, because soon he’s pushing aside the crotch of your panties, teasing the pad of his finger at your dripping entrance.

and then he’s pushing not one, but two long fingers into you. the first thrust is slow, and you can feel your walls pulsing around the digits. the second, third, fourth thrusts are hard and fast, and his hand on your back is bruising.

“fuck,” yunho hisses. “so wet and tight, princess.”

“hnng,” is your reply, because yunho is hitting that spot in the back, and your thighs are quivering.

“turn around,” yunho commands. “i want to see you when you cum.”

you scramble to follow his direction, flipping onto your back and pulling your knees closer into you. yunho shoves fingers into your mouth before you have a chance to say anything, and you suck on instinct, lapping at his fingers and tasting yourself on them.

“fuck,” yunho says, and then he withdraws the fingers and pushes them back into your cunt. you stare down at his hand, at his arm—the one with the dragon tattoo wrapped around. at how the scales of the dragon dance with the veins of his forearm as he pistons his fingers into you.

you’re a babbling mess of whines and coos and squeals, and suddenly yunho’s other hand flies up to your throat.

“this okay?” yunho asks quietly. his voice is low, like he’s trying to be sultry, but you can tell he’s watching carefully to see your response.

this is new. you’ve never done this before. you’ve seen it, heard about it. 

you like it.

you nod, and yunho smirks.

his grip is loose, but this new pressure on your throat makes you a little dizzy, a little lightheaded, and makes the fluttering in your stomach speed up. both your hands come up to grip his arm, to feel the muscle beneath your fingers.

“i’m- i’m close,” you croak.

“good.” and yunho picks up the pace, fucking his fingers into you until you feel that crest of nerve endings exploding. your back arches, your head falls back, your eyes close—the feeling ten times more intense than usual because of the weed in your system.

you collapse against the bed, breathing heavily and clenching around his fingers.

“fuck,” yunho whispers. “that was hot.”

he’s perched over you now, a hand on your cheek brushing your sweaty locks out of your face. he kisses your neck, softly.

“i- i want—” you have to pause to catch your breath.

“yeah, princess?” he grins at you.

“this,” you say, your hand cupping the very apparent tent in his pants. this takes yunho by surprise. he jerks, but your hand remains. you experiment with palming him a little, feeling how firm his cock is. how big it feels even under the thick strain of his pants.

“yeah?” he says.

“yes,” you say. “please.”

“ok, princess.”

he reaches behind his head to pull his shirt off by the collar. you blanch at the sight of his torso. lean, lithe muscle. another tattoo along the top of his ribcage that you’ve never seen before. black calligraphy strokes that spell out something in what you think is japanese.

“what does it say?” you say, before you can stop yourself. you run your fingers along the words, touch soft.

“nana korobi, ya oki,” he says, equally softly. “it means ‘fall down seven times, get up eight.’”

“it’s beautiful,” you say.

“not as beautiful as you,” yunho says, and he tugs your underwear down from your hips and off your legs. you suddenly remember exactly what you’d asked for.

“so. fucking. beautiful,” he continues, undoing his belt and throwing it aside. he unbuttons his jeans and pulls them halfway down his thighs. there’s a small wet patch on his briefs, but those are soon pulled down too to reveal—

he’s big. long but not too thick. the head of his cock flushed red and leaking pre-cum.

you feel your mouth inexplicably fill with saliva.

“you’re- you’re—”

“you can do it, princess,” he says, kicking off his briefs and jeans the rest of the way. “you can take it.”

you nod obediently.

he reaches over you for his bedside drawer, returning with a silver foil condom packet and a little plastic bottle of lube. he tears the condom open with his teeth, spitting out the corner and then rolling the thing down his length. you lay back, eyes up to the ceiling. you hear the distinct pop of the lube cap, hear a liquid sort of noise, and then you feel his fingers again. cold and a little slimy, probing at your entrance and briefly nudging at your sensitive clit.

“you ready?” he says, lining himself up.

“mm.”

he pushes in slowly, and it takes all of your willpower not to clench instinctively. he groans while he slides into you, and the pace allows you to feel every inch of him. the stretch is difficult at first, but the further in he gets, the less control he has and soon, he bottoms out.

“you can- you can move,” you say.

“don’t have to tell me twice, princess.”

yunho’s hands find your waist, grip it hard, and then he pulls back and thrusts in again, but still slow. you can feel his eyes on you, making sure his size doesn’t overwhelm you. as he builds up his pace, his hips snap against yours, filling the room with positively lewd sounds that combine with his deep breathing and grunts and your whimpers and whines.

he fucks you into the mattress, stretching you so deliciously.

you find one of his hands and lead it up to your throat. yunho’s eyes widen, but he wraps those long, perfect fingers around your neck, grip tighter this time.

“fuck, you’re so pretty, princess,” yunho says. “taking my cock like that. such a good fucking girl—fuck!”

you’re overstimulated, but in the best way. lightheaded from the choking, sensitive everywhere from the weed, and so turned on from yunho’s praise. you close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly fucked.

as yunho pounds into you, he starts cooing and moaning about how good you look, how good you sound, how good you feel.

“yeah? you like that, princess? yeah—let me hear you. tell me how good i’m fucking you. fuck—your pussy is perfect. like you were fucking made for me. such a perfect princess.”

you can’t tell if you’re close to another orgasm, or if this is just all one long extended orgasm. all you know is that your body is buzzing with pleasure, and you feel really fucking good.

eventually, yunho’s thrusts grow faster and more erratic. he gives one final push and stays buried in you, chest rising and falling.

he pulls out slowly, checking to make sure the condom worked.

“fuck, that was good,” he says, breathless.

“yeah,” you agree, boneless.

yunho swings his legs over the side of the bed, taking off the condom and tying it up before throwing it into a trash can. you’re a bit miffed that he is already fully operational, while you feel like you had all of your inner organs rearranged.

“give me a sec, princess,” he says, as he tugs on a pair of sweatpants. “i’ll get you some water and get you cleaned up. just relax.”

your head still feels a little woozy, but you slowly come back to your senses as you hear yunho bustle around outside. finally, he comes back into the room guzzling a chilled bottle of water. he recaps it and hands it to you. you drink deeply as you feel yunho wipe at your thighs with something warm and wet. the cool water reinvigorates your throat after having yunho’s hand pressed against it. 

“you good?” he says. “i wasn’t too hard or anything?”

“no,” you say. “no, it was good. i liked it.”

“good girl,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting your head. it’s mildly patronizing, and but you’re to tired to retort back. 

he shifts deeper onto the bed to lean back against the headboard, running his fingers along your spine. it’s relaxing and—together with the water—helps you ground yourself as you feel the last remnants of weed and arousal fog clear from your mind.

“you like jongho, right?” he asks, apropos to nothing.

you choke. you spend the next few seconds spluttering and coughing while yunho rubs your back soothingly.

“i don’t- why are you—?”

“that’s why you were all sad at first, right?” yunho says. “on the balcony?”

you stare at him, finally able to breathe properly.

“yeah,” you say quietly. “but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me.”

yunho hums. “i don’t know about that—” and he pinches your back when you open your mouth to protest “—but i don’t mind being your fuck buddy while you get over him.”

you purse your lips. truth be told it was good sex, but your… thing for jongho isn’t something that you can just get over with a couple good fucks and some weed. you don’t know how to tell yunho—someone you’ve only really ever been around either drunk or high or both—about pulling all-nighters with jongho to finish your homework together, sleepy and giggly and delirious; or how he knows your coffee order without ever having asked; or the way his eyes crinkle when you show him a funny meme.

so, you settle with a small smile and a peck to yunho’s jaw.

“i’ll consider it,” you say, and you get up to start redressing. you’re sobering up properly now, and the flimsy top you’d been wearing before feels a little scandalous for your current mental state. after hesitating briefly, you grab yunho’s discarded top and put it on.

“well shit, when you do stuff like that,” yunho says, running his eyes over how his shirt dwarfs you.

“i’m- i’m cold,” you mutter.

yunho just laughs, ruffling his hair.

“hey—you hungry?”

he takes you to the 24/7 burger joint just outside his apartment, harsh fluorescent lights and greasy air doing their best to sober you up even more. he orders and pays for you, while you slide into a corner booth to avoid anyone seeing how utterly fucked out you look: hair in a messy bun to hide the knots, body swimming in yunho’s shirt, mascara smeared under your eyes, and hand constantly on your neck to cover up the massive hickey you discovered while peeing—when had yunho even given it to you?

yunho scoots into the seat opposite you with a handful of napkins and a little paper cup of spicy ketchup. after you receive your tray of food, you and yunho spend the next fifteen minutes talking about the basics when you both realize that you don’t know much about each other.

it’s easy to talk to yunho, whose light chuckles and lazy smiles are comforting. while you might not take him up on the fuck buddy proposal, you just might keep him around as a friend.

you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket, and you reach for it to see a text from san, asking if you’re okay.

to: san

[1:40 AM] yeah i’m good

[1:40 AM] actually can u come pick me up. i’m at the burger place on 8th.

from: san

[1:42 AM] yeah omw

you slip the phone back into your jeans while you sip on your soda.

“san’s coming to get me,” you tell yunho.

“oh, cool,” yunho says. “yeah i was gonna offer to take you home or something—it’s so late.”

you hum, warming in appreciation for yunho’s intent. he really isn’t a bad guy—not that you’d thought that before. he’s always been a neutral acquaintance, but you’re really starting to enjoy his company now.

“thanks,” you say. “for the food, and—the other stuff.” 

yunho laughs.

“you’re cute,” he says, tapping the tip of your nose with a greasy finger. you dab at it with a crinkly brown napkin.

ten minutes later, your phone vibrates again to indicate that san is outside in a silver uber. you thank yunho again, and even give him a quick peck on the corner of his lips, your face flaming as you turn away from him to leave the diner.

when you throw open the door of the car, you find not san, but—

choi jongho, stuffed into the backseat with a slight flush on his cheeks and a loose grin. you stare at him, and he stares back. the only empty seat is in the middle.

“scoot,” you say.

“i’m too big for the middle seat,” he says, but he doesn’t make any moves to exit the vehicle to give you the space to slide into the car. you nudge him. “just climb over me.”

a low string of curses leave your mouth as you reluctantly clamber around his big frame and into the middle seat, where you finally see san sitting on the other side. you’re so preoccupied with greeting him and thanking him for coming to get you that you don’t notice jongho’s eyes narrowing at the shirt you’re wearing—yunho’s.

“you coming to our place or going home?” san asks.

the words your place are on the tip of your tongue when you look back at jongho, noticing now a small red bruise blossoming just under his jaw. this causes you to snap a hand to your own hickey, which you hope is hidden by the shadows.

“home,” you say quietly. “ryujin’s probably waiting for me.”

the uber starts up again, and you lean your head back onto the headrest, determinedly avoiding jongho’s gaze. you know that you just went off to hook-up with someone random, but it doesn’t sting any less that apparently jongho was doing exactly the same thing.

at that moment, your phone lights up with a new text.

from: unknown number

[1:59 am] hmu whenever, princess ;)

continued in chained (c. jh)!

[cosycafune]

CAN'T YOU HANDLE YOUR PUNISHMENT, PRINCESS?

fucking the daughter of his closest client wasn’t his plan. after all, you’re sylus devoted enemy — even as a princess. sylus knew better than to indulge in you, but you’re intoxicating. intoxicating in ways that paint him out as a cruel sinner. but a taste of you is worth the destruction of the universe.

acts: public sex against a pool table, brat taming, provoking, unprotected sex, creampies, humiliation kink, corruption kink, rough sex, hate sex and losing the condom. 1.3k words. ‘could turn this into a series, dk.

DOMINATED, crushed, and sexually reformed, you remain beneath a grinning Sylus. Lingering beneath him is forbidden, but you couldn’t resist being pinned beneath the man you hate. Naturally, you hate Sylus with all there is to you, despising his analytical self and the sense of dominance that follows him.

An enemy.

Ironically, you fall caged beneath a naked Sylus �� tension bubbling between the two of you. Tension from Sylus barely holding back, desperate to hate-fuck your egotistically, entitled self. Regardless, he wanted to humble you – sexually liberating your royalty-self. Shit, he wanted to take the princess – to resculpt you around his ample dick.

“Poor, little princess,” Sylus chuckles beneath you, his perfectly sculpted, nude physique rippling with every laugh.

“Shut up and just put it in,” Pouting, swarmed with embarrassment, you breathily respond to Sylus – flustered at his cock-head kissing against your trembling entrance.

“Mhmm, so you’re begging now, but you’re always telling Tara about how much you hate me?” Authoritatively questioning you, Sylus grins above you – depriving you of his angelic dick.

Shit, it’s big.

“Because you’re just so–” Before you could finish your sentence, Sylus deviously burrows his cock-head within you – enthralled by your eyes rolling back.

“--That’s the you…I like,” Purring, Sylus grunts – admiring your desperate, putty-imitating expression. 

Naturally, Sylus found your expression so beautiful, submissive and a new revelation. Monitoring your bratty self being conquered, posed beneath him, indirectly begging for him to put more of his large cock in. More as you gasp beneath him, small breaths entering his ears. 

Messing with the princess is heavily forbidden, but each facet of self-restraint Sylus harboured ruptured. Ruptured when you naively bent over the pool table, teasing him and vouching that you’re off-limits. Inevitably, he knew you were lying. Sylus figured this out while you adjusted your cue, arching in front of him as he stood behind you.

Sylus has been around long enough to know your intentions. Regularly, you would always bicker with him, complain, furrow your brows at his captivating voice. However, your intimate vulnerability seeped in as you lined your shot – hoping Sylus could decipher your sexual tease. 

A sexual tease you invoked by letting your short skirt rise, flaunting your bubble butt. The scrutinised move remained a risky one, but that’s how you found yourself here. Never would you openly admit your longing for Sylus, only masking your deepest desire with a searing, complicated anguish.

Hate that Sylus categorised as a breath of fresh air. He knew you hated all people with immense power, but that only stirred him on.

“Sylus, please!” Sprawled upon the pool table, you breathlessly plead with doe-like – scraping your ego hurriedly.

“Sweetie, a…simple please isn’t good enough,” Entertained, Sylus responds to you – exhibiting all the traits of a ruthless conqueror.

“Sy’, please!” Maintaining eye contact, you let out a muffled exclaim – battering your cum-soaked lashes.

Flaunting your beauty, you’re thrilled by Sylus being generous enough to plunge a little more of his girthy cock inside of you. A little more while you free a flustered, high-pitched gasp – unfamiliar with a cock this big. A veiny, girthy cock this big was inhumane; this served as a form of punishment to you. A punishment for not being humble, but it makes you gleeful.

Sylus always made you suffer in a way, so you were ready. Ready, huh?

“Can’t keep…the princess waiting,” Brutalising your ego, Sylus speaks with pride – noticing that it didn’t take much to leave you worshipping him.

Enemies, right?

“Sy’, the…condom doesn’t feel good,” Intrigued by your blabbering, Sylus raises a brow – glancing down at you with light concern.

You wanted it raw, unbounded and risky.

“Sweetie, are you sure you want me to take the condom off?” Devoted to your squeamish expression, Sylus questions you – softly pulling out the quarter of his cock that he put it.

A beautiful squealing sound filled the pool room.

“I don’t care about the consequences,” Embarrassed, you confess your forbidden request – observing Sylus silently stripping his cock of the condom.

“A gambler, huh?” Noticing the corruption he spreads in you, Sylus mutters – hurriedly running his cock against your drenched folds.

“I need this,” Teary, desperate to be destroyed, you breathe, “I want you to ruin me and to not hold back, since you’re betraying your client.” Serious, you propose something degrading – wanting Sylus to strip your dignity whole.

“Your safeword is crow, sweetie,” Blessed with your consent, Sylus smoothly replies – greedily stuffing your deprived cunt with his degrading cock.

There’s no way of restoring your pride after this.

“D-Don’t…hold back,” Extremely vulnerable, you gift Sylus the greenest light – wanting him to release all his glory on you.

“As if, sweetie, I'll punish you,” Before you could retort back at Sylus’ mean response, Sylus wickedly suffocates you with his cock. Menacingly, he fills you to the hilt with his retribution-representing cock – hoping to fuck your bratty self into submission.

“Sy–” Cutting you off with a soul-grabbing thrust, Sylus’ cock invades you – causing you to arch with newly-found satisfaction.

You’ve never felt like this before.

“‘So…pretty,” Applying an inhumane pace, Sylus admires your overwhelmed state – harshly pounding into your crying cunt.

Sexually restored, Sylus needily entwines his fingers with your own – smearing a kiss on your trembling lips. 

A mentally corroded you, whose lips depart, eyes completely rolled back and whose mind’s devoted to his cock. This side of you skyrocketed Sylus’ ego, making him beam as you can’t even berate him. Being rocked vigorously against the pool table, by his mind-boggling pace, left you frantic for more – actively craving Sylus.

“Handle…it, sweetie,” Merciless, Sylus grits his teeth with each moan – so close to losing control and finishing inside of you already.

This degrading sight stirred primal instincts in Sylus.

“‘Too much! Ah! Yes!” Too clouded to care, you harshly squeeze Sylus’ hand – your cunt mushy at his deranged hip snapping.

Barely holding on, you whiny with pleasure – warm, fuzzing and light-hearted. Sylus’ enchanted self grew addicted, unwilling to spare you an inch of grace. Each thrust, each outcry of his, each comment fuelled his addiction. Your cunt crying, pleading for him to further swell it up, didn’t calm down his addiction. An addiction that leaves him writhing for more, thrusting his deepest as he choked on his breaths.

“F-Fuck, so…good! Y/n!” Hazy, eyes painfully rolled back, Sylus wails with satisfaction – his body shaking. Even so, he couldn't physically bring himself to stop – beads of sweat and tears dripping near your face.

“Gonna…cum, Sy,” Warming Sylus, you clench subconsciously around him – your cunt throbbing at how his cock pulverises you.

Relentlessly conquered, claimed, Sylus’ rough, intimate pace consumes you impossibly, pushing you into embracing weakness. All of your honour, your fighting spirit, had been fucked out of you, leaving you as Sylus’ newly ruled victim. Naturally, Sylus is used to people worshipping him because of his strength. Yet, seeing you, his sworn enemy, beneath him, wanting more, emotionally aroused him in ways he never knew.

Knowing you’re his client’s daughter, the King’s, made this forbidden intimacy much sweeter.

“Cum,” Sylus commands, only to foolishly cum at the same time you do. His crimson, starry eyes widen at you instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist.

Silently, Sylus hoped he pounded the false hatred out of your heart. After all, you can’t run to your father now – angered by his presence. He ruined you, claiming you. Claiming you with the heart of a sinner, forming a mental revolution on you.

“I’ll take care of you, but just for tonight,” Groggy, Sylus informs you – respectful of the intense high that you both would have to come down from.

His heart, it’s the heart of a sinner. Addiction, temptation and forbidden treats are the things Sylus loves the most. He’s used to having everything.

Checkmate.

__

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024.

[pucksandpower]

Newsflash

Charles Leclerc x reporter!Reader

Summary: after two years as a paddock correspondent, you’re convinced that Charles Leclerc hates your guts for no apparent reason … but maybe everything is not what it seems

“Wake up, Y/N. It’s race day!”

Your colleague, Natalie, bursts into your hotel room without knocking, as usual. You groan and pull the covers over your head, not ready to face the chaos that is sure to ensue in the paddock.

“Come on, sleepyhead! We have to be at the track by seven this morning for pre-race meetings,” Natalie says, yanking the duvet off you.

“Alright, alright, I’m up!” You grumble, slowly swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “What time is it anyway?”

“5:30. Which reminds me, I need coffee,” Natalie says, already headed for the door. “Meet me in the lobby in 20!”

You spend the next 19 minutes hastily getting ready — putting on minimal makeup, throwing on your favorite jumpsuit, and frantically gathering up notes and gear for the day. You take one last glance in the mirror, trying to smooth down your bedhead, before resigning to just throw a cap on over the mess.

Hustling down to the lobby, there’s a rush of personnel all around — mechanics, engineers, PR reps, and media darting about with coffees and laptops and headsets already in place. You spot Natalie nursing a large black coffee and beeline over.

“Ready to do this?” She asks with a grin.

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply with a shrug. The truth is, the nerves are already bubbling up in your stomach. You love your job as an F1 reporter for Sky Sports, but the pressure and scrutiny is immense.

The two of you pile into a car with the rest of the broadcast crew and head to the track. On the ride, you glance over your meticulous notes on the teams and drivers one more time, paying special attention to Ferrari.

Ever since you started covering F1 two years ago, one driver has basically refused to give you the time of day — Charles Leclerc.

For some reason, whenever you are around, he bolts in the opposite direction. When you have attempted interviews, he literally turns and speedwalks away without a word. Other drivers will chat with you, joke around, and give thoughtful answers to questions.

But Charles? Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

You can’t figure out why he hates you so much. You’ve scoured your past comments and coverage looking for anything that could have offended him, but come up empty.

Is it something personal against you? Were you mean to him in a past life or something? It hurts, to be honest. You try to stay professional, but his obvious disdain for you still stings.

Sighing, you put your notes away as the car pulls into the paddock. It’s going to be a long day.

After hair, makeup, mic checks, and a final meeting, it’s nearly time for the broadcast to go live as cars start lining up on the grid. Nerves buzzing, you watch Charles warm up with his performance coach across the pit lane, headphones in and clearly in the zone. As always, he walks right past you without a flicker of acknowledgment.

Your heart twinges, but you swiftly push the hurt aside. It’s showtime.

The next few hours are a blur of rushed interviews, sound bites, stats flashing across screens, and organized chaos. After the race finally ends, there are more interviews, podium ceremonies, and press conferences to wade through before you can take a breath.

“Man, that was brutal!” Natalie huffs as the two of you finally plop down in chairs in the media room later that afternoon. She cracks open a Red Bull and takes a long drink. “You hanging in there?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you reply half-heartedly. The truth is, you’re drained — physically and mentally. And of course, the interaction with Charles, or lack thereof, is weighing heavy.

“Why do you let that pompous twerp get under your skin so much?” Natalie says with a frown, seeming to read your mind. “He’s a rude, stuck up jerk who isn’t worth the energy. Forget about him.”

You shake your head with a sigh. “You’re right, you’re right. I just … I don’t know, I never did anything to the guy, and it still stings.”

Just then, the door to the media room swings open, and Charles himself strides in. You inadvertently tense up as he approaches the couch, looking calm and confident in his usual Ferrari polo, and folds himself down between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton, who rounded out the rest of the podium.

Here we go again, you think with an internal eye roll. Just gotta get this over with.

“Hello,” Charles says with an easy grin as he settles into his seat, “What have you got for us today?” Various reporters immediately start firing off questions, undoubtedly looking to get a headline from the race winner.

You gather your courage, take a breath, and call out “Charles, Y/N with Sky Sports here. Can you walk me through your thought process behind that daring pass on Lando in Turn 12?”

To your shock, the second Charles hears your voice, his whole demeanor shifts. He seems to freeze, shoulders hunching slightly, grin dropping from his face as his cheeks instantly flush deep red. He looks panicked almost, eyes darting around the room, before landing briefly on you.

“Uhh … b-bathroom. Need to go. Bye.”

And with that, he leaps up from the couch and practically sprints out of the room.

A stunned silence falls over the space as everyone stares, stunned, at the empty space he left. You feel your stomach drop through the floor, tears of embarrassment and humiliation prickling at your eyes.

What did you do wrong? Now he’s made a total spectacle, running away from you in front of your peers. Mortified, you shakily stand up, chair clanging backwards, and rush from the room as well. Needing air, you bolt outside until you find a secluded spot out back of the paddock, leaning against a wall as the tears flow freely.

“Hey, hey … what’s going on? Are you okay?”

The soft, concerned male voice startles you, and you gasp looking up. There stands Charles, looking alarmed and guilty.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out like that. Please don’t cry!” He moves closer, though still keeps his distance.

You blink rapidly, beyond confused. “What … what are you doing out here? I’m clearly the last person you want to be around.”

He sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is really hard for me to admit but … I like you. As in, I have the biggest crush on you. That’s why I get so flustered and basically black out anytime you talk to me. It’s pathetic, I know.”

Your jaw actually drops open in disbelief. “You … what? You like me? Is this a joke?”

“No! No, I swear, it’s the truth,” he says, face turning red again. “I know I come across like a total jerk, I just freeze up around you because honestly? You’re just so stunning and brilliant, and I get unbelievably shy and nervous. The words won’t come out. It’s like an out of body experience! I chicken out and run away like an idiot every time.”

You stare at him, trying to process this. All this time, all the hurt and embarrassment … it was just because he developed a crush?

“I’m so sorry for how I’ve treated you. I know it must seem like I despise you. The truth is, you make me feel like a stuttering teenager with my first crush again,” Charles continues, looking at you beseechingly. “I understand if you think I’m a total tool, and I have a lot of work to do to make this up to you. But I swear, I really do like you, Y/N.”

At this, his face splits into a sheepish grin, eyes twinkling with mirth. You feel a laugh bubble up in your chest as relief washes over you.

He doesn’t hate you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite! You appraise him, really looking at him for the first time. From his twinkling green eyes to his adorable dimples to the lock of chestnut hair falling across his forehead, he’s unbelievably charming.

You shake your head, smile growing. “So this whole time, you’ve just been acting like an awkward schoolboy instead of giving me any indication of your true feelings?”

Charles laughs self-consciously. “Embarrassing, I know. Look, I promise I’ll do better-”

“Yeah, you’ve got a lot to make up for,” you say, crossing your arms and giving Charles a playful but pointed look. “All the grief and heartache you’ve put me through the last two years? This calls for serious groveling, mister.”

Charles immediately drops to one knee dramatically. “Y/N Y/L/N, light of my life, apple of my eye. I am but a humble driver, unworthy of your affection. But if you would do me the extraordinary honor of allowing me to court you properly, I vow to spend every day showing you how enchanted I am by your wit, your beauty, and your strength.”

You can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top chivalrous display. “Oh get up, you goofball!” You grab his hand and pull him back to his feet. “I’m just teasing. Well, partially teasing. I do expect you to apologize to me properly. Take me to dinner or something.”

Charles visibly brightens. “Dinner? Really? Yes, absolutely! In fact, let me take you right now. We’ll go to that little trattoria down the road. You deserve to be wined and dined for putting up with me.”

You consider this for a moment, taking in his eager, handsome face. The truth is, despite his past behavior, you find yourself captivated by Charles now that you understand what was really going on. His confidence, talent, and intensity are wildly attractive. And the way he’s looking at you now, with softness and admiration in his eyes .... it sends tingles down your spine.

“Alright, lead the way, hot shot,” you say with a wink.

Charles’ grin stretches even wider, if possible. “After you,” he gestures forward with a flourish, then falls into step beside you as you head towards the exit.

“I really am sorry for being such an idiot around you,” Charles says quietly after a moment of walking in comfortable silence. “The way I’ve acted was totally unacceptable. You deserve so much better.”

You glance over at his earnest expression and feel a little pang in your chest. “It’s okay, really. I get it now. Just think how close we could have been this whole time though if you’d just … I don’t know, talked to me like a normal human being!”

Charles chuckles ruefully. “Oof, so true. Honestly, I’m impressed you didn’t write me off ages ago as a complete lost cause. Clearly you’re far more patient and forgiving than I deserve.”

“Yes, I really am,” you agree teasingly, giving his arm a playful shove. You both laugh as you reach the paddock exit and emerge out onto the bustling street, taking in the energy of the crowd.

You jokingly elbow Charles’ side. “Still though, as dashingly handsome as you may be, don’t think you’re completely off the hook! I expect to be wooed and romanced properly going forward. No more running off scared like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“It’s a deal,” Charles says easily, looking thrilled. “Romance and wooing, coming right up.”

Reaching the charming little restaurant, Charles opens the door for you with a sweeping bow. You grin and step inside. Somehow, you have the feeling this is going to be the start of a wonderful evening.

No more misunderstandings. Just the two of you, getting to know each other properly over a delicious meal with the slight chill of the evening settling in around you.

And you can’t wait.

***

The next few race weekends are a whirlwind as Charles seems to do a complete 180 in his behavior towards you.

Gone is the shy, nervous wreck who could barely look you in the eye. Instead, he goes full-steam in the opposite direction, seeking you out constantly and showering you with attention.

It starts the following week after Friday practice. You’re standing in the paddock scribbling notes when you sense someone approaching. Looking up, you see Charles striding over, helmet in hand, usual calm confidence exuding from him.

“Ah, Y/N, just the reporter I was looking for,” he says with a warm grin, sidling up beside you. “Walk with me?”

Flustered by his forwardness but flattered, you quickly nod. “Uh, sure!”

Charles immediately links his arm casually through yours and starts leading you away down the paddock, journalists and crew members glancing over with raised eyebrows. You catch Natalie’s eye and she mouths “WTF?” at you with a stunned look. You just give a tiny shrug, feeling your face heat up.

“So tell me, what did you think of my lap times today?” Charles asks once you’re a few paces away from the crowd.

You blink, surprised he’s looking for actual feedback. You decide to give an honest assessment. “Well, I think you were sliding the rear end quite a bit too much through Sector 2 and losing time. The car didn’t look fully settled-”

“Brilliant analysis as always, Y/N. I knew I could count on you to give it to me straight,” Charles interrupts with a respectful nod. You feel yourself preen slightly at his praise. “Some changes to differential settings should sort that out, I think.”

He then launches into a surprisingly technical explanation of his plans to adjust the setup. You find yourself nodding along, captivated, as he outlines the various weight transfer issues and how he aims to mitigate them.

He’s speaking to you like a true engineer, not just a reporter. You realize with a jolt that he’s never gone into this level of detail with you before in any interviews.

“Sorry, I’m rambling a bit here, aren’t I?” Charles says sheepishly when he pauses. “I don’t want to bore you with too much technical detail. But you just have such a good eye and ask such insightful questions, I find myself wanting to really dive into this side of racing with you.”

He gives your arm a soft squeeze. “Anyway, let me know if you have any other observations or advice. I trust your analysis completely.”

Before you can properly respond, the two of you round a corner only to nearly walk directly into Sergio Perez, who’s heading the opposite direction. He does a comical double take at seeing the two of you arm-in-arm together.

“Ah, hello Checo!” Charles says breezily, not releasing you or missing a beat. Sergio looks hilariously confused.

“Uh … hello?” is all he manages before Charles is steering you onwards.

“See you around, mate,” he tosses over his shoulder with a wink.

You glance back to see Sergio frozen in place, staring after you both looking utterly bewildered.

The weekend continues in this vein, with Charles constantly pulling you aside to chat at length about setups, strategies, even asking your opinion on development directions for next year’s car.

He treats you with the utmost seriousness and respect, like you’re one of his most trusted advisors. It’s shocking and flattering after the cold-shoulder treatment for so long.

Whenever the broadcast crew has a break, Charles inevitably finds you and whisks you off to look at telemetry data together (which sends a poor PR officer chasing after the two of you with an NDA after the first time Charles decides to pull you into the garage) or watch video, going into painstaking detail to get your thoughts.

By Sunday, it’s become a bit of a running joke among the team, with people exchanging amused glances whenever Charles appears to disappear with you once again.

“There goes Loverboy Sharl, dragging poor Y/N off yet again to pore over spreadsheets and onboard footage,” Natalie jokes with an eye roll during a break, making the crew laugh. “How does that man ever find time to, you know, actually race?”

You shoot her a heatless glare, though you have to admit — as sweet as it is having Charles’ undivided attention, as a reporter the over-accessibility is becoming a touch much.

When the race concludes later that afternoon, Charles immediately finds you amid the chaos of the media scrum.

“Y/N!” He beams down at you, still sweaty and in his racing suit with the top half unzipped. “Come take a look at the race data with me? I want to walk through my lap times and tire deg, see if we can spot any areas to improve ...”

“Actually, I’m sort of totally swamped right now,” you gesture at the sea of people around you. “But maybe later?”

His face falls slightly. “Oh. Well I suppose I did already monopolize a lot of your time this weekend. No rest for the media?”

He gives you a lopsided smile but there’s a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. You feel a little stab of guilt.

“Tell you what though,” he continues, brightening again. “Come find me later before we fly out. I’ll have a surprise waiting for you.”

“A surprise?” You ask with a raised brow. “What does that mean?”

“Ah ah ah, no hints!” Charles laughs, wagging a finger. “Just trust me. Don’t leave without seeing me first, okay?”

With that, he leans in and unexpectedly gives you a swift peck on the cheek. You freeze, eyes going wide, feeling your face flame. Pulling back, Charles winks cheekily at you before turning and sauntering off.

Dazed, you lift a hand to touch the spot he kissed, feeling the heat radiating from your cheek. Did he really just … right out in the open like that … with the cameras recording live?

Glancing around, you see Natalie and a few other crew members staring with mouths agape. Toto Wolff is even giving you an amused look as he walks past, one eyebrow arched knowingly. Utterly mortified, you duck your head down and hurry off to find a quiet corner to collect yourself.

The next race sees the flirting and PDA ramp up even higher. Charles can’t seem to resist finding any excuse to drape an arm around your waist, stroke your arm, or playfully tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Every interaction has an undercurrent of flirtation and innuendo. And the cheek kisses become almost routine, pressed on you in front of other drivers, team bosses, cameramen, you name it.

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” You finally say in flustered exasperation after he ambushes you with a very public, lingering kiss on the cheek in the paddock one day. You struggle to sound annoyed, but a pleased grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you say it.

“Sorry, ma chérie, I just can’t seem to resist around you,” Charles replies, absolutely zero shame in his voice or demeanor. “You’re lucky I have more self-control than to start making out right here in front of everyone!”

You gasp and slap his arm, scandalized, as he just throws his head back and laughs heartily.

Meanwhile, the double-takes and stunned looks from everyone around just keep coming. Even the normally straight-faced Fred Vasseur can’t seem to hold back smug grins whenever he sees the two of you getting cozy.

“Go on and get a room already, you two!” He finally chuckles one day as Charles passes by in the paddock with his usual arm draped around your waist.

“Don’t tempt me!” Charles quips back without missing a beat, giving you a roguish wink.

Soon, literally everyone in the paddock and broadcast team is aware of and commenting on the developing romance between you and Charles.

He makes no attempt to hide it whatsoever.

“Honestly, I think they’re the most nauseatingly adorable couple I’ve ever seen,” Jenson Button jokes to the rest of the broadcast team one evening as they all watch Charles throw his arm around you yet again and plant a smacking kiss on your temple.

“The honeymoon phase never ends with those two,” Natalie agrees in a wry tone, rolling her eyes. “It’s like they’re a pair of horny teenagers making out behind the bleachers.”

You just shake your head with a bashful smile and accept the good-natured ribbing. The truth is, despite Charles’ very public displays of affection causing some embarrassment and teasing from your colleagues, you find it hard to truly mind.

There’s an earnestness and joy in his demeanor whenever he’s with you that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him so openly happy and carefree as these past few weeks. Gone is the tightly wound, intense competitor. In his place is a warm, playful soul who can’t help but let his delight in your company shine through.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find his romantic attentions flattering and thrilling. The way his gaze smolders when his eyes meet yours, the tingle of electricity you feel whenever his hand brushes yours, the butterflies that erupt in your stomach when his lips graze your cheek — it all makes you deliriously giddy, like a lovesick teenager yourself.

So you endure the good-natured eye rolls from Natalie and jokes from the broadcast crew with an easy smile. Because the truth is, you’ve realized how deeply you’ve fallen for Charles in return.

“You’ve got me utterly love drunk, you charming fool,” you murmur against his chest one evening.

The two of you are tucked away in a quiet corner, Charles’ back against the wall with his arms wrapped around you as you stand embraced, soaking in a few stolen moments of intimacy together.

“The feeling is mutual,” Charles replies easily, resting his chin on your head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this madness.” He pauses, absentmindedly stroking your back. “Honestly, I half expected you to get sick of me hanging around all the time by now.”

You pull back to meet his warm green eyes. “Are you kidding? I love having you around. I still have to pinch myself that you actually want to be with me after the way you treated me for so long!”

A flicker of regret passes across Charles’ features. “I truly am sorry for being such an ass before, Y/N. I hope with time you can forgive me.”

“Already forgiven,” you assure him softly. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Relief blossoms on his face and he leans in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “Thank you, ma belle. For being the most patient and kind woman on earth.”

You grin, eyes fluttering closed as his breath tickles your skin. “Mmm, I wouldn’t go that far. But I guess I do possess some super-human tolerance for broody and aloof superstar drivers with commitment issues.”

Charles chuckles at that and you can feel the rumble of it against your body. “Lucky for me then, or I would still be utterly lost.”

His mouth finds yours then, soft and intoxicating. You melt into the kiss, savoring his warmth, his scent, the gentle stroke of his fingertips along your jaw. All semblance of poise escapes you when you’re pressed against Charles like this. He never fails to make your head spin and body thrum with want.

A polite cough from nearby causes you to break apart abruptly. You blink, dazed, to see Natalie standing with an eyebrow arched sky high.

“Hey lovebirds,” she says in a wry tone. “Sorry to disturb the sunset groping, but they’re calling for final broadcast checks in 10.”

Face flaming, you duck your head and extract yourself from Charles’ embrace. He just shoots Natalie a cheeky grin, entirely unabashed.

“Better get going then,” Charles says cheerfully, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Wouldn’t want you to be late because of me … again.” He winks.

Natalie rolls her eyes hard. “Oh I’m sure that would be a first. See you in 10, Y/N.”

With that, she turns on her heel and heads back towards the pits. You glance up at Charles shyly.

“I should … uh ...” You gesture vaguely.

“Yes, yes of course,” Charles says, squeezing your hands affectionately. “Work calls. Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting around the next corner to steal more kisses as soon as you’re free.”

You laugh and give him a playful shove. “Go on then, you impossible man! I’ll see you in a bit.”

Heart fluttering, you watch him saunter off before heading for the pits yourself, still feeling delightfully dazed.

This is really your life now. Surrounded by racing, the thrill of competition, the roar of engines … and consumed by budding love every time Charles Leclerc is near.

As far as dream jobs go, you think with a lovestruck smile, you’ve really hit the jackpot.

[landosjpg]

lovestruck | ln

the one where you end up in your friend’s bed after a night out.

lando norris x verstappen!reader

word count: ~2.8k

warnings: friends to lovers, reader drives for f1a (not really relevant to the story but it’s mentioned), smut MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!, fluff

note: based on this request. feel free to send more requests if you have them, i’ll try to go through all of them this week’!

"just one minute!" you yelled when you heard your brother knocking on you hotel room’s door for the tenth time in less than a minute.

"you said that one minute ago!" he called back from outside your room.

rolling your eyes, you finished putting your earrings on with a huff and walked to the door only to be met with the irritating smile of your brother.

"you’re extremely annoying," you mumbled, earning a laugh from him.

"and we’re gonna be extremely late because of you," max said as you two started walking to the elevator side by side.

and he was right. the party had already started when you two got in the cab max had called, and the traffic would make it impossible to arrive at a somewhat-decent time.

it was the miami grand prix, and after an exhausting weekend what you wanted as soon as you got back to your hotel was to take a long bubble bath. you weren’t really in the mood for a party, but max had insisted in taking you out to celebrate.

in the end, you had just won your first race as an F1 Academy driver.

just as your brother, you had been into racing since you were little. only your paths had been slightly different, and sadly you were a few categories behind him, but he always made sure to encourage you that you would make it one day.

it wasn’t easy, being max’s sister. the constant comparison between you two and the pressure that came from being a world’s champion’s sister making you question your worth at times.

"lando’s already there," max interrupted the silence that had settled in the cab, nudging your ribs with that infuriating smirk of his again.

"i don’t like lando," you complained, rolling your eyes once more.

you had known lando for years, and while you two were just friends, max was absolutely convinced that you were head over heels for him.

it didn’t matter how many times you denied it, he would tease you until your cheeks were burning red. before he could make any remarks on how your voice got a little more high-pitched when talking to lando or how you always were nicer when he was around, you covered his mouth with your hand, hoping that would be enough to keep him quiet for the rest of the car ride. you loved your brother, but it was a fact that he could get quite irritating.

small talk was made for the forty minutes that you were in the backseat of the car, and then you found yourself startled by the flashing lights and the loud music of the club where you were meeting some of your friends.

your girl friends welcomed you with a drink and you didn’t even had time to say hello to lando, who your brother had quickly found, before they were dragging you to the dance floor.

you were never a big fan of parties, alcohol making you more moody than cheering you up. so only a couple of hours later, you made up an excuse so you could go sit by yourself in one of the lounge’s couches for a while without having your friends tell you how boring you were at parties.

you had closed your eyes for a few seconds when you felt the weight of someone sitting down next to you in the plush couch, and the familiar "hey" that followed made you flutter your eyes open, an unconscious smile on your lips.

"not having a good time?" lando asked, looking at you with raised eyebrows and an amused expression. he knew how much you hated those settings.

"not really," a sigh left your lips and you shrugged. "max insisted, i wanted to stay in tonight. and my feet are killing me."

"try not to be the life of the party for once, will you?" he mocked you, trapping his lower lip between his teeth to prevent himself from smiling at his own joke. his words earned him a playful punch on his arm and you pouted.

you weren’t really sure how it happened, but in between playful teasing and giggles, he had shifted a little closer to you and you were resting your head on his shoulder, eyes closed as you daydreamed about getting under your bed covers and doing nothing but sleep for the next few days.

"y/n," lando softly called, making you open your eyes and look at him, a little confused. you had been silent for the past ten minutes, just enjoying each other’s company. "i called you a cab, you should get back to your hotel."

"i can’t," you quickly answered.

it wasn’t that you didn’t want to get back already, you just wanted to spend a little more time with him. lando’s eyebrows furrowed in conclusion, pushing you to explain why.

"max has the card to my room." that was a lie, but lando knew that finding max in the crowded club was always nearly impossible.

"it’s already waiting outside," he said, not questioning your silly excuse. maybe you were a better liar than you thought.

for what felt like forever, you stares into his eyes, his gaze locked in yours as he tried to find a solution other than cancelling the ride.

"you can spend the night with me," he suggested, and quickly added, as if trying to rub it off: "you were just falling asleep on my shoulder, you need rest."

a smile creeped up to your lips, not only at his suggestion but also at the fact that he cared about you, and so you couldn’t do anything but nod.

he guided you outside, one of his hands in the small of your back as you moved through the mass of people finding the exit, and once you spotted your ride, he opened the door for you and helped you get in.

it felt oddly domestic, despite this being the first time you two were together for more than five minutes without your brother being around.

anticipation grew inside you as the soft jazz music playing from the radio filled the car’s silence and in no time you were already in the elevator to lando’s room, his hotel much closer than yours was.

you watched as he opened the door, noticing how his hands were slightly shaky before he stepped to the side and let you enter the suite.

"i’ll take the couch," he announced when closing the door after himself as he watched you plop down on the mattress of the bed, exhausted.

you closed your eyes for a few seconds, thinking about how you could get him to sleep next to you as you heard him moving around, likely getting the couch ready for the night.

when his movements stopped, you looked to where he was, finding him just looking down at his phone from where he was sitting.

with a deep breath, you sat up and took your heels off, finally feeling your feet when you stoop up to take your dress off. you noticed one of lando’s shirts waiting for you at the feet of the bed, the corners of your lips going up at the sweet gesture.

"lando," you softly called his name, making him look up at you. "can you..?" you added, turning around and pointing at the zipper of your dress.

he hummed and walked closer to you, one of his hands moving your hair to the side gently, his fingertips brushing against your hot skin. you felt his breath on your neck as he found the zipper and slowly pulled it down, an unsteady sigh leaving his lips.

none of you moved for a few seconds, his hands finding home at each side of your hips, and when you turned to look at him your faces were only inches apart.

"you look gorgeous tonight," he whispered, his gaze falling to your lips as your arms circled his neck.

maybe it was the small amount of alcohol in your system that made you act, or maybe it was all the years you had dreamed about that moment. but somewhere, you found the courage to pull him closer and attach your lips to his in a soft kiss that he was quick to reciprocate.

his tongue traced your lower lip, asking for permission to deepen the kiss that you happily granted by slightly parting your lips. slowly, he guided you to the edge of the bed again, helping you lie down and hovering over you as your fingers entangled with his curls.

the kiss turned sloppy as you started getting rid of each other’s clothes and your breaths got heavier, sweet nothings exchanged with every item that got discarded on the floor.

"are you sure you want this?" he interrupted, pulling back to look at you.

a giggle left your lips and you nodded before answering: "a little bit late to ask, don’t you think?"

"i have to make sure," he chuckled and you could notice a hint of pink in his cheeks.

when you giggled, he gave you a small peck on the lips before reaching for his wallet on the nightstand as you watched him pulling out a condom from one of the small pockets.

you watched as he bit into the tinfoil and slipped it on, a soft look in your eyes and the hint of a smile in your lips. he pulled your legs back to your chest and positioned himself at your entrance, easily sliding in and filling you completely.

"fuck," he groaned, feeling your pussy enveloping him just right, as if you were made for him.

he watched your eyes roll to the back of your head as he started rolling his hips slowly, your lips parting in a silent moan.

the way his cock stroke your walls as he fucked into you made you whine, your arms circling around his waist urging him impossibly closer, your chests flushed against each other.

"be quiet for me, baby," he whispered, lips finding yours again and stealing the soft sounds that left your throat with each of his thrusts.

he was slow and gentle and took his time in learning what made your nails dig into his skin, making it hard for you to control the volume of your sounds, the room filling with loud sighs and shaky breaths.

"oh my god," you panted against his lips, your walls starting to tighten around his cock, earning a grunt from him. "feels s’good".

lando had dreamed about that moment for years, but he could have never imagined that the squeeze of your walls as you came around him would feel that heavenly. the feeling of you clamping down on him was enough to trigger his own high, his movements turning slower and sloppier as he rode out both your highs.

you felt his weight on you for a few seconds before he rolled to the side, panting and pressing a kiss to your cheek. you turned your head to look at him, his eyes flushed close and a soft smile adorning his lips.

and fuck, you wished you could stop time and stay there forever. he looked pretty, angelic even.

after a few seconds admiring his features, you slowly got up and walked to the bathroom to clean yourself, not without grabbing one of his shirts first.

when you got out after a few minutes, lando had already cleaned the rest of the mess and was laying in one side of the bed, waiting for you to return.

as much as you hated to admit it, it felt kind of awkward. you had been friends for so long, now that the line was blurred you didn’t know how to properly act.

"i should get going," you announced  your return, looking for where he had put your dress. "max is probably back in his room, so i could…"

"stay," he interrupted you, his voice low and raspy. "it’s late and not safe for you to go alone."

you knew he was right. but you weren’t sure of what sleeping next to him would do for your feelings for him. surely, nothing good in terms of you most likely falling even harder for your friend. as if sleeping with him wasn’t enough.

"come on, y/n. max would kill me if anything happened to you," he added, patting the mattress next to him.

a little unsure, you gave in and climbed into bed next to him, keeping your distance. he smiled at you, pulling the covers up to your shoulders before shifting closer to your body, arm around your waist to keep you near.

soft kisses and caresses lulled you to sleep, and you woke up when the sun light entered the room through the curtains only a few hours later.

lando’s arm was still around your body, your legs tangled with his under the covers. you couldn’t keep your hand from brushing back the curls that fell over his forehead, a gentle movement that seemed to wake him up.

"good morning," you murmured when you heard his groan and he hid his face in the pillow, making you chuckle.

"what time is it?" his voice was muffled, but you turned around to look for your phone that you had placed in the nightstand when you got to his hotel the previous night.

“shit,” you whispered when you were met with fifteen missed calls and around fifty texts from your brother. lando looked at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

you didn’t explain further, too stressed about the situation to not get up and start getting ready to leave. you couldn’t believe you had forgotten to tell max that you were leaving early.

“what are you doing?” lando asked as you tried to messily put your dress back on as quickly as you could.

“max is probably wondering where have i been all night,” you simply explained, fighting to pull the zipper up.

“he knows,” his words made you turn around, a frown in your face as you waited for him to explain. “i texted him on our way back, you know, so he wouldn’t worry. i told him you were tired and he had your room card so…”

“oh, fuck,” you grumbled as realization hit you. max knew you had your card with him, so his texts were probably just him teasing you about your stupid lie.

“what?” he questioned, confused as to why would it be bad that max knew she was safe and with him.

“i…” you started explaining, too embarrassed about it to know how to do so without having lando laugh at you for your antics. you sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor. “he doesn’t have my card. it’s in my purse, so now he’s gonna give me so much shit for lying to spend a little more time with you.”

as you confessed, you lied back in bed, covering your face with the palms of your hands to hide the blush that had creeped up to your cheeks. of course, lando’s laugh only flustered you even more.

“if you wanted to get into my bed that bad, you could’ve just asked,” you felt lando’s voice closer to you, his body now lying next to yours. “i wouldn’t had said no, you know?”

the feelings that hid behind both of your confessions lingered in the air for what felt like forever. you felt your heart racing, and you wondered if lando could hear it too.

“say something,” he pleaded in a whisper, unsure of how you were feeling. you, on the other hand, were frozen in place thinking about how whatever happened next would potentially change everything.

“for how long?” you finally asked, turning your head to look at him. as you shifted a little on the bed, lando’s hands quickly caught your hips and pulled you closer to him.

you didn’t have to ask the whole question, he knew what you meant.

“ever since we met,” he mumbled.

“me too,” you answered, and before you could say anything else, lando’s lips were on yours again.

a sigh left your lips and you kissed him back with relish, regretting all the times that you had preferred to gaslight yourself into obliviousness instead of listening to your brother when he insisted that lando did like you.

you broke the kiss with a giggle, the tip of your nose brushing against his.

“max is gonna have a field day when he finds out,” you said, making lando chuckle too.

“i don’t wanna be there when you tell him,” he joked, bumping his nose into yours and trapping your mouth with his once more, not wanting to waste a single second now that you were finally his.

[jj-one]

HOW JUNGKOOK WOULD TREAT HIS BIMBO GF 🍥

pairing: established relationship, bf!Jungkook x bimbo!fem!reader genre/tags: smut, dumbification, degradation, praise kink, breeding kink, piv, unprotected sex, an*l, oral (m receiving), t*tty f*cking, drooling, use of the word daddy (only once)

**old repost from my deleted blog (05/24/23)

- Having a drop dead gorgeous girlfriend was a given for Jungkook, he loved the fact that y’all were both smoking hot and turn heads everywhere you go

- The stark contrast between your appearances drove him insane

- His aesthetic was more dark and mystique, is also heavily tattooed while you always wore pink and pastels, having bare skin

- Is so enamored with the idea of you being the total opposite of him, he always feels like he’s corrupting your sweet innocence

- Kinda treats you like you’re his eye candy anywhere he goes, has you wrapped up on his arm like it’s a leash

- He’s been debating getting an actual leash for you since you constantly trip and fall whenever you’re out with him

- You were just so ditzy and clumsy… it was your character flaw yet Jungkook saw it as an endearing quality

- Also loved that you were an airhead, clingy, and always wanting his attention ;( makes the joy of him coming home to you all the more thrilling <33

- Always buying you pink and girly thingsss

- Whenever he sees something hello kitty or barbie related he instantly thinks of you and buys it

- CONSTANTLY wants to spoil you, omg this man would spend every dime he could on you just to make you happy

- He looooves taking you out shopping because that’s your favorite activity !!

- He splurged on you the other day, buying you any color of that Dior lip oil that you were obsessed with, it was worth it since he’d be the one taking it off your lips afterwards

- Jungkook enjoys watching you try on skimpy outfits for him, the shorter the skirt the better— don’t get him started on the way your hardened nipples peek out the fabric of your shirts…

- Likes to play dress up with you like you’re his personal doll

- He’ll put you in a pink lace slip dress one night and the next he’ll have you wear white see-through lingerie for him; that is only when you two are in private of course

- Frequently teaches you new things so you keep up to date with current news and other events, he knows you aren’t the brightest but you have a heart of gold and do your best to comprehend everything he tells you !

- When watching movies you often pause to ask questions about the film because you don’t get it

- Jungkook made you watch ‘Inception’ with him one time and it absolutely rotted your brain

- He enjoys explaining the movie to you in a babying way, dumbing it down for you to understand it as your mind is blown away by all the knowledge he drops on you

- Laughs at your inability to comprehend the plot and pats your head while teasing you

- “Awww, you poor little thing…can’t even understand the simple concept of a movie.”

- It really really really turns him on when you wear high heels, the higher the heels the higher the tent in his pants grew

- You wore the sexiest 6-inch stripper heels for him and he fucked you out completely while you had them on, he thinks he might have a heel fetish or something

- Absolutely adores your bright & bubbly personality !! Will praise you any time he hears you say something smart

- “Did you know that Sloths can hold their breath longer than Dolphins???” You would ask him randomly.

- “No I didn’t, but thanks for the fun fact babe. You sound so cute when you talk about things you’ve discovered.”

- “It was on the back of my Snapple cap, how cool is that?! See look!!”

- He will never not be impressed by your lack of awareness, you lived in your own little bubble and he wanted to shield you from all harm and scary things

- Is sooo completely obsessed with your body

- Your bouncy tits, your curvaceous hips, and your cute plump butt was the perfect sight to send the blood rushing to his cock

- Loves. To. Fuck. You. So. Dumb.

- Uses your hole like it’s a fleshlight and loves cumming inside you repeatedly

- Dumping all his cum into your little bimbo cunt was the only thing he needed in his life

- Often catches you drooling at him, when you do this he scoops it up with his finger and puts it back in your mouth

- His favorite part of sex with you is seeing your fucked out face

- The stare you give him while you deepthroat his cock was enough to make him combust

- “Look so pretty with my cock stuffed in your mouth, such a pretty little slut for me..”

- The way he would degrade you but praise you in the same breath confused you in many ways yet you enjoyed every minute of it

- Your makeup would be all smeared, mascara would be runny, the Dior lip gloss he bought you fully transferred to his cock now

- Can never choose between if he likes doggystyle or cowgirl more since both positions he gets to look at your assets with a nice view

- Lots of titty fucking, loves having your big round tits around his cock, making a mess all over your chest once you milk him clean

- He owns all your holes, he likes to use your tight little ass from time to time

- After lubing it up nice and gently, he would go to town on your ass just pounding into your fuck hole viciously

- “What a fucking whore you are, gonna keep fucking your tiny hole until I pump every last bit of my seed in you.”

- Turns him on so fucking much when you start babbling and unable to speak proper sentences

- You’d whimper and hiccup with frustration from the way his cock made you feel

- His love language will always be making you feel so low. So small compared to him that you don’t even feel worthy of his presence at times

- “Can’t stop drooling all over yourself? Already too dumb and fucked out to continue, hmm?? Oh never mind, you’re already dumb…just shut up and take daddy’s cock like the good little slut you are, you were made for taking cock anyway.”

[etheraltides]

BENEATH THE NOISE ᯓᡣ𐭩

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x College!Reader

Summarize: It’s hard to deal with deception when you’ve given your best. Luckily, Rafe knows how to get to you.

Warning(s): self depreciation, a hint of anxiety.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love in my works <3

The grade wasn’t supposed to define you. That’s what everyone says: “It’s just a number, not a measure of your worth.” But as you sit staring at the email on your screen, the words blur, letters and numbers melting together until you can only feel one thing: failure.

The exam’s grade - the one you poured sleepless nights, early mornings, and everything in between into – sits there in stark black and white, unchangeable, final. You can’t look away, even as the panic bubbles into shame and then into the familiar, relentless self-criticism. Even as the salty tears begin to blurry your vision.

“How could I have been so stupid?” you think, teeth pressing into your lower lip. “All those hours… wasted. What’s the point if this is the result?” The thoughts spiral faster, slipping away from you. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe I’m just fooling myself. Everyone else makes it look so easy.”

With a shaky breath, you shut your laptop and curl up on your bed, tugging the blanket over yourself as if it could shield you from the whirlwind in your mind, from the world and those mocking numbers. You feel your phone buzz, but you ignore it. Then it buzzes again, and again. It’s Rafe, no doubt, checking in, but you can’t bring yourself to reply. You’re not in the mood for talking and pretending to be fine, or worse – the pity you know will be laced into his voice if he finds out how badly you did.

But Rafe isn’t one to be easily put off. He leaves message after message, each one laced with growing concern and slight irritation.

“Hey, baby. Just checking in. How’d the test go?”

A minute later, “Everything okay? Call me when you get this. You’re working me, baby.”

Another text, his humor slipping through: “I’m gonna assume you’re just taking a nap and ignoring the world like you usually do when you’re stressed.”

And then, finally, a call. You glance at the screen, seeing his name flash, but even though part of you aches to hear his voice, you can’t bring yourself to answer. Instead, you turn off the phone entirely, sinking further into the blanket cocoon, feeling more alone and defeated with every minute that ticks by.

Rafe spends the better part of an hour trying to reach you. First, it’s gentle check-ins, then some light teasing, then a note of worry threading through his texts. When all his messages stay stuck on “delivered” with no response, he throws on a jacket, grabs his car keys, and heads out the door. He’s had enough off of it.

The drive is a blur, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he runs through what he’ll say to you when he gets there. He’d scold you for being a brat and making him worry when all you had to do was type some goddamn words on your phone. It wasn’t so hard. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility of something actually happening to you.

By the time he arrives at your place, it’s late enough that the lights outside are dim, casting long shadows across the driveway. He knocks once, twice in your bedroom’s door once your mom lets him in.

“She’s been there for hours.” Your mom sighs, looking up at the stairs as she puts your untouched plate of dinner in the refrigerator. “The results of her exam came in and well… You know how hard she can be with herself.”

Rafe rubs hand on his neck, he had completely forgot that the result would be today and he knew how hard you’ve been studying.

He knocks on your door once and when there’s no answer, he gently turns the knob, letting himself in.

It’s quiet inside, save for the faint sound of your breathing as he steps into your room. He sees you there, huddled under the blankets, your back to the door, your shoulders slightly shaking. His heart clenches in pain and worry as you look so small hiding in the many blankets. Wordlessly, Rafe slips off his shoes, walking over to your bed. Without a word, he lifts the edge of the blanket and slides in beside you, his warmth immediately seeping through the layers of fabric that separate you.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, letting his presence speak for itself. Slowly, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. You stiffen at first, your pride fighting the comfort he’s offering, but then the dam breaks, and you lean into him, hiding your face in his shoulder.

He strokes your hair gently, his voice a soft murmur. “I’m here. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” He presses a light kiss to the top of your head, letting the silence settle for a few moments longer before he speaks again.

“Want me to talk to your professor?” he murmurs, a playful edge creeping into his tone. “Because I could pay a visit, you know… straighten him out, remind him that no one messes with my girl.” He squeezes you a little tighter. “Just say the word.”

You can’t help the small, broken laugh that escapes you, muffled by his shirt. You know he’s kidding – or at least, half-kidding – but there’s a part of you that believes he might actually show up at your professor’s office if you asked him to. That thought alone lightens the weight on your chest, even if just a little.

“You don’t need to go after my professor, Rafe,” you mumble, a hint of sarcasm breaking through the sadness. “Even though… I wouldn’t mind seeing the look on his face if you did, it wasn’t his fault.”

Rafe chuckles softly, squeezing your shoulder. “If you change your mind, I’ve got my car gassed up and ready.”

The laugh fades, and you fall silent again, the weight of the failure still pressing down on you. After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. “Rafe… what if I’m just not good enough? What if I’ve been trying so hard for nothing?”

You wrap your arms around his torso, fingers absently tracing random shapes on his t-shirt as the words left your trembling lips. “Maybe I should just quit it. Spare myself all the deception.”

He keeps his hold on you, his voice staying low and gentle. “Baby, you’re one of the smartest people I know. This grade? It doesn’t change that. Not even a little.”

You start to protest, but he shushes you, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “No, I’m serious. You’re so hard on yourself, and I get it. But you need to remember that one test doesn’t undo everything you are, everything you’ve done. It’s just one small thing in a million great things about you.”

The words come out softly and so certain, almost like a confession, and you see the shift in his expression as he meets your gaze. He lifts a hand, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes soft and steady. “Then you try again, and again, if you have to. But you’re anything but ‘not good enough.’ You’re brilliant, and hard-working, and stubborn as hell. I’ve seen you tackle way harder stuff than this.”

You shake your head, unable to accept the kindness in his voice. “But I… I feel so dumb, Rafe. Like all this effort is just… wasted. Like I’m not cut out for this.”

Rafe’s expression softens even more, and he tilts your chin up, making sure you’re looking into his eyes. “Baby, listen to me. One test, one mistake – none of that changes who you are or what you’re capable of. You’re allowed to be human, to mess up sometimes. It doesn’t make you any less amazing, okay?”

His words linger, breaking down the wall you’ve built around your pride and pain. For the first time since you got the grade, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, he’s right. You were being too harsh in yourself.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you place a kiss to his cheek.

“Always,” he replies, giving you a small, reassuring smile. “Now, let’s stay here as long as you need, but when you’re ready, we’ll go grab some terrible takeout, or watch that show you like. Whatever you want. But for now… just let me hold you.”

You nod, settling against him, the rise and fall of his chest calming the storm in your mind. And as you lie there, surrounded by his warmth and steady heartbeat, the self-criticism starts to soften, the harsh thoughts fading, leaving only the quiet reassurance that you’ll be okay.

As you lie curled up against him, letting his warmth seep into you, Rafe’s hand gently runs along your back in soothing circles. You can feel the steady beat of his heart, grounding you, pulling you away from the spiral of self-doubt. After a long silence, you finally lift your head, your face inches from his as you meet his gaze. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just quiet understanding, and something even softer.

Slowly, he reaches up, brushing a thumb across your cheek, and you feel yourself lean into his touch. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and after a beat, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s soft, gentle, like he’s pouring all his reassurance into you without a single word. His fingers slip to the back of your neck, his hold gentle but certain, as if anchoring you to the moment, grounding you in his presence and pulling you away from the loud thoughts in your mind.

He pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel his breath, warm and steady. “I’m here,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a murmur. “No grade, no test can change that. You’re more than enough, and I’m not going anywhere.” His thumb grazes your cheek again, his eyes filled with warmth and conviction, and in that moment, the weight on your heart feels a little lighter, the storm in your mind a little quieter.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 11

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10

Steve waits until everyone’s gone home to open the letter. Chrissy had ribbed him over not sharing but, no matter how supportive she is, she just doesn’t get it—she can’t. No matter what she’s shared, her and Jeff are clearly dating. And even if they hadn’t been, Jeff likes girls. The worst thing that would’ve happened is him turning her down.

With Eddie? The worst thing that could happen is total annihilation.

And Steve’s never been good at holding himself back. He cares fast, and he cares hard, and he can never quite stop, no matter what changes, or how much distance he puts between himself and the other person. Look at Nancy, and Tommy, and Carol, and his parents, and every single relationship he’s had where he’s all in, and the other person never meets him. He doesn’t even need halfway, hell, he’d take a quarter.

But even that’s never how it works out. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that Steve Harrington is too much, always.

So, if his fingers shake as he opens the letter, who can blame him?

But, inside is everything he could have ever asked for—Because you’re it, baby. He caresses the words, fingers trembling, heart shuddering in his chest to a beat that sounds a lot like, “maybe, maybe, maybe.”

He knows it’s stupid. This letter isn’t for Steve, not really. It’s Chrissy’s face Eddie pictured when he wrote it, Chrissy’s lips he imagined kissing, Chrissy’s hand he imagined holding. But, it’s hard to remember, when there’s such longing on the page in front of him.

He doesn’t know what to say, thoughts running too fast to pick them out and write them down. He tries, pen stuttering over the page in half-formed sentences, until he’s left with:

  Eddie —

  You don’t want to know what I

  Someone has loved you. I love

  I’ll take anything you

  Fuck

Hee crumples the letter up into a ball, and tosses it across the room toward the trash bin. He shoots, he misses, he lays down with all the lights still on.

Steve stares down at Eddie’s letter, helpless in the face of the bubbling hope, unwilling to squash it. He folds the letter back up and puts it under his pillow, hoping for dreams, just like Eddie had said.

He doesn’t.

Steve’s tired the next morning, zoning out during class, and shuffling through the halls like a zombie. Chrissy keeps sending him worried looks, and even Robin asks if he’s okay in Mrs. Click’s class, which she was right, they do share.

Steve tells her he’s just tired, and she drops it, but there’s a sad, knowing smile on her face.

It happens at lunch. Eddie jumps up on his lunch table, boots thudding loudly against its metal surface, drawing all eyes in the room toward him. Everyone looks away, familiar with his tabletop rants by now, but Steve can’t look away.

Eddie’s magnetic when he’s like this, a black hole swirling everything up in its path. Steve doesn’t want to miss a thing, barely blinks as Eddie begins the familiar walk across the Hellfire table.

“Forced conformity, folks—it’s what’s killing the kids!” he cries, clapping fast to punctuate the sentence. Across Steve’s own table, Tommy boos, gaining momentum when the people around him laugh and join in. “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty, Hagan, you’re the worst of all.”

He’s grinning, but it’s not the dimpled one. He’s just baring his teeth, a predator scenting blood. “You’re all so focused on shooting balls in laundry baskets, like that’s all there is, but guess what? You’re going to be a washed-up has-been before you’re even out of this school.”

He takes a few steps forward, eyes straying from Tommy farther up the table, making it clear he’s talking to all of them. “You don’t realize that daddy’s money’s gonna dry up, and you’ll be left with a wife and three kids you don’t even like, reliving the old glory days like they were even worth remembering.”

“Come say that to my face, Munson!” Tommy cries, standing up from the table as the rest of them egg him on.

Eddie makes a little rock and roll symbol and smirks, like that’s exactly what he wanted Tommy to say. “And you know what? That’s all you’ll deserve for the shit you’ve pulled. A sad lonely life with your sad flaccid dick.”

And suddenly, he’s looking right at Steve, gaze piercing straight through Steve and into his soft, squishy underbelly. There’s blood in the water, and by Eddie’s laugh, he can taste it. “You’ve earned it,” he says, not even blinking, his eyes so intense Steve can’t breath with it. “After all, once a jock, always a jock.”

Chrissy links their fingers and squeezes his hand beneath the table. Steve blinks, spell broken as he squeezes her back in thanks. He looks down at his remaining chicken nuggets, appetite gone.

“You okay?” Chrissy asks, barely audible with all the continued heckling.

Steve glances up just in time to watch Eddie jump down from the table and plop his ass down like none of it happened at all. He’s laughing as Jeff and Gareth pat his back, but he looks deflated, like the whole spectacle took everything out of him.

“I will be,” Steve replies, pushing his lunch tray away.

If nothing else, he has something to write now.

*** 

Eddie can’t get the look on Harrington’s face out of his mind. He’d been at the top of his game, riling the jocks up enough that Hagan had jumped up like a jack-in-the-box. But, then he’d looked at Harrington, and it’d all gone wrong.

The guy was drooping into himself, mouth down-turned, eyes like a kicked puppy. Eddie stuttered, got caught up in him, something unnameable stuck in his throat. Eddies doesn’t even know what he’d said after that, couldn’t hear himself think much less speak, until Harrington finally looked down at the tabletop and their eye contact broke. 

Now he’s stumbling over his words, trying not to even look Harrington’s way as he finishes off his speech. It lacks the usual oomph, but Eddie doesn’t care; he just wants the whole thing to end.

Eddie stumbles down into his chair, shuddering through his smile as Gareth and Doug elbow him in the side, ribbing him good-naturedly. He chokes out a laugh, and doesn’t look at the jock’s table for the rest of lunch.

The next time he sees Harrington, there’s another complication to contend with in the form of Robin Buckley, best known for her proficiency on the trumpet and quirky outfits. And now? She’s best known for attaching herself like a barnacle to Harrington’s side.

Except, if she was a barnacle, Harrington might at least try to shake her off. But, no. He just smiles at her, and whispers with her, as she inserts herself between Chrissy and Harrington like she belongs there.

Chrissy, for her part, seems to like the girl as well.

Eddie doesn’t get it, can’t comprehend what the hell’s happening, and it makes something squirmy and viscous sink into his stomach every time Buckley inserts herself between the pair, every time they smile at her.

But, they still stop to talk to him in between classes, so Eddie tries to drop it.

“It just doesn’t make sense!” Eddie cries, phone clutched to his ear, not even letting Gareth get a word out before he’s continuing the conversation Jeff had rudely interrupted by showing up to lunch. “What the hell is Harrington’s deal?”

“Dude, you’re like, obsessed,” Gareth replies, clearly talking around a mouthful of whatever after-school snack he’d chosen this time.

“Is he trying to date every girl in school at the same time?” he whines, yanking on his hair hard enough that his scalp tingles.

“You’re just jealous,” he replies, and that same squirmy feeling makes Eddie wriggle his whole body, like there’s a chill in the air.

Is the heater on the fritz again?

“Of who?” Eddie screeches before quieting down, peeking into the living room to make sure Uncle Wayne hasn’t stirred. He hasn’t, but Eddie still keeps his voice lowered as he continues hissing into the receiver. “Of Harrington? Don’t be absurd.”

Gareth laughs, “I don’t know, man, but this whole thing is just getting weird.”

“I know, right? What are they up to?” Eddie asks, ignoring Gareth’s muttered “not what I meant,” like he hadn’t said anything at all.

He never figures it out because Buckley never comes around—not to band practice, or Hellfire, or any of the other times Chrissy and Eddie (and Harrington) are in the same place. Eddie should be relieved. He’s not.

Everything is spiraling out of his control.

But, the letters keep coming, and Eddie keeps devouring them

  Eddie —

  I really liked your tabletop speech this week, even though you made fun of the jocks. Some of them definitely deserve it. Do you hate all of them, or just the bullies?

  You laughed, but it wasn’t your real laugh like when Mr. Danver accidentally said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’. I love your laugh, I thought about it all day. Kind of like when your favorite song gets stuck in your head.

  I know I’ve said it before, but I do really like you. But, if you knew me, I don’t think you’d like me. It’s okay, though. I’m stupid like that—always putting my whole heart into people who don’t feel the same.

  I’m sorry, this is probably not the letter you hoped to get. I’ll be better next time, promise.

  Yours,

  Your Secret Admirer

  P.S. Put your response in the World Atlas, the long one that they have to put sideways on the bookshelf (because no matter where you are, I’ll always think of you).

They all make something flutter within him like his lungs are growing wings and flapping themselves out of his body entirely. Even as it leaves him breathless and aching, he wants more of it, longs for it.

It’s just—she sounds so sad, lately, like she’s losing hope in this at all.

All Eddie wants to do is reassure her. So, he keeps writing back, pulling his heart off his sleeve and flinging it down on the page for Chrissy to read, hoping he’ll somehow see those same feelings reflected in her eyes.

He never does.

So, he pokes; he wheedles; he pines for a girl on a page that never quite stands before him. And he pours it all onto the page.

  Secret Admirer,

  I don’t think it’s all jocks—you’re too nice for that. But even you have to admit that a lot of the jocks are only doing it to be at the top of the food chain. Guys like Carver and Harrington Hagaon? They don’t even care about sports, they just want peons to fawn over them. But, there’s people like you, too, so maybe more of them are better than I expect.

  I can’t imagine knowing who you are and not liking you. You’re the nicest girl I know. You don’t have to tell me who you are, but if you do? I promise, it’ll all be okay.

  Yours, always,

  Eddie

  P.S. You don’t have to “be better,” baby. I just want you to be you. That will always be enough for a guy like me.

It’s not enough—something is breaking open in him that words on the page can’t quite mend.

“I’m going to ask her out,” Eddie says once Harrington and Chrissy have left the latest Hellfire session, still inexplicably coming despite never playing.

Jeff chokes on his sip of soda, coughing harshly enough that some of it comes out of his mouth and splatters onto the table.

“Gross, dude,” Doug says, but still pats his back like he’s burping a baby.

“Are you serious?” Gareth asks, tone disbelieving.

Eddie makes crazy eyes at him, trying to psychically beam all his thoughts into Gareth’s head like, yes I’m serious, and, you know about the notes, why are you looking at me like that, and, what the hell else am I supposed to do to crack this mystery wide open?

“That is such a bad idea,” Jeff cuts in once he’s got his coughing under wraps.

Eddie whips towards him, scowling at his best friend as he replies, “you’re just jealous.”

Jeff sighs, heaves himself out of his chair, says a quick, “whatever, dude,” and walks out of the room without a backward glance.

“Aren’t you his ride?” Doug asks.

Eddie flaps his hand in dismissal and replies, “forget about him,” despite his gut sinking down into his boots at Jeff’s words.

“Well, how are you going to do it?” Gareth asks, the only one of his friends to seem even remotely excited.

Eddie keeps flapping his hand and replies, “never you mind.”

That even gets Gareth to scoff, knowing Eddie well enough to know that means he’s got nothing.

But there’s a thought niggling away at his brain: why not finish this thing the same way it had begun?

On his way out the door, he drops his latest letter to Chrissy into the trash bin and doesn’t look back. He’s got a new letter to write.

*** 

“You know this is juvenile, right?” Jeff asks.

Chrissy pulls the world atlas off the shelf with a roll of her eyes.

Her and Steve had fought about him picking up the letters alone, and Chrissy had won the way she always does when it comes to matters of his safety. He’s sulking in the parking lot now, waiting for her to retrieve it for him.

But, there’s no letter behind the cover. She flips through the whole book, then shakes it, pages flapping wildly, to see if anything falls out. Nothing does. No note, at least not yet.

Steve will be disappointed.

“They’re boys, of course it’s juvenile,” Chrissy says, turning away from the shelf to make pointed eye contact.

If boys are stupid, Jeff is the stupidest of them all. She thinks she can see a tinge of red to his dark cheeks that makes her smile. Chrissy turns away to pick up her book bag where she’d left it on the closet table.

“There’s no letter?” Jeff asks, sounding surprised.

Chrissy sighs, responding, “not yet. I’ll have to check back tomorrow.”

Steve will be crushed. He’s been weird about the letters since he’d begun writing the first drafts alone. Even with the minor polishing Chrissy puts on them after, they’re Steve’s words and feelings, no matter what Eddie thinks. And it shows in the way he takes them home and pours over them for days before slinking back to her with the original letter and his response, cheeks rosy as she fixes his spelling errors.

“Eddie’s planning on asking you out, you know,” Jeff says.

There’s a clatter behind one of the shelves, but Chrissy barely notices. “He said that?” she asks, turning sharply toward him, hand still clutching her book bag. 

Jeff nods, lips pursed. God, what are they going to do? This whole thing has spiraled so far out of either of their control. Chrissy had known when she offered that there was a chance Eddie would catch on—that he’d see her leaving a note, or catch her picking one up.

Better her than Steve, she’d thought then. No matter the awkward situation she’s found herself in, she still thinks that, even more so now. Better her than Steve. Steve, who’s proven himself kinder than she ever imagined, who would be run out of town, her ex-boyfriend at the head of the mob.

Chrissy can hear someone shuffling out of sight, feet shuffling on carpet far too close for comfort, so she steps closer to Jeff and lowers her voice. 

“Do you know when?” Chrissy asks, anxiety leaching into her. She needs to talk to Steve. Flirting with Eddie is one thing, but going on a date with him? Going out with him? That’s a whole other monster.

And then, of course, there’s Jeff.

“No, he hasn’t told me anything,” he replies, something small and hurt in his voice.

Chrissy’s never had a best friend, but Steve’s given her a little taste of it, and she’d be hurt if he didn’t tell her something like this.

“He’s probably embarrassed,” Chrissy says, aching to reach out and touch, but they’re in public, and Jason could be lurking behind any corner; the last thing she wants is to put a target on another person she cares about’s back. “You’re still his best friend.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs, but when she bumps their shoulders together gently, his lips quirk up.

He smiles over at her, bumping their shoulders together himself as he asks, “drive me home?” as if it isn’t a foregone conclusion. “And stay for dinner?”

That gives her pause. She can feel her cheeks flushing. Despite taking the next step in their relationship, Jeff’s never invited her in, not where his parents and brother are. They haven’t even really discussed what they are, not with this whole secret admirer thing hanging over their heads like the Sword of Damocles.

But she wants to. She wants to hold his hand in the halls, go to his house for study dates and dinner, kiss him somewhere where they don’t have to be furtive.

It’s all stolen moments with Jeff, kisses and conversations made in haste when all she wants to do is linger. So, she says, “yes, please,” and bounces out into the parking lot.

Steve isn’t there, and neither is his car.

“Maybe he went home?” Jeff asks, but he looks just as unsure as she feels.

“We’ll call him when we get to your house,” she asserts. She’s relieved when all he does is nod and follow her to her car. 

She’s got a best friend to find.

*** 

Robin knows something’s gone wrong as soon as she sees that dangerous gleam in Carver’s eyes. She knows whatever it is, it’s about to go catastrophically wrong when she follows his line of sight to where Eddie stands chatting away with one of his friends.

Still, she stands frozen, watching in breathless horror as Eddie waves goodbye to his friend, that familiar happy grin on his face as he slides into the driver’s seat of his van. Heavy music blares from the rolled-down window as his van sputters to noisy life.

When she turns back to get her eyes on Carver, he’s gone. She spots him only as Eddie peels out of the parking lot, Carver’s douchey car hot on his heels.

Robin turns and runs back into the school. She’d spotted another douchey car still loitering in the parking lot; Steve’s in here somewhere.

She checks the library first, knows from previous confessions that it’s where he and Chrissy work on most of the secret admirer notes. It’s deserted aside from a scattering of freshmen in one corner, and Nancy Wheeler arguing with the librarian about a text the library doesn’t seem to have.

She finds herself in the gym next, unsure if any sports are currently in season, but nice guy or not, Steve’s got jock sensibilities. He likes the gym. There’s a singular kid shooting baskets, but based on the rack of balls off to the side, there might have been more.

She goes to the boy’s locker room without thinking, pushing the swinging door open with sweaty palms and shaking arms.

Inside, she finds boys, all blessedly dressed.

“Ohhh!” they call juvenilely as she stands there, shocked as four pairs of eyes lock on her.

“Girl in the locker room!” someone calls; she’s pretty sure that’s Tommy Hagan’s smug voice, but she barely notices, too caught up in trying to find her boy in the mess of bodies.

“Steve,” Robin strangles out.

Her skin feels tacky with panic sweat, and in the past five minutes of searching, she’s run her fingers through her own hair enough times to leave it sticking on end. She’s sure she looks more like a troll doll than an enticing member of the opposite sex.

“He already left,” a guy she doesn’t recognize responds, eying her up and down. “But I’d be more than happy to help you out.”

As if his meaning wasn’t already clear, he bites his lip and swipes his lip like he’s wiping up drool as all the other boys start “ooooh”ing in unison again. Is that something they’re taught in elementary, or something?

She doesn’t wait for them to continue, just turns and runs out of the locker room, panic nipping at her heels.

She runs back out to the parking lot, out of places to check and desperate to not miss Steve leaving.

That’s where she finds him, leaning casually against his car like Eddie’s life isn’t at stake.

She runs so fast, limbs uncoordinated and breaths coming rapid, that she doesn’t stop in time and hit’s Steve straight in the chest. 

She bounces off, almost falling to the pavement until he grabs her shoulders and steadies her. Steve’s hands feel big on her shoulders, the pressure of his palms pushing her soul back into her body as she takes big, deep gulps.

“What’s wrong, Bobby?” he asks, already looking at her like she’s a wet puppy he’s ready to scoop into his arms and dry off with the shirt on his own back.

There’s too many witnesses, and too many damning words to be said, so all she whispers is, “you need to go, Steve.”

He wrinkles his nose, but something of the gravity of her words must sink in because he leans in without hesitation and meets her pitch as he asks, “where?”

Robin steps even closer, damn-near standing on Steve’s toes as she begins her stilted explanation.

“Jason Carver followed Eddie’s van in his car,” Robin starts, words blurring into each other in her haste to get them out. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but—“

She doesn’t get to finish; Steve bolts to the driver's side door and flings himself into his car without sparing her a second thought.  She can’t blame him.

Robin only hopes he makes it in time.

PART 12

[girlgenius1111]

all of my pain and all your excuses

part 2 of family line ingrid arrives home, and realizes how much she's missed with her sister. her and mapi try to figure out how to put the pieces back together. r struggles with the mess inside her head. cw: mommy issues galore 🙃 mentions of poor mental health. solstråle continues to be sad.

-------

It took you a few minutes of crying into Mapi before you realized what she’d probably done. At this realization, you pulled away from her in a panic, practically falling onto the ground. 

“Mapi, please don’t tell Ingrid about this, please please, you can’t, she’ll be so mad, she’s already mad, I can’t,” your gasps for air cut your words off and Mapi took your face in between her hands. 

“Breathe. In and out pequeña. Just breathe.” She instructed, dramatically exaggerating her own breaths. 

“Please, Mapi,” you whimpered after a minute. 

“I’m sorry, nena, I had to. I had to.” She said, seemingly begging you to believe her that she’d had no other choice. You couldn’t really blame her; you’d gotten yourself here, after all. You’d written the letter. You’d meant every word you’d said, and every word you didn’t quite have the guts to say. You’d collapsed into her arms. You’d given her no choice. 

“I’m really scared,” you mumbled. 

Mapi pulled you back in, tucking your face easily into her chest. “I know. You don’t need to be, but I know you are. Everything is going to be alright. I promise you.” 

You wrapped yourself tight around the defender, hoping with everything in you that she was right. 

When Ingrid burst through the front door, eyes immediately finding you on the couch, crumpled up into a little ball in Mapi’s lap, she knew it was bad. Mapi was holding you so tightly, expression unreadable when she glanced up at Ingrid, murmuring inaudible words in your ear. You looked so small, visibly trembling in your baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants, Mapi’s arms engulfing you. Ingrid practically ran to your side, sitting as carefully as she could next to the both of you. 

“María, what..?” Ingrid asked, trailing off when Mapi silently held out a piece of paper to her. Ingrid took it, having no idea what she was about to read. Having no idea what she was about to feel. 

You were hiding your face in Mapi’s sweater, much too distraught to care about how pathetic you probably seemed. You’d heard Ingrid enter, and you knew it was just a matter of time before you had to leave your safe little bubble and confront this. When it had been silent for too long, and you knew Ingrid must be done reading by now, you shifted away from Mapi. It was time to be brave, and it was time to take whatever was coming your way. 

The look on your sister’s face made you want to take it all back. Because, fuck, you weren’t sure your happiness was worth making Ingrid this upset. She was scanning over the paper over and over, as if she was hoping the contents would change with each reread. 

You acted stronger than you felt, sliding off Mapi’s lap and moving a bit closer to Ingrid. She didn’t look away from the letter. 

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly. 

Your sister’s head snapped up to look at you so rapidly, you almost jumped. 

“Solstråle,” Ingrid began, and you felt like the last stable part of you broke sharply at the nickname. Sunbeam, it meant. Ingrid had called you that your whole life. Her sunbeam, always breaking through the clouds to shine a bit of light. She’d assumed you’d grown out of it, recently. You looked so small, though, so scared and so desperately sad, that it just slipped out. She didn’t regret it, not when you practically fell towards her. “Oh, honey.” 

If you were crying with Mapi just minutes before, you were bawling now. Hysterical, hyperventilating cries that were painful to hear, and painful to let out, but somehow so cathartic. Ingrid pulled you into her, beginning to cry herself. 

When Ingrid spoke, it was in Norwegian, and nothing had ever sounded so safe. “I am so sorry, my perfect baby sister, I am so so sorry. I love you. I love you, I love you. More than anything in this world, I love you.” 

And though you still cried, you relaxed marginally at the comfort hearing her speak in your native language brought you. You relaxed, going completely limp against your sister. You probably would have slid off her onto the ground if she hadn’t had her arms wrapped around you so tight. Ingrid wasn’t sure she’d ever let you go. You weren’t sure you wanted her to.

-------

Ingrid stood in your doorway, eyes fixed on your sleeping form. She’d brought you up to bed, carrying you like she used to when you were little. You’d fallen asleep on her downstairs, and she hadn’t dared to move you for a while. She and Mapi sat in a rather stunned silence for a while, before Mapi suggested she bring you up to bed. So, Ingrid tucked you in, pulling the covers up to your chin the way she knew you liked them. She noticed something tucked under one of your pillows, and carefully pulled it out. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the plush polar bear in her hand. Snø. She’d given him to you when you were three, for your birthday. She thought you’d stopped sleeping with him, but apparently not. The thought that you’d pulled him out of your closet for some comfort upon arriving in Spain made tears flood Ingrid’s eyes. She carefully kissed your forehead before rushing out of the room, almost colliding with her girlfriend. 

“Oof,” Mapi grunted, steadying Ingrid, when she caught sight of the other womans’ face. “Amor,” 

Ingrid shook her head, wiping harshly at her eyes, and pushed past Mapi towards their bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled the folded letter out of her pocket, smoothing it out, and began to read it. Again. Mapi had followed her into the room, and took the paper out of her girlfriend’s hands. 

“Give it back.” Ingrid said through clenched teeth. She sounded angry, but Mapi saw the tears in her eyes and knew better. 

“No, you’ve already read it.” Mapi said firmly. 

“María, give it back, I need to read it again.” 

“Mi amor, it's just going to hurt more, and you don’t need that right now.”

“Yes I do,” Ingrid cried. “I do, she’s been hurting like this for god knows how long. Wanting to–” She cut herself off, shaking her head almost frantically. “She said she felt like no one would care if she was gone. Reading this hurts but it is nothing compared to what she has been feeling, and it is all my fault, so let me read it so I can fix this, because I need to fix this, I can’t lose her, María, I can’t lose her.” Ingrid was sobbing by the end, making little to no sense, and Mapi placed her hands on Ingrid’s cheeks, forcing her to make eye contact. She noticed in that moment that while you looked alike normally, you looked just like Ingrid when you cried. 

It wasn’t enough, though, Ingrid was crying so hard, every sob shattered a part of Mapi that she hadn’t known existed. She climbed onto the bed, pulling Ingrid with her, guiding the younger woman’s head onto her chest. Ingrid clutched at Mapi’s shirt almost desperately, muffling her sobs there too, although her body shook heavily with the force of them. Her world was falling down around her, and it was all she could do to hold onto her María, and not let go. 

“I know, mi princesa, I know.” Mapi murmured, running her fingers through Ingrid’s thick hair. “You aren’t going to lose her. We aren’t going to lose her. We’ll fix it.” 

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Ingrid whimpered. Mapi tilted the Norwegian’s head up, until Ingrid was looking at her once again. 

“That’s okay, mi amor. You don’t need to have all the answers now. We’ll figure it out together. For now, just be her sister. Not her parent. Just be her sister, and if you don’t know what else to say, tell her you love her.” 

Ingrid nodded pitifully, scooting up and cramming her face into the crook of Mapi’s neck.

“Thank you. For helping her and for texting me and for being so perfect. You’re always so perfect.” Ingrid mumbled. 

“I’ll be perfect for you any day. I love you, and I love your sister. Now relax, mi princesa. Relax, breathe, calm down. We’re going to be okay.” 

And like you had earlier, Ingrid hoped with everything in her that Mapi was right about this. 

-------

Ingrid and Mapi fell silent the minute you walked into the kitchen the next morning. They’d been talking about you, clearly, and they looked at you nervously the minute you were in sight. You’d woken up irritated, though, as you sometimes did, feeling like your blood was boiling, as if one wrong thing would set you off. You wished you had more control than that, but you knew the minute you heard your sister’s voice, you would fly off the handle. Because this morning? You weren’t sad. You were furious. 

The room was a complete contradiction to how you were feeling. Ingrid and Mapi’s home was bright with sunlight, and warm with color. They were both holding matching coffee mugs, and looking at you with matching concerned expressions, and all of it made you want to scream. Why did Ingrid get to have this perfect life, and you didn’t? Why did she get to be happy so easily, and you didn’t? 

You were lost in your thoughts, taking the coffee Mapi handed you with a quiet thank you. The kitchen was uncomfortably silent. 

“Hi, solstråle. How are you feeling this morning?” Ingrid piped up. You clenched your jaw. How did she think you were feeling?

“Fine.” You snapped. 

Ingrid remained quiet and soothing when she spoke next, and it made you even angrier. “Honey, last night,”

“I don’t really feel like talking about it right now.” You said harshly, cutting her off. Ingrid tensed, trying to keep her reaction in check. 

“I’m sorry, solstråle, but that is not an option. We need to talk about what happened, we can’t wait on that.” Ingrid insisted, voice measured. 

Still it was like she’d hit you. Your head snapped up, your features contorted with rage, and you set your coffee down dangerously softly, glaring at your sister. “Oh now we have to? Now we have to talk about it? I’ve been here for 6 fucking months Ingrid. It took you months to realize something was wrong, and you didn’t even realize! I had to write it out for you. You told me last night that you love me, that you want me here, well then why didn’t you fucking show it before now! I said I don’t want to talk today and I meant that.” You yelled. 

Ingrid shook her head, her hands clenching tight into fists. “Do not yell at me. I am trying to help. I understand that you’re hurt, and that you’re upset, but-” 

You scoffed loudly then, interrupting her, and Ingrid got visibly more frustrated with you, her lips turning down into a disapproving frown. 

“You can’t-” 

“Ingrid, just take a sec.” Mapi cut in, her soft voice a sharp contrast to how you and your sister had been conversing. “Nena, we do need to talk, but it doesn’t have to be now. Let’s just all take a breath.” 

Ingrid was shocked when you slowly nodded your head and took a step back from her, inhaling deeply. It was like magic; she’d never seen an argument that you were involved in get de-escalated so quickly.  

“Go get your homework, okay? You’re coming with us to training.” Ingrid said after a minute. There was no room for argument in her words, and you fought against another surge of anger, fought the urge to yell. 

“Is this because of what I wrote?” You asked evenly. Ingrid and Mapi exchanged glances. 

“Listen, nena, we just want to keep an eye on you.” Mapi told you, realizing that you were a lot less reactive when she spoke to you than when Ingrid did. 

“I know what I said. I wasn’t going to do anything, though. Really. I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t do that to you.” You defended quietly. 

Mapi felt Ingrid’s hand slide into hers and grip tight. I wouldn’t do that to you, you’d said. Not I wouldn’t do that, period. Everytime she thought about what you’d written, Ingrid felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She wasn’t sure what would have happened if Mapi hadn’t gotten home when she did. She wasn’t sure how close she’d come to losing you. She was so scared. 

Ingrid had never been good at letting you see how she was feeling, and maybe that was why, until this point, you’d gone out of your way to hide your own emotions from her. She decided to take Mapi’s advice from the night before. Just be her sister. Not her parent. Just be her sister, and if you don’t know what else to say, tell her you love her. 

Ingrid approached you like she was worried you would lash out at her, which may have been fair. When you made no move to step away from her, she carefully stood directly in front of you, and put her hands on your shoulders. 

“What you wrote really scared me. I’m not mad, solstråle, I’m just really scared. And I trust you, I do, but if I left you here alone, I would just worry, and we haven’t talked yet, and I have no idea what you’re thinking other than the things you said on that piece of paper. So it would make me feel a lot better if you came with us to training today.” 

You blinked up at her for a minute, before you slowly nodded your head. “Okay. I guess that’s fair.” 

Ingrid seemed equally as surprised as you did, removing her hands from your shoulders, and gesturing for you to go get your bag. Once you’d disappeared from the room, she turned back to her girlfriend, who had a ridiculous grin on her face. 

“Look! You communicated! Like a real human being!” Mapi joked, opening her arms. Ingrid instantly melted into the hug, though she scowled at her girlfriend’s teasing. 

“I communicate.” She said stubbornly. 

“Sometimes,” Mapi allowed. “You’ve definitely gotten better. And you’ll keep getting better because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as determined as you are right now to make sure that your solstråle is okay.” Mapi whispered, kissing the side of Ingrid’s head. 

“My solstråle.” Ingrid smiled. “I started calling her that when she was 3, and she had this shirt with a sun on it. I told her I liked it once, and whenever she saw me sad after that, she’d run off to put the shirt on and come show me. I called her my little solstråle. My sunbeam. She used to be so smiley, María. So happy. She’s so different now.” Very quickly, the smile faded from Ingrid’s face and she held Mapi closer to her. 

“It’s all gonna be okay, mi princesa,” Mapi promised. 

You cleared your throat from the doorway, then, and your sister and her girlfriend sprung apart, blushing like high schoolers caught in an awkward position. “Are you guys done making out?” 

“We weren’t making out,” Ingrid groaned, as you all headed towards the door. 

“No, we only make out after training,” Mapi said seriously.

You made a fake retching sound, Ingrid slapped her girlfriend in the arm, and Mapi laughed to herself, but the tension was broken. And you had smiled, a real smile. Ingrid didn’t care what she had to say to see you smile again, she’d do it. 

--------

As was the norm when you went to training, the younger girls immediately latched onto you, yanking you away from Ingrid and pulling you into some scheme to get back at Mapi for the prank she’d pulled on them last week. It was the usual suspects; Pina,Vicky, Salma, and a couple others pulling you from the room, already giggling. They kindly didn’t say anything about the bruising and cuts on your face, and for that you were grateful, although you did get a few raised eyebrows from the older players. Ingrid watched you go anxiously, only turning her attention away from the door you’d walked out of when Mapi squeezed her hand.

“She’ll be fine.” Mapi promised. Ingrid nodded, but she didn’t stop worrying. And when Mapi went off to work in the gym herself, the Norwegian had no one to pull her out of her head. 

She worried all through the gym session, paying very little attention to what she was supposed to be doing. Which wasn’t normal for Ingrid, and it caught the attention of pretty much everyone. 

Ingrid was staring intently at where you were sitting against the wall in the shade, working on your homework, when Alexia and Frido approached. 

“Everything okay, Engen?” Alexia asked. 

“Yep.” Ingrid said distractedly. 

“What did our dear solstråle do this time?” Frido joked, having known your sister long enough to know precisely why you were living with her. Alexia knew, too, and smiled, joining in on the joke. Until Ingrid’s eyes inexplicably filled with tears, and she turned away from you, wiping harshly at her face. 

“Ingrid? What happened?” Frido wondered, running a hand up and down the Norwegian’s arm, while Alexia looked around anxiously, searching for anyone, anyone on earth, that would be better at dealing with whatever was going on than she would be. 

“It’s a long story.” Ingrid said, her voice cracking. Frido and Alexia exchanged looks, before the captain turned to Jona across the pitch. 

“Ingrid needs her ankle taped!” She shouted, before leading both women off the pitch. Jona nodded knowingly, despite the fact that Ingrid hadn’t done anything to her ankle, and it was rather odd for 2 entire people to accompany her to tape it. Jona knew that Alexia wouldn’t be asking for a minute for Ingrid if she didn’t think it was necessary. 

Ingrid let them pull her into the locker room, rather desperate for some advice and some honesty. Because Mapi loved her too much to tell her how badly she’d really messed up, and both Frido and Alexia were known to be brutally honest. She needed brutal honesty right now. No matter how much it hurt.

-------

You were busy struggling through an essay you were supposed to be writing entirely in Spanish when Frido sat down next to you. One look at her face told you she knew exactly what was going on. You weren’t that surprised. She was your sister’s best friend, and you’d known her for a long time. If there was anyone that Ingrid was going to talk to, it would be Frido. 

Frido always spoke to you in Norwegian, a thing you were endlessly grateful for. It instantly put you at ease, and today was no different, as she tugged playfully at your ear.

“How is my favorite Norwegian?” She asked. 

“I know you already asked your second favorite Norwegian.” You replied jokingly. 

“Why would I ask Caro how you are?” Frido deadpanned. 

You threw your head back, laughing loudly, and Frido grinned, continuing on to tell any and every joke she could think of. 

Ingrid watched from the doorway of the building, and when Mapi turned the corner and saw her watching the two of you, she knew exactly what her girlfriend was thinking. 

Ingrid saw Mapi coming, though, and forced a smile onto her face. “How was the gym?” She asked. 

“Fine. I was distracted though. How is she doing?” Mapi replied, nodding in your direction. 

“Well. She’s joking around with Frido. So, better I assume.” Ingrid said evenly. 

“She’s joking with Frido because Frido speaks her language, and she trusts her, and she didn’t just get into a screaming match with Frido. Frido didn’t read a letter containing her most upsetting feelings. She loves you, Ingrid, she just needs time.” Mapi assured her. Ingrid kissed her cheek softly, very appreciative that her girlfriend always knew what she needed. 

“What if she doesn’t want to talk when we get home?” Ingrid asked, after another minute. 

Mapi sounded wiser than normal when she spoke. Ingrid wasn’t used to her being the voice of reason in their relationship, but she appreciated that the defender always stepped up, and was always willing to be what Ingrid needed. “What happened last night was a big thing. She needs to process, and she needs to take her time with it. She’ll talk when she’s ready. And until then, we keep an eye on her, we give her hugs, and we tell her that we love her, vale?” 

“Okay.” Ingrid agreed. It was going to be a long and difficult evening of not suffocating you with questions, it seemed. She’d do it, though, if it was what you needed. Ingrid thought that she would probably quit football or cut off one of her limbs if that was what you needed. 

-------

You didn’t talk much the rest of the day, as Mapi predicted, and as Ingrid feared. Your sister did her best not to push you, and was mostly successful. Mapi kept the conversation going, able to talk about nothing for hours. She knew exactly which topics to discuss and which to avoid, and she knew how to make both you and Ingrid laugh until your stomachs hurt. Thank god for Mapi. 

You were… relatively alright. Until later that evening, when you got up to head upstairs to finish some homework. You’d accidentally picked up Ingrid’s phone thinking it was yours, and saw a few texts from your mom to her. All about how much she missed Ingrid, how she was thinking of her, how she made Ingrid’s favorite for dinner that night. Nothing about you. You put it back down silently, grabbed your phone, and tried not to think about it, to no avail.

Instead of doing your homework, you sat on the floor of your room, thinking of the fact that your mom had missed your birthday, and not even noticed. Ingrid had, too, but she’d apologized over and over, and she’d promised to take you shopping over the weekend, and to dinner. Ingrid was trying. Your mother hadn’t tried in a while. 

You didn’t realize you were crying until Mapi knocked on the door to say goodnight. She peaked in, frowning when she saw the fresh tears on your cheeks. 

“Hey,” she said softly, carefully lowering herself to the ground next to you, minding her knee. She texted Ingrid to come upstairs, and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because I know that you aren’t. But Ingrid and I love you. Ingrid and I want you here. Ingrid and I are gonna fix things, and that is a promise.” 

You registered the words, though you didn’t believe them. Still, you gave Mapi a watery smile and leaned into her a bit. Ingrid’s footsteps were quiet in the hall, but you recognized that she was walking faster than normal. She appeared at your door, then, giving Mapi a meaningful look, and took Mapi’s place, sliding down onto the floor next to you. You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and holding tight. It looked as if you were trying to physically hold yourself together. 

“Hey, solstråle,” Ingrid said softly. You murmured a greeting, not moving your chin from your knees, and not turning your gaze towards your sister either. It was quiet for a minute before Ingrid prompted you. “Talk to me, please.” 

You sighed, a tear rolling down your cheek. “‘I just miss Mom.” You said finally. 

Ingrid’s chest squeezed uncomfortably. You were so stubborn, so willful, sometimes she forgot you were just a kid. Just an 18 year old kid living in a foreign country, who missed her mom. “Do you want to call her?” She asked, not very confident in the suggestion, but not really sure what else to say. 

You instantly shook your head. “No. She doesn’t want to talk to me.” 

“Kjære, of course she does,” Ingrid began, but she wasn’t really sure. Your parents were so different, now. And whenever Ingrid called her mom, she never asked about you. She only wanted to hear about Ingrid. Your sister wasn’t stupid, she knew she was their favorite, but she didn’t expect them to write you off completely when you moved to Spain. They seemed happier, now. Without you there. It was something Ingrid couldn’t understand. Neither could you, really, but you had long accepted it. 

“No she doesn’t. I stopped calling her, just to see. 2 months ago. She hasn’t called me once. She doesn’t want me, anymore, Ingrid. I know I was an accident, but if they were going to hate me for ruining their early retirement plans, I don’t know why they didn't just…” 

Ingrid was speechless. At a loss for words, and so so angry. You filled the silence, though, things you’d never said out loud falling out of your mouth like you couldn’t help it. 

“I miss what mom was like before, when I was younger. When you were still at home. I miss that mom. I don’t miss the one that I could call right now.” 

“I don’t understand,” Ingrid said quietly, her hand resting on your head, and pulling you closer to her. 

“Ingrid, I know mom is always nice to you, but,” 

“No, solstråle. I don’t understand her. How she could bring someone so perfect into this world and not want to spend the rest of her life watching you grow up. I’ll never forgive her for how she’s made you feel, and I’ll never forgive myself for not noticing earlier. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it better. I promise you.” 

“Thanks, Ing.” You mumbled, looking up at her for a minute before resting your head on her shoulder. 

The problem was, Ingrid could tell you didn’t believe her. She could see it in your eyes; they were still so guarded and so hurt. You were still angry with her, she knew. You thought she just felt guilty, and eventually she would go back to how she was before. Ingrid didn’t know how to make you believe what she felt and what she told you. She worried so deeply that she wouldn’t be able to. That too much damage had been done, and that maybe she wouldn’t be able to fix it. Late at night, early in the morning, right in the middle of a match, she worried about that. All the time until it consumed her, and all she wanted to do was sit with you, and promise you over and over that she loved you more than anything on this planet. What if you never believed her? 

-------

doesn't everyone feel so much better now!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Gossip Is Currency

Prompt Day 21: Formal | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Canon Background Stancy | Tags: Missing Scene from S2's The Pollywog, Post-Halloween "Bullshit" Scene, Pre-Steddie, Platonic Hellcheer, School Sucks, Eddie Knows

This is cruel and unusual punishment. 

Eddie sits on the stupid folding chair, behind the stupid folding table, with a stack of tickets to sell to the winter formal. It was this or another suspension, and it was only because he was sure Wayne would not appreciate not having to talk to the principal again anytime soon, that Eddie chose this option.

They've got bubbly cheerleader Chrissy Cunningham sitting next to him controlling the money box that they definitely didn't trust him to be anywhere near, as they try to sell tickets to the kids still roaming around during extracurriculars.

Chrissy hasn't said anything to him after greeting him, and he hasn't said anything in return. They hung out once before, during a middle school talent show, but he doesn't expect that she remembers that.

Another shitty jock walks up.

"Two?" Chrissy asks.

"Yeah," the kid answers, and she takes the money, makes the change, and all Eddie has to do is hand over the two ticket stubs.

He resents it. 

It's stupid, it's–

"It's bullshit," he hears from down the hall.

Yeah, it's exactly that.

And hell's frozen over, if he agrees with King Steve.

Harrington's in some sort of heated debate with Wheeler as they stomp down the hallway, bickering back and forth. She's a fucking firebrand, that one. Everyone thinks she's a priss, but oh no, Eddie's studied this whole school long enough to know that's not even remotely true.

Harrington's gonna get knocked down a peg or two under her, and deservedly so.

Seeing them coming in his direction is at least interesting. Eddie tears off the two tickets and hands them over to Tweedle Dumb, and keeps watching the free show heading his way.

"Winter formal tickets?" Chrissy asks Harrington, and Jesus H. Christ, does she have no observation skills? Now is not the time. This is the time to blend into the wall so they can get the dirty fucking details on this fight. Gossip is currency.

Harrington turns to look at them, and shakes his head no. He looks more sad than mad, and that isn't near as fun. 

"Steve," Wheeler says, and she looks annoyed.

Harrington runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends, and then they're gone. 

Well, that was uneventful in the end. He didn't learn anything worth repeating.

Eddie had heard rumors of a Halloween night blow-up, but wasn't there to see it with his own eyes. Apparently they're still in a tiff today.

He can still hear the echo of them around the corner and down the hall, and well, he's nosey. It pays to know everything that's going on in this school.

"Be right back," Eddie says, and follows them down the hall, with the excuse that he's heading to the pop machine.

He digs four quarters out of his pocket, and pretends it's hard to make a decision, before hitting the Mellow Yellow button. The machine whirrs to life, and the can drops down. He feeds the other two quarters in, still trying to listen to Harrington and Wheeler fussing by the double-doors.

Eddie can't really decipher much besides hissing mumbles. Damn.

He presses another button without even really paying attention.

Welch's Grape Soda.

He might actually pick that over the Mellow Yellow he thought he originally wanted.

Harrington and Wheeler leave, so Eddie takes both cans back towards the table, holding them up, an offer, "You want?"

Chrissy smiles, "Really?"

Eddie nods, "You choose," he says, and she falters, just a bit, looking up at him like there might be a wrong answer.

There's no wrong answer here. No trick. He puts them both down on the table, "Totally fine either way."

She reaches for the grape, and is still looking his way. He nods, "Excellent choice," as he picks up the Mellow Yellow, and cracks open the can.

"Thanks, Eddie," she says, like he's given her something more than a can of pop. Carver's a bigger dick than he'd realized, apparently. 

They sit in silence, waiting for more kids to finish up with their stupid clubs and practices. 

The door clangs closed on the other end of the school, and they wait. It's Harrington again. He crosses the hall intersection in his little shorts, and Eddie can see that he's pinching his nose as he darts out of their line of sight as quickly as he entered.

Then it's just them, alone in the hallway again.

"She called him bullshit," Chrissy whispers.

Eddie turns and looks at her, waiting for her to elaborate.

She does.

"On Halloween. At Tina's party. She called him and his love bullshit. I heard it myself, waiting for the bathroom. She was drunk, not making sense about Barb Holland. It was pretty mean."

"No shit?" he asks, leaning closer. 

She nods, giving him a rundown of the whole party. She's got all the good gossip, not just about Harrington and Wheeler's dust up. Eddie feels a twinge of something. 

He's well acquainted with being shit on publicly.

Nobody's around this school, and Eddie gets up to go take a piss. He can't sit still. Hates it. And doing it for this is a special version of hell.

He walks down the hall, to the bathroom. He stands in front of the urinal, unzips and is pissing when he hears the stifled cough from behind him.

Eddie turns to look and sees familiar shoes under the stall door.

Tucking himself back in, re-zipping, he reaches over and flushes the urinal.

"Harrington," Eddie says. 

He waits and there's no response. 

"Harrington," he tries again.

"Go away, Munson," Harrington says, and then mumbles under his breath, "It's bullshit. I'm bullshit."

Eddie takes three steps towards the door, then impulsively turns back.

"She's wrong, you know? You're not bullshit."

And then Eddie waits a beat before adding, "You're just an asshole."

Steve chuckles, and Eddie smiles to himself as he turns and heads out the door.

Timing is everything. 

Mission accomplished.

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