#she isn’t weak and boring you guys just don’t get it

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello, I hope that I'm not too late for a small request for the NRC family interaction. But still do want to ask for a req for Azul Ashengrotto and Jamil Vipver to interact with Najma Viper. I could already imagine how chaotic it would be already.

Oml, Jamil’s worst nightmare would be if Najma developed a crush on Azul 😭 He would so go protective big brother mode… I didn’t decide to do that for this interaction though, it’s just a funny thought I had.

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

“Oya, is that my dear friend Jamil-san over there?”

That voice. That ever-so grating voice, trilling out his name so sweetly. Immediately, Jamil wished to retreat into his hoodie like a turtle to a shell and die there.

Alas, he could do no such thing—not when he was trapped among several milling bodies, his younger sister in tow. Najma had heard and glanced over her shoulder. She locked eyes with the approaching octopus and arched an eyebrow as she tugged on her brother’s sleeve.

“Hmm? Hey, Jamil. There’s a guy in glasses headed this way and waving. It sounds like he wants your attention,” she pointed out.

“I know,” he hissed back, already starting to powerwalk away from Azul. And that’s just what I’m afraid of.

“Aren’t you going to at least say hi? It’d be rude to straight up ignore him.”

Jamil internally cursed. All that nagging from their parents about etiquette and how to show hospitality had been well and truly drilled into him as well as into her. Now it came back to bite him like a loose snake where it smarted the most.

“Please. He isn’t worth my breath—or the trouble.”

“Jamil-san! Please wait.”

To his dismay, Najma stopped dead in her tracks. “I really think you should greet him before you go.”

He gaped at her. “You’re joking.”

“Sevens, why are you being so weird about this?” She rolled her eyes. Then, cupping her hands around her mouth, she called out to Azul. Jamil’s stomach sank. “H~eeeeey! Jamil onii-chan’s friend! It’s nice to meet you. I’m his adorable little sister, Najma.”

He frowned. “Since when am I Jamil onii-chan? And since when are you my adorable little sister?”

“Since now,” she muttered back.

“Ahhh, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Azul crooned. He took Najma’s hand and shook it. “Azul Ashengrotto, at your service. I’m a classmate of your brother’s, as well as dorm leader of Octavinelle and manager of the student-run on-campus eatery, Mostro Lounge.”

“Oh, wow!! That sounds so cool.”

“He’s humble bragging,” Jamil said flatly, folding his arms. “… What do you want, Azul?”

“Is that any way to greet your beloved bosom buddy?” He sighed, shrugging his hands up. “I only wanted to check in with you and make sure that you were enjoying Family Day.”

“Don’t say that. It’s disgusting—and patently false.”

Jamil’s eyes sharpened into pointed daggers. He’s surely sniffing around for weak points. If he cannot glean them from me, then he intends to pry those secrets from Najma. I won’t allow that to come to pass.

He gripped his little sister’s hand tightly and tugged on it. “I believe this concludes the obligatory pleasantries. Come along, Najma. We must get going to our next meeting.”

“Boo, you’re no fun,” she pouted, yanking back. “You’d seriously rather go to a boring old meeting than chat with a friend?”

“Don’t be difficult. You’re not visiting to make social calls, you’re here on business.”

“But you’re not attempting to socialize at all. Geez, you’re not putting anything you learned at home to practice, are you?”

“I am plenty!! I’m just selective about where and when to apply those teachings—as should you.”

“What a deep bond you have with your sister, Jamil-san. You fuss over her like a mother hen,” Azul chuckled, pushing his glasses up. “Why, as an only child, it warms my heart to see this kind of camaraderie. I shall have to commit this to memory.”

A heart? he scoffed. A cold, slimy one, perhaps.

Jamil shot Azul a frigid glare. “Do NOT.”

“Oh? But what is so wrong with appreciating a tender moment of bickering between siblings? It’s something I could never hope to experience myself.”

“Yeah, yeah, Jamil! You’re so totally being mean to your classmate for no good reason. Don’t you feel any shame?”

“Are you taking his side in this?!” he demanded of his sister.

“So what if I am?”

“My, my, Najma-san!” Azul suddenly wedged himself between the Vipers like an octopus slipping into the crack of a rock. His smile was annoyingly broad and simpering. “It seems that you and I are kindred spirits.”

“Yup! Looks like we are,” Najma agreed, an equally unsettling smile creeping onto her face.

Jamil paled. I don’t like where this is going…

“Then it is clear what we must do.”

“Yeah, it’s so obvious.”

They both turned to Jamil. The dread in his stomach spiked, hitting his peak, then sailed past it. He could feel his blood pressure shooting up too.

“We should bully him!”

[lyssasdrafts]

elain archeron is for the girls who are unapologetically feminine, who are called weak over and over and have to keep proving themselves, who are lovers and romantics at heart, who have a voice but just want to choose when they use it, who are quiet because they want to be and not because they don’t have any thoughts or feelings

[vxnuslogy]

— will they, won’t they.

pairing: hoshina soshiro x gn!reader

premise: hoshina soshiro has been hopelessly in love with you for years now. and for the first time, you finally hear him say the words "i love you."

— warnings: down bad + jealous hoshina, modern setting, reader is a kyudo player.

— author's note: little miss says she's going on a break then proceeds to write about hoshina soshiro for all the dying fans (its me, i'm the dying fans.) art credits to @.BByo_chick on twitter.| ~700 words.

“how long are ya gonna keep me here?”

“no one is forcing you to.”

hoshina only clicks his tongue and stares at the dojo walls. his finger impatiently tapping at his chin as he hits crossed leg on the floors. it’s half past 5 in the afternoon now and you have no intentions of going home anytime soon.

“i’m gettin’ bored here,” he drawls, hands stretching over his head as he watches you shoot another arrow with pin-point accuracy that makes his smirk twitch uncomfortably. you’ve gotten too good at kyudo, and it shows.

“then go home,” you reply as you pull the bow back and aim for your next shot. “you don’t have to keep waiting for me to finish.”

but that was the thing: hoshina wanted to wait for you and he always will.

he wants everyone to know that you had him and he’s all you’ll ever need. there was no need for that guy who caught your fall a few days ago—not when he’s been catching you for the past 3 years. he was your guide in the train station every morning, so why do you keep trying to go to the station earlier and ask your junior for directions? hoshina soshiro was always by your side, so why couldn’t you see that?

“i’ll wait,” he murmurs into his hand, eyes looking at anything but at you. “got nothin’ to do at home anyways.”

it was a weak excuse, but it always does the trick. you always relent and let him stay but not without throwing a look over your shoulder that screams “you’re acting strange.” because he was. hoshina, against his will, feels his lips being tugged into a frown whenever you interact with anyone that isn’t him.

that sounds very bad–it is bad in a sense–but hoshina would never dream of taking away your freedom. so he just watches, painfully by the sidelines, with a scoff on his face as another student from a rival school stammers to ask for your number. it was irritating, having to watch everyone throw themselves at you when you’re clearly uninterested. 

“what the hell will happen if i’m not by yer side, captain.” hoshina jests as you pack up your stuff and lock the dojo.

“is this about earlier?” you ask with an amused lilt to your voice. “when the new student asked for my number?”

hoshina hated how you always aimed for the heart.

“i have no idea what yer talkin’ about,” he weakly tries to change the topic. hoshina racks his brain to think of something—anything—to help change the conversation, but his mind keeps circling back to you. how you almost looked serious when some guy–who was leagues below you by the way–had the gall to ask you out for a date.

“never took you for the jealous type.” you tease.

“it’s because ‘m not.” he said through gritted teeth, hands balling into small fists against his school bag. “‘m lookin’ out for ya, alright? that guy was a creep. i’m keepin’ yer ass safe from weirdos.”

you looked unconvinced but didn’t comment on his unusual aggressiveness. hoshina let out a frustrated sigh, a hand coming to ruffle your hair and pull just a tiny bit closer that would make everyone question your relationship. this was driving him crazy but he couldn’t do anything about it.

“‘m not jealous. get that over yer pretty little head.”

and until you both got on the train and went your separate ways to go home, hoshina soshiro never once let your hand drop to your side. he kept you impossibly close to his side and whispered sweet good lucks into your ear. body so comfortably lax in your presence he was slouching on the train seat so he could bury his nose in your hair. 

hoshina soshiro was so unfathomably in love with you. 

how could he not love you when you use your own heartbeat to calm his erratic one during every competition? when every hug has his mind spinning with gold and you. every victory is dedicated to your name, and no trophy or medal could ever compare to the feeling of running into your arms and drowning in your praise.

“i love you.” he mutters as you sleep peacefully on his shoulder on your way home. how many years has he been saying it before he lost count? it’s truly just a matter of when you’ll wake up and finally realize it yourself.

he feels the blood rush to his brain as he throws himself on his bed, unable to wipe the image of you smiling as if you had heard him.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[icyg4l]

PAC: How Does Your Higher Self Define Womanhood?

Hello, beautiful people. Today marks the last post of the Women’s History Month series & one of two posts made today! I am excited to continue to create content for you guys. And I am even more grateful for the support I have received as of lately. Because of this, I will continue to post creative tarot readings. So, without further ado, please pick your pile.

Left-to-Right: (1-4)

Pile 1: Pile One, your story reminds me of the Miss Congeniality plot. Basically, Sandra Bullock plays a detective that goes undercover as a beauty pageant contestant. At first, she rejects the ideas of what it means to be a “girly girl” but eventually conforms to the standards. She viewed femininity as a sign of weakness and did not like being around other women because she felt that she had to prove herself to be tough. But she gained respect for the girls who worked in these pageants as she worked undercover because she began to acknowledge the hard work it takes to be in the pageants. By the end, she is closer to her womanhood. You have a similar story. I doubt that you’re a detective reading this but I feel as though you may have the tendency to thoroughly investigate any piece of information. To your higher self, womanhood means constantly being on the search for answers to placate the inner child wounds that lie within you. I feel like when you were younger, you may have been an outcast or a tomboy, maybe both. Because of this, you have set a lifelong quest to figure out what being a woman means to you whether it is intentional or not. Your higher self wants you to know that being a woman comes with all types of trauma, but remembering that you do not have to face it alone. You do not have to carry the burdens alone. You see, women are conditioned to be demure for the sake of keeping the peace but that’s not what works for you. Embrace the messy parts of yourself because if you don’t, life will get boring. Part of your mission is being aware of your multifaceted nature; reject conformity, embrace the abnormal, babe.

Cards Used: The Sun, 4 of Cups, 4 of Swords, 5 of Wands, Ace of Cups, The Magician, 5 of Cups, 3 of Cups, 3 of Swords.

Signs: Aquarius, Libra, Leo, Sagittarius.

extras: money getter. cash grabs. “low hanging fruit.” airhead. wallpaper. phineas and ferb. “sharon.” beetles. s.o.s. by rihanna. “tinge of an accent.” sweet. mirrors. coconut trees. hawaii. stubborn. radioactive.

Pile 2: Pile Two, there is a similar vibe that you have to Pile One, except I don’t think that you have problems with accepting your femininity. I think that you have problems with how masculines function in society. I am sensing a Lori Harvey type of energy here. This is likely related to the way that you operate when it comes to love. People tend to want to possess you so that they can show you off like a trophy. But your higher self wants you to know the difference between users and the genuine thing. I feel like you’ve developed this flighty persona to protect yourself from harm. While experiencing the many tribulations of womanhood, you have adopted the “flights over feelings” type of mindset. How has that been working out for you? No, really. Is it actually working or have you convinced yourself that it has. As a woman, your higher self thinks that womanhood is finding love in a loveless world. This isn’t necessarily about romance, but it’s just a mindset that you should adopt. It will save you from falling victim to the cycles of toxicity that plague society. It’s a cold world out here, babe but it doesn’t mean that you have to be as cold as the world. Part of your mission is forgiving yourself and those who hurt you so that you can see the beauty in the world. With this newfound sight of beauty, there comes true inner power.

Cards Used: The Devil, 7 of Discs (RX), 8 of Wands, The Hierophant, 3 of Swords, 3 of Cups, 10 of Discs, The Star, 10 of Cups (RX).

Signs: Capricorn, Cancer, Scorpio, Virgo.

extras: two can play that game. all about love by bell hooks. renegade. open arms. country music lover. tony montana. archer (2009). “logan.” phoenix rising. “marcus.” ashy. corny. cerebellum. stupendous.

Pile 3: Pile Three, your higher self defines womanhood as something that is both sweet and sour. It is something that she takes for granted but it is also something that she takes pride in. It’s a strength but also a weakness. I feel like I am talking to someone who has an ingenue/youthful spirit. I channeled the character Darla from The Little Rascals but I also channeled Charlotte from Princess and the Frog. You seem to be very in tune with your inner child and there is nothing wrong with that. Your inner child is heavily protected by the teenaged version of yourself, which seems very angry. These different versions of yourself often clash with one another, which can lead to bouts of depression and confusion. Your higher self is a woman who pours into herself through movement and self-expression. You need to channel these negative energies into creativity or else you will be stifled by your own thoughts. You honestly need to get out of your head. Your higher self feels as though there is a flip side to every coin that you get. For example, if you are having period pains, it may hurt but at least you’re not pregnant! Looking on the brighter side of life is how you can be closer to your higher self.

Cards Used: 5 of Swords, 6 of Swords, Page of Swords, Justice, 4 of Cups, Ace of Cups, Ace of Discs, 5 of Wands, The Hanged Man.

Signs: Leo, Pisces, Aries, Gemini.

extras: janet jackson. “i’m da man.” we will rock you. parties. diva. elle magazine. shapely. “how’d you figure?” honest answers only. maya angelou. glorilla. lola bunny. fatigue. body aches. deodorant. small bowls. annual. prayers. mark on the cheek. boot camp. “your highness.” shredded cheese. livelihood.

Pile 4: And last but not least, Pile Four. I feel like you are well sought after in the most lusty way possible. This has its perks, but lately, you feel like it has more cons than anything. I feel like you’re someone who always seems to feel isolated because of this. As a result, your higher self views womanhood as foreign. The amount of power that you hold as a woman is beyond explanation. There are so many ways that you can present yourself, Pile Four. I don’t think you have realized your true potential. Yes, you have gone through trauma because people assumed that you could handle the weight of the world but this means nothing to your spirit. Wake up! Don’t you realize how unique you are? Pile Four, womanhood can really only be defined by you, not by anyone else. The prioritization of yourself will help you make a name for yourself. You could be in your 20s, tired and just wanting a change. Well, your higher self wants you to know that change will come once you begin to change the narrative yourself. If you believe something about yourself that was told to you by someone else, then it means that you’re easily moldable. Being a woman means rising to the top even through the facings of opposition. You are a fighter. So the question is: when are you going to jump in the ring and fight for your sense of self, Pile Four.

Cards Used: Ace of Cups, Queen of Wands, 3 of Discs, Knight of Discs, Ten of Swords, 4 of Discs, The Hermit, Queen of Swords, 9 of Discs.

Signs: Gemini, Pisces, Cancer, Virgo.

extras: “tart.” “fresh out the shower.” burgundy. melons. net worth. SWer. dollar bills. illegal documents. molly. friendless. stoned. be your own boss. cake baker. sister, sister. wiseman. silly goose. fall. saturn.

[theformulaimagines]

Look at that woman (breaking my heart) | part one

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Vettel!Reader

Summary: For one and a half years Lewis and y/n managed to keep their relationship a secret, until it blew up in their faces. Now, they're trying their hardest to pick up the pieces...

Warnings: age gap (reader is 27), heat!!!!, other drivers are mentioned, tiny bit of angst, english isn’t my first language

Prologue

That night…

“As much as I absolutely adore you guys.”, Y/N says as she joins the group, her lips connecting with her champagne glass:” This party is super boring.” The men all look at her, while some eyes make their way up and down her body. One more often than the others.

“Well, I don’t think it’s that-.”, poor Lando gets cut off almost immediately. “I know that this is your first party, considering how they didn’t host them during Covid, however, believe me- back in the good old days these summer parties were the main event of the year for us.”

“Don’t say it like that.”, Lewis scoffs softly, furrowing his eyebrows in distress:” ��Good old days’, please. Don’t make it sound like we’re in our sixties now.” George giggles.

“Anyway, Lando. When my brother was an active driver, we used to steal a bunch of champagne bottles and hide out in the Ferrari garage.” Her eyes shift back to Lewis, and she stares at him for a moment:” Don’t make that face.”

“What face? I’m not making a face.”, he blinks in confusion. Y/N shakes her headc while holding her index finger up at him: “Don’t act like you weren’t the main burglar back then. Sneaking behind the bar and just handing those bottles over to me like your life depended on it.” At that, all the other drivers in the group laugh out loud. “That was the old, alcoholic me.”, Lewis explains, his eyes scanning her features- almost as if he’s searching for something he can’t quite put the finger on.

“Well, what’s stopping us from doing that again?”

“Wait what?”, Charles asks and exchanges looks with the men around him:” Are you implying we-.” “Bingo.”, she takes another sip of her drink. There’s just something about the way Lewis looks at her side profile that makes her knees weak…he has been staring a lot lately. After a few seconds, Lando is the first one to react, he nods almost violently:” Okay, well- I mean, why not? Could be fun! Lewis and Y/N, you go get the bottles, and the rest of us-? I don’t know. We just distract the others?”

Lewis nods:” Well, yeah. Sure.” He chuckles as he notices the smile emerging on his best friend’s face and the woman quickly sets her glass down on the closest table :” We’ll meet you guys at the exit in five.”

Y/N can sense his presence close behind her. She doesn’t have to turn around to check. His brown eyes are moving down her backless dress and he subconsciously wets his lips at the scenery in front of him. “What’s so funny?“, he asks, as if he knew she was silently giggling to herself.

“Oh, nothing.”, Y/N replies as they reach the bar. The y/h/ced woman quickly leans over and grabs two bottles before shoving them into his hands. Then she takes two more. “You’re still good at this, aren’t you?”, he asks, voice low. “Only when it comes to expensive things. Now, let’s hurry.”

landonorris has made a post

liked by y/nvettel, mclaren, f1 and 378,500 others

landonorris: first f1 summer party- many more to come 🥂🥂

view all comments…

user 1: 😍😍

user 2: hes so fine GOD

y/nvettel: cheers 🙂‍↕️🥂

user 3: my favorite 🤩

user 4: is it true that y/n and lewis left together

user 5: please you guys are starting to sound ridiculous they’ve been friends since forever

user 6: @/user 5 thank you!!! plus friends don’t date their friends younger siblings

user 7: @/user 6 yeah they do

mercedesamgf1: that garage sign looks familiar 👀

“I think we should head out.”, Lando lets out and yawns, pointing at the clock on the wall. 03:56 am. A soft sigh leaves Y/N's lips while she eyes how the men all get up from their spots on the floor.

“Wait, you’re all leaving?”, she asks, a hint of disappointment in her voice. “I don’t think Lewis is.”, Charles says and cracks his neck. Y/N turns her head to look at her best friend who merely shakes his head.

“Well, okay. Yeah, sleep tight you guys.”

A silence falls on the garage, as the sounds of the voices and footsteps gradually fade away. “I like your outfit, by the way.”, she suddenly declares, cringing as soon as those words leave her lips. She doesn’t understand why she’s becoming so nervous around Lewis- it’s only Lewis, right?

He chuckles:” Thanks. It’s the new collection.” Y/N's gaze falls to the glass in her hands.

“You look stunning.”, he whispers, and when their eyes meet again Y/N suddenly understands why she has been feeling so strange around him recently. “This is going to sound creepy.”, she clears her dry throat:” But I’ve read your latest Vogue interview, where you said-.”

“I like black dresses.”, he cuts her off, eyes once again roaming her body:” You’re trying to impress me?” He knows the answer already. “Well, what kind of impression are you trying to make?”

The younger woman chuckles softly:” A good one.”

“Ans you’re successful. You look unbelievable.”

There’s a line. And they both know it.

Y/N takes another sip of her drink while peeking out of the garage door and into the night sky. She shouldn’t be doing this, she really shouldn’t. Instead, she should be getting up and leaving. Walk away before she does something extremely stupid.

“Can I ask you something?”, Lewis tilts his head. “Of course, yeah. Always.”, Y/N tears her gaze off the stars and looks back at one of her brother’s oldest friends. She should leave.

“What’s your end goal here?”

”I think we both know what my end goal is.”

[callsign-rogueone]

conscription day - a.g.

Aaric Graycastle x reader words: 1.2k 🏷: at incredibly long last, here begins the story of Aaric and Sunny! no pronouns used in this chapter but future ones will use she/her. very minimal Iron Flame spoilers. their story will follow the whole book so more major stuff in future chapters. in this one: canon-typical peril, dragon fire, implied death of unnamed characters. proofread, but with a migraine. five points of extra credit if you can identify another girlfriend or two in here 👀

Crossing the parapet was easy enough, and that should be the hardest part of your day today, yet you still can’t kick the nervous feeling in your chest, even after you have both boots on solid ground and your name has been recorded as having made it across, after you've been organized into a squad...

It persists through the handful of boring patriotic speeches about the commitment you’ve made to your country, which go in one ear and out the other. You know why you’re here. You don’t need to be given any other reasons.

You look over at the boy next to you. He doesn’t look scared of anything; not the quartet of dragons perched on the stone wall fifty yards away, nor the rest of the cadets around him who are all armed to the teeth, but he’s not loud and proud about it like some of the other cadets you’d heard talking on the Parapet. He’s keeping quiet, and watching. 

It’s almost like he doesn’t want anyone to see him, trying to blend into the crowd as an average guy so as to not make any enemies or expose any weakness he might have — but he certainly doesn’t look like he has any weaknesses, tall and strong and well trained, wearing his weapons like he knows how to use them, silently watching the rest of the crowd in the courtyard.

Maybe you’re a little bit alike in that regard; not in your level of preparation — you’re definitely the least-armed person in the squad, and likely in the entire quadrant, with one knife at each hip and absolutely nothing else, as that was all you’d been able to afford before you left for Basgiath — but in the way you present yourselves to the rest of the world, focusing on figuring everyone else out and keeping quiet, not sharing much.

Your nerves are finally starting to settle. The four dragons continue to eye you, some scarier than others; a battle-hardened red, a bored green and an equally disinterested brown that actually yawns -- and looks to be missing a few teeth when it does, and a mean-looking blue at the end of the row. Just missing black and orange.

As if the thought had manifested into reality, a massive, one-eyed orange dragon swoops down to perch on the wall too, stone crumbling under its feet. The other dragons clearly weren’t expecting this — the red bares his teeth at the intruder, the others backing up to give him a healthy amount of space.

One of the wingleaders, the only girl of the four, shouts something you can’t distinguish, and then there’s a chorus of screams as the orange unhinges its massive jaw, spewing red flame upon the formation.

A girl across the courtyard springs into action, leaping in front of her wing with her palms outstretched, making some kind of invisible shield over herself and the group of students behind her that deflects the fire. Clearly there isn’t anyone in your area that has this ability — everyone hits the ground, or yanks each other aside and prays they’ll be far enough away to avoid being burnt.

The boy you’d been watching locks eyes with you, and then you’re on the ground underneath him in a matter of seconds, wrapped up in each other; chest to chest, his hands braced against the gravel on either side of your head, one leg between yours, your faces less than three inches apart.

The intimacy, the implications of this position you’re in with a total stranger, a man you’ve never met, and an armed one, at that, should make your skin crawl, should make you want to kick and scratch to get him off of you, but you stay in place, under the safety of his armored shoulders, because it’s clear that he doesn’t want to hurt you, or to assert his power over you — but to protect you.

You have a deep-down feeling that you can trust him, despite not knowing anything about him. He doesn’t know anything about you, either. You don’t think he even knows your name — you’re certainly too shaken to remember his, if you’d heard it -- but he hadn’t hesitated to put himself between you and danger, turned his back on a fire-breathing dragon to make sure you were safe.

You’re still transfixed by the color of his eyes, a gorgeous jade green with a ring of gold around his pupils, which are dilated with the same mix of shock and fear that yours must be -- maybe he’s not as fearless as you thought. No, brave is a better descriptor. Isn’t that what bravery is, being scared but doing it anyway? 

If every day at this school is like this, you could certainly learn a thing or two from him.

The screaming stops and the heat lessens, replaced with the sound of an earth-shaking roar and the smell of smoke and charred leather.

“Are you okay?” he asks, the first time you’ve heard him speak. His voice is soft and cool, soothing.

“Yeah,” you manage, blinking up at him. “I’m okay.”

He rises to his knees, then his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You take it appreciatively, regaining your footing, surprised by the steadiness of your steps.

He reaches forward to brush the dirt from your hair, tucking a loosened strand behind your ear.

Your heart has never beat this fast in your life. You’ve never been touched this gently, never seen such a deep look of concern in a man’s eyes, that gorgeous shade of green looking down at you…  You realize that he’s still holding your hand -- rather, you’re still holding his. You let go quickly, your cheeks warming with embarrassment. 

“I’m okay,” you repeat, as much of a reassurance for yourself as it is for him. “Thank you,” you add after a second, still a little stunned by the events of the last two minutes — especially by the way he’d acted, to come to your rescue without hesitation.

He would smile at you if he hadn’t just watched a dozen people be incinerated. “We’re supposed to look out for each other, aren’t we?”

You manage a nod, your eyes finally moving from his to assess the damage and regretting it immediately. All of Second Wing seems intact, having been protected by the girl who had put up the air shield. She looks a little unsteady on her feet, but otherwise unharmed — it must have taken a lot of energy to do something like that. First Wing was far enough away to be unscathed, but Third Wing, and the squad beside yours… if you had been placed anywhere else, there would have been a reasonable chance that you’d have been burnt alive.

You don’t have much time to dwell on it as the girl you remember to be the squad leader, Rhiannon, barks out an order to fall back into formation. 

You step back into place at the back of the block, between your hero and a blonde girl who looks like she regrets eating breakfast this morning. “Deep breaths,” you whisper to her. “In through your nose, out through your mouth, like you’re blowing bubbles.”

She blinks at you, but tries it anyway, and it seems to work, her posture loosening slowly. “Thanks,” she replies quietly, keeping her eyes forward. 

The boy is right — the three of you should look out for each other, if you want to make it out of here alive.

[lovelyhan]

— inflection point ⟢

pairing: jeonghan x reader x seungcheol

summary: after reconciling with your first love, all seems well in your relationship thus far. but when you notice jeonghan distancing himself from you and seungcheol, you're determined to get to the bottom of it.

word count: 7.6k words

tags: established relationship, angst, smut

warnings: graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

tags: @miko1ly - @misssugarlips - @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan - @amixoferrthang - @sysymei (sorry if i missed anyone!)

notes: give it up for part three! thank you so much for showing this series so much love! i hope you like how it all ends hehe :3c

additional notes: the smut is much filthier than usual, so i'm going to put the tags accordingly under the cut.

smut tags: morning sex, cockwarming, pet names (angel, baby, sweetheart, etc.), spitroasting, manhandling, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare

part one - part two - part three | masterlist

“Me and Hannie?”

From where he’s seated across from you in this hole-in-the-wall restaurant that you dragged him into, Seungcheol nods before sticking a french fry into his mouth. “You never really told me how it all started.”

You frown. “I did.”

“Yeah, but ‘it was just your everyday office romance’ doesn’t really give me a lot to work with here, princess.”

You’re about to tell him to quit being a smartass when someone—who definitely isn’t the waitress that was mooning over your boyfriend when she took your orders—comes up to your table with a shy smile. It’s a boy that’s probably fresh out of high school, stammering with his words as he hands Seungcheol a pen and napkin. He immediately gets the gist.

“I keep forgetting that you’re a literal celebrity now,” you chuckle, sipping on your milkshake with a teasing look as the kid happily walks away with his idol’s autograph. “Star football player, Choi Seungcheol, spotted in a local diner with some girl.”

“Hey, you’re not just some girl.” He pouts. “You’re the love of my life.”

Past that strong personality of his, you tend to forget that Seungcheol is really just a big baby inside a buff man’s body. “So is Jeonghan, silly.”

“Okay, one of the loves of my life, then,” he grumbles. “Anyway, don’t think I already let you off the hook. Are you going to tell me how exactly you and Han wound up together or am I going to have to invite Soonyoung and Jihoon to dinner just to procure the details?”

That earns him a scowl. “Do you seriously think my best friends are just going to betray me like that?” 

Seungcheol shrugs. “You’re the one who said that Soonyoung will never pass up on the opportunity to gossip, and how Jihoon keeps a cool head about stuff at first, only to play devil’s advocate the longer the conversation progresses.”

Damn it. You hate how this guy is so attuned to every single thing in your life—your best friends’ flaws and weaknesses included. 

“Fine, fine,” you sigh before munching on the last bite of your burger. “Do you remember that time a few months ago when you had this really bad argument with Jeonghan in the office?”

Seungcheol raises his eyebrow. “You saw that?”

“No, Joshua just shared some of the details over lunch the day after,” you explain. “If I actually bore witness to it firsthand and realized you’re the one who’s been giving my hotter-than-hell boss more problems than he already has, I would’ve castrated you on the spot.”

He smirks. “Right. You’ve been crushing on him for…how many years?”

You roll your eyes at his attempt at gloating. “Since the day I first laid my eyes on him. Now focus, Cheol. Do you remember that day?”

“Of course I remember.”

“Then, I’ll have you know that right after Joshua and I had lunch, Jeonghan asked me to come up to his office to talk about something important.” 

Seungcheol nods. “Okay.”

“I thought it was about the report I gave him earlier that day, but…” You find your voice trailing off at the memory of Jeonghan—calm, sophisticated Yoon Jeonghan—forgoing his usual façade of level-headedness for something more…vulnerable. 

“He asked me if loving each other was enough to sustain a relationship. If it’s still worth continuing even if it always seems like something’s still missing no matter how much either of the people involved compromised.” 

You stare at Seungcheol to gauge his reaction, but he’s simply sitting there, eating the rest of his food in contemplative silence with an unreadable look. 

Hesitantly, you continue, “I didn’t…know who it was that made him ask all those questions, but even if I did, my answer would’ve been the same.”

“That is?”

You’re a little startled by the sudden switch-up in his expressions. One moment he’s indecipherable, and now he’s leaning forward on the table, as if wholly expectant of your response. You let out a quiet laugh, mirroring his actions before pressing a soft kiss on his nose. This considerably surprises Seungcheol, but he doesn’t flinch away regardless.

“If something’s missing, why don’t the two of you try looking for it?” you murmur. “Literally the only piece of advice I gave him, and it’s vague as hell. That came back to bite me in the ass a few weeks later, though, because—”

“He suddenly asked you to be our girlfriend?” Seungcheol supplies, reaching for your hand on the table before kissing the top of your hand with a dimpled smile. “Kind of a good call if you ask me. Although, now that you made me realize it…”

“Han totally did that because he can’t put up with me anymore, can he?” 

You snort out loud at his wild assumption. This guy, seriously…

“Quit being an idiot, Cheol. You think Hannie is that one-dimensional? That he thinks of you as some sort of kid that he has trouble dealing with alone?” 

“You’ll be surprised at how many times I’ve had to sleep on the couch because of my…childish tendencies.”

You sigh. Can’t exactly argue with him on that.

“Why’d you ask in the first place anyway?” you wonder. “This never really came up before.”

Seungcheol moves to rest his back against his seat, opening his mouth as if to answer—only to be interrupted by the sound of both of your phones chiming with text notifications. You’re the first to fish yours out, unlocking it to see that Jeonghan sent a message to your little groupchat with Seungcheol.

Hannie [8:22 P.M.]: hi, sorry. i might not be able to make it :( 

Hannie [8:22 P.M.]: meeting’s running late, i'll just grab dinner with shua

Me [8:23 P.M.]: it’s alright. take care on the way back home <3 ily

Hannie [8:25 P.M.]: i love you, too, baby

Your gaze flickers over to Seungcheol when you realize he hasn’t responded to Jeonghan’s update despite the read receipts. The fact that he probably won’t solidifies itself when he eventually turns his phone, screen-down on the table before flashing you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You want a refill on that milkshake?”

...

About two weeks after that odd dinner date with Seungcheol, you’re waiting eagerly for Jeonghan to come home from work as you made a mess in their kitchen. 

While you normally went home together with your boss-turned-boyfriend, he’s once again forced to stay behind since the business deal he’s been stressing about for a better part of the year is finally at its final stages today. Just a few more adjustments to the contract he’s setting up, and he’s home free.

On the drive to the grocery store, he informed you and Seungcheol that the agreements have finally been formalized on paper, and that he can finally get the break he deserves. Both of you were both proud of and happy for him, of course. And to commemorate that, you decided to rope Seungcheol into cooking dinner for Jeonghan from scratch.

Before you came into the picture, he and Jeonghan mostly relied on food delivery apps, much to your horror. Seungcheol is a pretty decent cook, but the man is lazier than a sloth when it comes to making food at home. Jeonghan, on the other hand, cannot be left alone in the kitchen without there being any sort of fire hazard.

You genuinely wonder how they survived all this time.

“And done,” you sigh, taking off your oven mitts once you’ve taken the lasagna out of the oven. “How’s the chicken going, Cheol? Haven’t burned it, have you?”

“I can do a decent job if I want to, you know,” he grumbles as he clicks his tongs together as if to prove a point. “See? It’s golden brown, just how Han likes it.”

You giggle before prancing behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist before pressing your cheek into his back. “That’s why I’m sure he is going to be really happy once he gets home.”

Once Seungcheol is done frying enough chicken strips as a side dish for the pasta recipe you looked up on a whim, you set the table in anticipation of Jeonghan’s arrival. Fancy tableware, a bottle of champagne, and—

By some stroke of luck, the man of the hour arrives while you’re in the middle of all the preparations—making you squeak with surprise before practically tackling him at the entrance.

“Congratulations, Hannie,” you coo, trapping him in a tight embrace before he can even set down his suitcase. “Joshua already spilled the details in the team groupchat. Don’t even try to act all humble.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” he laughs, patting your head affectionately. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Welcome back.”

The two of you snap your heads in the direction of Seungcheol’s voice, where he emerges from the kitchen with two glasses of champagne in his hands. A wide smile roots itself onto your face when he hands the two of you one each. 

“Thank you, Cheol,” Jeonghan sighs with a small smile before taking a small sip. 

“Come on,” you say, tugging his arm with your free hand. “We prepared a really nice surprise for you!”

But to your confusion, Jeonghan resists your grip where he would normally relent, feet rooted in place as he flashes you an apologetic smile. You flash him a puzzled look.

“Sorry, love, I’m a bit…tired today,” he reasons. “You and Cheol made dinner, didn’t you? Thank you for going out of your way, but I should really head to bed before this migraine kills me.”

“But, won’t you feel better if you get some food in you?” You pout, glancing at Seungcheol for back-up. 

“I already ate on the way here, don’t worry,” Jeonghan reassures, leaning to kiss your forehead before handing the champagne glass back to Seungcheol. “That one’s aged pretty well. But I liked the bottle Mingyu gave us for our anniversary last year better.”

With that, Jeonghan has led himself to the bedroom, leaving you and Seungcheol standing there in blatant disbelief.

You turn to your remaining company in a snap. “Is everything alright with him?”

Seungcheol downs the rest of the champagne in one swig before letting out a deep sigh. “My guess is as good as yours.”

You and Seungcheol ruminate in the silence as the gears in your brain start to turn. Did any of you do something that he didn’t like? What could possibly catalyze Jeonghan’s sudden evasiveness?

“...Do you think he knows? About us?” 

“God, no.” Seungcheol shakes his head. “I thought it was our silent agreement to not let him know? And that was back when we quote-unquote hated each other.”

You chew the inside of your cheek from sheer nervousness, eyeing the feast for three that’s laid out on the dining table. 

“What if he already found out? What if he’s giving us the cold shoulder because we didn’t tell him up front?” you ask, hands going clammy with nervousness. 

“No. Stop it. You know Jeonghan isn’t like that,” Seungcheol says with a kind of dismissiveness that discourages you  from pressing the matter further. He even makes a beeline for your awaiting dinner just to get you to drop the topic altogether.

“Let’s eat. Don’t want the food we worked so hard for going cold, now do we?”

You cast one last glance at the hall in which Jeonghan disappeared into before letting out a withering sigh. 

Guess you’ll just leave him some leftover portions in the fridge.

…

When the weekend comes, so does your monthly get-together with Soonyoung and Jihoon, and like your last visit, all you’re bringing to the table is your stupid boyfriend problems. You’re honestly starting to feel bad for subjecting them to such a tiresome routine, but you know they’re more than happy to help.

“What do you mean you haven’t told Jeonghan?” Soonyoung exclaims with his hands on your shoulders, as if he’s doing everything in his power just to keep himself from throttling you. “I thought we were going to celebrate because you’ve made up with Cheol! Why are we suddenly hearing about a brand new problem?!”

“Uh…sorry?”

Jihoon sighs, flipping through a fashion magazine that’s normally just gathering dust under their coffee table. “Pray tell, why did you guys think it was a good idea to keep the fact that you’re exes from the person who brought you together again?”

You sigh, sinking into the cushions of their sofa the moment Soonyoung lets go of you. “Because we didn’t want to break Hannie’s heart with the news that we actually hate each other?”

“So you chose to break his heart later by keeping up such a stupid charade?” Soonyoung scoffs. “You’re better than this! I know you are! What happened?”

“Seungcheol happened,” Jihoon replies with a shake of his head. “You know how love makes people do crazy things? Yeah.”

“Hey, for the record, I did that for Jeonghan—”

“What? Lie to him?”

“Soonie!”

Your older best friend presses his lips together into a thin line, and you nearly sink to your knees just to beg for his forgiveness. But you know he’s just acting like this because he’s disappointed in you.  Honestly, you are, too.

“Okay, there’s nothing we can really do about it now,” Jihoon sighs. “But you’re bringing this up because you think Jeonghan knows, right? Even if you and Seungcheol haven’t breathed a word about it?”

Soonyoung makes a noise in complaint. “But how can Jeonghan not know? Doesn’t everyone share their dating history to their current partner? Are you sure Seungcheol hasn’t said anything? And…isn’t Jeonghan like an evil person that’s always one step ahead of his opponents?”

Both you and Jihoon look at him like he’s just grown a second head.

“What? That’s how she described him when she lost the mafia game during a Christmas party back then.”

“At this point, I don’t really think it matters if he knows or not,” Jihoon interjects before turning to you with a stern look. “You’ve been with him and Seungcheol for almost three months now. Don’t you think it’s about time both of you came clean about the past anyway?” 

Soonyoung nods. “Yeah! What he said!” 

You puff out your cheeks, once again humbled by your friends’ observations. It’s funny how you claim to be a grown woman who’s learned from her past mistakes, but the fact that you keep making even more kind of revokes that. 

Still, you guess it isn’t too late to tell the truth.

“Hey! Where are you going?” you hear Soonyoung call out from the living room as you bolt to the entrance of their apartment—hastily putting your shoes back on.

“To get the love of my life to forgive me,” you say, before contemplatively adding, “one of the loves of my life.” 

Then, you’re off, telling yourself to just treat them to dinner once you’ve got your boyfriend problems sorted out.

…

You find it a bit silly, how you nearly forgot how to commute to your boyfriends’ house, given the amount of times the Seungcheol has driven you on the way instead. But you make do anyway, since neither of them are expecting the visit—having told them you’d be spending the weekend at Soonyoung and Jihoon’s. 

There’s no answer when you ring the doorbell, but Seungcheol’s car is parked in the garage right next to Jeonghan’s, so you’re certain that they’re home. You bounce on the balls of your feet for a few moments before ringing it again, anticipation buzzing through your veins.

But when no one comes to open the door for you after five minutes, you decide to rummage through your bag for the spare key they gave you back then—hastily twisting it in the keyhole before letting yourself in.

The lights in the living room are off, and it’s the same case for the dining room. You glance around at the shoe rack near the entrance to confirm whether or not Seungcheol went out for a run. However, when your ears catch the sound of muted conversation at the end of the hall, you suspect that they’re inside the bedroom.

With each step closer, you get a better idea of what they must be talking about. From the earnest tone in Seungcheol’s voice, you figure that it must be serious. 

Could he have beaten you to telling Jeonghan the truth? God, couldn’t he have at least invited you over if he did? You have to take responsibility, too!

But as you raise your fist to knock on the door, you immediately still at the sound of someone sniffling.

You don’t even bother announcing your presence anymore, swinging the door open with eyes alert. On the mattress, you see Seungcheol and Jeonghan sitting at the edge—the latter with his face buried in the former’s chest. Seungcheol was in the middle of placating him by smoothing a hand across his back, but he immediately snaps his gaze to the door as you barge in. 

“Hannie?” you whisper. 

Jeonghan immediately springs away from Seungcheol’s grasp—eyes blotchy with tears. His lips part with surprise when he recognizes you and makes quick work of his face by hiding it from view.

“Sweetheart, what’re you doing here?” he asks, trying (in vain) to mask the nasal tone of his voice. “Did Soonyoung kick you out or something?”

You don’t answer him right away, instead rushing to his side to give him a hug of your own. Jeonghan stiffens beneath your touch—not having expected you to give it with little context behind your actions. But you’re actually doing it to catch Seungcheol’s gaze to mouth, what the hell is going on?

Jeonghan is crying. Jeonghan never cries.

Ever since the night Jeonghan rejected your little dinner surprise, it’s like both you and Seungcheol were walking on eggshells around him. Something was obviously wrong, but Jeonghan would either brush it off or find some excuse to not talk about it. 

Seungcheol got the brunt of it, living under the same roof and all. It gave rise to many sleepless nights and a few blunders here and there whenever he’s training. You even offered for him to crash at your apartment if he wants to, but he outright refused—saying that the last thing he wants to do is leave Jeonghan alone when he’s like…this.

It got so bad that you even asked Joshua if he knew anything, but Jeonghan’s secretary merely told you that he hasn’t been acting all that different at work. 

Now, though…

Seungcheol looks considerably less agitated compared to how he was over the last two weeks. There’s a gentle look in his eyes that tells you, it’s alright, it’s going to be okay.

“He knows,” Seungcheol starts with a sheepish smile. “He’s known all this time.”

It takes you a while to digest the newfound information, letting go of Jeonghan in favor of looking into his tear-stricken eyes. Your lover manages a tight-lipped smile, an apology written in his eyes before he can even say a word.

“But…how?” 

Jeonghan swallows thickly, forcing himself to breathe. “Before you get any ideas, I was completely in the dark when I introduced the both of you. I just had this…feeling. That the two of you would get along swimmingly.”

You breathe in deeply through your nose, exhaling through parted lips. Before Jeonghan can continue, you take your seat right beside him.

“So…when did you figure it out?”

“Neither of you were being discreet about the fake affection, so I figured that you must have known each other from somewhere,” he says, the ghost of a smile hovering over his lips. “It just so happens that I remembered a story you told me back then—about the ex who straight up left after taking your first time—”

Seungcheol winces in the corner of your eye. You don’t even remember telling Jeonghan about your ‘legendary shitty ex’ as Jihoon permanently branded Seungcheol. But you’re notorious for making a reputation for yourself in those annual company Christmas parties once the alcohol sets in, so…

“—and how the details coincide a bit too well with how Seungcheol described his first relationship ended.” Jeonghan pauses, fidgeting with his fingers on his lap. “I only had a hunch back then, so I made Joshua look into your records, and…that’s when I found out you graduated from the same high school as Cheol.”

Isn’t Jeonghan like an evil person that’s always one step ahead of his opponents? Soonyoung’s voice echoes in your mind.

‘One step ahead of his opponents’, sure, but ‘an evil person’...? 

From the years you’ve spent working (and pining for) your boss, you know that Jeonghan has an incurable habit of being a tease. And sure, you’ve described him as such whenever he’s out to drive you insane on purpose, but… 

Right now, you know Jeonghan’s intentions are anything but malicious.

“Why didn’t you call us out on our bullshit then?” you mumble, more because you’re still afraid to take responsibility for your own silence than anything else. So much for making things right. “If you knew all along then why’d we all have to play house like nothing’s wrong?”

“Because I wanted the both of you to sort out your issues between yourselves first,” Jeonghan says, and the smile on his face turns sad. “And you did. I’m so proud that you did. Both of you won’t even be able to understand how happy I was to see you two curled up together in bed when I got home from Busan.”

The confused look on your face doesn’t let up. “But you still didn’t…” 

For a moment, Jeonghan looks as if he’s about to burst into tears again, but Seungcheol places a hand on his waist. A silent reassurance. 

“I didn’t want to rush you,” he says, despite the fact that this is something you and Seungcheol should’ve told him right from the start. “I wanted to give the two of you the time and space to get used to being together again. Really being together. But…”

On a whim, you take Jeonghan’s delicate hands in yours. You’re not even sure if it makes things any easier for him, but when you see how his tense shoulders relax at your touch, you figure this is alright.

“Seeing the chemistry you both had despite all the years that passed, all the time you missed… I think I got a little over my head every time I saw it.” Jeonghan laughs mirthlessly. “You told me back then that Seungcheol and I might just be missing something, which was why things were so rocky between us. I thought that something was you, but then I gave it a little more thought and…

“Maybe both of you were simply missing each other, and that I shouldn’t have been part of the picture to begin with.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, your grip tightens around his hands, staring at him with slack-jawed silence. “Jeonghan, are you out of your goddamn mind?”

He shakes his head, wiping the rest of the tears from his eyes. “Seungcheol asked the same thing before you arrived. I might just be, if you’re both reacting that way.”

“Is that the reason you were so distant these past few weeks?” you ask, voice betraying the thick coil of emotion clinging to your throat. “Don’t tell me you were planning to break up with us because of it—”

“No,” Jeonghan says sharply, eyes widening when he sees you on the verge of tears as well. “God, no. This is just me falling prey to my own insecurities, sweetheart. I would— I would never leave both of you because of something that can be solved by holding a proper conversation.”

Okay. You forgot for a moment that Jeonghan isn’t an emotionally volatile high schooler that would abandon you at a drop of a hat at the slightest inconvenience. Neither is Seungcheol, and that’s why you’re all sitting down to talk about all of this now.

Just like you should have a long time ago.

“Han, look at me,” Seungcheol pleads, and Jeonghan is quick to relent—puffy eyes meeting his earnest gaze. “Don’t you ever think that we’re better off without you. After all, the reason that brought us back together in the first place isn’t just you, but the fact that we both love you. So fucking much.”

You couldn’t have said it better yourself, actually.

Seungcheol is your first love, that much is true, and even if the two of you encountered several difficulties when it came to making amends, you both conquered the ghosts of the past side by side. But that doesn’t make you love Jeonghan any less.

You’ve been pining for the man for God knows how long, and now that he’s become such an integral part of your life—having learned how to love him past the superficial infatuation—you can’t even imagine living without him.

It’s never just you and Seungcheol. Or you and Jeonghan. Or Jeonghan and Seungcheol, for the matter. 

The best of things come in threes—as unconventional as it is, that’s how your life has always been.

A few moments later, you manage a warm smile, lifting Jeonghan’s hands to your lips so you could plant kisses on his knuckles. “Mhmm. You think someone as hard-headed as Seungcheol would stick around someone he isn’t crazy about?”

Jeonghan breathes through a chuckle. “You both might kill me for this, but didn’t Cheol do the exact opposite back when you two were still—”

“Han.”

“Hannie.”

More than offensive remarks aside, the fact that Jeonghan is cracking that no-good smile of his again tells you that the storm has more or less passed. 

And you couldn’t ask for anything more.

“We’re still sorry for keeping our past a secret,” you say once three of you are lounging back on the cloud couch again—buried beneath Jeonghan’s favorite blanket as you all watch a kid’s movie that he insisted on watching. “Right, Cheol?”

“More than sorry,” he sighs before pressing his lips on the crown of Jeonghan’s head. “We’ll do anything to make up for it.”

“Hm? Anything?”

Part of you knows that giving Jeonghan that kind of power is a very dangerous thing. God knows what kind of schemes are stewing in this man’s head. But for once, you let him have a free pass for all the mischief he can come up with.

“Then…” he starts before turning to you, eyes alight with adoration. 

“I want you to move in with us. For real.”

The words sink in a few moments too late, and you can only dole out a dazed, “What?” before Seungcheol crushes both you and Jeonghan into a life-threatening hug.

“Please say yes,” he whispers, burying his face between yours and Jeonghan’s shoulders. “Please.”

You can feel the rumble of Jeonghan’s laughter reverberating right next to you, and you can only sigh in defeat.

How could you ever say no to them?

…

There are lots of advantages to living with your two boyfriends after several back-and-forths between their house and your apartment for the past three months.

First is that you’re never alone. At work, it’s a given that you’ll be more or less in Jeonghan’s company, but when you spend weekends at your apartment, it gets a little lonely, especially when your boyfriends and best friends are busy during its entirety. 

Now Seungcheol and Jeonghan always make sure you have company whenever one of them has prior commitments to attend to. No matter how much you say that you really don’t mind the solitude, they were having none of it. 

Second, it’s a lot easier to get things done around the house. You’ve gotten so used to doing all your chores by yourself, that you’re still surprised to walk back into the kitchen—intent on cleaning up after the pots and pans you used to whip up dinner—only to see them squeaky clean and already drying with the dishes. 

It’s the same thing with laundry, which is a chore that Seungcheol has a weird affinity for getting done whenever he has the time. Jeonghan has also adopted a habit of watering your plants before you can even remember to do so—making the idea of living with them all the more endearing, with how considerate they are of your lifestyle.

But you’re pretty sure that the best advantage is…

“Angel, you have to be quiet if you don’t want Cheol to wake up.”

Easier said than done, really. You don’t usually start your mornings with Jeonghan’s cock stuffed in your aching pussy while Seungcheol snored softly just a few inches away—squirming in your lover’s grasp as he gloats about how needy you’re being. But ever since you’ve moved into your boyfriends’ house, each day comes with a different surprise. 

“Hannie,” you whimper, shifting your thighs on his lap just a little to grant yourself a sliver of friction. “We’re going to be late.”

Jeonghan chuckles none-too-mischievously in your ear, lips latching onto the sweet spot just below the cut of your jaw. You instantly mewl in response—walls clenching around his girth. 

“Then I’ll just have to bribe Shua into overlooking today’s time cards,” he whispers, making a show of teasing you by shallowly thrusting his hips against yours. “Besides, don’t you prefer warming my cock on a cold morning, love? Much better than our usual nine-to-five monotone, don’t you think?”

“I’d prefer,” you start with a hiss, “if you just fucked me properly somewhere else instead of sneaking around our sleeping boyfriend!”

Jeonghan hums, trailing those sinful lips down your neck. “Or I can fuck you here and wait for Cheol to wake up and see the show we’re putting on.”

The picture he’s putting inside your head has a rush of heat searing through your core—Seungcheol still blinking out the haze of sleep from his eyes while Jeonghan pounds you into the mattress, calling you all those filthy names that have your toes curling. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve begged for him to get on with it right away. 

But it just so happens that Seungcheol is a sore loser that hates missing out on the fun stuff you do with Jeonghan in bed. If you woke him up and incurred his wrath now, you might not be able to walk out of this bedroom, much less go to work.

Jeonghan knows that goddamn well. 

“Aww, our baby’s whining,” he coos, a hand sneaking under your sleep shirt as he squeezes one of your breasts. “Can’t make up your mind? You want to get wrecked on my cock first thing in the morning, but you also don’t want Cheol to hard dom you right before work? What a dilemma! I wonder how I can help you.”

“Yoon Jeonghan, you’re a fucking menace.”

Jeonghan giggles before turning your head so he can kiss your frowning lips. “What a coincidence, love. You’re fucking this menace right now.”

With your sanity on the verge of snapping, you force yourself to turn around to face him—trying your best to ignore how his cock slides along with your movements. Jeonghan’s eyes widen just a tad before you’re lacing your fingers around his nape, bringing him in for a kiss.

“Hannie, don’t you feel sorry for me?” you mouth the words against his lips, rolling your hips to finally get the friction you’ve been craving since you woke up to Jeonghan grinding his morning wood into your ass. “I’ve been so good for you, and you still don’t want to give me what I want?”

Jeonghan groans, lithe fingers immediately migrating to your hips as he guides your movements—that teasing front of his starting to crumble. After all, he’s still just a man, and you have something that Seungcheol likes to call a magic pussy. 

“Don’t you want to stuff me full of cum?” you whisper in his ear, purposely clenching down on his cock until you feel him throb inside you. “Fuck me so full, I’ll be dripping in the office?”

“Baby, you know the breeding kink is more of Cheol’s thing,” he laughs hoarsely before swinging his legs over to the side of the bed. 

“But I kind of get why he likes it so much now.”

You let out a little noise of surprise when Jeonghan gets up—dick very much still inside you—as he supports your weight with his hands on your ass. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his narrow waist, and Jeonghan presses a kiss on the tip of your nose, smiling.

He crosses the threshold of the room with you in his arms, setting you down on the vanity table that Seungcheol purchased for you a few days before you moved in with them. The thought of Jeonghan taking you here, of all places, makes your head spin. 

“Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt,” he moans before pulling his hips back—only to snap forwards with a force that has you clinging onto him like a lifeline. “You wouldn’t be able to fit me and Cheol at the same time, would you?”

Jeonghan’s arms wrap themselves securely around your waist, eyes trained on the blissed out look on your face. He chuckles as your head lolls to the side, dazed with the feeling of his cock making a mess of you with every thrust. 

In your depraved trance, you see Seungcheol fast asleep on his side of the bed—completely oblivious to what his two lovers are up to—and the fact of the matter only serves to arouse you further. 

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

When Jeonghan completely stills inside you, it takes every bit of dignity you have left just to keep yourself from whining. Not that you weren’t already doing that, but you don’t want to give Jeonghan more of an ego boost than you already have. 

“I can,” you whimper. “I can fit both of you inside me. Please Hannie, just—”

Jeonghan doesn’t have to be told twice. Intent on rewarding such obedient behavior, he gathers your hair with his free hand before yanking on it, hard. The pain that prickles your scalp only serves to heighten the pleasure he’s giving you, and when you feel his teeth scrape the skin of your neck, you just know it’ll take you a while to get your makeup in place. 

“Good, good girl,” Jeonghan praises once he’s satisfied with the marks he’s left on your skin—hickeys blooming like flowers in the spring. “Are you close, sweet thing? You need help getting there?”

You nod a little too fast, tears catching in the corners of your eyes once you start to feel your orgasm sizzling underneath your skin. Fortunately for you, Jeonghan is done with all the teasing—the hand that was just in your hair migrating between your slotted bodies until he finds your clit. You muffle the lewd noises spilling from your lips by biting down on his shoulder, causing Jeonghan to groan in the sexiest way possible.

“Squeezing me so goddamn well,” he sighs, raking his fingers through his long hair before forcing you to look back at your reflection in the mirror. Your thighs are spread wide for him, eyes red with tears as the vanity jostles with every thrust. “Go on, sweetheart, let yourself go for me. Need to feel you cum on my cock.”

“Can’t believe you’re starting without me. Again.”

Jeonghan’s movements falter for a millisecond at the sound of Seungcheol’s sexy but sulky morning voice, but he simply breathes out an airy laugh before continuing to wreck you. With his back turned to Seungcheol, who’s already taking his own cock out of his boxers, Jeonghan can’t see the predatory gleam in those sleepy eyes.

“Han, don’t you two have work today?” Seungcheol asks as he wraps his arms around Jeonghan’s waist—grinding his half-hard length into his ass. “Why does it look like you’re fucking her until she can’t walk?”

“That’s the plan, babe,” Jeonghan laughs. 

“Mean. How would you feel if you got a taste of your own medicine, and I did the same to you?”

You let out a sharp cry when Jeonghan manages to graze your g-spot with the head of his cock, fingers tightening around the edge of the vanity as your two lovers flirted right in front of you. Jeonghan chuckles at your adorable reaction before tilting his head to give Seungcheol a little kiss.

“You already had my ass last night, Cheol. I think you’re in the mood for a different kind of hole this morning.” 

The buildup of your orgasm rapidly fades when you feel Jeonghan’s cock slip out of you. You’re on the verge of tears when you whisper a quick, “No, no, no…” But Seungcheol is quick to pacify you when he gathers you into his strong arms—tossing you back onto the bed. He maneuvers you so your face is pressed against the cool sheets and your ass is in the air.

Having switched positions too quickly, you’re disoriented for a couple of seconds before you realize that Jeonghan is right in front of you again—a tight fist wrapped around his cock as if he’s waiting for something.

But even if your brain is yet to comprehend what it is that he wants, your body responds accordingly, struggling a little as you propped yourself on your elbows before taking his dick into the heat of your mouth. 

“Our baby is so cock-drunk, isn’t she?” Seungcheol chuckles from behind you, where you can feel him smooth down those rough hands of his against the swell of your ass—grinding his cock into the mess Jeonghan made between your legs. “Can’t get off on just one anymore. Has to take both of us to feel satisfied.”

“This one said she can take us both in that tight pussy of hers, Cheol,” Jeonghan laughs along with him, gathering your hair in his hands to keep the strands from falling into your face. “You think we should take her up on that?”

“Mmm… We can. When you’re not running late for work, that is.”

Fuck work, honestly. If Jeonghan had the choice to become a baser creature who lived off sex alone or an established figure in a multimillion dollar company, he would’ve chosen the former in every single lifetime. 

The moan that Seungcheol rips out of your throat once he bottoms out inside you is immaculate. Each thrust sends you forward—nearly pressing your nose into Jeonghan’s pubic bone with each bob of your head. Seungcheol has half the mind to stop for a moment to check if you’re alright, but the fact that his aggression just spurred you on to swallow even more of Jeonghan’s cock tells him that he’s in the clear.

Jeonghan hisses when he feels you massaging his cock with the muscles of your throat, holding back that gag reflex like a fucking champ. It’s a miracle how you eased yourself into deepthroating him while Seungcheol destroys your cunt, but he’s not about to complain. 

Being stuffed with your lovers’ cocks on both ends, your mind is simply on autopilot—just sitting there and taking everything they’re willing to give you like a good little girl. 

Seungcheol growls upon recognizing how willing and pliant you are, fingers digging into your hips until the skin glows red from his grip. 

“C-Cheol—” You gasp, breaking away from Jeonghan’s dick for a breather. “So close. Please.”

“Who said you could stop sucking off Han, baby?” he whispers dangerously. “You’re not allowed to cum until you’ve swallowed everything Jeonghan gives you. Understood?”

You don’t even have to give him a verbal response—immediately getting back to work Jeonghan into his much-awaited release. The desperation is clear in his movements, hands holding your head in place as he fucks your mouth with reckless abandon. Seungcheol smirks as he presses down on your lower back, forcing your spine into an arch that he’s damn sure would make him hit angles he normally wouldn’t be able to. 

And he’s right. Your moans are muffled by Jeonghan’s cock, but from the way your body thrashes beneath him, Seungcheol has definitely found that sweet spot inside you.

“Will you let me cum down your throat, sweetheart?” Jeonghan asks hoarsely, yet everyone in the room knows the question is rhetorical. “Don’t waste a single drop, okay?”

Then your mouth is filled with the warm liquid spurting from your lover’s cock, still thrusting into the cavern of your mouth as he rides out his orgasm. Seungcheol fucking adores seeing the glazed look in your eyes as you take every drop Jeonghan dumps into your throat, spurring him on to chase his own orgasm so he can do the same with your greedy little pussy.

It’s a good thing he knows exactly how to make you fall apart.

Once you’ve swallowed Jeonghan’s load, Seungcheol doesn’t even give you a second to breathe—reaching out to rub two fingers around your overstimulated clit. You cry out in sheer pleasure, the sound shooting straight to his cock, and that’s when he knows he’ll burst any second now.

“Cum on my cock, princess,” Seungcheol leans over your back to growl into your ear. “Let me feel you milk me fucking dry.”

Your orgasm crests before you can even feel it build up to the pinnacle, blindsiding you with pleasure so severe, you barely feel it when Seungcheol stills inside you—his emission rushing in to cream your pussy until drips out of your hole from how much he came. 

It fills you with a sense of extreme bliss that has you collapsing back onto the mattress the moment Seungcheol surrenders the iron grip on your waist.

“Shit. I think we broke her.”

You don’t know how much time has passed when you finally come to your senses again, but you’re bundled up beneath the comforter—dressed in fresh clothes, and feeling just a little sore. Your brain is still having a bit of trouble going back online, but your first instinct is to glance at the digital clock on Jeonghan’s side of the bed, and—

“Fuck,” you mutter, throwing the covers off you when the screen reads 11:45 A.M. “Fucking late on a Monday morning…”

While scrambling out of bed to get ready is what you planned to do, your body obviously isn’t able to keep up with the first thing on your agenda—legs immediately giving out underneath you before you land on the floor with a solid thud. You wince in pain before remembering the events that transpired just a few hours earlier, and why you’re probably going to have to call in sick for the day.

“Whoa, sweetheart. Don’t get out of bed just yet.”

Your ears perk up at the sound of Jeonghan’s voice from where he’s seated in front of his laptop on the desk in the far end of the room. He has his work glasses on, but doesn’t look like he’s dressed for work itself, if the baggy shirt and sweats combo doesn’t already speak for itself.

“What are we still doing here?” you groan weakly when he rushes to your side and helps you back onto the mattress. “We have work—”

“Work that we can do in the comfort of our home,” Jeonghan laughs, kissing your forehead as he tucks you back in. “I told Joshuji to overlook this in exchange for a dinner treat tomorrow, don’t worry.”

You scowl at him, slapping his arm. “I can’t believe you bribed Joshua just so we can stay in after you both fucked me into unconsciousness!”

“Don’t say that you didn’t enjoy every second of it, babe.”

Of course Seungcheol chooses this exact time to barge into the room with a tray full of post-sex necessities in his arms. Some pain killers, your stainless water bottle, some leftovers from the fridge, and your favorite tea—

“No. I’m not letting either of you off the hook!” you huff, crossing your arms even as Seungcheol seats himself next to you to place the tray on top of the mattress. “No more intense sex before work!”

Jeonghan shakes his head. “I don’t know why you love your job so much, sweet thing. If I could work from home everyday, I seriously would.”

“Wish I could say the same for me, too,” Seungcheol sighs, and that’s when you notice that he’s already dressed in his training clothes. “By the way, they already released the game schedules for this year’s FIFA World Cup. I’ll send it to you guys later so you can book flights and accommodations in advance.”

“Hmm, does fucking in a hotel room in Qatar before Cheol plays a match count as ‘intense sex before work’?” Jeonghan asks teasingly, and you kick him in the stomach.

“We will not do that because Jihoon and Soonyoung wanted to watch Cheol’s international games with us!” you scold before reaching out for the cup of tea that (you loath to admit) Seungcheol brewed perfectly. “No sex within hearing range of my two best friends. I traumatized them with my problems enough already.” 

Seungcheol hums contemplatively. “Hmm… They won’t be able to hear if we book a separate room for them—”

“Choi Seungcheol!”

The loving banter between yourself and your two lovers comes so easily these days, it’s hard to imagine that your relationship once had rocky foundations. But the time you spent cultivating the love that naturally blossomed between the three of you is worth all the adversaries you had to go through just to get to where you are now.

And for now, you’re more than content with that.

end notes: here we are at the end of it! i cannot thank you all enough for reading through my jeongcheol brain damage (bc brain rot just doesn't cut it anymore LOL). i hope you enjoyed consuming it as much as i enjoyed writing it! lemme know ur thoughts in the tags/reblogs bc i am Thirsty for validation HEHE

poly jeongcheol missing hours? you can read up more on them in the series masterlist!

[writingreadinglurkingandsmirking]

You Should Find Another Guiding Light - Rafe Cameron x Reader

Dear Reader Duology: Part 1, Part 2

Summary: With you drunk at Kelce’s party, Rafe has to drive you, his ex, home. Neither of you are over each other and both of you know it, for better or for worse. That doesn’t make things easy. Not at all. Word Count: 3.7k+ TWs/CWs: She/her pronouns used, adult/profane language, descriptions of a party, descriptions of drunkenness, a guy being a weirdo, Rafe being a little bit crazy, angst with the potential for a happy ending, I guess. Note: The title is in fact a Taylor Swift lyric lol. I don’t know, I just wanted to dip my toes in the OBX writing arena and I just had this idea pop into my head and not leave me alone so here it is. I think I might end up doing a part 2 for this just because I don’t want this to be Sad, but we shall see.

Rafe heard the chant of, “Go, go, go, go,” from the other side of the house.

The chant didn’t interest him even remotely. Pretty much nothing about the party did, actually. And if it weren’t at Kelce’s house while his parents were out of town, he wouldn’t have even bothered to come. The high he’d been riding had faded nearly an hour ago, and the drink in his hand was not nearly strong enough. He wasn’t even buzzed anymore, this was boring. All these fucking parties were boring now. Had been since…well, long enough now.

“Rafe,” he heard to his left, while about to bring the cup to his lips. He cut his eyes to the side. It was Topper, a grim look on his face, lips turned firmly downward. Rafe raised an eyebrow, lowering the cup. “Get the fuck out here, I need your help.”

“What?” he asked, huffing as he put down his cup on the nearest surface. Before Topper could answer, though, Rafe noted the ongoing chants from outside. A chant that was exclusively a mixture of his ex’s name—your name, the reason that nothing was enjoyable anymore—and cheers. “Oh fucking hell no.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Topper said dryly. “Me and Kelce just had to stop her from doing a keg stand in a skirt.”

“I swear to God,” Rafe growled. 

Rafe shouldered past him quickly making his way outside. You were dancing. He didn’t inherently have a problem with that. He loved watching you dance, in fact. Especially when you were drunk. But, that wasn’t even half the issue. He was torn between a mixture of fury and concern when he saw you, standing on top of the outdoor bar with some random guy holding your legs and trying to look up your skirt. The skirt that Rafe knew personally you almost never wore anything under. He couldn’t even imagine how drunk you were right now to not be flicking that guy’s hands off of you.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Topper advised.

“Shut the fuck up, Top,” Rafe retorted harshly.

He strode forward, landing his hand aggressively on the guy’s shoulder and squeezing it until the man winced and tried to pull away. Then, Rafe only squeezed tighter. The guy shouted in protest to the rough grip, but Rafe didn’t care. The tool still had the nerve to have his fucking hand on your leg. You hadn’t even noticed that Rafe was standing there yet, which was another mark to just how out of it Rafe knew you had to be.

“What the fuck, Cameron?” the guy demanded.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Rafe spat. “And what the fuck do you think that you’re doing?”

The guy, obviously far too stupid for his own good, smirked at Rafe. Actually fucking smirked. Rafe felt his blood pressure rising. Rafe saw, somewhere in his periphery that Topper and Kelce were both coming his way. He didn’t particularly care. He could easily handle this loser himself.

“You two aren’t even together anymore,” the guy said smugly. “So, last I checked she’s a free agent, isn’t she?”

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” Kelce muttered behind him.

Rafe paid no mind to it, hand moving from the guy’s shoulder to his throat. Rafe smiled at the shock in the guy’s eyes, an angry glint in his eyes. He ignored the other’s weak attempts at dislodging him and instead took a step closer, glaring down at the little fucker.

“Take your hand off her or you won’t have a hand,” he said flatly. Idiot that he was, literally being choked and surrounded by Rafe’s friends, the guy still didn’t move his hand. Rafe let out a harsh laugh, tilting his head to the side slightly, looking more pissed by the second. “We can jump from you losing the hand to me killing you. Your fucking choice.” Starting to go purple in his face, Rafe laughed at the guy again, not loosening his hold. He reached over with his other hand, peeling his grip off of your leg, squeezing hard enough that Rafe was shocked the bones weren’t cracking. “Wasn’t so fucking hard to listen, was it?”

“Rafe,” Topper said sharply.

Rafe glanced back at him and then rolled his eyes. He let go of the guy and threw him away, hard, towards the ground. A good friend as always, Kelce caught the guy, then he and Topper started walking the jackass out to make sure he actually left the party. Yeah, Rafe was going to have to make sure that he never saw that guy again. Or, if he did, that it wasn’t in public like this. Rafe turned his attention back to you and was startled to see you looking down at him already.

“Rafe?” you asked, cocking your head to the side, looking, quite frankly, like a confused puppy.

Clenching his jaw, Rafe reached up, patting the bare skin of your leg, forcing himself to keep it brief and not let his hands linger on the bare skin. “Come on, Princess,” he said firmly.

Your brow furrowed. “Fuck you! I’m having fun,” you slurred.

At that, Rafe let himself roll his eyes. “Yeah. I’m not letting you dance on the bar and do a fucking striptease. You’ll hate yourself tomorrow,” he said sharply. You glared down at him, but Rafe didn’t care, knowing that he was absolutely right. “Get the fuck down.” You didn’t listen, unsurprisingly—you never had—so he physically grabbed you, carefully maneuvering your body off the bar without exposing you to the whole party.

“Rafe,” you whined, “stop it. I don’t want to go with you!”

“Liar,” he said, scoffing before he could stop himself. When you were level with his face, he grabbed your chin and made you look at him. “Stop fucking fighting me before you flash somebody.”

You glared at him. “Who cares if I do?” you asked.

Once again, Rafe rolled his eyes. “I’ll take their fucking eyes out. But, let’s not do this, Princess. I’ve had enough shit today without this added on,” he said through grit teeth, losing the limited patience he’d started with. He helped you off the bar—manhandled you, really—until you were standing on your feet, using his body for support to stay upright. 

“You have no right,” you said, sniffing.

“How much have you even had to drink?” Rafe asked, amusement overcoming his irritation for a second.

“Oh fuck you,” you repeated, pushing weakly at his chest, even though your hand tangled in the bottom of his shirt like it always did when you were utterly sloshed. “I haven’t even had that much!” You then took on a distinctly dizzy look, swaying and Rafe cursed, catching your waist to steady you. “See? I’m fine!”

“Yeah, you’re so fine,” he agreed sarcastically. 

Without waiting for you to say anything else, Rafe started guiding you toward the exit. He nodded at Kelce and Topper as they passed. He ignored the looks on his friends’ faces as best he could. He didn’t need to think about the shit he’d get from them about this in the morning. No, instead, he focused on forcing you into the passenger seat of his truck and making you get buckled up. Only after Rafe got into the car and started it did you seem to register that you weren’t at the party anymore.

“Hey! Where the hell are you taking me? I’m not going home with you!” you slurred, clearly in an argumentative mood.

“No. You’re not. I’m taking you home. To your house,” he replied, patience coming back at least a little bit now that they weren’t in the stupid party crowd.

“Rafael Cameron you fucking suck,” you accused glaring at him.

“Why’s that?” Rafe asked, backing up and then putting the car in drive and practically peeling out of Kelce’s driveway.

You scoff at his question. It would be adorable if it weren’t at his expense, Rafe was sure. “First you fucking break up with me out of nowhere! And give me no explanation at all! And you take half our fucking friends in the end! And then you kill the goddamn vibe the second I try to have fun at a party,” you declare sounding genuinely pissed.

“That’s not—” Rafe began, stopping himself with a sigh when you cut him off.

“No! Shut up!” you demanded, hitting his arm, once, twice, a third time, until Rafe sharply pulled over and turned to glare at you. He was angry now, except his anger was short-lived. The moment he met your eyes and saw that yours were full of tears, he deflated. Your bottom lip trembled and Rafe had to actively count his breaths to keep from not reacting to it. “Why are you ruining parties now? Was my life not enough for you? You have to take the rest of the good things left too?”

Rafe inhaled shakily. He pinched his nose and tapped his fingers against the wheel and then looked back towards you. “You know you didn’t want someone else touching you,” he said calmly. “You hate when people think they can touch you at parties. You always have.” He took a breath. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you. Especially when you’re too drunk to think clearly.” You went to retort but Rafe shook his head. “No. Stop. Just listen to me.” You rolled your eyes and looked away. Rafe caught your chin and turned your face so you were looking at him again. “I’m not going to watch some losers take advantage of you. Ever. You think that’d stop?”

“Why do you even care?” you spat, displaying sadness more than the anger he knew you were going for.

“Don’t ask me that,” Rafe warned, shaking his head. “Don’t act like you don’t know already. The dumb act has never worked for you.”

You scoffed. “Oh? So you’re a coward now too on top of everything else? Cool,” you said. “Can’t even talk to me, huh?”

Rafe let go of your face and turned away from you, pulling back on the road and driving faster now towards your house. “You know damn well why I care,” he said through grit teeth.

“Do I?” you challenged.

“Princess,” he said sharply, “don’t do this right now.” He took a deep breath even though he didn’t want to. “You’re drunk.”

“And?” you demanded. “That makes me an idiot?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said, groaning in irritation. You swatted at his chest again. And truly, if this were anyone else, he’d have kicked them out of the car. But it was you. “Come on, Princess.” He tapped the steering wheel to manage the anxiety brewing in his chest at the thought. “We can have a conversation about it when you’re sober if you want. But I’m not doing this with you drunk. Fuck that.”

“Fuck you,” you reiterated as if you hadn’t already said it to him a thousand times that night.

Even with that declaration, you were blessedly quiet the rest of the ride. You fiddled with the heat on your side of the truck, getting comfortable, and just stared out of the window. And for the rest of the ride, Rafe could almost pretend that things were normal. The way that they should’ve been. Except that you were leaning on the door and not him. And that both of his hands were on the wheel, instead of one resting on your leg. And your stony silence, even when your favorite songs came on the shared playlist neither of you had gotten around to deleting yet. The silence in the car in general, really.

At your house, Rafe had to nearly throw himself from the car to get to your side before you opened the door and tumbled out. Even doing that, you nearly fell from the truck in an uncoordinated heap, stubbornly not wanting his assistance. He huffed and righted your feet on the ground, holding your waist and looking you over. You leaned into the touch for a second before seemingly realizing it, then you pulled wildly away, nearly falling again until he caught you.

“You can be angry after I get you to your room,” he said firmly.

“Fine,” you muttered, frowning.

Rafe went to move but you wouldn’t move. He tried to force you to move, but you resisted every logical piece of your mind, and every attempt he made. You were firmly stuck to your spot as if trying to grow roots like a tree. So, he picked you up again, carrying you to the door. Graciously, your parents weren’t in town and the house was empty, so no one had to see this disaster unfold. 

He took your key and unlocked the door easily, locking it behind them for the time being. He didn’t really feel like risking someone coming in when he was corralling a drunk you and he couldn’t pay full attention to everything else. Then, he carried you upstairs like it was nothing to him. He dropped you gently on your bed and avoided looking at you as he grabbed a pair of clothes for you to change into. He went into your bathroom and got makeup remover, knowing that you’d be pissed if you woke up with a trace of makeup still on your face still. 

As he walked back into the room, Rafe regretted leaving almost immediately. Your eyes were swimming with tears and a few were spilling down your cheeks. You looked away from him, trying to avoid his gaze, but he wasn’t an idiot. He’d noticed. You tried to scrub them away and he sighed almost silently. Rafe put the stuff down on the bed next to you and then knelt down in front of you. He grabbed your hands but didn’t say anything and waited.

“I hate you,” you said weakly, bottom lip wavering.

“I know,” he said, nodding. He cracked a fake grin. “I do too.”

“Fuck you,” you said, shaking your head. You sniffled and Rafe immediately knew that he wasn’t leaving for a while still. He stroked the back of your hands and waited once more. You always cracked. It didn’t take long, only a few breaths. “I love you. I…I fucking hate you.” You leaned heavily toward him and he wrapped his arms around you without hesitation. “I love you. I wish I didn’t.”

“I know,” he repeated. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. He let out a slow breath, deciding that fuck it, it didn’t matter anyway anymore, not if he didn’t think you’d remember this in the morning. “I love you too, Gorgeous. You know that.”

You let out a watery laugh. “No I don’t,” you denied. He frowned at the words. “You left me. I…I hate that you left me. I didn’t do anything!”

Rafe sighed. “We talked about this,” he said quietly.

“Fuck you. You decided. We didn’t talk about anything!” you reminded him.

And that was true. He grabbed your chin again, forcing your eyes to meet yet again. This time though, he leaned your foreheads together. Your bottom lip trembled, but you happily stayed close to him. He took it as the tiny, tiny, minuscule win that was. He moved his hand from your chin to your cheek, thumb tracing a pattern up and down, soothing and slow.

“I need to make sure you’re safe,” he reminded you.

“You’re stupid,” you said, pulling away from him. “Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean I’m safe. Everyone knows that we were together. Everyone knows that to get to you they’d just have to use me. So I’m not suddenly more safe.”

“Safe from me,” Rafe gruffly corrected. When you open your mouth to retort, eyes alight with anger, he places his hand over your mouth. “Like I said, Gorgeous. We can talk about this later. When you’re not drunk. If you even want to still.”

“Oh? You’ll stop ignoring me then?” you asked from behind his hand. “Act like the adults that we are?”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “I haven’t been ignoring you. I’ve been giving you space,” he said. He let out a rough sigh, then shook his head, reminding himself that this would have to wait. “I promise we will talk about it if you want to. “Now can I please just help you change and get this stupid fucking makeup off you?”

Miracle of miracles, you didn’t try to fight him on it. So, he helped you change, ignoring the wandering hands and clumsy advances from you with ease. And then he forced you to get all the makeup off and brush your teeth. Then, he made you drink a bottle of water and settle in bed. You were pouting at him, tears still falling from your eyes—he didn’t know if they’d stopped since they started—that he brushed away lazily. Rafe sighed and sat next to you, stroking your cheek. Your hand landed on his knee, the touch almost hard as though you needed to squeeze his leg to remember he really was there. It broke his fucking heart.

“Come on, you gotta stop. We just got more water in you,” he said softly. “You know I can’t leave you when you’re upset like this. Not when you’re alone here.” He nearly winced at his phrasing when you seemed to cry harder for a moment. “Come on, Princess. You gotta stop crying.”

“Then I guess you can’t leave,” you replied shakily.

Rafe bit his lip, looking down at you. Knowing that he was already fucked anyways, he moved, pulling you practically into his lap. He held you tightly, glad that you didn’t even make an attempt at brushing the affection off. No, you leaned into the touch like you’d been starved of love your whole life. You laid your head right over his heart, eyes closed. He felt the way that your hands tapped the rhythm of his heartbeat into his arm. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“I don’t want you to doubt that I love you. I don’t want you to doubt that…that our relationship is…was real,” Rafe said. “I do love you. It’s just…hard, Gorgeous.”

You turned your head up to meet his eyes. He watched a flurry of intense emotions—every single one he’d ever experienced…more, maybe—flash through your eyes in a matter of seconds. You reached up and stroked his cheekbone…his nose…his lips. Then, you dropped your hand to lay on his chest, right next to where your head was.

“We’ll talk about it,” you declared. “I want to. We have to.”

“Okay, Princess,” he agreed softly. He knew that there was a chance sober you wouldn’t actually want to talk to him. He could ignore that in the meantime. He could live in this moment. In the false hope of a promised future where you did want to talk to him. “We’ll talk.”

You leaned up and pressed an incredibly short fleeting kiss to his lips before burying your face in his chest. He closed his eyes and held you tighter, wishing that things were…different.  “Can you just…stay until I fall asleep?” you asked quietly. “I know you won’t stay all night, but…please?”

Rafe’s heart, again, broke for you. And he hated himself for hurting you the way that he was. “Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse. He stroked your arms, soothing. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep, Princess.” He knew it wouldn’t be long anyhow. Your eyes were already heavy, staying shut longer than they were staying open.

“I miss you, Rafe,” you admit quietly.

“I miss you too,” he said, equally quiet.

You paused. “I love you,” you said.

Rafe inhaled shakily. “I love you too. So much,” he said, voice sounding choked and short.

“Do you promise?” you whispered.

He paused. He had no doubt you heard his heart stutter in his chest. “I promise.”

Your eyes started to drift closed longer and longer while Rafe rubbed a soothing pattern up and down your back until he was sure you were asleep. You were incredibly beautiful in this peaceful sleep, with even breathing and a smile on your face. It was the happiest he’d seen you look in a while. He knew it was his fault. Again, he hated himself for it. It made him sure that he did the right thing even if it killed you both right now.

He had to leave.

He let out a sigh and pressed another kiss to your forehead, then another. He took the time to inhale your scent, memorize the way that you felt in his arms…to be with you again. Then, carefully, he got out of your grasp and stood. Rafe then settled you comfortably on your bed and tucked you in. He pressed a final kiss to your forehead then stood and walked to your bedroom door.

He had to leave. He didn’t want to.

For a beat, Rafe paused in the doorframe. He looked down at your sleeping frame. He longed to just lay down with you and forget the trials of the past two months without you. The hell he went through without you. He shook his head though. You deserved better. He was sure of it. He was almost certain that sober you would agree. Still, as he walked quietly down the hall, locking the door again behind himself, and slipping out back to his truck, he found himself hoping. Hoping that you would call him. Hoping that you would still want to talk.

He had to leave. He didn’t want to. He loved you.

In the quiet of his car, he took the time to look at his phone. Just after two thirty in the morning now. Your smiling face, still his wallpaper, looked back at him. He stared at the image of you, smiling at him like he was the sun, and felt his heart squeeze so tightly it took his breath away. 

He had to leave. He didn’t want to. He loved you. You were everything, even now.

He started the car and started to drive back to his own place now. He tapped at the steering wheel again to avoid chewing at his nails like you hated—even now you kept him from bad habits he had, even if they were the little ones.

Rafe knew he wasn’t strong enough to stay away and he didn’t want to.

Even if it made him selfish, he hoped you called him—he hoped for a second chance.

[sykesandskittles]

CHAPTER 3

Harlow

UH, shit.

Noah’s face is unreadable, but he does look like he’s going to launch himself at me any moment. I half-wonder if he plans on extricating me from this ceremony, by force, if necessary.

I take a step back and scan the room for the nearest exit. It’s about thirty feet to my left, on the other side of about fifty people—all women, all looking at me right now. Everyone is watching as Noah steps off the platform and walks toward me.

My heartbeat kicks up about twenty notches, and my knees suddenly feel weak. I hate being the center of attention. My entire life is designed to keep me in the shadows, which is the way I like it. Everyone staring at me right now—yeah, I’m going to have nightmares about it. For sure.

Noah steps up to me, stopping about an arm's length away. His lazy gaze travels over my hips, to my very ample cleavage, before crawling up and landing on my face. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, the heat scorching my skin.

He lifts his chin. “You.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, but I’m too horrified to take much notice. Is this guy serious? Did he just order me like a hamburger off a fast food menu?

Oh. Hell. No.

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can even squeak out a syllable, Noah pulls the necklace he’s wearing over his head and places it over mine. When he does that, a waft of spicy-scented air washes over me, and goddamn, this guy smells good. I inhale against my will, taking the scent into my lungs. He releases the necklace, and I feel the weight of it around my neck, the cold round pendant falling just above my cleavage.

I glance at Talia , and she just stares back at me, wide-eyed, like she can’t comprehend what’s happening right now.

Yeah, girl, same.

Turning back to Noah, I blink up at him, lifting the necklace to take it off. “Um, no, thanks. I’m good.”

Literal gasps trickle throughout the room, and I drop the necklace, leaving it in place around my neck. The gasps are my first clue that I’ve fucked up somehow, but the look that instantly flashes across Noah’s face also clues me in. Shock. Annoyance. Anger. I get the feeling this guy isn’t told no very often. I wonder if he even knows the meaning of the word.

His reaction is only visible on his face for a split second. An instant later, the anger on his face melts into amusement, his full lips turning up into a faint smile. Is he really amused, or is he just trying to save face in front of all these people ?

Lifting a hand, he takes my chin between his thumb and the crook of his finger. He towers over me. My curvy five-foot-six frame is nothing to his muscular six-foot-two or three, and I can’t help it, I’m intimidated.

I’m frozen in place, unable to move. My heart is beating so hard, I’m afraid it might fly right out of my chest and start flopping around on the inlaid floor.

With my chin still in his grip, he looks directly into my eyes— imprisoning me with his hard stare. Then he leans in and whispers in my ear, his rough voice grating against my eardrum. “You’re in my snare, Little Rabbit. I’ve caught you, and now you’re mine.”

The way he says you’re mine, with that deep, gravely baritone, sends a hot ember of desire skipping down my spine. Ugh, fuck. I hate myself for that reaction. I’m no better than the rest of the hopefuls in this room,

fighting for a sliver of his attention. Excited just to get a second look from him.

What’s wrong with me?

Swallowing, I twist my head, ripping my chin out of his grip. “I don’t belong to anyone.” Thankfully, my voice doesn’t shake. I actually sound defiant, which is exactly the vibe I’m going for.

He laughs a little, just a puff of air that signifies his amusement. “We’ll see about that.”

I open my mouth to say something snarky back, but I feel Talia 's hand on my arm, and it stops me. With a slight shake of her head, I get the message that I’m out of my depth. But instead of placating this guy, I just push out a breath, and do my best to look bored. I know guys like this, and they thrive on power and control.

Finally, he moves away, his attention snagged by someone else, and I release the breath I’d been holding. Dear God, even in this giant room, Noah Sabastian manages to take up every square inch of space. Even as I watch him walk away, wending through the crowd of people, laughing at something someone is saying—everyone’s eyes are still on him.

The guy with the stick calls everyone to attention again. “Nick folio will now make his selection.”

I’m still shaking a little when Talia and Wyn pull me out of the room, and into the foyer where it's empty and we can talk in relative privacy. Thankfully, everyone’s focus is on Nick now as he recites his chant.

Wyn’s eyes are wild with disbelief. “I can’t believe you just tried to turn down Noah Sabastian .”

“Girl, he ordered me like a milkshake. Who even does that? I mean, seriously.” I’m not even trying to keep my voice down—not that it matters, because everyone is completely focused on the ceremony that’s happening in the next room.

“That was insane,” Talia says. “Can he even do that? Pick someone who isn’t a member?”

Wyn makes a face. “I mean, yeah, technically.” “What’s that mean, technically?” I ask.

“It doesn’t happen very often. Almost never, in fact. But there’s nothing in the bylaws that says he can’t do it.”

I start pacing, hands on my hips. “Okay, well, that would have been a really helpful memo. When they invited us to this thing, they conveniently left out the concubine part. Which, by the way, is the most important part.”

“Consort,” Wyn corrects.

“Same difference.” I grab the gold pendant that’s hanging from the chain around my neck. I don’t even know what it is. I didn’t see it before Noah put it on me. “Maybe I can just give it back.”

“Uh, not a good idea.” Wyn shakes her head. “Turning down one of the Sacred Sons is like social suicide.”

I throw her a look. “For me or for him?”

“For you, obviously. Noah Sabastian is from one of the original families. The influence he has on campus is limitless. And if you’re on his shit list, then you might as well not exist.”

I blink at her. “That sounds perfect, actually.”

Blending into the background, and staying off everyone’s radar—what’s wrong with that? Sounds pretty ideal.

Talia grabs me by the shoulders. “Harlow , I love you, but listen to me. You can’t waste your entire college experience in your dorm room.” She shakes me. “This could be a good thing. Live a little.”

I purse my lips. I guess this would be a bad time to tell her I want to leave and go back to my dorm room. Unfortunately, it looks like she’s nowhere near ready to bail on this thing—which means I’m stuck here for at least another hour.

I glance down at the necklace. It’s a round pendant with a crown and Latin words stamped in the middle. “So do I just wear this for now, or what?”

“Definitely,” Wyn says with a smile. “Seriously, that necklace will open up a whole new world for you. It’ll give you access to places on campus you can’t even imagine.”

“And, obviously, you’re going to bring your best friend with you to all of those incredible places,” Talia says, flashing a cheesy smile.

I sigh, defeated. They’ve managed to talk me down from the ledge.

Temporarily. “I’m not fucking this guy. ”

I have standards. And douchey college guys aren’t on my fuck-list, no matter how attractive he is.

Talia tilts her head back in frustration. “Fine, whatever. But you can string him along for a few weeks. It’s the least you can do.”

“Don't worry,” Wyn says to Talia . “Once she sees the benefits of being a consort, she won’t want to give that necklace back.”

There’s a ruckus coming from the ceremony room. I guess Nick made his selection because people are cheering. Like, actual cheers of joy. I’m a little annoyed I didn’t get that. I mean, sure, I’m not even one of them, so why would they be happy about me being chosen? But still.

The guy with the stick calls everyone to attention again. Thump. Thump.

Thump. “Nicholas Karlsson will now make his selection.”

“Oh, Nicholas is hot. I’m already dating someone, but I can still enjoy the view, right?” Wyn says, blowing us both a kiss, then sprinting off to join the ceremony.

Talia tugs at her bodice up and runs her fingers through her long waves. “I should throw my hat in, too. Do you think I have a chance?”

I just blink at her.

She pushes out a breath. “Whatever. Wish me luck.” I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”

But she doesn’t even hear me, because she’s already gone, zigzagging her way through the crush of people.

It doesn’t surprise me that she wants this. She’s always been more focused on the popular kids, even when we were in middle school. Back then, we were on the fringes, not popular, but not unpopular, either. We were in the middle and blissfully invisible. I guess she didn’t find it as blissful as I did, though, and I wonder if she’s hoping college is her chance to infiltrate the popular crowd.

I push out a sigh and lean against the wall, tilting my head back. I have to get out of this somehow. But Noah doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that just accepts rejection. Maybe there’s a way I can let him off the hook gently. It shouldn’t be hard. This guy doesn’t even know me, so giving him the ick shouldn’t be too difficult. Tonight I’m all dressed up, but, honestly, I’m a sloth in real life. And there’s no way a guy like Noah Sabastian would go for a girl like me. Not when he’s sober.

There’s no fucking way.

I DON’T KNOW what happens with Nicholas’s selection—whether or not he chose Talia . There are at least forty girls in there, all begging to be picked, so who knows? Talia is gorgeous, but this guy could be into red hair and thick thighs. On both counts, she’d lose.

After a few minutes of trying to get my shit together, I give up and decide to explore the house. It’s better than sitting in the foyer, silently freaking out.

On the main floor, aside from the room where the ceremony is being held, there’s a bathroom, a huge kitchen, a formal dining room, a study, and an informal living room—and in the foyer, there’s a coat closet where I find the basket of cellphones, unguarded. I sift through the phones, and find mine, pulling it out. Ha!

With my phone in hand, I wander back to the living room. It’s the size of my grandmother’s entire apartment, and it’s obviously where they hang out because everything in this room is more relaxed, and modern. There’s a couch, a huge television mounted on the wall, several armchairs, and a pool table.

I wander into the empty room and help myself to a beer that’s inside the fancy mini fridge. Cracking the can open, I take a sip and walk around the perimeter of the room, looking at the art that’s hanging on the walls. The pieces in here are dark, interesting–strange shapes bisecting each other, faces and images emerging from the riot of muted colors. Whoever chose these has a really good eye for art.

I’m taking a photo of the signature on one of the paintings to see how much it would fetch at auction, when the door opens, and someone walks into the room. Bringing my phone down, I blink, and see someone walking toward me. A tall, muscular figure gradually comes into focus, and I recognize him instantly. Of course, I do. I’m now his pet, apparently.

As Noah approaches, I pull the necklace off and hold it out. “Here.

You can find someone else to be your fuck toy. I’m not interested.”

I don’t know why I’m being so outspoken—I’m not usually like this. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or maybe it’s the fact that Noah and his boys are running their secret society like a meat market.

With a smirk on his face, he steps forward, ignoring the necklace in my hand. We're close now, just a couple feet apart, and we’re in relative privacy. There are people just a couple of rooms away, but they’re all tipsy on champagne and focused on the ceremony. Thank God, because if Noah had an audience, then I know he’d fuck with me, just to make a point. But because we’re alone, I’m hoping he’ll listen to reason.

“Don’t fuck with me,” he says, taking yet another step forward. I’m regretting my decision to wander into this room because now I have nowhere to run. There are a set of French doors on the other side of the room, leading outside, but they’re miles away.

He has me trapped. “Give me your phone.”

Um. Shit. He must have seen me steal it from the closet. I swallow, but I don’t hand my phone over.

He leans in, and I swear to God, my body is a treacherous whore. I can smell him, that musky, soapy, beachy scent that makes something in my stomach flip. Goddamn. His lips are hovering three inches from mine, and the look in his eyes is deadly serious.

The tip of his finger traces a path down my throat, to my shoulder, and the flimsy strap holding my dress up. I have a bra underneath, but it’s strapless, and barely holds my large breasts up. He moves in a fraction closer, and my breath catches. Is he going to kiss me? Do I want that? I

blink. No. Of course, I don’t. But I can’t find my voice to tell him to fuck off, for some reason.

“Hand it over. I won’t say it again.” There’s a threat in his tone, and honestly, I don’t even want to have this interaction, let alone argue with him. If it’ll get him to fuck off sooner, then I’ll tell him. Whatever.

I unlock my phone and then hand it to him with a sigh. Again, I don’t usually just hand my phone over to anyone, but I’ll do anything to get this conversation over with. He opens up my contacts, and enters his information, then texts himself, so he has my information, too.

Great. Perfect.

I remind myself to block him as soon as I get back to my room. He hands my phone back. “When I call, Little Rabbit, answer. ”

The audacity of this guy. Seriously. I’ve never wanted to punch a person in their perfectly sculpted face so badly.

Instead of speaking, I just nod. I have no intention of answering when he calls, but I’m not telling him that. He can figure it out, and by then, I’ll be long gone. And out of sight, out of mind, right? Well, anyway, that’s my plan. Get out of here, then stay invisible. It worked all through high school– mostly–so I’m cautiously optimistic it’ll work at ExU, too.

But instead of backing off, he steps in even closer. The heat of his body wraps around me, and I swallow. Damn, he even smells like a rich kid. Clean and masculine, somehow. I don’t know how someone can smell masculine, but it’s happening. He’s doing it. And those eyes. They’re a clear, crystal brown, and they hold a determination and purpose that makes my pulse race. It’s unnerving because right now, that determination is directed squarely at me.

“Don’t pretend you’re disinterested.” His mouth hovers above mine. If I move, even just a little, our lips will touch. “I know there’s a whore behind that good girl facade.”

I know he said it for shock value, but his words manage to land too close to the truth. My body is a fucking traitor when it comes to Noah Sabastian , and it makes me feel like an idiot.

I lift my chin defiantly. “That’s where you’re wrong. What you see is what you get with me.”

His lips curve into a cruel half-smile. “Is that right?”

In seconds, I’m pressed against the wall roughly, with Noah’s hand under my dress, his fingers skimming my center through the thin fabric of

my panties. His other hand is pressed against the wall above my head, his large body surrounding me, trapping me.

With one finger, he strokes my pussy lips through my panties. “Your panties are soaking wet,” he says appreciatively, his lips skimming the rim of my ear. “Is this where you want my cock?” he asks, dragging the word cock over that deep baritone.

Goodamn. With him like this—surrounding me, touching me, saying dirty things in my ear—I feel a frenzy of excitement building inside me, and I’m powerless to stop it. I’m already trembling, my clit pulsing with need.

I swallow. “I just want to be left alone.”

He laughs, but it’s that humorless laugh from before when we were in the other room. When he singled me out in front of everyone. “That’s not how this works. You’ve been chosen. Now, whether you like it or not, you’re mine.”

I swallow again and say nothing. That phrase makes me want to crawl out of my skin, but I’m not arguing with this guy. Not on his turf. Not with his hand up my dress, stroking me.

This guy has me in a chokehold, and he knows it.

His thumb brushes over my swollen clit through my panties, and my God, I stand up on my tippy-toes inside my heels. A jolt of electricity zips through me, and it takes every ounce of control in my body not to moan. I clench my teeth to prevent the sound from escaping past my lips.

I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affects me, but something tells me it’s too late for that. He can feel how wet and ready I am for him.

Abruptly, his hand drops away from my hot center, and he takes a step back. I sag against the wall, both relieved and frustrated by the reprieve. My body is all revved up now, and I resist the urge to reach out and pull him back. A quick fuck wouldn’t hurt, right?

I don’t know if it’s pride, or what, but I manage to keep myself from begging. Just barely though. It’s been a while since I’ve even been touched by a guy—and this one might be an asshole, but he’s hot as fuck, and knows his way around my clit already.

With one final glance, his gaze rakes down my body, then back up again, landing on my face. It’s a possessive look, and damn, but I pray he decides to finish what he just started.

He doesn’t, and that frenzied desperation I feel is slowly replaced by anger. This is all just a game to him. Getting me all hot and bothered, just to prove he can. And the worst part is—I played right into his hands. Literally. I lift my chin as he walks away, and I can’t help but drop my gaze to his ass.

It’s hidden within the folds of the robe, but I wonder how firm it is, and how the globes would feel in the palms of my hands.

“Harlow , you are so pathetic,” I whisper to myself. “No different than all the other girls who are after him.”

But now I know his game, and I resolve not to fall for it again. If I have to grab some random guy off campus, just to get off, then I will. As long as it’s not Noah Sabastian .

As soon as he’s gone, I unlock my phone and text Talia .

Hey. Let’s go. This is too much. I’m noping out.

I wait for a few minutes, and when I don’t get a response, I decide to hunt her down. Finishing my beer, I shove the necklace into my purse and head back into the ceremony room.

It’s wild, though, because in the half hour I was gone, about fifty more people have arrived, all guys. They’re still flooding into the front door when I walk by, looking for Talia —and there’s a DJ setting up on the platform the Sacred Sons had just used.

Wyn is talking to someone across the room, and I make a beeline for

her.

“Hey,” I say, slightly out of breath. “Where’d all these people come

from?”

“Oh, at midnight, after the selections are made, the rest of the guys are allowed to join in and it just basically turns into a party.”

“Ah, cool.” Perfect time to leave. “Have you seen Talia ?”

“Oh, yeah, I just saw her….” Wyn looks around. “Well, she was over by the door a couple of minutes ago. She was talking to someone, a guy.”

I glance in the direction Wyn is looking, but I don’t see Talia . “Did she say where she was going?”

Wyn just shakes her head. “Try texting her.”

“Thanks,” I say flatly. “If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.” “Yup.”

I search every room on the bottom floor, systematically making my way through the dining room, kitchen, study…I even knock on the bathroom door with no luck. Knowing Talia , she’s probably in a dark corner somewhere, hooking up with that guy Wyn saw her with. There are way too many people here, and it’d be easy for her to disappear into the crowd.

I try calling, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. I send another text, annoyed now.

Where the fuck are you ?

Again, nothing. Thirty minutes later, I give up.

Fine. Whatever. I’m waiting outside on the porch. Call me when you get this.

Seconds after sending that text, though, I remember Talia doesn’t have her phone. Ugh. I’d totally forgotten. If she’s anywhere on the Burning Crown premises, then her phone is still in that stupid basket.

Pushing out a sigh, I consider my options. I could wait for Talia , or I could leave, and go back to my dorm room. I don’t love the idea of walking alone at night, but according to the frosh information packet, campus security starts making more frequent rounds as soon as the sun goes down. I don’t know if I trust that, though. I didn’t see one security guard on the walk over here. Not one.

Welp, I guess I’m waiting, then, because I don’t want Talia walking back alone, either.

I’m leaning against the railing out front, staring down at my phone, when I hear heavy footsteps on the wood planks behind me. I look up to see a guy approaching, but it’s no one I’ve seen before. He has dark hair, a strong chin, and a shit-eating grin spread across his face.

“You’re new,” he says, leaning against the railing beside me. His words are slightly slurred, and his breath smells like alcohol—so either he’s managed to get drunk in the thirty minutes he’s been here, or he was pre- gaming. I bet the latter. “I’m Tyler. What’s your name?”

“Nonya,” I answer, barely even looking up at him.

“That’s a nice name. I like it. ”

I look up and laugh a little. “It means none of your business. I’m sorry, I thought everyone knew that.”

His whole demeanor changes, from casual and flirty to hard and angry.

Just like that, in the span of a millisecond. “Oh, you think that’s funny?”

His tone is unforgiving like he’s pissed, and it sets my pulse racing. I don’t answer him. Instead, I push off the railing and move to leave. But he catches me by the arm and pulls me back.

“What the fuck, dude?” I look down at his fingers digging into my skin. “Let me go.”

Tyler crowds me, shielding me from view of anyone who could be passing by—but there’s no one out here, anyway. Everyone is inside, drinking, and now the music is playing, the deep bass drowning out this entire conversation from anyone within hearing distance.

“You don’t even fucking belong here.” He tugs me closer to him, and I yelp, because his fingers are biting into my arm painfully. Panic rises in my chest, and my entire body starts to tremble. “Maybe I should show you what happens to girls who wander onto society property alone.”

“I was invited,” I choke out, reaching for the zipper on my purse–inside is my little handheld stun gun, if I could manage to get to it.

Tyler laughs and still gripping my arm, he shoves me up against the railing, pressing his lower half against mine. I’m pinned against the wood, my breath coming in shallow pants. My purse is unzipped, and the stun gun is in my hand. I don’t hesitate. Switching it on, I jab it into his side.

A jolt of electricity snaps and his entire body jerks violently in response, like a reflex. “Holy shit,” he hisses, holding his side. “What the fuck was that?” His gaze settles on the stun gun in my hand, and he sneers, his face contorted with rage. “Fucking bitch.”

He twists the stun gun out of my hand easily, like snatching a toy from a baby’s hand. Looking down at it, he studies it, clicking the switch on and off, on and off. “This thing packs a punch,” he says, testing the weight of it in his hand. When his eyes flick down to look at me, a cold shower trickles down my spine. “Now it’s my turn.”

Holy shit.

I suck in a breath and start pushing at his chest, struggling to get away. The front door to the house is ten feet away—if I can pry him off me just enough, then I can slip out from under him, and run to the door.

“Don’t. Please,” I beg.

But he just laughs, holding the stun gun up, like he’s going to jab it into my arm. So, while there’s still breath in my lungs, I start screaming as loud as I possibly can. I scream so hard, that my throat starts to burn. His hand immediately clamps over my mouth, cutting off my scream. His large body is pushing my lower half against the railing painfully, his knee pinching the skin on my thigh between him and the wood.

Fucking-A.

I’m not getting out of this. He’s too big and too strong. But my mind refuses to believe this is really happening.

“Fucking cunt,” he says, the hand on my mouth pushing painfully against my lips and teeth. I can taste my own blood. “I think you need to be taught a damn lesson.”

What the actual fuck? What kind of sick motherfuckers go to school here?

I struggle against him again, but he’s built like a brick wall. He doesn’t even budge, so I do the only thing I can, I bite down on the hand that’s pressed against my mouth. I don’t get a really good bite, but it’s enough to make him reel back with a yowl, ripping his hand away from my mouth.

The second my mouth is free, I scream again—as loud, and as frantic as I possibly can. “Help! Please!”

The guy looks down at me, infuriated. His large, salty hand clamps tightly over my mouth again. “Stupid fucking bitch.” With his free hand, he grabs my arm and tries pulling me deeper into the shadows. I twist against him until my whole body feels bruised, but it’s not enough. I’m not even close to being strong enough to throw this guy off me.

Just as I begin to tire, and feel my body weaken, the guy is ripped off me. It happens so suddenly, I wonder what the fuck just happened? But a second later, survival mode kicks in and my brain goes into autopilot. I run past him, toward the front door, but the sound of bones cracking compels me to turn around.

As I turn, I catch a glimpse of Noah wailing on the guy, whose face is now coated in blood, his arms held up, trying to protect himself.

My heart is in my throat as I watch the guy get beaten. Noah’s fists come down again and again, the sickening sound of flesh being mutilated draws people from inside, including Nick, Jolly, and Nicholas. Pretty soon, there’s a crowd gathered.

“Yo!” Jolly holds his hands up. “What the fuck is going on?”

Nicholas and Nick pull Noah off the guy, who sinks to the floor, moaning. His head lolls to the side.

“Touch her again, and you’re dead.” Noah’s voice is calm, despite just going ape-shit-crazy. “Do you fucking understand me?”

The guy mumbles something, but it’s inaudible over the chatter surrounding us. Someone mentions calling an ambulance.

Then Noah’s attention turns to me—those cold eyes finding me amid the growing crowd. He always seems to have that power–finding me when all I want to do is disappear.

He takes a step toward me, then another, moving through the people crowding the porch. We’re twenty feet apart, at this point, which gives me the advantage. So I do the first thing that occurs to me.

I turn on my heel and fucking run.

[nanawritesit]

Yuqi Girlfriend Headcanons!

Regardless of your gender identity, she’ll most likely play the “boyfriend” role in the relationship

She isn’t super romantic or affectionate all the time, but she definitely makes you feel loved by taking care of you

She’s a big acts of service lover, she likes to help with chores, help you go shopping, cook you dinner, etc.

She’ll also occasionally surprise you with a small gifts whether it by flowers, a stuffed animal, or chocolate!

This girl is super strong, so you never have to worry about opening a tight jar 😤

She also kills bugs for you 💀

Yuqi insists on paying for everything while you’re out, claiming that she makes more than enough money to pay for the two of you

Pretty much the only time you get to really spoil her back is her birthday

You cook all her favorite foods for her, including jokbal, hotpot, pickled radish and sweet zongzi 🥰

You also make sweet zongzi whenever she’s feeling homesick

Her favorite gift you’ve ever given her was a huge stuffed corgi that took up the entire corner of her bedroom 💞

Although, she almost cried when you surprised her with a trip to Beijing to see her family 🥹

They were so grateful that they offered you Yuqi’s hand in marriage 💀 (It was a joke but you were ready to put a ring on it 👀)

She was a bit intimidated to talk to you at first because she found you so beautiful (like she did with Miyeon LOL) but due to her outgoing nature, she was able to get over it and approach you

Thank god she did, because now she couldn’t imagine living without you <3

She likes to be called “cutie” :)

She struggled to find a nickname that fit you for a while, but eventually she decided on “cookie” 🥰

You’ll help her reach things on high shelves because her arms are so short 😭

She’s not very good and realizing when she’s working too hard, so you’ll have to be the one to reign her in

She randomly dances around the house ALL the time

You also catch her rapping various lyrics to herself

She really needs something to fill the silence okay 😤

Yuqi really doesn’t like being alone so even if you guys aren’t around each other, she’ll call you to at least hear your voice and check in on you

She’s told you several times that you can literally call her 24/7 and she’ll always pick up for you ❤️

She’s super goofy, so you’ll never be bored with her around. It also makes her really good at cheering you up when you’re sad :)

Her making you listen to Super Junior all the time (I hate them bc they’re so problematic but who am I to disagree with Queen Yuqi)

Her joking that Ryeowook is her “REAL boyfriend” 💀 You’ll literally have to square up with his poster 👊🏻

You guys love teasing each other and getting on each others’ nerves

You go back and forth annoying each other, but it’s all in good fun (she’s really hot when she’s angry too)

She can get you to anything by asking you in her deep, husky voice (She knows it’s your weakness)

Although, you know her weakness as well… if you call her “noona” or “unni,” she’ll be putty in your hand 👀 She usually hates formalities like that but when it’s from you, it gets her going so fast

She’s super outgoing, so she’ll constantly push you to try new things and move out of your comfort zone

There’s no secret you could ever tell her that she wouldn’t keep. She’s super trustworthy and will take it to the grave

While she’s super patient, she can be a little possessive. Especially if she feels threatened by the person who seems to be interested in you

She never gets mad at you, just at the other person

Her expression alone is enough to scare them off though 😳 She can be super scary when she wants to be!

But you don’t notice anything, and just smile at her innocently 😊

Her stealing your clothes on a regular basis

She’s not super into PDA but she does enjoy holding your hand while you walk places together

Speaking of which, one of her favorite activities to do with you is taking walks together. It eventually becomes a daily habit whenever you guys have time!

Behind closed doors however, she’s the biggest cuddle bug :) She’ll cage you in her arms and not let go of you for HOURS while you watch dramas together

Yuqi is 100% a big spoon!

If you rub her neck, shoulders, and back for her after a long day, she might get down on one knee right then and there 💀

In the end, you’re super lucky to have Yuqi as a girlfriend. She always takes such good care of you, never leaves you feeling lonely, and constantly keeps you entertained. She’s so in love with you and wouldn’t have it any other way 🥰

[beevean]

Rewriting Castlevania

To be more specific, Castlevania post-Season 2. The first few seasons shall serve as the launchpads from which to build upon and iron out the kinks for later stories.

I don’t have an exact vision of how rewritten versions of Season 3 and 4 (or Nocturne, but that isn’t the focus here), but I know, for starters, they could’ve used a more compact cast.

First: remove Trevor and Sypha. They may have been major protagonists in Seasons 1 and 2, but their story was over. Alucard, as well. His story was also done… for now (because he’s too iconic in the franchise as a whole not to bring back in a sequel series).

Next: they could’ve easily cut out Morana and Striga (whose names escaped my memory until I just looked them up) without substantially affecting anything in Carmilla’s whole story. Lenore can stay (maybe as the show’s equivalent to Laura), but she should not get a “redemption”. Instead, develop the idea of how weak others see her and how her devious intellect helps her overcome her perceived weakness. Write the woman a Starscream arc, even (“I am Lenore of Styria, and fuq you, Carmilla! I win!”), with mistress Carmilla as her Megatron! Give her lots of ambition!

For Isaac, I would love for his chat with that Captain to be preserved (I rewatched it recently and loved the vibe of it), but a couple other events in his journey need adjustments so that he doesn’t go through the “I had an nice talk with a human, so my mind about humanity is changing, but these guys are blocking me and I can’t reason with them, therefore I’m stupid for trying to be civil and hate humans again, now they die!” bit twice. With a little streamlining, his screentime in Season 3 could be devoted to building him up as a threat, and then set up Season 4 with his role as a co-antagonist (with Carmilla) to Hector fully set up when they reunite. No sanitizing “I’m going to live!” revelations here.

Then there’s Hector. I still think we didn’t need to see the immediate aftermath of his imprisonment. In this hypothetical rewritten story, I would suggest having a 1 or 2 year timeskip, so he’s been slaving away in Carmilla’s dungeon for quite a while, forced to build her an army with his Devil Forgemaster powers, and Lenore’s been keeping watch and giving him plenty of incentives not to betray the sisters. Maybe for his first appearance in this version of Season 3, he could have this intimidating reveal where it dramatically shows the scrawny boy from Season 2 has become a buff, scarred son of a gun, clearly having worked out a lot during his year(s)-long stay.

The story following the Castlevania 3 adaptation would not have to be a Curse of Darkness adaptation, but the pieces were in place to pass the main protagonist torch over to Hector anyway. By making Season 3 all about his eventual escape, and having Season 4 follow him on the run, eventually overcoming his oppressor (Carmilla) and former partner (Isaac), we have ourselves a cohesive story that blends everything it establishes into one, airtight package, rather than feeling like a convoluted animation anthology.

Also, maybe Saint Germain’s Infinite Corridor quest can be worked into Hector’s adventure to freedom in some kind of creative way, without Saint Germain having to sacrifice his morals or gain info from a shady 3rd (or 4th) party.

Reply: I like your ideas!

Hard agree on removing Trevor and Sypha because they are effectively done, and Morana and Striga because they add absolutely nothing of importance. Ellis said that he created the council to explain who ran the kingdom while Carmilla was in Wallachia, but Lenore could do the job herself.  I’m not sure about Alucard because his story is also over, but I do see the potential of him grappling with his grief, and fearing he might become like Dracula. It’s just, the way it was done was skull-crushingly boring, and for now I have no better ideas.

(btw yes, Carmilla and Lenore could be wives at this point lmao, their personalities are strong enough that it wouldn’t come off as The Lesbians For Brownie Points. Maybe Carmilla turned Lenore so she’s her dame and superior, and this would cause frustration in Lenore who feels like Carmilla sees her more as her pet than a lover... frustration that she channels on Hector, in some sort of cycle of abuse way :) I still like the idea of her falling in love with Hector, but it’s an unhealthy, possessive love typical of a vampire, that Hector doesn’t reciprocate or grows out of.)

For Isaac, I mentioned the other day that he could use as a springboard the realization that Dracula cast him away like a broken tool, and from there, his affirmation that he’s worth more than what Dracula told him. ... yes, this is still Hector’s arc, but whatever at this point. Absolutely, S3 should avoid that stupid pattern of “oh maybe humans aren’t so bad-- nvm y’all rude, die”. Maybe he avoids people instead of barging through cities, and makes his army from the corpses he finds in abandoned towns? But he still can’t avoid everyone, hence, the scene with the captain.

Mhh. Hector’s story spanning so long would also influence Isaac’s, and it feels like too much? If Isaac had one year of time to build an army, dude would lead a small country basically. He’s already OP af, even if we nerf him by making him weak in physical combat. Same with Carmilla, she would definitely do some damage in one year.

I’m torn. Hector’s story in S3 could be tweaked a bit by making it less fetishistic and still treating Hector like a person: as in, someone with goals and principles and was not hired as General only because he’s pretty, that Lenore has to whittle down to convince him to work for him (the idea that Hector cannot be physically forced to work and his master needs to earn his trust is actually really good for a conflict). The two should butt heads and have more intriguing conversations, make the job harder for Lenore, let’s see if she keeps with the diplomacy or gets frustrated and needs to resort to the ring (which only makes sense in the scenario where Hector is deemed too dangerous to be allowed to work freely, since its only shown function is to bequeath control of the Creatures). I actually jotted some ideas down, if you’re interested :P

(oh, and no rape. obviously. she really didn’t need to do that.)

And S4 can kind of stay the same, but with the difference that Hector trapping Lenore is a form of cruel mercy, he does not crawl back to her because he too realized he does not need to cling to people to earn love, and he actually leaves the castle, ready to explore the world (with the implication that he might meet the equivalent of Rosaly, but it’s not necessary)

To clarify, what is your idea of Hector’s story in S4? Does he flee from Isaac on the chase? Will he eventually fight him and Carmilla? Will he meet Rosaly in the finale, and in this timeline they stay together without Isaac interfering? (please say yes 🥺)

But yeah. I still think the prequels could have been adapted, but if we need Carmilla as a spanner in the works tweaking the timeline, this feels much better. Trevor and Sypha alone not bogging down screentime would solve so many issues with the rushed pace.

[enjoythesilentworld]

Simon's Month - Pride

day 18 @youngroyals-events

Simon invites his best friend and ~ultimate ally~ Wille to join him at Pride.

Or, S1 “I’m not like that” Wilhelm meets S2 petty Simon.

read below or on ao3 (T, 2.3k)

“And then,” Simon practically shouts, exasperated, “he just left, saying he had to be home for dinner!” He throws his hands up to emphasize just how ridiculous the whole situation is. Ayub tries to cut in, but Simon isn’t quite finished. “Like, I know his family is weird, but it was only 3pm. There’s no way they eat dinner at 3pm.”

They’re all gathered in Simon’s room, waiting for their pizza to show up, Rosh lounging in his desk chair and Ayub sat on his bed. Simon had called them in for an immediate debrief.

Rosh stares at him tiredly. “Isn’t this the third time he’s said he’s ‘not like that’ after you two have kissed?”

Simon gives her a look that says, duh, we’ve been over this.

“Okay,” she continues, voice flat and bored, “maybe stop kissing him, then.”

“Please,” Simon scoffs. “Have you seen him? If he kisses me, I’m going to kiss him back.”

“Yes, we’ve both seen Wille,” Ayub says from beside him. “But, seriously, bro, how long are we going to keep having this same conversation? What if next time you just… don’t kiss him back?”

“Or, I don’t know, fucking talk to him about it,” Rosh adds.

“No way.” Simon crosses his arms and leans back against the wall, a wicked smile growing on his face. “I have a plan to prove he is definitely like that.”

A few weeks later, sans more kissing or “I’m not like that” incidents, Simon invites Wille to join him, Rosh, and Ayub at Stockholm Pride.

When Simon raises an eyebrow at Wille’s quick acceptance, Wille punches him gently in the shoulder and says, “You know, allies are allowed at pride, too, Simon.”

That nearly makes Simon burst into laughter, but, instead, he nods sweetly, “Of course they are, Wille.”

Soon after, he tells Rosh and Ayub about his plan.

“Simon,” Rosh says in her lecture voice, “I get what you’re doing, but don’t force him out of the closet.”

“I’m not!” Simon exclaims, then calms himself to show how sincere he’s being. “I would never do that. I swear. I’m not going to take it that far. It’s just a bit of fun.”

Just a week after Wille’s 17th birthday, they meet at Simon’s, then they’ll catch the train into the city together. Rosh laughs at Simon when he exits his room, already peering out the window to check whether Wille has arrived yet.

“Woah,” Ayub chuckles. “New wardrobe, Simme?”

Simon glances down at his tight, cropped white tank top and ripped, baggy purple jeans. He’s even added a chain to the belt loop, re-pierced his ears with a couple black studs, and smudged some dark eyeliner on his waterline. He grins up at his friends. “Great, isn’t it? Wille’s gonna die.”

Rosh rolls her eyes. “I don’t know if dressing like—”

“Shut up!” Simon snaps, running towards the door. “He’s here!”

Simon only falters slightly when he sees Wille coming up the steps in his light-wash jeans and relaxed white tee. The summer sun has already begun to bleach Wille’s hair and bring out his freckles, which makes Simon feel a bit weak. Even if his plan doesn’t work, he’d take another rejection just to kiss Wille one more time.

Recovering quickly, pasting on a sly smile and dropping his eyelids slightly, Simon says casually, “Hey. Ready?”

His plan seems to be working already, because Wille nearly trips over his feet, catching himself on the wooden column of the front porch, eyes flitting over Simon rapidly.

“Wille?” he prompts again, holding back a smirk.

Wille’s eyes snap up to his, and he opens his mouth to speak. Simon catches the moment Wille notices the eyeliner, and no sound comes out. Simon grins.

“Come on guys!” He shouts over his shoulder into the house, then hooks his arm with Wille’s and leads him out toward Rosh and Ayub’s mopeds.

The train ride is rather normal, though Wille sits a bit closer to Simon than usual, and he keeps stumbling over his words whenever they make eye contact.

It makes Simon feel very pleased as they finally arrive at their destination, following the crowds of people holding rainbow flags and decked out in glitter toward the main festivities. Plan aside, Simon smiles wide at the sight of everyone coming together to celebrate, knowing how much work it has taken to get here, how many people have given so much to make this possible, how many people around the world still suffer for such an “issue”. That he gets to be here, with his best friends, proudly celebrating who they are, is a blessing.

The parade starts not long after they arrive, and somehow they manage to squeeze right up to the front of the street with a great view. All four of them watch on, amazed, as the incredible floats go by, a million colors, a million flags. It’s hot as balls, and Simon is starting to regret his choice of jeans, but he’s happy to be here, nonetheless.

He thought he’d have to work harder for his plan, but he doesn’t. Not far into the parade, he spots another boy smiling at him through the crowd of people. As the boy approaches, dodging through the sea of people, Simon notices how pretty he is, with his black hair buzzed short and a rainbow painted across his chest in lieu of a shirt. Not as pretty as Wille, but still quite pretty, and he’s smiling at Simon, so Simon smiles back.

Buzzcut slides up next to Simon and introduces himself. It’s a little hard to hear over the crowd and the music from the floats, but Simon grins and greets him back. With one part of himself, he attempts to listen to Buzzcut’s flirting. With another part, he watches Wille out of the corner of his eye. Wille’s smile has shrank slightly, no longer as intensely focused on the parade. No, now he’s only watching Simon, looking mildly jealous.

Simon giggles at something Buzzcut says, and Wille turns away, putting his back to Simon. That almost makes Simon scoff, because how can Wille have the audacity to be pissed at Simon when Simon isn’t the one who keeps stringing him along, playing this dumb push and pull game. Simon doesn’t want to force Wille out of the closet — of course he doesn’t, he’d never do that to anyone — but Simon could do without the confusing situation they’ve found themselves in where Wille keeps kissing Simon, kissing him in a way that makes Simon’s toes curl, then running away as if something is wrong with Simon. Simon doesn’t want to be an experiment, he does not want to be a secret boyfriend for the little rich boy to keep in his back pocket for whenever he feels like kissing a boy. Maybe Simon is just tired of wondering if there’s something wrong with him, something that makes him not enough for Wille, when Wille is all he’s ever wanted.

Maybe the heat is getting to Simon and making him a little emotional.

Eventually, Simon and Buzzcut get pulled in two different directions by their friends. The moment the other boy is out of their eyeline, Wille lightens up again, talking happily with Ayub about the different displays and which performers they’re excited about for that evening.

They head towards the park to grab a drink to cool off and to walk through the booths of vendors selling various merch or fundraising for certain organizations. Rosh and Ayub break off, looking for food, leaving Wille and Simon to browse, just the two of them.

He and Wille walk between tables and groups of people gathered on the grass. It seems everyone around them is wearing a big smile, so relaxed and carefree. Someone approaches them, saying they’re handing out free pride stickers. They offer up a whole plethora, every single pride flag you could imagine, and Simon happily takes a gay flag sticker, smiling at the pretty shades of green and purple.

Glancing over, he sees Wille staring at the stickers with wide eyes. He looks almost panicked, frozen in his spot, so Simon gently prompts, “Do you want one, Wille?”

Wille snaps out of his daze, eyes shooting up to meet Simon’s, then over to the stranger’s.

“No,” he smiles tightly. “Thank you, though.” Then, he turns and moves on to the next booth.

Simon smiles awkwardly at the person and heads after Wille.

“Hey—” he starts.

“You wanna go find Rosh and Ayub?” Wille interrupts, like he hadn’t even heard Simon, panicked look gone from his face. “I’m getting hungry.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah, sure.”

Simon follows after Wille, moving through the crowds with purpose, and soon enough they find their other friends. The four of them find a spot on the grass to sit and eat, relaxing in the shade and enjoying the lively atmosphere. There’s still an hour or two before the music starts up, so they hang out there, joking and chatting with people around them.

As soon as the music starts up, they jump from their seats and rush towards the stage with the rest of the crowd.

It’s loud and packed and sweaty, and it’s everything. They jump and dance in the warm lights of the setting sun and the neon spotlights from the stage, singing along to the songs they know and laughing to those they don’t. Even Wille has fully loosened up again, taking Simon’s hands to swing him around in the small amount of space around them. Simon cackles, trying not to trip over anyone’s feet, or his own, his chest bursting with happiness.

At some point, their hands part, but they continue to dance, until Simon’s hand gets taken up by someone else’s. It’s not Buzzcut from earlier that day, but a different pretty boy with blonde curls and a bright smile. Over his shoulder, he sees Wille laughing and dancing ridiculously with Ayub, so he lets the boy pull him in to dance.

The plan is stupid, he decides. He can’t make Wille like him, he can’t make Wille come out before he’s ready. It isn’t fair of him. It all came out of him being selfish and a little heartbroken.

He dances with the new boy, but not too close, because it just doesn’t really feel right. It stays friendly and carefree, and the other boy is a rather good dancer, so Simon doesn’t mind. He focuses more on the music anyway, wondering what it would be like to be up on that stage, performing for hundreds of people. Maybe he could do that sometime, perform at Pride.

Simon glances over to check on his friends and sees Wille watching him. He’s just standing there, gaze switching between Simon and the boy beside him. Then, he’s turning around and leaving, pushing his way through the crowd.

Simon immediately follows after, waving off Rosh when she tries to stop him.

He barely manages to keep up, keeping an eye on the top of Wille’s head weaving between people.

They end up in a sparse part of the park, tucked in the back behind a tree. The sound of the performance still going on is muffled at this distance, just bass-filled background noise.

“Wille—”

“I get it, okay?!” Wille spins around, voice sharp. “It’s great to be out and proud and to have a community you connect with. I fucking get it.”

He looks really angry, and Simon feels guilt crawl up his throat. It was never meant to go this far, it was just supposed to be a fun thing to pull Wille out of his shell. Maybe Simon was pulling a little too hard.

“I’m sorry,” Simon says gently, taking another step forward. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t think I wish I could do that?” Wille flicks a hand back toward where they came from, chest still heaving with frustration. “Flirt and dance with random boys? Pick sticker of a flag that,” he puts his fingers up to mimic quotes, “‘fits’ me?”

Simon remains silent, unsure of how to handle this situation. This seems like more than being jealous of the other boys talking to Simon.

“Fuck, Simon,” Wille sighs. The anger goes from his voice, and he deflates, suddenly just looking very sad, staring at the ground and running his hands anxiously through his hair. “It’s not even my parents or whatever. I didn’t— I didn’t even know I could like boys like that until I met you.”

Simon’s heart flutters excitedly in his chest at Wille’s words, despite the defeated tone. He takes another step forward, wanting to touch Wille so badly, to comfort him.

“I don’t even know if I do like any other boys. Or who I like at all. How the hell am I supposed to know?” He finally meets Simon’s eye again, brows knitted in confusion and sadness.

“You don’t have to know,” Simon says quietly, holding Wille’s gaze. “You don’t have to label it at all. You can like whoever you want, however you realize. There’s even an unlabeled flag. You can say queer or gay or nothing at all. You don’t owe it to anyone.”

Wille nods, looking slightly relieved, but he’s still got a wrinkle between his eyes, and Simon’s chest hurts at the sight.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been rubbing this,” Simon gestures around them, “in your face all day. I was just— I really like you, Wille. I mean, no, I love you. You’re my best friend, but I also love you, and it hurts to be kissed by the boy you love and then to watch him run away. I just got all mixed up and angry. I was being stupid. I’m really sorry, Wille.”  

During his rambling, Simon’s eyes had dropped to the dark grass, too scared to see Wille’s reaction.

“You’re not stupid.”

He looks up again and finds Wille standing right before him, only a foot or so separating their faces.

“I’m sorry, too.” Wille’s voice is quiet, and Simon is sure he wouldn’t have been able to hear it if the rest of the world around them hadn’t faded into darkness. “I shouldn’t have ever run away from you. You didn’t deserve that. I was just scared.”

“It’s okay.”

“No.” Wille grabs his hands, and Simon’s breath catches. “It’s not okay. But, I promise to make it up to you.”

He nods and gives Wille a small smile.

“I don’t know what ‘like that’ means,” Wille says, inching forward, “but if ‘like that’ means loving you, then I am definitely ‘like that’.”

“Wille,” Simon giggles.

“What?”

Simon grins up at Wille. “Kiss me.”

This time, Wille doesn’t run away. Instead, they run together, hand in hand, back into the crowd.

[thefandomenchantress]

DRDT Incorrect Quotes (Pt. 1?)

I got bored and decided to share some of the incorrect quotes that I made a while ago. Hopefully they’re in-character, haha.

Levi: *Walks into the room* Why are you standing on the table?

Ace: Because I can!

Levi: …Where’s the spider?

Ace: On the ground, please kill it, what if it crawls up!?!

David: That’s ridiculous! Xander doesn’t have a crush on me.

Teruko: Yes he does.

Whit: Yes he does.

Xander: Yes I do.

Eden: Look, I made a friendship bracelet for you!

J: Oh, I’m not really a jewelry person…

Eden: You don’t have to wear it.

J: No, I’m wearing it forever, back off.

Random Guy: Some dude’s going off the bungee swing backwards!

Charles: Ha! What an idiot.

Whit: I’M GOING OFF THE BUNGEE SWING BACKWARDS!!!!!

Charles: FUCK THAT’S MY IDIOT!

Hu: Are you laughing at that video of Xander and Arei fighting?!?

Teruko: No.

Teruko: I’m laughing at the comments.

Rose: With great power…

Rose: Comes the need to take a nap. Wake me up later.

Ace: Guess I’m just too tough to cry.

Levi: Just yesterday you were crying about snakes.

Ace, terrified: THEY DON’T HAVE ANY ARMS!!!

Hu: Sorry it took me so long to get you out of jail.

Whit: No it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have used my one phone call to prank call the police.

David: Quitting! It’s like trying, but easier!

J: Don’t worry, I have a permit.

Hu: *Inspects it* This just says ‘I can do what I want’.

*At the zoo* Xander: What’re they in for?

David: Xander, this isn’t a prison

Xander: So can they leave?

David: No, but—

Xander, pointing at a meerkat: I bet that one murdered someone.

Teruko: Hey, what’s the name of the guy that lives down the hall?

Nico: His cats’ names are Walter and Rose.

Teruko: That’s not what I asked.

Nico: That’s all the information I have.

Whit: Wow, this parking is as straight as I am!

Charles: I know I should be focused on the fact you just came out, BUT HOW DARE YOU INSULT MY PARKING!

Arei: *Jumps in front of the object Rose is painting* Ha! I jumped in front of your picture, now it’s ruined!

Rose: Arei, this isn’t a photograph. I’m not going to just paint you into my—

Rose: *Realizes she painted Arei onto her canvas* Aw sh—

Eden: *Eating a cinnamon roll*

The Fandom: …Cannibalism.

Eden: *Confused chewing noises*

Arei: Ugh, there’s always that one weak bitch in the group who isn’t down with murder.

Arei: *Glares at J*

J: Well, sorry I have morals!

Ace: I’m proud to say I’ve overcome my fear of ghosts!

Levi: Ah, that’s the spirit!

Ace, jumping into his arms: WHERE?!?

Arturo: Veronika…Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor?

Veronika: Your text told me to satanize the house before you returned.

Arturo:

Arturo: I wrote sanitize, Veronika.

[firecrackerhh]

I swear to God dude people only like Stella purely out of spite for Stolas and nothing else, at least someone is well aware she isn’t a good fucking person instead of some people who are just fucking delusional enough to think she’s actually a good fucking person.

Like I don’t know why so many Stella defenders are legit delusional enough to think “no she’s a good person guys Viv just can’t write good female characters!!!” Like ok my dude, hope you’re having a good time in fucking la la land.

…

Look, no one, and I mean, no one. Deserves the fucking wrath of Kiwifarm users. Those people are full on fucking stalkers and creeps who get some sick thrill out of talking shit about people who at best are cringe and at worst, even if they certainly aren’t good people themselves, stalking them and harassing them to the extent those people do doesn’t actually do Jack fucking shit and constantly talking shit about others is just as sad and pathetic as the people they talk shit about.

But! Same with 4Chan, if you seriously go to those places for info on hazbin, or vivziepop, or anyone fucking else, of fucking course you are going to find the scummiest fucking people! Maybe, just maybe, if you actually wanted decent information on the various bullshit that Viv is constantly getting herself involved in, you don’t go to a place known for cyberstalkings harassment, racism and transphobia? Just a fucking thought?

Like I’m not gonna say I’ve never gone to Kiwifarms before out of pure curiosity but I sure af never actually interacted with those fucking basement dwelling fucks, cuz I actually respect my fucking mental health, they make threads on their own users! They have no loyalty to each other! Why tf would they be nice to you when you obviously have mental weaknesses they have no care if they exploit?

You for all intents and purposes went to a site run by fucking psychopaths and your first fucking thought after the whole debacle is “This fandom is terrible, this is totally Viv’s fault somehow?!” Bitch do you think they like her either? I’ve been on the vivziepop thread out of burning curiosity, trust me, they don’t! They don’t fucking like anyone! I don’t think those people like themselves dude! That’s why they talk shit about other people! Because they so desperately want to feel better about their own shitty meaningless lives!

Like I’m sorry this whole thing is giving me “I blame vivziepop for literally everything wrong in my life ever, nothing is ever my own fucking fault!” Vibes. I bet every morning when they wake up their first thought is some kind of “I’m glad vivziepop didn’t kill me in my sleep!” Or some wack shit like that, Viv is this bitch’s boogeyman I swear to God.

I get that they clearly didn’t understand as a dumb kid the extent of Kiwifarm’s shittiness, I get that, but with how chronically online this bitch is nowadays (chronically online is not merely an online-all-the-time thing, it’s a state of mind imo) I would think they would recognize that the people there are wretched, and that isn’t Viv’s fucking fault? And maybe they should’ve just given up on this fucking moral crusade the second it started actually affecting their mental health to the fucking extent it did? Like Jesus Christ what the fuck are they getting out of this beyond some masochistic fucking thrill? Because it’s beyond obvious all this bullshit amounted to nothing.

Like I’m sorry if that sounds extremely inappropriate to insinuate against somebody online but good fucking God what other reasons could there be for why this bitch is constantly going on about Viv even when it’s beyond fucking obvious their whining and obsessive compulsion does nothing but make their own life worse?

I’m sure some people who read my posts on the daily are probably thinking “Yknow, you could say that about yourself?” Yeah I know, that just means I know wtf I’m talking about LMAO!

At least I’m brutally honest that I enjoy getting pissed off (my life is so fucking boring y’all don’t understand) and it’s definitely better than feeling fucking nothing.

At least I actively fucking enjoy something in my shitty life, even if it is just a fucking cartoon, I’m convinced this bitch doesn’t actually like anything, all I ever see this bitch do is whine and complain.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Trials and Defibrillations (5)

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Jonathan Crane would like to say, for the record, that he did not usually stalk people.

Now, admittedly, this isn’t the kind of thing you would, typically, have to disclaim, but… well, he was currently following someone home, and he would like to say: hey, leave him alone, this is a special case.

You see, the person he was currently stalking was a fucking freak of nature and he needed to know more. For scientific reasons.

... also for Evil Reasons.

After all, Marinette had shown herself to have healing abilities. This, on its own, might not have been worthy of fanfare, until you consider that she seemed not to care all that much about things like literally getting shot in the head. Just how powerful was she? Could she reverse death? Even her own?

Every weird thing that he had learned about the girl over the few times he had had the misfortune of speaking to her was coming together to paint a very clear picture.

She was a meta with, frankly, ungodly healing powers.

It explained why she hadn’t blinked at the gun being pointed at her head. No need to wonder why she had been so good at patching him up that one time despite her lack of medical experience, there was probably an instinctual element involved. It made sense now why she was so interested in the chemicals he developed – he would be wondering if chemical weapons would make healing powers less effective, too, if he were in her shoes (he wasn't even in her shoes and he was already wondering it).

Frankly, he felt stupid for even taking this long to realize.

But he was determined to make up for lost time.

By following her to her home so he could get her on his payroll By Any Means Necessary.

‘But Jonathan, she already took you to her house once, why do you need her to lead you there?’ you may ask. To which he would say fuck off, he doesn’t make a habit of learning random people’s addresses. Like he said – he’s not a stalker.

Ignore what he is doing right now. He is a Rogue and he can do what he wants. And what he wants right now is to pay this random meta to heal him after particularly painful battles. Batman may not kill people, but sometimes getting his knee kicked in by a furry on a Tuesday afternoon was worse than death. And, besides, the bats’ No Kill Rule didn’t go for the rest of Gotham, who generally didn’t like Jonathan all that much, for some reason. So, yeah, getting a healer on board would be great.

Unfortunately, she does not seem that interested in talking to him now that he knew her secret, probably because she thought that he would perform unethical experiments on her or something (which, to be fair, he would do if he wasn’t pretty sure she could beat his ass on sheer willpower alone thanks to the unfair advantage that was getting to heal at any time... and, even then, he was still considering it heavily). She was surprisingly good at avoiding him. Every time he tried to approach her in public, she disappeared so fast that, had he not known her power set already, he would have assumed she could teleport or, at the very least, shapeshift.

Her ability to completely disappear was nothing more than a minor (albeit very annoying) inconvenience, though, because she has two weaknesses:

Firstly, her mysterious roommate, Adrien – a person who was, by all accounts, a normal guy. A good person, even, judging by his status as an EMT. And most good people are super boring and therefore aren’t all that fond of the idea of their friend and/or roommate being in cahoots with Rogues. She had proven that during their first meeting, when she had stressed to Jonathan that her roommate could not know who he is. This meant blackmail was definitely on the table. Which was great! Because Jonathan loves blackmailing people, sometimes you don’t even have to pay them!

Her other weakness was that, while she certainly wasn’t poor enough to fit in among all of his usual henchmen, she wasn’t rich, either. And, if you aren’t rich, it is actually very difficult to uproot your entire life on a whim. Especially when she was as established in Gotham as she was. She attended college and rented an apartment and, assumedly, had friends (though he had yet to see proof of them, which made sense, he was glad to know he wasn’t the only one put off by her general… vibes). All of this meant she would be unlikely to simply move away. If he had to wear her down over time, then that was what he would do.

So, when he found her apartment again, he was happy to say that he knew she would not be leaving anytime soon.

This isn’t a set up for a joke where he comes back in a week to find all evidence of her scrubbed from the apartment. He was just very proud of his stalker abilities. He may not be one professionally or anything, but he’d be good at it if he was.

Okay, well, remember when he said he wasn’t a professional stalker? He would hope so, considering this was one sentence ago.

The point is, he made an amateur mistake.

While he had included Adrien in his plans, he hadn’t really accounted for him to be… in the place that he lived.

So, when Jonathan, having made himself comfortable on their couch once again, a classic Gotham gas mask over the bottom half of his face solely because he had been working with chemicals earlier and didn’t feel the need to take it off after, he was blindsided to find two people walking through the door.

“ – still don’t get it. Yeah, ‘to get to the other side’ is a lame punchline, but it’s a lame punchline. Why is it funny?” Marinette asked as she stepped through the door, her eyes just barely gleaming with amusement, suggesting that she was just messing with her unfortunate roommate.

Adrien seemed to know this, but he still looked like he was going to strangle her to make her shut up. Luckily for her (and unluckily for Jonathan, who had wanted to see whether his ‘unable to die’ theory would be proven correct), he was quickly distracted by the person sitting on their couch.

Neither person looked all that concerned about the stranger who had broken into their house. Just confused.

“It’s funny because it subverts your expectations,” Jonathan offered his answer.

Not that either of them seemed to care about his opinion right now.

“Marinette. There’s a man on our couch.”

Wow. Deja vu.

“How does this keep happen – wait, are you cheating on me?!” Adrien gasped. “After all we’ve been through?! Don’t you know that cheating is, like, wrong?!”

Never mind on the deja vu thing. What?!

Marinette sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Jonathan wasn’t sure whether she was more annoyed at him or Adrien. Which was kind of offensive. He was supposed to be making her panic, not be mildly annoyed.

“No. I would never cheat on my beloved husband. Especially not with a guy that looks this old.”

Jonathan was so hurt by the ‘old’ comment that he almost breezed past the first part of her statement. Which was, technically, logically, the more important one. It recontextualized a lot of stuff and he needed to know more about it.

But he would definitely come back to the ‘old’ comment later.

For now, Jonathan held his hands up in a kind of ‘time out’ gesture. “Wait, you’re married?”

Adrien, looking like he was seconds away from collapsing into a fit of laughter, pulled his hand out of his pocket to reveal a golden band on one of his fingers. Marinette was a little slower, and far more reluctant, but she still tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing that her ring was in her earlobe.

“It’s an ear ring,” Marinette explained with a sigh, looking like she would rather be anywhere else but was oh-so-bravely standing put.

“I’m hilarious,” Adrien added, as if Jonathan really needed him to confirm that he was the one who had come up with that.

“And I’m getting a divorce,” she grumbled.

“Nah.”

Jonathan was pretty sure that’s not how that works. You can’t just say Nah to divorce. No fault divorce was legalized in, like, 1969 (nice). But that was that, apparently, because Marinette didn’t bother arguing it further.

Jonathan was not going to let this go, though. “You said he was your roommate.”

“He is?” Marinette said, sounding confused, motioning to the living space around them, as if to say ‘We share a room, see?’

Jonathan did not, in fact, see.

“Shouldn’t you call him your boyfriend? Or, I guess, husband? Wouldn’t you being in a relationship kind of trump you being roommates?!”

Both of them looked disgusted at the very thought.

“We’re not in a relationship,” Marinette said.

“I would never,” said Adrien, looking like Jonathan had just accused him of a crime and not being in a relationship with the person that he had apparently married.

Jonathan did not deserve this. He did not think there was anything wrong with assuming that the people that are married would be dating. That is how it goes in, like, >99% of cases.

He huffed. “So, what, is the marriage for tax reasons or something?”

College was pretty expensive these days, he’d heard. It was entirely possible.

“No, we’re married because we’re soulmates,” said Adrien, slinging his arm around Marinette’s shoulders.

Marinette looked unimpressed.

Jonathan puzzled over this for a few more minutes before deciding, hey, he isn’t Riddler. He doesn’t have to know everything for the sake of intellectual superiority. Jonathan Crane might be a mad scientist, but this meant that he knew that sometimes the best answer you can get for the time being is ‘I dunno, shit is weird’.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Whatever. Can I talk to you, Marinette?”

“You are cheating,” Adrien sniffed. “Can’t believe you got another man’s wife pregnant. We have kids at home!”

Kids?!

“Please don’t bring the labrats into this,” Marinette said.

Oh. Okay. Jonathan could respect that.

“Tikki and Plagg are going to be devastated when they hear about this.”

“Well, if they are devastated then I’ll have successfully uploaded a human consciousness into their minds so, frankly, that would be wonderful,” said Marinette.

“Why’re you trying to do that to rats?” Jonathan asked. “Yeah, they’ve got minds that aren’t unlike humans’ in structure, but their brains are so small…”

“‘Cause the guy that leases us this place doesn’t allow pets.”

“Rats are pets!” Adrien, someone who was apparently a strong purveyor of rats’ rights, said.

“You dropped an ‘s’. They’re pests,” Marinette corrected. “That's why I'm using them. They're, like, everywhere. Honestly, Gotham has a weirdly high amount of rats.”

“That’s because of the Rat King,” said Jonathan.

Marinette’s eyes widened. “The fucking what now.”

“You know, the Rat King,” he said, shrugging.

Marinette didn’t 'know'. But that wasn’t his problem.

“I can tell you about it after we talk,” he said.

She lit up, immediately rushing over to grab him by the arm, dragging him toward the window. Jonathan made a mental note: she was much more agreeable when she wanted information of some sort.

(He made another, smaller mental note that she had been stalling the coming conversation on purpose. This mental note had a few holes in the paper where he’d pushed his pencil too hard and had accidentally torn through it.)

“Sounds great! See you in a few minutes, Adrien.”

“Cool. Don’t die.”

“No promises!” she chirped.

Then she, unceremoniously, pushed Jonathan out the window.

This wasn’t as bad as it could have been, considering there was a fire escape to stop his fall, but he still didn’t really appreciate hitting a metal grate facefirst. He, probably, could have lived without that experience. Perhaps he would have even lived better, because surely a few of his brain cells had died upon impact.

She didn’t seem to mind, tugging him to his feet and towards the stairs without even giving him time to process the maybe-concussion he’d just earned.

“So, what do you want?” she asked, her tone light.

“Work with me or I’ll kill your – uh – husband-partner-roommate-thing,” he said, straight to the point, because they had waffled about for far too long before this.

She snorted. “Alright.”

“... alright as in You’ll do it, or as in Go ahead and kill him?”

She thought about it for a minute. As if even she hadn’t known what she was saying.

“Mmmm… I mean, if you kill Adrien, I will kill you,” she said, perfectly chipper. As if she was talking about the most recent Brucie Wayne drama and not revenge.

“Then don’t make me kill him,” Jonathan said, raising an eyebrow. “All you have to do is agree to be my healer.”

She sighed, looking reluctant.

“You literally stalked me for weeks on end until, like, a few days ago. Why are you suddenly deciding that you hate me?”

“‘Cause I’m pretty sure you want to experiment on me, and that sounds like a pain,” she said.

This was a fair point. Unfortunately.

Jonathan gritted his teeth. You know, usually, threatening the lives of people and their loved ones was all that he needed to get them to comply to his demands. He was more than a little in the dark here.

“And if I promise to only do the experiments that you agree to…?”

Marinette thought this over. “Can I use your lab from time to time?”

“Fine.”

“Sweet. You have a deal.”

They exchanged numbers and he left, content now that he had her on his payroll.

It wasn’t until he was halfway home that it occurred to him that, somehow, despite the fact that he was the one who was blackmailing her, she ended up getting more out of the deal than him.

At least he had gotten out of telling her who the Rat King was, so she was, probably, suffering, too. That made it, kind of, fair.

He would make it completely fair by bringing Rat King to his next meetup.

Because he was a nice guy! The Rat King, a man who lived in the sewers and communed with the vermin, was sure to have numerous diseases, and a healer would surely help keep him happy and healthy.

(And he was pretty sure that the Rat King would have a few things to say about Marinette’s treatment of ‘Tikki’ and ‘Plagg’. That was a conversation he couldn’t wait to watch play out.)

+++

Up next: Adrien grows on people like a particularly stubborn bit of mold

TBC

Trials and defibrillations masterlist

[all-pacas]

Can we get a sneak peek at any wips you've been working on?

you know i'm weak to this kind of question pal. not counting the stabbing story, i got four one shots on the backburner/sideburners:

chase-13 friendship story (90% complete, fighting the last scene):

“You think our patient and her boyfriend are gonna last?” she asks. “For a couple of months,” Chase says with confidence: he’s clearly thought about it. “She’s still in recovery. He won’t leave before she gets better.” “I heard she’s going with the pig valve,” Thirteen counters. “She’s doing what he wants, not what the internet tells her.” “She’ll pretend to be a good girlfriend for a few months, but go right back to her old ways.” “Okay, House,” she says, amused. “I thought you were kind of into the no secrets thing.” Chase hums. “Obviously you’re not, Thirteen.” “Of course I’m not,” she admits, laughing, although it isn’t at all funny. “I keep secrets about myself from myself when I can.” She glances down at her hand, as though she’ll see a tremor. Curls her fingers into a loose fist. “Like you’re any different? You broke House’s nose…” “He was taking shots,” Chase says, smooth and prepared. “He’s always taking shots. You were sick of people asking about Cameron.” She sort of hopes he’ll flinch, or react, let her know she’s nailed it, but Chase just stares down at his glass and takes another swallow.

mutual babytrap death spiral (???? not sure how much i have left playing it by ear. maybe 50%?)

House has been making fun of him for taking out his phone so often, and Chase is sure House knows — not only that Chase keeps thinking of calling Cameron, but why and for what purpose. Somehow, no one seems to have realized she was there the night of the lockdown. That he’d signed the divorce papers, that they’d had sex in an exam room, although he’s sure that if House knew about that there’d be no mystery left. Can practically hear it: So, how did your pathetic last-ditch attempt to win her back work out for you? Very well, if you looked at it one way. Terribly, if you looked at it another. Since Dibala, he’s been going to church again. It’s a reoccurring disorder. Goes once every couple years and it turns into addiction, confessing all his petty sins for the relief of forgiveness. Placebo effect, pure and simple. Eventually the rush wears off. He starts self-editing. Confessing to little things he doesn’t regret, leaving out Father, I don’t think my wife would leave me if she was pregnant. The odds are decent, he thinks, that the Church would agree.

inklings of a pre-series chase working for house alone story (10% but recently i had some Good Ideas so we'll see):

“There’ve been three… four others in the fellowship program,” Wilson says. It’s a quieter day in the clinic, and their assigned shifts overlap this week. “Three of them lasted a couple months. The fourth guy quit before the end of his first day.” “I met Dr. Reynolds,” Chase says. They’d overlapped by about a week before the shouting match in House’s office. Reynolds had grabbed his coat and stormed out without a glance in Chase’s direction and he’d had the urge to cringe down in his chair. House had stayed silent and stayed in his office. After a few minutes, he’d turned on the TV. The machine by the clinic is always out of order, so Chase had needed to trek to the cafeteria to get them coffees. Wilson had been faintly embarrassed by the gesture, which made him eager to return the favor with gossip. Chase sips his own coffee, which tastes both watery and burnt.

this goddamn "chase meeting cameron's parents" thing i started forever ago and have no idea how to finish but it seems like a perfect storm of asskissing and daddy issues and reddish flags. i'm in a longterm war with this thing:

She pulls into her street. Her driveway. Eyes fixing, as ever, first on her bedroom window: second floor, second from the left. She likes knowing it’s still there. Likes knowing it still exists. The house is boring suburbia: a split level built in the 60s. Beige sliding, fake bricks. “Here we are!” she says, full of pep and false cheer: Chase stares transfixed, and she feels a moment of self consciousness. “I know it’s not much compared to whatever mansion —“ “I didn’t grow up in a mansion,” he corrects irritably. She’s being mean again. Cameron bites her lip. Unbuckles her seatbelt. Chase doesn’t move for a long moment. “Are you nervous?” she asks, and feels guilty it hadn’t occurred to her before. Guilter as she considers it. Chase doesn’t talk about his family much, but she knows his childhood was far from happy. “Your parents will like me,” he says, again, and it occurs to Cameron that he’s reassuring himself as much as her.