#sorry I basically ranted about my own thoughts here

[zazzander]

I have so many thoughts about this!

I think Riordan wasn't necessarily going for "new type of demigod" but more "look at all this nepotism!" (bonus: Percy & Annabeth could one day have kids) and didn't really expand on it. Even though, as you pointed out, he kinda needed to.

Like what are the rules with legacies? How does it all work? Riordan is completely inconsistent with this. Just to start, sometimes legacies are called demigods and sometimes they aren't.

Like did he have to spell it out in the text? no. But he did need to have the general prinicpals written down somewhere just so things were consistent.

Legacies are shown to have similar power levels to Demigods, or those powers are inconsistent.

I mentioned the nepotism thing and I wanted to talk about how this inconsistency actually negatively impacts Riordan's intent here. The first (full) legacy we are introduced is Octavian. He's supposed to be set up as advantaged by his heritage. His family has been at New Rome for over a hundred years! They have a lot of sway within the structure of the camp etc.

But that is immediately negated by the fact that Octavian is implied to have no powers. Which means Octavian is at a significant disadvantage in a camp full of SUPER PEOPLE.

If we assume this doubt is baseless, and Octavian actually can see the future (which is most likely) then it's implied that legacies are assumed to be weaker when they are not. Which against places Octavian in this place of uncertainly and potentially makes him an underdog.

That's entirely too much nuace for a character and concept with barely any screentime.

we have characters like Bryce Lawerence; who has powers like, shadow travel, enhanced tracking, summoning the damned souls of those who broke oaths, along with being implied to have visited the underworld at some point because he mentions hearing the screams of the fields of punishment.

Then of course, Bryce Lawrence enters the picture. Up until the point he shows up, it's heavily implied (at least for me) that legacies only inherit one power.

Octavian = prophecy; the Zhangs = shapeshifting

As you've pointed out, Bryce exhibits three seperate abilities (we could possibly argue surviving the Underworld as a fourth, but threes are fun). Like, what? How?

he’s stealthy enough that Nico doesn’t notice him. […] he has the same skill set of Nico! Never mind the tiny little difference in the necromancy, they have the same power and the same level of that power.

THIS! IS! MADNESS! Like I hadn't even really thought about the implications until I read this, but Bryce is actually way too strong. He somehow sneaks up on Nico di Angelo, Son of a Big Three God? Nico is supposed to be one of the most powerful demigods in the books, stronger than most demigods, yet here's Bryce, showing off the equivalent power level as the legacy of a minor god.

I know that Heroes of Olympus basically threw out the book on making the Big Three Kids uber demigods, and powered up a bunch of the Olympians' children, but this takes it another step.

And I know that Nico does manage to take out Bryce pretty easily, but this entire situation implies that legacies are capable of using godly abilities to the same level of other demigods. There is no discernible difference between a legacy and a halfblood.

Which is backed up by another point: Camp Jupiter fully believed Shen Lun (a legacy!) was capable to making a massive earthquake. That's on top of his shapeshifting abilities.

So it looks like it's option 2: legacies are unjustly viewed as weaker, despite there being no evidence for it. Why Riordan decided to write in demigod-on-demigod discrimination, I have no idea, and - once again - it undermines his intent to make Camp Jupiter corrupt and ruled by nepotism. With a societal belief that legacies "aren't real demigods" they are less likely to get promoted - which explains why some of them turn to underhanded methods to gain promotions (Octavian, but potentially also Bryce).

It just makes no sense and mixes up the message Riordan was trying to convey.

Legacies in Camp Jupiter/Just Pjo?

Wow I am on a roll! Anyway I’ve been wanting to do this and the power post just really dragged up this issue in my head back to the forefront, and it is someone that really continuously confuses me on a basic level of how Rick chose to let this category function.

Legacies are a type of Demigod introduced in HoO that are directly related to Gods but aren’t first generation. They are not children of gods but like grandkids, great-grandkids, so on and so on. This is not a new concept, it is as old as myths themselves, the first thing that pops up in my mind was Troy’s royal family was said in myths to be descended from Zeus. That makes someone like Hector (in Pjo-verse vocabulary) a legacy in the Pjo canon.

But.. Legacies aren’t really different to demigods? Like- not different enough that they would get classified as differently-? For several reasons I believe, but the main three points I want to make (because apparently all my thoughts come in packs of 3), is that 1) Legacies and Demigods are shown to have the same godly-ability level as one another/ it’s inconsistent, 2) somewhat through the books themselves they just sort of stop using the word Legacy/Legacies never have anything that set them apart from demigods, 3) this is a new concept to distinguish them (this is the weakest but it feels weird that Rick decided to differentiate Legacies and Demigods when myths never really did too much, but when did Rick care about the source material- okay, that was rude I’m just still annoyed over Ares-)

Anyway,

Legacies and Demigods powers. Legacies are shown to have similar power levels to Demigods, or those powers are inconsistent. I bring this up because it feels odd? That legacies would have a similar broad level of abilities while still being more mortal than god (this depends and I’ll talk about what I think for like hc on New Rome and their legacy population) but we have characters like Bryce Lawerence; who has powers like, shadow travel (the shadow travel is implied but I’ll get into why it’s likely he has some form of enhanced ability to travel), enhanced tracking (also implied but this will fit into the travel thing), summoning the damned souls of those who broke oaths, along with being implied to have visited the underworld at some point because he mentions hearing the screams of the fields of punishment. But let’s also remember that BoO takes place somewhere in 8-9 days (starts July 20, ends Aug 3) the Bryce attack scene is on chapter XXX while Bryce being brought back to the legion is in chapter VI. No less than if I remember correctly like 2-3 days could’ve past. There are a couple things, he’s stealthy enough that Nico doesn’t notice him. We don’t get any confirmation that he’d been following them for a while (from all I know of Bryce’s character I have to assume he wasn’t or he would’ve 100 percent taken the first chance to attack them) but he is able to get from Long Island to South Carolina on foot, and seemingly appear out of nowhere. There is probably a logical explanation but also considering the fact he knows what’s happening to Nico (that shadow traveling fading that doesn’t seem to matter?) makes me consider and lean more to the idea that he can shadow travel (honestly would love to make another post on Bryce Lawerence because no one cares about him but I really find him interesting). But if he can do the (implied shadow travel) and the very apparent necromancy he has the same skill set of Nico! Never mind the tiny little difference in the necromancy, they have the same power and the same level of that power. The difference is that one is a legacy, and one is a Demigod- but there doesn’t seem to be a power difference. Secondly Frank’s shapeshifting thing, I’ll be real and say I just think that’s a thing because like Poseidon gifted it? I think of it as the same way that like the Red panda gift from turning Red is going strong because it was a blessing or whatever. And Octavian, who is (said, for some reason Rick wanted to put in that maybe Octavian never had powers at all but that’s stupid and takes away what little things Octavian has) but he also, doesn’t seem to have a dip in powers? I don’t care much for seeing the Apollo kids but it seems that they all can have varied powers (fitting seeing as Apollo was a god of so many things) and Octavian’s skill doesn’t seem limited in any way (would’ve been great if we got more information on it because we have no idea how it works compared to say, the way we know how the Oracle stuff works) but all of this puts a clear image that from the legacies we know, there doesn’t seem to be a big difference in power. Which is odd, seeing as they don’t feel like they should.

Through HoO Rick really just like- stopped talking about legacies? I’m laughing as I’m writing this but know it’s a saddened laugh because like. Rachel refers to Octavian as Son of Apollo (Which could be argued she doesn’t know what a Legacy is but I feel like since her Oracle powers told her everything else it would’ve informed her of his proper title- or I guess not because the writing didn’t care at all about Octavian-) and I think Reyna mentions Bryce is a legacy though it’s not referenced any more. Bryce just brings up Orcus in some dialogue and that’s about it. If you’re going to bring up a new type of Demigod then why not explore them more? HoO doesn’t explore like anything but still, Frank never has thoughts about his Legacy stuff. We don’t even get any notes about Greek demigods not considering most of the Roman Legacies Demigods because they aren’t the direct Children of the Gods? It just like- Legacies kind of do nothing, there is nothing different about a legacy.

Mythology doesn’t even really distinguish the two? Like- again because I’ve read the Iliad and Odyssey it’s what I always think first. Hector mentions he is also related to Zeus- that there is a distinct thing about demigods like Sarpedon, Achilles, and Aeneas. But there never is something where it calls out, “Oh Hectors great-great-great grandpa is Zeus and that’s super different and crazy” but it’s just “Hectors related to Zeus y’know and he’s gonna kick your butt man >:[“ obviously this is a random point because those are ancient texts. But we have to remember that Pjo is founded off of these myths and the fact that Legacies are a part of these myths but distinctly different (literally everyone who is descended from Zeus which is literally everyone- not literally but like-) operate differently, they are essentially no different than their fully mortal companions other than they can sport a God ancestor and the most convoluted family tree.

Okay. Those are the points that I’ve made. All of those boil down into like “Rick did nothing to differentiate Legacies from Demigods other than slap a different name on them” and that’s a missed opportunity. It’d be like if something like Harry Potter went, “Here are wizards that are said to be different than other magic users but all that’s different are their titles!” That might be a thing I don’t know I don’t consume Harry Potter. But there was a ball and it was slammed into the ground (huh, almost like Rick did that with a lot of things related to Camp Jupiter and the Romans- also the Romans canonically have cars and I don’t like that). But I have some Head-canons about legacies for my re-imagining to hopefully make them, make more sense?

The longer a legacy line is, the more ‘diluted’ the power becomes. Like in the myths, after you hit a certain point most legacies will have incredibly weak powers. This adds to the powers post I made (shameless plug that you should read that one too because I’m proud of it.) and how the legacies affect the Romans view on powers. But this means that the farther you get down a family line the less and less powerful the power is. Say a child of Zeus has children and then like ten generations down the line the descendants could be more resistant to lightning, conduct it easier and attract it a little more, maybe jump a big higher but that’s about it. Example, Michael Kahale In my re-imagining comes from a super duper long line and his powers pretty much are, I look pretty, I’m a little more persuasive from remnants of charm-speak (and I want to buff up the Aphrodite cabin more because Rick really just didn’t care when it came to them)

This doesn’t include ‘gifts’ like Frank’s. I think by the will of the God that blessed the ancestor with it they keep the power strong. This goes the same way for curses, maybe. If the curse is not revered than it probably is passed onto your kid.

In common sense, the fresher the legacy the more potent the power. And sometimes there can be mutations that a child can end up with more potent powers, whether that be the wishes of the Godly ancestor or they just get miracle genes it could act as a soft re-boot to strengthen the powers. For examples; Bryce is a very new legacy, his dad is the direct child of Orcus and Bryce gets passed down all of the cool powers (also need a hc for his mother because she comes from a legacy line) or Octavian was just.. born with the more potent powers, I like to think Apollo noted him and took interest to strengthen his powers for some reason. (Note he also is a legacy of Venus but I haven’t worked out if that affects him and how, but the Venus part is much more downplayed)

Legacies who have mixed godly blood/ several different lines that have merged have a little from everything, their powers are weaker but if like for example a Child of Athena with a Hermes legacy might have a easier time stealing things, or be a little faster than their peers. But these end up very minimal because the direct child aspect overpowers it a lot (idk I don’t know hypothetical demigod genes and how they work so let’s just go with it) this is similar with legacies+legacies though the family will usually stick to one legacy title (sort of how last names are passed on, but a partner wouldn’t take up the legacy title of the family. But a child would) while the powers honestly could be all over the place

Okay that’s all I think right now, if I have anything else I’ll probably make a separate post but for me right now it is very nighttime and I need my sleep so I can crush my siblings in various unserious competition.

[delta-piscium]

Trying? Trying??? By learning. By succeeding!

(about this and my text under the cut)

this is very nice actually thank you so much <3 <3 and like, i probably do need to give myself more credit in general but also i am still very much learning and stumbling and figuring digital art out (and for the most part it is so fun)

I’m gonna ramble about this a bit so bear with me and also i apologize lol, but that art was done after a month of getting increasingly more frustrated with everything turning out so badly and eventually realizing that I was trying to 1. copy a certain look/style that i’ve internalized is what fanart and digital art should look like and is very far away from my style/comfort zone 2. i was trying to do everything digital allows without being comfortable with it or understanding it

so (and this took me a month to realize ? ??) i did what i already knew from doing acrylic and oil painting in the past and could somewhat easily transfer to digital without having to know more than the basics, like i didn’t use a lot of the things digital provides or allows for. i used layers for my own peace of mind but without actually needing them and did some color adjusting (honestly, the color adjusting digital lets you do is such a blessing to me) but the only fancy way i really utilized the medium was making it a gif (which is so fun and a lot easier than i would have thought, like honestly watch me make any future art into gifs too) but there are so many things you can do with the medium with settings/effects, different brushes, tools to use in the process etc that i just do not understand what they are or how to implement them so i am very slowly learning digital art as a whole new medium rather than just being able to use it to adapt what i already know

[yieldtotemptation]

CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

When she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch.

If you were to ask her, she’d probably say the same about you.

And yet, that doesn’t stop her from calling you in the middle of the night, slurring about some shit with her manager, telling (not asking) you to come pick her up.

You’re inclined to recommend that she fuck off and find her own way home.

But of course, you don’t. (You never do).

-

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

There’s a collective groan of disappointment that ripples through the crowd that’s formed up behind Wonyoung; each face falling one after another as they realise that ultimately none of them get to be the lucky suitor that takes her home.

Moths around a flame, unable to do anything but watch as she sashays through the neon haze towards your car. Hips sway with a drunken grace, a dangerously short skirt dances around her thighs, high heels strapped to her feet make her legs seem endless.

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

It probably makes the pain of rejection a little more bearable, makes them forget that they’re being abandoned on the sidewalk with all the rest of the has-beens and ‘who the fuck were you again?’

Her ‘co-workers’, technically. Some you recognise, most you don’t. But they’re all basically the same insecure douchebag in a different shade of overpriced streetwear.

You’d probably be doing the world a public service if you were to steer your car onto the pavement and run them all down.

It’s an idea you entertain a little. Doing it would really ruin her night.

That’d almost make it worth the dent it would put in your brand-new car.

Still, you can’t completely blame the gaggle of potential casualties, not really.

It’s Wonyoung.

Girls like her are the reason they invented the word ’idol’ in the first place, because calling her ’pretty’ or ’hot’ is like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a nice portrait’.

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Like the starlet she is, Wonyoung waits until she’s at your car to make her grand exit. A turn to her adorers and a final goodbye: a casual flick of her wrist, a sweet, flirty smile and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink that’ll have them deep in their group chats ranting about how they definitely had a moment with the Jang Wonyoung.

You just roll your eyes. You’ve seen that wink a hundred times.

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

After all, it’s your car that she’s climbing into, slamming the door behind her like it’s her name on the registration; leaving behind her new fan club with nothing but their dicks in their hands and their heads swimming with fantasies of what totally could have happened.

You’re no better though, are you? The second she slides into the passenger seat, you’re judging the shortness of her skirt, eyes greedily tracing the length of her thighs, all the way up to a hint of lace that’s destined to be ruined later.

You’re not subtle. And in that outfit, she’s not either.

“What took you so long? I swear to God I’m going to punch the next guy that asks me ‘how much of a baddie I really am’.”

No thank yous, no pleasantries, not even a look in your direction.

To think that you used to be impressed by how quickly she could drop the act: gone is the sugary sweetness that she’d fooled those simps with back at the club; the pretty, airheaded, ‘lucky Vicky’. As fake and useless as the glasses resting on the bridge of her perfectly shaped nose.

Next to you is the real Wonyoung, the one that you’ve become intimately familiar with: intimidatingly smart, unfathomably hot, and all too aware of how dangerous a woman those two traits made her.

“Why is this car black? I thought I told you to get the red?”

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

Barely a minute in and she’s setting a personal best record for time taken to piss you off; impatiently kicking off her heels, tossing them over her shoulder and into the back seat (of again: your car, not hers).

You can be just as childish: you slam your foot down, pedal to the floor, wheels screeching, and you peel off into the night. The acceleration forces Wonyoung back into her seat, scrambling for her seat belt, yelling, “What the fuck?”

Now she’s looking at you. You’re casual, offering, “Oh, sorry, did I scare the passenger princess?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you’re welcome,” you grumble, slowing to a more reasonable (legal) speed as you turn onto the highway. “Remind me, when was it that I started operating a taxi service for wasted idols?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rolls her eyes, puts her hands together, bows her head down low. Rich, coming from someone who’s never had to genuinely apologise for anything in her life. “Didn’t realise washed-up trainees had such precious schedules.”

It’s a low blow, her go-to insult for you. Nothing you’re not used to; it’s been years of this, after all.

Years of Wonyoung, the living reminder of your biggest failure, making your life her personal pet project. Years of her smugness, of her flaunting her success in your face, of her demanding more from you, demanding better.

Years of you pushing back, pushing her, and somehow always ending up in the same place, the same bed, the same tangled mess of sweat and spite.

To think it all started when you saw her across that shitty practice room and one of you (you forget who, though it was probably her) said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and it was pure hate at first sight.

“Couldn’t get literally anyone else? Don’t you have friends?” You throw the question out there, keeping your eyes on the road, and not down at her legs, crossing and uncrossing, teasing and taunting.  It’s a herculean task—she’s practically ninety percent leg anyway; so fucking easy to admire, so right wrapped around your waist.

“Trust me, I tried. None of the girls have their license, I definitely can’t call someone from the company, and the last time I tried to get a taxi the fucker recognised me and threatened to leak my address. So that leaves me with you,” Wonyoung sighs. “The last resort.”

“Wow, what an honour,” is your reply. You’re still not looking—not sneaking glances at her stomach, as she stretches in your passenger seat.

As an exercise, you pretend she doesn’t exist. Pretend that the hem of her shirt isn’t rising up, peeling back to grace you with a glimpse of her midriff, that waist, her abs tight and exerted after a night spent out on a dance floor.

It nearly works—for a second, you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed at her.

Right until Wonyoung laughs. Not that fake, high-pitched giggle that she knows you find so grating. No, this has an edge to it, a bite that she reserves just for you. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t waiting for me to call. Or were you in the middle of jerking it to my fancams again?”

There’s the memory, the one loss in territory you haven’t quite recovered from. (A reminder: be less blasé about what you choose to name your saved playlists.)

You fire back with, “Yujin’s actually, but nice try.”

“Whatever, pervert.” Your attempt at a riposte doesn’t work, it’s dismissed, leaving Wonyoung satisfied that she’s won this exchange.

As for her prize, she does what she always does—gets touchy with your property.

She busies herself, fiddling with the touchscreen on your dashboard—’What the fuck is this playlist?’ and 'Why do you listen to this group? You know all those girls are absolute bitches, right?’.

“Stop that.” You reach over to slap her wrist before she starts getting too ambitious and messes with the temperature controls again.

"Hey!” Wonyoung yelps, recoiling, and then pauses. You turn to her, see her annoyingly flawless features scrunch up in disgust as she asks, “What’s that smell?”

You curse under your breath as you realise what’s coming. Wonyoung’s frustratingly sensitive when it comes to scents; she’s got a nose like a bloodhound—and a penchant for sticking it in the parts of your life she doesn’t belong.

She’s gone as far as 'gifting’ you every perfume you’ve owned, every body wash, every shampoo, even your fucking laundry detergent.

Just another way she’s tried to take over your life.

You give your own car a whiff, if only to see if this is just another case of Wonyoung being a brat.

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

“Ew, seriously, what is that? Is that you?”

You’re too slow—she’s got your forearm now. For someone that looks so delicate she’s got a grip like a vice. She brings your wrist up to her nose, sniffing, making her way higher up your arm.

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

She’s not listening at all, unbuckling her seat belt, leaning over the console, pulling herself closer to you, pushing her body against yours. Whatever little respect Wonyoung had for your personal space is gone; her nose is on your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“It smells like…” She pauses, getting even closer, taking a deep inhale as she tries to place the fragrance. “Why do you smell like a whore?”

Her voice is low, coloured with a barely noticeable slur. You can feel it: the powder keg about to explode, Wonyoung getting ready to go from zero to a hundred. So, you deflect, “Sure you’re not smelling yourself?”

“Fuck you, I don’t use that cheap shit,” she snaps. “You fucked someone tonight, didn’t you?”

You don’t reply. It’s not like you owe her one, anyway—she’s not your girlfriend, you’re not her boyfriend, you two are…

Rivals, mortal enemies, fuck-buddies, friends-with-benefits (except without the whole friendship part).

(Take your pick, call it whatever you want, or in Wonyoung’s case: don’t call it anything at all.)

“Who—who was it this time?” Wonyoung’s fingers tighten around your arm, and there’s that spark in her eyes.

Every chance she gets, she’ll insist she gives so few fucks about your personal life, but one mention of another woman and she’s diving right in the mud, for once not hiding the fact that she may actually give a shit about you.

It’s probably why you do it.

“Who’s the slut dumb enough to spread her legs for you?”

Now it’s your turn to avoid her gaze, to pretend that having her this close isn’t doing wild things to your heartrate. You make an unforced error: “None of your business.”

“So you did fuck someone.” Her hand moves down your arm, dragging her fake acrylics across your skin until they find purchase in your thigh, digging in hard enough to make you flinch. “You fucked someone I know didn’t you. Who…” She’s reading you, trying to find the answer somewhere in the stress lines of your face. “Hyewon. Yena. Yuri. I swear if it was fucking Eunbi, I’m going to—”

“Going to what?” You challenge. You know this game. You’ve played it before—every damn time she gets like this (and you know where it leads). “Going to lie to me about your own personal survival show back there?”

Wonyoung scoffs. It’s a throaty sound that seems almost foreign coming from her—too impolite, too uncouth for the elegant, refined image she’s painstakingly cultivated. But she makes it anyway, because she’s had a few too many drinks and you’re the only one who’s around to see her like this—raw, unfiltered. “Those losers? I’m not like you, bringing home every pair of tits that strokes your ego.”

“Good to know that I’m special then,” you smirk, but she’s not smiling back.

No, she’s just looking at you, in that annoying, Wonyoung way. It’s those big, doe eyes of hers that you’ve seen do so much damage before—make men bend over backwards, light themselves on fire just to get her to look their way. “You wish.”

You push on, push her just a little bit. “Drop the act, Wony. I wasn’t your last resort—I’m the only one you even considered. You needed your daddy—isn’t that what you were calling me before?”

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

“And if I did, I’ll never say it again,” she declares, before emphasising. “Never. Again.”

But you know her better than that. You know her lies just as well as she knows yours; it’s in the quickness of her response, the defensiveness—the vulnerability.

“I doubt that,” you say, making the most of the tiny crack in Wonyoung’s armour. “I remember you screaming it. Had you cumming like a fountain—ruined a perfectly good set of sheets, you know?”

“You’re disgusting,” she hisses, but she’s got the same memories in her head—that same night, so similar to this one (so similar to every night before).

The fighting, the fucking, the endless cycle of pushing each other’s button until one of you snaps.

“And what about you? You got here awfully quick for two in the morning,” she says. Her hand’s still on your thigh, less nails, more fingertips now, tracing patterns through the denim of your jeans. “Couldn’t bear the thought of me with someone else, could you? Lie to me—tell me that you weren’t waiting to get your hands on me again.”

Your denial dies before it even makes it past your lips—your own body turns traitor on you, provoked by her hand rising higher. There’s a smile as Wonyoung finds what she was looking for, the proof in the stretching of your jeans, the outline of your cock begging for more of her attention.

“At least this part of you is honest,” she muses, fingers dancing around your growing stiffness.

You grit your teeth, doing your best to keep the car steady, managing to grind out, “Please. It’s like you said, any decent pair of tits does it for me. Even your tiny ones get the job done.”

Her hand freezes on your thigh—you’ve hit a nerve, hit that dark part of her that’s so desperate for validation. “You think you can replace me? Find someone else to fill your sad, lonely nights?”

She’s closer now, her breath against your neck, her fingers drumming a beat right over where the head of your cock is. It’s a heady feeling, one that you hate and crave all at once.

“Was she even good?”

You know what she’s really asking: Was she better than me?

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

But you don’t say that. You don’t need to. Instead, you reply, “It’s not a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition.”

Wonyoung’s hand relaxes, nails retreating from your thigh, leaving you flustered and fighting against the constraints of your own jeans. She settles back into her seat, having done her damage.

And for a moment, silence reigns inside your car, allowing you to actually focus on the road. Not that it really matters, you know the route to her apartment by heart—you could drive it blindfolded if need be. It’s just a welcome distraction to avoid dealing with the state she’s left you in.

The quiet survives a beat, two, and then Wonyoung’s squirming, shifting in the passenger seat.

And then she does it again.

And again.

You should keep your eyes ahead—you need to keep your eyes ahead.

You know exactly what you’re going to find if you look over at her.

That’s the problem with you and Wonyoung. You know each other too well. Your likes, your dislikes. What gets you off. What makes you mad.

What drives you fucking wild.

And yet, because you’re a sucker for punishment, you still risk a glance, and see Wonyoung, leaning back in her seat, her hand sliding up her own thigh, so casually drifting up her soft, bare skin, higher and higher.

The skirt rises, inch by torturous inch, and it’s those panties—the same set that was around her ankles the last time you had her bent over your couch, swearing she’d hate you forever. The same set that’s probably already soaked, just waiting for you to rip them off again.

You have to tell her to stop, to keep her hands to herself, to not do this to you, not now. Not while you’re trying to keep you both on the fucking road. But your mouth is dry, and all you can manage is a choked, “Wonyoung—”

Her fingers have slid past the hem of her skirt, now playing with the lace that’s the only barrier between her and open air. She’s biting into the plumpness of her bottom lip, staring at you, expecting your full attention, even now. There’s no subtlety with her, there never is, it’s one of the few things Wonyoung’s bad at.

You swallow hard, finding your voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” she says, a little breathy now, as her fingers slip under the lace. “You got a problem with it?”

There’s the flash of skin, a gasp as her fingers find purchase between her folds. She’s so wet that you can hear it—the slickness of her arousal, the quiet sound of fabric sliding against her skin.

You’re straining, gripping the steering wheel so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in two. Her hand’s dipping lower, her finger sliding inside herself; not deep, not yet, just teasing. Enough to make you want to pull over, to grab her and throw her on the hood of your car, to show her exactly why you’re the only she thinks about when she’s lonely and desperate.

But you don’t, despite the way your body is begging for you to do something, anything, to ease the ache in your cock.

Because if you stop, it’s over. You know how this ends—or rather, you know how she’ll want it to end. She’ll want you to apologise for even being in the proximity of another woman, she’ll want you to beg for her forgiveness so that she might bestow upon you the privilege of touching her again.

If you’re lucky, she just might let you. But only if you play her games.

So you drive faster.

You push the speed limit, weaving through the mostly empty streets.  You’re racing to a finish line, except all that’s waiting at the end of it is the taste of Wonyoung on your tongue, the feeling of her wrapped around you, the sweet victory of making her scream.

It’s hell—ignoring the sound of her pleasure, the wetness of her fingers working in and out of herself. There’s glimpses of her in the corner of your eye, she’s still watching you. She’s enjoying this, loving every second of it.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, even though she doesn’t expect an answer—she just likes to hear her own voice. “Getting distracted? It’s a long, long way back to my place. No one can blame you if you need to give up and pull over.” 

Wonyoung’s getting bolder now, pulling her skirt up to her waist, parting her legs for you, so you can see her hand moving faster, her hips rising to meet her own touch. So you can hear her, hear the fucking sound of each stroke of her fingers inside her, punctuated each time by a wet slap of her palm against her cunt, reverberating through the car, taunting you.

“You want it, don’t you?” She throws the question out so casually, like of course it’s only natural for her to be fingering herself in your car, of course she should be doing everything in her power to make you want to drive into a fucking wall. “I can tell, you’re so desperate to touch me. Definitely going to die if you don’t fuck me soon. Maybe even right here, right now?”

Your foot slips and the car swerves a little—it’s not much, but it’s enough to let her know that you’re losing focus, that she’s winning.

“Careful,” she laughs. “You wouldn’t want to crash before we get to the fun part.”

“You can’t wait until we get back to your place?” You finally ask, the question burning in your throat.

“No. You need to be reminded that you’re-ah-mine,” comes Wonyoung’s answer. “You’re going to fuck me anyway, so why not-mmph-why not save us both the trouble and get started on my own?”

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

It’s not even worth a proper reply. Without a word, Wonyoung reclines back into her seat and snaps open the buttons of her shirt, nonchalantly revealing the swell of her breasts, the darkened peaks of her nipples.

No bra—they’re just there. Right there, in your face—those tiny, round, perky tits that you’ve had in your hands, that you’ve had between your teeth, that you’ve covered with your cum more times than you can count.

She’s not shy about it—never has been—arching her back, pushing her breasts out even further. It’s the confidence from knowing every other idol (hell, every other woman in the world) would sell their soul to have a body like hers. So why the fuck not flaunt it?

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true,” she says, reaching up to her chest. A palm finds her tits, pinching and rolling the sensitive nubs, making them nice and red and swollen for you.

She’s moving faster now, grinding down on her own hand, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip so deep you’re surprised she hasn’t drawn blood. Her breaths are getting shorter and shorter, she’s so close, she’s so fucking turned on, she’s so hot it hurts.

Her eyes remain fixed on you; seeing you struggle only makes her hotter, spurs her to circle her clit faster. She’s drinking you in—the tightness of your jaw, the way your eyes can’t decide whether to keep on the road or on her, the way you swallow, trying (and failing) to keep it together.

The worst part of it all is this wicked smile that’s settled on her lips; thoughts of wiping it off her face with your cock flash through your mind. She’s just so fucking smug about it, so sure of herself.

And maybe she should be.

“Admit it,” Wonyoung purrs. “Admit that you need me.”

“Why would I? You’re just a convenient hole to fill.” It’s not true, of course. You’ve never believed it; none of the hundred times you’ve said it to her before—and she’s never once been fooled.

Wonyoung is back in your ear, “You��re a bad liar.”

Her hand’s returned to your thigh, teasing closer and closer to where you really want it to be. You grunt a weak, “Wonyoung, if you think that’s going to work—”

But she doesn’t listen (she never does).

She reaches for the bulge in your pants, far too quick for you to stop her from wrapping her fingers around you, from taking a hold of you and squeezing.

“See?” She whispers, thick with satisfaction, feeling you throb in her grip. “You’re already about to burst. You can’t resist me. No one can.”

You’re not backing down. You’ve got your own pride to think of, after all. “Save it for your fan club.”

Wonyoung’s never been one to take no for an answer. Her hand moves with purpose, sliding over your zipper and giving it a forceful tug. The sound rings through the car, and it’s an out of body experience; it’s all in slow motion as she pulls out your hard, aching cock.

Fuck.

“Last chance to pull over.” Wonyoung takes a hold of you, fingers curling around your cock with a firm grip that leaves no room for doubt—she’s not letting go until she gets what she wants.  “Who knows what will happen if you keep driving like this. Wouldn’t want to ruin these expensive leather seats with your cum, now would we?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Your funeral,” she answers, her smile widening into a full-blown grin as she starts to move, stroking you, her hand gliding up and down your shaft with familiar ease. “Or ours, I guess.”

She’s not making it easy—there’s the slow, deliberate pumps, her thumb circling the head, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin. It’s so natural for her, so goddamn good. 

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Wonyoung’s question hangs in the air, joining the sound of her fist pumping your cock, the squish of her own fingers plunging in and out of her cunt. It’s a taunting metronome, the more you try to ignore her, the tighter she squeezes, the fastest she strokes you, the louder she moans in your ear. “Are you sure you can handle me?”

“I’ve done it before and I can do it again,” you grit out. “You’re going to be the one begging for it in the end. Like always.”

She huffs, and you’ve found your mark. “Oh, really? You think you’re so much better than me? You think you can just ignore me like that?”

“Better than you? Easily,” you answer. “You’re just a pretty face and a pair of legs that can’t keep itself shut.”

That makes her stroke you harder, tighter now, firmer, she’s trying to make this hurt. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“What gives you the impression I even think about you at all?”

“Oh, I know it keeps you up at night—thinking about me, wondering if I’m thinking about you, wondering if any other slut can make you feel the way I do,” Wonyoung’s leaning on you, chin propped up on your shoulder, a devil in your ear. “You hate it, don’t you? You hate that it’s my cunt that you can’t get out of your head, that it’s my pretty lips that you need so badly around your cock.”

"Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Wony?” You ask, glancing down to her hand between her legs, her fingers deep in her folds, her cunt dripping with juices and making a small puddle beneath her. “Look at how wet you are at just the thought of having my cock back between your pretty lips again.”

“Fuck you.” Wonyoung’s panting, short harsh breaths. There’s no conviction in her voice, no denial to be found—this dance of spite and lust has her so fucking heated. All of it—the hate, the competition, the push and pull: it’s all just foreplay. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing but a back-up plan, a toy I play with when I’m bored.”

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

You don’t let her finish her insult. You’re tired of the back and forth, the games, the fucking power plays. You take your hand off the steering wheel, grabbing her by the hair, wrenching her head up to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re—” Wonyoung’s mistake is opening her mouth in protest—you push her face down onto your cock; not giving her a chance to argue, not giving her a chance to do anything but suck you dry like the skinny little slut she is.

She chokes, hacks a cough as you plunge your cock down her throat, her nose meeting your waist, and it nearly has you emptying into her mouth then and there.

Turns out, she’s right.

You do need this. Need to feel her perfect, pouty lips on you again, her teeth grazing against your skin, her tongue giving in and worshipping you like she’s never done with anyone else.

You keep a hand wrapped up in a fistful of her hair, but you don’t even need to hold her down—she doesn’t fight you, doesn’t even make the slightest noise of protest. No, she just takes it; never mind how much her eyes water, her mouth drools.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning before you can think better of it, and just like that, you’re conceding the smallest victory to her.

And it makes her smile around your cock.

You grunt in response; buck your hips, feed her your cock, make her gag (make her regret it).

You don’t ease up, because if there’s one thing you know about Wonyoung (one thing you know about fucking Wonyoung), it’s that the most insulting thing you can do to her is to take it easy on her.

Just fuck her face and behold the sight of Wonyoung taking your cock. God, her pretty lips wrapped around you, her throat bulging at your length, her teary eyes staring up at you with a mix of defiance and something that’s eerily close to adoration.

It almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to be driving, and it takes a honk from a car behind you and a smile and a curt nod from Wonyoung to remind you of the world rushing by outside.

You pull your eyes back to the road, both hands on the steering wheel to right the car back on track, barely escaping death by deepthroat.

Wonyoung laughs around your cock, a muffled sound that sends vibrations up your shaft. You try to ignore it, but she’s already seizing the opportunity, taking full advantage of the distraction to push down on her own accord, to take you deep—to start properly sucking.

You swerve again.

Her mouth is absolute heaven, pure and simple—she’s a fucking master at this. Your cock’s been in her mouth so many times before that she could probably write an instruction manual on exactly how to make you come unglued.

Too much all at once—you’re groaning now, unable to help it. She’s not even trying that hard; just taking your cock between her lips, sliding it all the way down her throat, a few gentle licks here, a swirl of her tongue there, but it’s more than enough. It’s what keeps you coming back. No one else feels like this—no one else has mapped out your cock like she has—every inch, every vein.

It’s the rhythm that she’s got down to a science: how fast to take you, how much pressure to apply, when to break from her pace to keep you teetering on the edge.

You can feel her eyes on you, scanning you for any sign of weakness—this is precisely where she wants to be. Like this was her decision—like everything leading up to this was part of some messed up strategy to provoke you, to make sure that your cock ended up in her mouth.

You don’t get a chance to dwell on that thought, not when Wonyoung’s teeth is at the base of your cock, her cheeks hollowed out, her tongue doing these little flicks that make your toes curl.

And there’s the question in her eyes: ’is that all you got?’.

Fuck it—risk taking your hand off the steering wheel, it belongs in her silky, dark hair. Make her eyes widen, make her take you deeper, kiss the back of her throat with the tip of your cock, force these divine fucking sounds.

The noises when she gags around you, when the spit is hacked up and drooled down your cock; she’s so sloppy, so filthy.  

And she takes it, takes all of it.

Push her down before pulling her up by the hair, choke her, gag her, have her slobber all over your cock, make her feel you.

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

It’s fucked up how you’re treating her (how she’s letting you treat her); she’s an idol for fucks sake. But that’s the last concern you have on your mind—all you can focus on is how fucking good it feels to do this to her, to have her fighting for air around your cock, fighting to keep her eyes on you as you fill them with tears.

Wonyoung’s not giving up though—she’s timing it, timing you. When to relax her throat to take you deep. When to suction her lips. Where to dart her tongue to find that sensitive spot along your shaft.

She’s battling back, in her own way, just as determined as you are to not lose this war of wills. But in the end, you’re the one in the driver’s seat.

“Mmmph,” she’s the one moaning now, moaning around your cock. Shivering in your lap, body jerking and trembling; you can tell her fingers are still buried in her cunt, playing with herself.

She’s so fucking shameless, so fucking pretty, even like this—cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, eyes watering.

You want to kiss her, but that would mean separating her lips from your cock. You want to tell her how much you hate her, but the words won’t come out—they’re stuck in your throat, lodged between your grinding teeth.

“Wait—fuck.” You realise you’ve missed your turn, a split second too late. You jerk the steering wheel, needing both hands as you pull a sharp U-turn. The tires squeal as you try to correct your error, Wonyoung’s mouth around your dick scrambling your brains.

She pulls her lips off from your cock with a hollow ‘pop’. “I thought you could handle me?”

You try to reply—try to form a single coherent thought—but the chance slips by as Wonyoung’s back on the offense, back throating your cock so quickly that your vision swims.

A deep breath is what you need to keep it together. You’re barely thinking straight, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, doing everything you can to keep yourself from giving up (giving in to Wonyoung’s mouth).

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

You’ve blown far past any normal speed limit, trying to keep from spinning out with every one of her enthusiastic bobs—it’s by some divine benevolence the car hasn’t completely flipped over by now.

Wonyoung’s relentless, her mouth’s a fucking black hole, sucking you in, stealing every thought from your mind until there’s nothing rattling around your skull but the feel of her wet, warm lips on your cock, and the obscene sounds of her fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, fucking herself.

You’re almost there, and Wonyoung knows it. You can feel it in the suction of her lips, in how hard she’s working you over. It’s the sweetest kind of torture—knowing that she’s got you right where she wants you, that she’s got you on the edge and you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

So you drive. You drive like your life depends on it, because maybe it does. Maybe the only thing keeping you sane is the promise of your eventual release, of filling her mouth with her cum, of pulling her onto your lap and fucking her cunt raw until she screams your name.

“Come on, you can do it,” she’s taunting you now, lathering your cock with just her tongue, dragging it along your length, licking you all the way from your balls to your head. She’s giggling as she steals the pre-cum from your tip, the fucking bitch—like she’s got all the power in the world.

You can see her apartment building in the distance, a beacon of light in the darkness.

You’re almost there.

You reach for the garage remote, mashing the button as you get closer and closer (you’re going to break it). The gate sluggishly opens, and you make a sharp turn to swerve into the dimly lit building, not bothering to slow down.

You can’t, not when Wonyoung’s balancing your cock on her tongue, her hand now squeezing at your base, stroking so fast, so erratic, determined to have you cum in her mouth as soon as fucking possible.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she asks, expectantly. “Cover me in it, give me what I deserve—show me how much you need me.”

The car’s screeching to the closest parking space, the sound echoing through the garage, as you skid between parallel white lines.

You’re cumming before the car’s even completely stopped.

It’s explosive; a white-hot heat searing through your veins, a roar in your ears as you shower Wonyoung’s perfect face with ropes of cum. She’s still jerking you off with her hand, her mouth hovering around the head of your cock, slurping up every drop she can get.

“All mine,” she chants, greedy for it. You pulse in her hand, your cum spurting over her cheekbones, across her nose, painting over that tiny dark freckle above the corner of her mouth.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink; she’s a statue, a goddess demanding her sacrifice. Her grip is ironclad, stroking you through your orgasm, not stopping until you’re drained, until your cock is twitching in her hand and there’s nothing left but a sticky mess plastered across her big, wide grin.

You feel the last of your orgasm pulse out of you, dripping down her dainty fingers. She licks her lips, smearing your cum across her cheek with her thumb before she sits up straight, basking in her victory.

“Fuck, Wonyoung,” you manage to get out, your chest heaving, your hand finally loosening its grip on the steering wheel.

“Mm-hmm,” she nods, not looking away from you, not breaking the eye contact that’s holding you in place. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

She’s not done yet—she still has to take her victory lap.

Wonyoung pulls herself off you, giving the tip of your cock a parting kiss as she sits back in her seat. She lifts her legs up—those endless stretches of porcelain skin—one after another, slow, dramatic, placing her bare feet on the dashboard.

Her skirt rides up, and with a stretch she drags her panties up her thighs, along her calves, and off her feet; the lace is soaked with her juices, leaving a trail of stickiness as she reveals herself to you.

The panties disappear somewhere into the backseat of your car, another spoil of war, and she spreads her legs wide, so wide, making sure you have a perfect view of her gleaming cunt. You can see her clit, peeking out from between her folds, and it’s all you can do to keep your hand from reaching over and taking over.

But this is her show, isn’t it? This is all for her, all about her getting off. And she’s fucking drowning in it—fingers in her cunt again almost immediately, so wet, so hot, so shameless in your car, so confident in her ability to get what she wants from you.

Her hips rock up and down, she’s fucking herself in front of you—for you. She’s daring you to look away, challenging you to deny how fucking hot she is.

You can’t.

“I’m going to cum now.” It’s a low hush, confident. “Watch me. Don’t move. Just fucking watch me.”

Wonyoung’s eyes are crystal clear, staring deep into you with the look of a girl who’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted in life. It’s that look she gets right before she shatters, and you know she’s there—right fucking there.

Her other hand reaches up, cradling your cheek, needing some connection, needing you to be with her. It’s not enough to just simply cum, she needs you to see it, to be a part of it in some twisted way.

“Just look at you,” Wonyoung says, like she’s not the one that’s covered in your cum, that’s not bucking her hips into her hand, working herself into a frenzy, like she’s trying to tear herself apart. “You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

And she’s right—you hate her, you love her, you want to fuck her, you want to strangle her—it’s all a jumble of emotions in your head.

“That’s it—keep looking at me—don’t fucking take your eyes off me—fuck—yes—I’m going to—”

The only warning you get is a strangled gasp as Wonyoung cums, feeling it through her entire body, forcing her to keel over by just the force of it, making her fall into you.

Her hand on your cheek drags down to wrap around your neck, anchoring herself to you, pulling herself closer so she can smash her mouth against yours.

She’s kissing you, really kissing you, mouth open and hungry, all teeth and tongue, sloppy and wet. She’s marking her territory now, claiming you as she cums, and fuck, you can still taste yourself on her lips—salty and bitter.

Wonyoung’s hand is still working her clit, prolonging her bliss, and then she’s climbing on top of you, straddling you, grinding down on your half-hard cock as she rides out the last of her orgasm.

Her thighs are sticky with her juices, her skirt riding up so high that you can see the bare, plump skin of her ass, and you’re fighting the urge to just push it aside and plunge your cock inside her—

But she’s not giving you that satisfaction—not yet.

Her climax dies right on top of you—her hips rolling on her fingers, her body living and dying on the last embers of pleasure.

Finally, Wonyoung stops, collapsing against your chest, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of her body pressing down on you. She’s a mess, a fucking disaster, and you hold her tight, your arms around her impossibly tiny waist, your cock coming back to life between her thighs.

It’s intimate, almost kind of romantic in a way that’s entirely fucked up, considering, well everything. You’re both a mess of cum and sweat, panting against each other, intertwined together in the driver’s seat of your car, the garage lights flickering overhead like some kind of sick mood lighting.

Wonyoung laughs.

“You’re all sticky.” She leans back, taking her finger and swiping it across your cheek, coming away with a glistening strand of your own cum, a rope that must have strayed from her face and onto yours.

There’s a glint in her eyes, a dirty little idea, and before you can even react, she’s leaning in again, her tongue tracing the line of your jaw, collecting the rogue drops of you.

She rolls her hips down and over you as she does it, stirring your cock back to attention, because apparently she’s not done with you yet.

“You’re a fucking bitch, Wonyoung,” you reply, but there’s no venom behind it. You’re just stating a fact: the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Wonyoung is a bitch.

It’s just the way she is.

You can feel her smirking against your neck, you can picture the look on her face—like she’s already won. It’s infuriating, really, and you’ve got to even the score.

“What are you going to do, take me upstairs and punish me?”

“No,” you say, the word sticking in your throat like it’s made of honey. “Not upstairs.”

“Here?” Wonyoung looks around your car, doing a terrible job of feigning shock (as if she doesn’t know what you’re about to do to her). Yes, she’s a horrendous actress, but it would take an Oscar worthy performance to mask the heat radiating from her thighs, her cunt dripping down onto your lap. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?”  

A press of a button has your seat sliding back, giving you just enough room to lift Wonyoung up, hoisting her above you like she’s a trophy you just won. Congratulations, here’s your Grand Prize—Wonyoung’s tight body, yours for the night (yours for every night).

She can’t do anything but be held by you, have her hips positioned, her cunt aligned with your cock—in your hands, at your mercy, under your control.

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

That word. That filthy, devastating word is fucked out of her mouth, a gasping scream as you bury yourself deep into her.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

You don’t bother with gentleness or foreplay—this isn’t a romantic reunion after a long day apart. It’s your hands on her narrow hips; hers doing its best to brace herself on the roof of the car, the window, anywhere she can get a grip.

“Say it again,” you grunt, pulling her back down on you, so hard that she bounces back up, only to be met by another thrust.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, but she’s moaning with every thrust, tightening around you each time, her body betraying her words.

“Fuck you, who?” You’re laughing now, the sound thick and low in your throat as you watch her squirm in your grasp. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, baby.”

“You know who,” she says, her eyes flying open, glaring at you as she catches her breath. “You always know who.”

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

Her legs are trembling around your waist as you drive into her, her nails digging into the threads of your shirt. She’s begging you for more—harder, faster, deeper—because that’s what she wants from you, that’s what she needs from you. It’s always been like this—no soft embraces, no tender kisses. Just more, more, more.

You wrap your hand around her throat, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to remind her who’s in charge, who’s giving it to her. You lean in, so close her eyes cross, and whisper in her ear, “This is all you’re good for, you know that?”

Wonyoung’s response is to tense her muscles, clench her cunt around you, buck her hips to slap her ass against your thighs. Another battleground in your endless fight for dominance. Fighting for control, trying to dictate the pace, to set the rhythm, to be the one doing the fucking and not the one getting fucked.

And fuck, she’s tight.

Her cunt, her waist, her body. God, it’s like she was built for this.

Designed to fit perfectly in the palm of your hand, to be filled by your cock, to have her skirt hiked up to her waist like a flag of surrender. You’ve got her right where you want her, where she’s always been, where she always will be.

“I fucking hate how good you are at this,” she gasps, the confession spilling from her lips.

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

She’s kissing you again, fingers in your hair now, scraping the back of your scalp, as she rises and falls on your cock. Reflex has your hand tightening around her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your thumb, making her choke out another ‘daddy’.

You’re fucking her like you hate her, like you’re trying to punish her for every sharp word and cold shoulder she’s ever thrown your way. And she’s taking it like she loves it, like she’s been waiting for this all night, all year, all her fucking life.

Wonyoung looks so fucking good, so perfect riding you like this, it’s starting to piss you off. Her hair’s framing her face in perfect waves, not a single strand out of place, even though you’ve had your hands all through it, your fingers tangled in it. Her makeup’s smudged—you can see the tracks of your cum on her cheek—but she wears it like a fucking badge of honour—and like all things, it looks good on her.

It’s like the universe took one look at her and said, ‘nah, she’s too pretty to let any of that shit ruin her.’

But you’ll try.

Keep going—keep fucking; each moan into your mouth, each push of her tongue against your own, each graze of her teeth against your skin—tells you you’re getting there.

Like you’re trying to fuck out all the spite and anger that’s been building up between you, like you can somehow purge it from your systems and just be left with the good parts.

(It’s never that simple.)

“Wonyoung—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“If I could just have your cock without the rest of you—without your stupid mouth, without that fucking look on your face—fuck yes, just like that—without all the bullshit and fighting—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You don’t believe her, of course—you’re not just a cock to her, the same as she’s not just a pussy to you. But you let her have her fantasy, let her keep pretending she’s just using you for a good time.

“You’re such a bitch,” you murmur, making her chuckle in your ear, her teeth finding the sensitive skin of your lobe, biting down and making you hiss.

Wonyoung’s confession: “Only because it—gah—makes you fuck me harder.”

And it does—it makes you want to show her, prove yourself to her, make her feel it the next day and every day after. Fuck her until she’s nothing but a trembling, whimpering mess, until she’s begging for you to stop. Until she’s begging for you to never stop.

You’re both getting sloppier now, Wonyoung’s hips stuttering as you pound that spot deep inside her, the one that makes her see stars and scream your name, the car shaking with the force of your fucking.

It’s a badly-kept secret you’re keeping from the world outside—the car’s rocking, the lights inside are on, making no efforts to hide what the two of you are doing (doing to each other).

If anyone looks closely enough, if the security cameras in the garage get curious and zoom in, they’ll see your silhouettes; her body arching back, your hips thrusting up and into her.

They’ll see Jang Wonyoung, the princess of the industry, getting fucked in the front seat of a car like some common whore.

And she’s loving it. The danger, the thrill of being seen, the risk that anyone could walk by and hear her moan your name, her voice strained by your hand on her throat. It’s the fact that she’s letting you do this to her, that she’s letting you fuck her like this, even when she’s telling you she fucking hates it.

This moment—Wonyoung—right here, is what you live for.

You want to save it, to bottle it up and keep it with you forever. You want to remember how she feels, how she tastes, the fucking sounds she makes when she’s just about to cum. You want to replay this in your head every time you’re alone, every time you’re with someone else—because even though there might be someone else, they’ll never come fucking close to her.

And then you get an idea.

It’s a terrible idea, one that’ll surely end in disaster—like all the best ideas.

You hold down on Wonyoung’s hips, stopping her mid-thrust, and she’s whining, letting slip just how good you’re making her feel.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, taking short, sharp inhales, replenishing all the oxygen you’ve fucked out of her.

You ignore her, reaching for the dashboard camera that’s been silently facing outside, towards the wall of the garage. It’s been switched on the entire time, waiting to record the car crash inside—you and Wonyoung tearing each other apart.

Wonyoung’s scared. “Oh no, don’t you fucking—”

But she can’t stop you. You’re already spinning it around, pointing it directly at her cum-covered face, her sweat-drenched body.

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

Her mouth opens, but she can’t muster the words. You’re fucking her again, the camera watching everything, capturing every moan, every slight quiver of her body. It’s a side of her nobody gets to see—the side you’re most familiar with.

Wonyoung at her most honest, when she’s undeniably yours.

Just her—getting used (using you)—and fuck, there’s nothing more worthy to be captured and preserved for all eternity.

Her eyes dart to the camera, then back to you, her mind racing a mile a minute. You can see the gears turning—she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this, how to win back some ground, but she’s lost.

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

You’re fucking her, and she has no choice but to follow—whether she likes it or not.

“Fine,” she says, the admission torn from her throat as you push back into her. “But if this leaks—if you ever show this to anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.”

You just laugh. “You really think so little of me? Like anyone would believe it anyway.”

And you mean it. You’re not that stupid. But the thought of having a permanent record of this moment, of Wonyoung, begging in high definition—it has you hooked.

You can’t help but add, “But we’ll always know it’s there, won’t we? Forever.”

Wonyoung narrows her brows at you, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Instead, she does the opposite. She starts to lean into it.

She tips her head back, arching her spine so that her tits are pushed up, giving the camera a picture-perfect shot of her body, her chest, the stiffness of her nipples—everything.

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

A free hand runs through her hair, flinging it back over her shoulder, and she starts to roll her whole body; fucking herself on you in a way that’s so deliberate, so fucking pornographic.

“God, I fucking hate this.” Wonyoung puts it on public record, eyes never leave yours as she performs for the camera—or for you, it’s hard to tell.

“What’s that, baby?” You tease. "You hate how good this feels?”

“I hate that it’s you,” she says, the words forced out between gasps. “I hate how fucking hot you are.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

You’ll never understand it. How someone you despise so much, with every fibre of your being, can fit so perfectly around you, feel so downright incredible on top of you. It’s a cruel joke that the universe decided to play on you both.

But you play along, let her ride you like it’s her fucking birthright, lock you in some petty staring contest, keep your mind filled with nothing but the tightness of her cunt.

You’re both panting now, sweat slicking your skin, making it easier for her to slide up and down on your cock. Her small tits bounce with every movement, and you can’t help but reach out to grab one, pinch it hard, making her wince, making her gasp.

“Fuck—you should quit whatever the fuck you’re doing,” she says, trying her best to form complete sentences through the pain, the bliss. “Work for me.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know.” Wonyoung looks down at you and you can see it on her face: the fucking slut is dead serious. “Manager, bodyguard, assistant. Whatever I can do to keep you close so you can fuck me like this whenever I want. If Yujin can have her drummer boy, it’s only fair that I get you.”

“Why the fuck would I want to spend all day waiting on you?”

She corrects you: “Spend all day inside of me.”

There’s your fantasy—mornings fucking Wonyoung in some hotel room, drinking all the juices from her pussy in the car on the way to work, having her suck your cock backstage at some concert, making her scream your name every night before going to sleep.

And then waking up and doing it all again.

There’s no hiding the smirk on your face. “Go fuck yourself, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung mirrors your grin, that wild, cock-drunk look in her eyes. “Why would I do that when I have you?”

“No.” You’re pulling her close, holding her body tight to you, making her feel it. “You’re mine.”

That word again—'daddy’ on her lips, turning into a desperate cry as her thighs tense on either side of you, her hands locking behind your neck. She’s holding on tight, because you’re not giving her a choice, you’re not giving her anything but what she’s begging for.

You watch her face in the reflection of the car window—the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut and then open again, searching for something, anything to keep her grounded.

"Fuck me like I’m yours,” Wonyoung pleads. “You own me? Then fucking treat me like you do. Treat me like I’m your fucking whore, daddy.”

It’s too much, all of it. Wonyoung: her face—those lips, her body—those fucking legs, her voice—the way she says your name, how she calls you daddy, like it’s a fucking curse. You’re so close to the edge now, so close to cumming again, cumming inside her. You can feel the beginnings of it, the tension coiling in your balls, the white creeping into your vision.

But she’s still talking—and so are you, you realise.

One of you cries out—holy shit—answered with a—so fucking good—followed by an exchange of—fuck yous—and—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

It keeps going, this fucking, this using, this hating—whatever this is.

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

“Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

It’s over—your cock pulsing deep inside her, Wonyoung’s cunt clamping down around you, and you’re cumming—together—tightening and writhing and calling each other every name under the sun, except maybe the one that actually matters.

Wonyoung’s head falls back, losing control of her own body, the camera catching every glorious moment as she cums, her orgasm ripping through her in a scream that you feel in every inch of your body.

You kiss her—her tits, her neck, her jaw, her lips—claiming her, making sure she feels every drop of you. You hate her, you love her, you hate that you love her, you love that she needs you, you hate that you need her.

And all the while the camera keeps rolling, capturing your sweaty, heaving chests; capturing you filling her, spilling out of her, giving her the cum she so desperately pleaded for. It’s so much more intimate than any kiss, any love confession, any of that romantic shit she sings about.

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s every twitch, every shiver, every little pulse of your release flooding her. How she tenses and clenches around you, soaks you with her wetness, drowns you in her tight, drenched heat.

And she keeps calling you it—whispering it—‘daddy’—over and over again, even as she’s coming down from the high, even as she’s gasping for air, even as she’s forcing her tongue into your mouth.

Wonyoung slumps against you, your cum dripping out of her and down your cock, staining the leather of your car seats. You can feel the stickiness of it, the mess you’ve made together. It makes you want to do it all over again.

To make her say it again, to make her scream it again.

“You’re so fucking mine,” you murmur against her neck, kissing her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat.

Wonyoung just nods, too exhausted to argue, too satisfied to care. Her hand finds yours, weaves your fingers together, and you hold onto her, tight. It’s sickeningly sweet, and yet, despite your best efforts, the insult, the quip to break the spell doesn’t come.

Because in the end, you don’t want to kill the moment—not when it’s so perfect.

You don’t want to ruin it with talk of the real world, with the harshness of the light that’ll be waiting outside the car door.

You stay there, parked in the garage of her apartment building, the headlights dimming down to black. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, the taste of it lingering on your tongues. It’s a bubble you’re both loath to burst—because once it does, once it pops, you’re just Wonyoung and some guy she fucking hates again.

“Thank you, daddy.” Wonyoung’s breathing slows, her grip on you loosens. She’s drifting off, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally claiming her.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the two of you tangled together. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum from her, a cute little sound that she’s probably unaware she makes. It’s soothing, almost sweet.

But reality has a way of crashing in, doesn’t it?

You know you can’t stay here forever. You know you’ve got to get her upstairs before someone sees, before the cameras (the dangerous ones, the ones you don’t own) spot you. Before the rest of the world catches up.

You ease her off your cock, she whines, her eyes struggling open. “Take me home,” she mumbles, still not fully coherent.

“Already am, baby,” you reply, gently untangling her body from yours.

With a bit of effort, you manage to get her into an almost presentable state—straightening her skirt, buttoning her shirt, dabbing the cum that’s pooled between her thighs. She watches you as you do it, through a hazy gaze, still recovering from being fucked into oblivion.

It’s an act. Partly at least. A way to save face—pretend that it’s only the exhaustion, that she doesn’t really need you, doesn’t really want to be taken care of like this. Doesn’t want to nuzzle her head into your shoulder, or hug you tight, or have you kiss her on the forehead and tell her that you’ve got her.

Tomorrow she’ll yell at you for it, probably call you an overbearing asshole for treating her like a delicate flower. Make fun of you for going soft, for totally falling under her spell.

(And sometime even later, in a moment when she’s all quiet and feeling vulnerable, right after you’ve fucked each other and hated each other and ended up holding each other for the millionth time, Wonyoung will say:

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

You’ll know what she means right away; you’ll kiss her again and you’ll answer:

“I know.”)

Because despite the fact that when she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch, you’re also kind of in love with her.

And, if you were to ask her, she’d probably the same about you.

[possessed-nia]

me: well yeah i like kissing you after you smoke a cig can't do anything about it my bf: damn, you are weird, people usually hate that me: *:･ﾟ✧o(〃＾▽＾〃)o*:･ﾟ✧

[puckinghischier]

Chef’s Kiss

Nico x fem!reader, soft!Nico, domestic!Nico

summary: Nico fluff, basically

notes: i just really love soft nico and couldn’t get him out of my head so here’s this (also ignore the fact i keep using the same pics in my posts, i need to find more 💀)

[2k]

~

Nico was always trying to do little things to bring a smile to your face. Whether it was having the laundry washed, folded, and put away by the time you got home, sending you funny videos and silly selfies throughout the day, or simply having a glass of your favorite wine waiting on you as soon as you walked through the door, he loved providing small moments of happiness for you. He didn’t have time to do things for you often, his schedule getting increasingly busier as the season goes on, but today he had a completely free afternoon and wanted to have your favorite meal plated and waiting for you to enjoy as soon as you got off work. The idea came to him when you called him on what was supposed to be your lunch break.

“Neeks, I’m so sorry but I have to work late again. I’m having to re-do all of my reports for the day because my boss didn’t like the format that I used, even though it’s the exact format he told me to use three days ago! I swear sometimes he just wants to make my life a living hell. I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

Nico had a fond smile on his face, despite the nature of your call; hearing you rant to him about work was always something he looked forward to. While he didn’t love the fact that you were upset and that your boss was a grade A asshole, he loved being the one you came to when you were frustrated and just needed to blow off steam. It always made him happy to know that he was the one you called when you needed a mid-day pick me up on particularly stressful days. He had tried to tell you multiple times to just quit—that he makes enough for the both of you to live on – but you wouldn’t even entertain the thought. You’d always tell him no and that you needed to pull your weight with the bills and rent, too. You didn’t want to have all of the tears you shed while you were in college go to waste. To quote your exact words ‘I’m going to use this damn degree even if it kills me’. He admired your work ethic and that you didn’t want to have him be your own personal bank, but it was times like this he wishes you would just take his suggestion to heart and actually quit.

“I understand, but don’t work too late, schatz. It’s not good for you. Tuck and I will be here waiting on you when you get here,” Nico looks over at the cat quietly snoozing over on the couch. “I noticed you left your lunch in the fridge; do you need me to bring you something? I don’t have to go back to the rink today for anything, so I could pick up something from that sushi place you like and we could have a little lunch date? Give you a few minutes to reset and recharge?”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t have time to eat today anyways. At this point working through lunch is the only way I’ll be able to come home before midnight. Thanks for the offer, though, Neeks. I have to go, my boss is calling me, probably to tell me something else I did wrong. I’ll text you when I leave, love you,” you hang up the phone, not giving Nico a chance to respond. He knows your boss hates when he catches you taking personal calls on company time, so he just sends you a simple “I love you, too. Please eat something and don’t work too hard” text since you hung up before he had time to tell you himself.

As soon as he pressed send, Nico grabbed his keys and took off to the grocery store. He really only went to pick up the ingredients to make dinner, but he couldn’t help making a quick stop at the local florist, grabbing a small bouquet of daisies he knows you’ll love. As he was driving home, he remembers this bakery you had told him you’ve been wanting to try, so he finds himself in said bakery picking out a few baked goods for you to taste test (and maybe a few for himself, too). By the time he had made it back home it was well past five, when you typically leave your office for the day. Once he brought his haul of groceries, flowers, and pastries in the door, Tuck greeted him by meowing loudly for his food.

“Sorry, Tuck, I’m late for dinner, aren’t I?” Nico asks the cat as he walks over and fills the hangry cat’s food bowl. “Now that you’re fed, I need to get to work on feeding your mom. That is, if I can manage not to burn anything.”

Nico got to work immediately, turning on the cooking playlist you had made and grabbing his ‘Kiss the Swiss’ apron you had jokingly gifted him for Christmas. He pulled out the recipe book that your mom gave you two as a house-warming gift when you first moved in. Just last week you had been talking about how you missed your mom’s famous pasta, so he decided that was his attempted dish of the night. He laid out all of the ingredients and followed the recipe as closely as he could, paying special attention to all of the little notes your mother added in the margins of the typed recipe. About an hour into Nico’s cooking you sent him a text that you were nearly finished and would be home soon, but he was so busy trying to perfect making pasta from scratch that he never even looked at his phone. When he was on his third attempt at the pasta dough, he heard the front door open.

He looked over at the clock to see that it was nearly seven-thirty. He heard your keys hit the bowl sitting on the small table beside the front door and your sigh of relief once you took your shoes off. He could hear the soft thuds your feet made on the hardwood while you walked into the living room. He looked up from the counter to see your tired body drift over to the couch where Tuck laid sound asleep.

“Hey, Tuck. How was your day? Did you catch a lot of Z’s? Dream about catching mice? Poop on your dad’s pillow again?” Nico heard your soft voice say, chuckling at your last question.

The poor kitten had, somehow, got locked in yours and Nico’s bedroom a few weeks ago and neither of you noticed until it was well past feeding time and the little furball hadn’t come running into the kitchen screaming for his dinner. It took the two of you twenty minutes to hear the soft meows coming from your bedroom, the TV in the living room having drowned them out for most of the day. As soon as you opened the door Tuck came sprinting out of the room as fast as he could, acting as if he’d been in there for days. He ran straight to his food bowl and turned around, glaring at Nico and yourself. Later that evening the two of you made your way to the bedroom to settle down for the night only to find that Tuck had left a nice, smelly present on his pillow. Nico was appalled, to say the least. Gagging and holding his pillow out with straight arms as if it was poisonous. You, however, were doubled over with laughter. You fell onto the bed and were laughing hysterically when Nico finally came back into the room, no pillow to be seen.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing; it’s disgusting! The cat shit on my pillow!” Nico expressed, standing in front of the bed with his arm crossed, looking like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum.

“Neeks, it’s hilarious! Out of all the places in the room he could’ve shit, he saw your pillow and thought ‘Ah, yes. Dad’s pillow. I think this will be my new bathroom.” You wipe the tears from your eyes, slightly out of breath from your laughing fit.

“Well, of course it’s funny when it’s not your pillow! If he would’ve shit on your pillow, you would be as upset as I am.” Nico huffed, still in his childish stance.

“Wait, where is your pillow?”

“In the trash.”

“You threw away the whole pillow!?” you exclaimed, starting to laugh all over again.

“Of course, I threw away the whole pillow! I’m not about to sleep on that thing tonight! It’s contaminated!”

“Nico, you could’ve just gotten a new pillow case. You didn’t have to throw your whole pillow away! What are you going to sleep on tonight?” You asked him, amusement clear in your voice.

“Well…I didn’t think that far ahead,” Nico said, his stance deflating a little.

He ended up sleeping on a throw pillow from the couch that night, picking up a new pillow on his way home from practice the next morning. Since then, the two of you have always made sure to keep your bedroom door open anytime Tuck isn’t in his usual spot on the couch.

Nico smiles at the memory, completely forgetting the fact that he was supposed to be kneading the pasta dough in his hands. By the time his thoughts circulate back to the task at hand, he hears you ask the cat “Where’s your dad, huh?” followed by the sound of your clothes rustling as you move to get off of the couch.

“Nico? You in here?” you call as you walk around the corner of the living room into the kitchen. “Neeks- Oh, there you are. What are you doing?” You stopped in the doorway of the kitchen when you took in the scene in front of you. The pots and pans on the stove, the steam coming from a pot of boiling water, the smell of chicken in the oven, and the bouquet of flowers and box of pastries on the counter next to them. Then your eyes move over to Nico, noticing he was absolutely covered in flour. He had flour in his hair, on his face, on his apron, in the floor, and all over the counter.

“Nico, what the hell are you doing? What is all of this?” you asked him once the two of you made eye contact.

“Well, I was trying to have dinner waiting on you when you got home because I know you’ve had a shitty day, but I’ve just now realized that I don’t know how to make pasta from scratch.”

“Why are you trying to make pasta from scratch?” you walk towards him, laughing at how distraught he looks.

“You said you’ve been craving your mom’s pasta recipe, so I thought it would be a good way to cheer you up after the day that you’ve had,” he replied, grabbing a towel to wipe the flour off of his hands.

“Nico, I love you, I do. And I appreciate the effort, but please throw that ball of…whatever that is in the trash and just use dried pasta next time,” you look over at what’s supposed to be pasta dough, reaching him and placing your arms on his shoulders, hands coming together to rest on the back of his neck.

“I try to make you a nice meal and this is the response I get? No ‘nice try’ or ‘wow, it smells great in here!’” he jokes, looking down at you, attempting to look offended, but his eyes only reflect love and amusement.

“You’ll get real praise when you learn how to make pasta from scratch. For now, consider this your compliment,” you stand on your toes, pressing a small kiss to his lips.

“You call that a compliment? Read the apron and try again.”

You laugh before meeting him halfway for a real kiss this time, thinking to yourself just how lucky you were to have Nico in your life.

[minus-plus-zer0]

Stuck Inside From the Rain

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader ♡ Tags: Aged up (This was supposed to be short u-u)

You couldn't go home, not in this weather.

You had only planned to drop off a video game you borrowed from Bakugou, but the rain had hit so suddenly that there was no way you were going anywhere now.

What's worse, it was getting pretty dark out. At least Bakugou had a nice couch to sleep on...

"Oi!" Bakugou called out from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"

Bakugou had fetched some extra ingredients so he could make food for the both of you. You both sat down at his dinner table, with your grilled chicken and peppers in front of you.

"Thank you so, so much for doing this, bestie!" you said. "I think this is the first time we've eaten together in your new home."

"That's not my fault. I invited you over last week. But you were busy with Kirishima..."

You scoffed at how he chewed his food angrily. "He's just a friend, Bakugou. I actually totally forgot about that until now. Are you jealous?"

"Why would I be jealous of some guy with shitty hair?! He's got nothing on me!"

"Then don't bring him up?"

"Don't go blowing me off for Kirishima and then I won't bring him up! How about that?"

"I'll be sure to give you all the attention you want this time, okay?"

Bakugou looked frustrated, but a bit pleased. "You better."

True to your words, you ranted and raved to Bakugou about the food, as always. Bakugou knew that if there was one way to get you to focus on him, it was through his cooking. He looked cocky as you basically monologued to him about your 5-star Yelp review of his food. He offered you the rest to take home as leftovers, because unlike that traitorous rat Kirishima, he found himself to be a considerate and compassionate soul who would never let you starve.

You wanted to help with the dishes, but Bakugou wouldn't let you lift a finger to do chores. The guy was treating you like a guest he personally invited, but you felt a little bit like a burden who invaded his evening out of nowhere (even though you knew he wanted you here).

The night grew colder as it went on, and you could tell even Bakugou was starting to get affected. You attached yourself to his side to warm him up, holding onto him because you knew he hated the cold. He let himself get a little lost in that moment, which was easy to do since nobody was here except for you.

"You're such a koala," he said. "How long are you gonna steal my arm for?"

"Bakugou, if you keep complaining I'm gonna let go."

"Fine, fine! Just walk a little faster with me, I need to get something from the living room."

Bakugou wanted to watch a movie with you, but first he fetched an extra blanket, hoping to drape it over the two of you while you sat on the couch.

"You didn't get your own blanket?" you asked.

"This was all I had! Don't hog the stuff, alright?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a burden. I'm just cold..."

"You're not a burden. Just get over here so we can share it. Properly."

He drags the blanket around both of your shoulders, bringing you two hip-to-hip.

"It's like we're kids again, huh?" you laughed. "If you had extra pillows, I would've made us a pillow fort."

"I'm too big for that and you know it. It'd just fall over."

"You're no fun. Did anyone ever tell you that you act like such a grandpa?"

"You've probably told me that at least 5 times now, yeah."

You two watched a movie together, some old action flick from long ago. You rested your head on Bakugou's shoulder, and over time he ended up curling one of his arms around you. You're engrossed in the movie, you thought it wouldn't be your style but the movements are mesmerizing! However, Bakugou's glancing over at you repeatedly, gauging your reaction.

As the movie continued, the night grows even colder, and you're retreating into Bakugou's chest for any semblance of warmth. It's easy to do since his Quirk keeps his body working like an oven. Bakugou's tensing up now, stiff and janky in his movements.

You yawned for the 15th time this hour. "Bakugou... I'm sleeeeepy..."

Your heart rate slowed and your eyes felt heavy, and you almost dozed off to sleep with the sound of the rain rushing down outside. Bakugou looked distressed, knowing that you two might fall asleep together for the first time. But you didn't want him distressed, you wanted him happy, because he was your Bakugou, even if it wasn't official yet...

In your sleepy state, you gave him a tiny kiss him on the cheek and then curled up to sleep against him. You heard him swearing up a storm under his breath, and he really went through the entire curse word dictionary as if you couldn't hear him at all.

Then, he kissed you on the forehead right back.

"Night, dummy," he said, his voice very quiet.

[themultifanshipper]

Here's a lil blurb based on this post

Warnings: ferrari!reader, disgusting levels of fluff, then a bit of oral because I couldn't help myself, very cringe, Fred is a 3rd wheel lmao

You and Charles were coming up on your three year anniversary.

You'd known him for a while, having met him when he moved to ferrari, the team for which you worked, and he was currently in the process of winning his 3rd world championship following Max's retirement.

It was bliss.

One day you'd been having a drink with Fred and Charles during the summer break, Fred had been passing through Monaco and he'd decided stopped by.

He reminisced about how much Charles had changed since the Sauber rookie he'd worked with all those years ago.

“You know, back in those days Charles was known to randomly stick his head into office doorways and say "it is I, Leclerc" and walk away laughing like a maniac...”

Fred and Charles laughed together at the memory but your jaw was on the floor.

Charles mistook the look on your face as bewilderment so he started clarifying.

“It is a reference from a show, a character named Leclerc who always-”

“I know what it's from!” You cut him off, “I'm shocked at the fact that you've even heard of ‘Allo ‘Allo at all… I've never met anyone who knows about it! Much less a French pers- sorry a Monegasque person!” you looked at him guiltily before continuing “ I was basically raised on that show… wait, we've know each other for 10 years now and been fucking married for 3 of them, how the hell have we never talked about this??”

He giggled into his champagne while Fred looked on, amused by your ranting.

“I don't know, mon amour. But if you are this worked up about it we should probably watch it together at some point”

Your eyes softened as you looked at him, melting at his rosy cheeks and bright smile.

“I'd love to, baby. That's the best idea you've ever had”

You leaned in to kiss him tenderly but he leaned back in avoidance.

“Even better than when I got the idea of marrying you?” he teased, lips staying only centimeters from yours.

You huffed, breaths smelling of champagne mingling between you.

“Okay, second best idea” you giggled and he let you finally kiss him.

Your arms went to his face as you nipped at his lip playfully, completely ignoring Fred who was sitting a meter away and trying his best to pretend you and Charles weren't there.

He sipped on his own champagne and looked over the deck at the sunset just coming over the horizon.

“Yeah” he thought to himself “These two idiots are made for each other”

**

It was a few days later and you'd completely forgotten about it, courtesy of the amount of bottles of champagne the three of you had gotten through.

You were in bed, reading your last chapter before going to sleep when Charles popped his head in the door.

“ It is I, Leclerc ” he purred smoothly.

You gasped and dropped the book as you grinned at him.

“You sure are! But you're definitely my favourite Leclerc” you slid your book onto the bedside table and patted the spot next to you.

He stalked over to you.

“Oh yeah, I'm your favourite?” he purred from the foot of the bed, leaning over it and starting to pull the covers away from your body, uncovering your bare legs.

“Well you are also my favourite Leclerc, mon coeur” he said seductively as he crawled up the bed.

“Oh shit” you gasped “I am a Leclerc”

You giggled as his hands slid up your calves to rest on your thighs, just below the hem of your oversize shirt.

“You had forgotten? This is not good… I guess I need to remind you then.” His dark eyes stayed on yours as he lay his head on one of your knees.

“Spread you legs for me and let me show you how much of a Leclerc you are…”

You blushed and a hand went to his cheek, thumb stroking it as his hands went to slide up your thighs and move your shirt upwards.

He did so and gasped, revealing your bare skin as he realised you weren't wearing anything other than the shirt.

“No underwear? Naughty girl…”

His lips trailed up the inside your thigh until he got to the sensitive skin just above where your folds were quickly dampening with need.

He slid his tongue down, over your clit, through your lips and groaned.

“God, you drive me just as crazy as the day I married you…”

And with that he dove in, using his expert tongue to bring you to the edge over and over again until you were shaking, using his intricate knowledge of your body to his advantage.

A few weeks later, when the season resumed, he was in his driver’s room getting ready for the race, putting his fireproofs on and absent mindedly humming the theme tune to ‘Allo ‘Allo.

You walked past and heard it, recognising it instantly, and it gave you an idea.

You popped your head through the door.

“It is I, Leclerc!” you said and he laughed, glancing at your frame coming through the door.

“You ready to get another win?” you hooked your arms up around his neck and he picked you up, sitting down on the sofa and settling you on his lap.

“Much better now that Madame Leclerc is here” he whispered into your ear and kissed you on the cheek “Although, I am a bit restless. I always have some energy to spare for my wife”

You both knew where this was going.

You slid onto the carpeted floor between his spread legs as Charles threw his head back with a gasp.

You'd seemingly managed to pavlov your husband into getting turned on by the use of your shared last name.

My god this couldn't end well…

[runnning-outof-time]

I believe that “Are you jealous?” is the last available prompt 😅 Do your magic with it, K 🤗 With Tommy, please and happy 3.5 K 😘

Thanks for sending this in, Isa! I’m sorry it took me a bit to write it…..I hope you like the path I chose for it. This prompt was requested 3 times, so I’m trying to give it a little variety. Out of the 3 brothers, Tommy feels like he’d be the one to go about it in this way…he’s a bit of a jerk in this one. Alright, enough with the talking…Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration - find more stories here!

I’m Walking Home

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: language, use of derogatory word (whore), (Y/N)’s a bit unhinged in this one

Word Count: 999

Summary: (Y/N) decides to walk home after a question that Tommy asks makes her anger soar.

Tommy had had enough. He pulled the car over to the side of the road and killed the engine, setting both of his hands on his thighs as he let out a harsh sigh. “Alright…what is it?” he asked the woman sitting to his left.

“What is what?” (Y/N) responded with a curt question of her own, her eyes focused on the road ahead of them.

“You’ve not spoken a word to me since we started driving. What’s on your mind?” he elaborated on his previous question. (Y/N) snorted in response.

“Of course you’d be completely oblivious to it,” she stated, her words dripping with sarcasm. Even though she’d yet to look at him, she could still feel his heavy eyes boring into the side of her face. Her statement was met with silence, and she let it ring for a few moments before letting out a scoff. Bastard wants me to spell it out for him, she thought to herself as she relented and finally looked in his direction. “You really don’t know?” she asked, giving one last chance to redeem himself before she went off on him.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I did,” he answered her in his typical, abrupt fashion.

“You don’t recall the woman at the party?” she tried to jog his memory with a more specific question.

“What woman?” he still wasn’t helping himself.

“The woman that was practically hanging on you; the one looking for your attention? You didn’t seem to notice her? And the fact that she was giving you the ‘please fuck me’ eyes for the entirety of the conversation you were having, whilst I was present?!” she finally let the levee break, her voice inflecting towards the end to let her frustration become known.

“She was discussing business, (Y/N),” came Tommy’s terrible response.

“Business?! What part of her fucking giggles and the batting of her eyelashes had to do anything with your fucking business, Tommy?!”

“Her husband’s money is good. His investment will help our company, and she plays a big part in deciding who he gives it to. So I didn’t take notice to what her fucking eyelashes were doing because that was not of any fucking importance,” he kept his voice level, delivering his statement in a stoic way. He knew better than to rise to meet her level of anger.

“Oh and she’s got a husband!” she exclaimed dramatically, completely disregarding the second half of his statement.

“(Y/N),” there was a warning tone present in his voice now. She was blowing this out of porportion.

“She’s fucking married, and her husband cares about what she thinks before he throws his money around, but yet he doesn’t care that she’s acting like a whore in front of his potential business partners,” (Y/N) broke into a rant, not caring at that moment that she was basically disparaging a woman who she did not know.

At this point, there was nothing that could be done that would quickly clear this up. Her anger was too elevated for that. But there was something that could be said to make this situation so much worse.

“Are you jealous?” Tommy blatantly asked. His question had (Y/N) seeing red.

“Excuse me?” she asked in disbelief, shock quickly filling her features. She spoke in such a way that would usually make most people rescind their statement, but Tommy wasn’t like most people.

“You’re jealous of this woman, aren’t you?” he asked, his eyes flitting over to match hers then as he waited for her answer.

(Y/N)’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe that he had the audacity to ask such a question outright. A scoff left her lips as she tried to find the words to respond to his statement. Her mind wasn’t computing.

A few tense moments passed before she swung the car door open. Without saying anything, she snatched her purse from the seat and made a move to exit the vehicle.

“Where are you going?” Tommy asked, acting as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on her with the last question. He honestly probably didn’t think he did.

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” she snapped at him, sending a glare his way before she slammed the car door shut, not caring at all how expensive the vehicle was. And if looks could kill, there would have been a dead man inside the car with the shattered door.

(Y/N) stormed off down the road, not knowing - nor caring - where she was going. The car’s engine came to life behind her, but it didn’t make her break her step, and she didn’t dare look to her right as Tommy pulled up beside her.

“What the fuck are you doing, (Y/N)?” he asked, glancing between her and the road as he continued to drive beside her.

“I’m walking home,” she snapped back at him, still looking straight ahead, “as a matter of fact…I’m not even sure where I’m walking to, but I sure as hell know that I don’t want to be around you right now. So leave me.”

“(Y/N)…”

“Leave me,” she cut him off, finally looking at him so that she could send him one more deadly glare before she continued on her way.

Tommy put his foot on the brake and thought for a moment. There wasn’t anything more he could do now. His efforts would only make the situation worse. With a sigh, he ran his hand along the back of his head before he took his foot off the brake and continued down the road.

(Y/N) watched as the tail-lights faded off into the distance. She let out a huff and tried to calm herself down. Was she acting jealous at the moment? Yeah, probably. But she wouldn’t give Tommy the satisfaction of answering the question he so blatantly asked. She was just lucky that it was still warm out.

I’m adding taglists in reblogs in hopes that people will actually be tagged.

MASTERLIST

[kanmom51]

A walk down memory lane.

I was feeling a little nostalgic today. Perhaps it's me missing the guys, and JM and JK in particular. Perhaps it's me sitting here and thinking about everything that's happened since 2023, culminating in their enlistment together, and now us getting, all at once, this barrage of JM - Jikook - JK content.

All this had me thinking of my own journey in the fandom, and especially here, as Kanmom51 in this little insignificant blog of mine.

The things I've learnt, the friends I've made (lifetime friends for which I have to thank BTS and Jikook in particular for - so thanks guys, love you for who you are and who you have helped me evolve into). It's nice to stop once in a while and ponder about it all.

Next I went diving into the blog a little, to remember when and where I started.

As mentioned in previous posts, I knew of BTS before, but truly discovered them and fell in love with them after basically being forced to watch MOTS ON:E live online concert. That was back in October 2020. Noticed our two and their dynamics and dived right in. Tumblr was a new discovery as well (Twitter/X came much later).

I started out by reblogging other's posts (some blogs don't even exist anymore, some are still around - makes me happy to see those that stuck around - and some I guess either didn't like what I had to say or the other way round, life happens).

What I wanted to share, oh so very randomly, was my very first post.

Now, listen here. I'm writing this without even seeing that first post yet, so it's probably a huge cringe moment, but Idk, I thought it would be fun.

So here we go. My very first stand alone post, written and posted (didn't even know you could keep drafts back then, lol) 31 January 2021:

A little cringe reading that today, lol.

Since then over 8,500 posts written. Many of which I am very proud of.

😊

Thank you all for making this journey with me.

I love you all!!

[fadelbison]

i don't really follow gmm couples closely but i thought firstkhao was one of gmm's biggest, what do you mean they're not that popular in thailand 😭😭

asdfghjkjhgf okay??? soo all this started because I was at my LAST straw when I saw a fan complaining that gmm prejudiced against first and he needs more work on twt (he already works *SO* much) and after having to see a series of gmm crits that were basically [insert false causalities/ metaphysically impossible demands] I lost my mind a little. [but actually its because im already pretty cuckoo bananas but I digress]

Then @fromthedepthsandbeyond brought to my attention this estimate (are you the op?) of events and brand sponsorships from last year where it shows that FirstKhao as a CP are in fact extremely popular but not at all popular as solo artists. And unfortunately I think this is just reality - they work really well together but I was actually both their 'solo' fans before they paired up. More khaotung than First and they are unfortunately just a little too kooky for mainstream popularity. I genuinely think Joong is trying to help Khaotung with roping him into TikTok dances and constantly promoting him on his own channel and IG broadcast because boy do First and Khaotung do nothing mainstream on IG. its only happy birthdays, promo work, promo cp, promo each other and khaotung's blurry artsy fuckboi photos. What can I say, that's what I like, that's what the people who like them like. I hope they don't change (but I know they're trying to). I would say, that actually they are quite popular given how far they veer from traditional masculinity...like they're pretty queer? Gun's numbers are exactly the same as them. Like I don't think GMM can do anything about that. I genuinely don't think GMM can do anything about the next bit either (at least in regards to FK they are very much fucking up other things)

What I was a little surprised by perhaps was this report by another fan who went to their building this summer (2024) and FK just had a mural on the second floor basement. I know that at some point they had some type of pillar on the ground level. Now, the events numbers are outdated and I follow them on socmed fairly close - they might not be getting sponsorships but they're not jobless. even at the times they're quiet or disappear when they resurface it turns out that they were series prepping or in workshops.

I don't know what to say, they're very queer coded, they take challenging jobs and are involved in projects and with creators that are invested in making some unique art which is rare at gmmtv something that everyone here loves to incessantly yell about (for good reason at times).

I don't know how to say this so that it doesn't sound totally insane but to be more popular they have to act straighter???? They actually have to look like they want to fuck a woman, like at least that they think about it instead of just each other. Like they tried so hard to make First's character straight in blacklist -A VALIANT attempt one would say and he still ended up having more chemistry with Drake and the 4 seconds he spent with khaotung on screen 😭 JoongDunk and PondPhuwin are just not like that??? I follow Joong and Pond on IG too and they are in fact able to breathe without their respective pair present. They are so so so so in love when together, bring each other up quite a bit when they're solo but they're not living inside the other's pocket if that makes sense? Sorry I ranted so long??? and for what?? but I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want Firstkhao to be popular but I also don't want them to change at the cost of mainstream popularity (though I understand why they're trying) - they are so worryingly codependent and wonderfully weird 🤧🤧🤧🤧

[eggyboyoart]

Kuya Dating HCs

[RATED 18+ bc of the nature of the game, NU: carnival)

…HOW?

SERIOUSLY HOW??

Getting Kuya to admit he cares about you is like trying to pull blood from a stone – its impossible

Though some males can be polyamorous, Foxes usually mate for life

once they’ve picked their partner, they’ll stay with them for their whole life; even if their partner dies early – which is especially poignant for Kuya because of his extended lifespan as a yokai

because of this, Kuya is one of the people I can actually see being exclusive with you

In my Yakumo HCs, I said most likely it would be Yakumo dating both you and Eiden

But depending if you start dating Kuya pre-Eiden Era or even early-Eiden era – he’ll be much more devoted to you than the new grand sorcerer (although Kuya will still torment him, lol sorry Eiden)

Kuya’s love languages are (weirdly enough) quality time and receiving/giving gifts

I KNOW it sounds crazy but here he out

For quality time – he is obsessed with you, in every way possible

He wants to be around you by any means, even through some mischief and trickery

Hes the type to pretend to be bored while listening to you rant about something, but he actually commits every word to memory

He also never misses an anniversary or milestone in your guy’s relationship

He’ll make any excuse to see you, from ‘he was just bored’ to ‘he left something here last time and he might as well hang out while hes here,’

For gift giving – 1) he loves receiving gifts and 2) he loves your face when he gives you the perfect gift

Kuya knows that he is not a very ‘honest’ partner – he doesn’t verbalise how he feels and basically has never said the words ‘I love you’

Which is why his gifts are so thoughtful and sincere

Whether its your favourite flowers, or something important to you (art, work, etc) – or even just something you eyed for an extra second in the market, his gifts are so meaningful and you can always tell there is a large amount of thought put behind it

He will never give it to you directly but rather leave it in a spot he knows for a fact you’ll find it and probably write some vague, sarcastic note (which more often than not, clues you into the fact that its from Kuya)

He’ll be watching from behind a corner (or hidden in the room with magic) to see your reaction because – while he is a smug man – he wants to make you happy

Kuya is a smug kisser – he knows hes good

I truly believe that while Kuya is a smug bastard, hes also a huge softie behind all of the snark and smirks

He genuinely cannot resist putting his hands all over you, though he’ll frame it as him simply trying to tease you in classic Kuya fashion

Kuya is the type to rarely use your actual name, only referring to you by nicknames/petnames that are designed to rile you up

‘little one’ and ‘sweet thing’ are for when hes feeling particularly teasing

Though, in his softer moments – he’ll slip up and murmur a soft ‘love’ under his breath

He would actually appreciate his own petnames – something personal to him

In the forest, he has his own garden with magic flowers

something along the lines of ‘lavender’ or ‘wisteria’ when you’re feeling sweet – and ‘foxtail’ when you’re feeling a little mischievous yourself

[diorsluv]

feather , part 10

“ i’m saying ‘no, no, no, no more’ ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by lhughes_06, adamfantilli, mackie.samo, and 74,028 others

yourusername little women hurt my brain so i went back to my happy place (aka gossip girl)

view all comments

edwards.73 i’m kinda scared to ask but uh… what’s the difference between gossip girl and gilmore girls

→ yourusername unfollow me rn

→ colecaufield wait no he’s valid (i don’t know the difference either)

→ yourusername both of u have asked me this 20 times already. i’m blocking u two.

markestapa i know the difference between gossip girl and gilmore girls!

→ mackie.samo me too!!

→ yourusername yeah bc u come to my place for gossip girl marathons like every other day

username64 LITTLE WOMEN

username78 FLORENCE PUGH OH MY GOD

jackhughes little women gives me war flashbacks

→ yourusername i wonder why 🤨

→ jackhughes hmmm maybe because you CALLED ME FOR 5 HOURS STRAIGHT JUST TO RANT TO ME ABOUT IT

→ yourusername IM SORRY

username14 is no one gonna talk about how she posted this at 2 in the morning 😭😭

bookerburke_ gossip girl is the one with the guy that played sam in supernatural right

→ yourusername no sweetie that’s gilmore girls…..

→ cole.caufield HEY HOW COME YOU’RE NICE TO HIM ABOUT IT BUT NOT US yourusername

username21 at least bertram isn’t in one of the pics this time

�� username35 LMAO BERTRAM

username69 i’m kinda sorta in love with your taste in tv shows and movies

yourusername

liked by jackhughes, adamfantilli, trevorzegras, and 82,185 others

yourusername went through my old photos and i guess this is sort of a photo dump.. if u ask me to explain the pics i might…….

so for all the trev, luke, jack, quinn, luca, mark, rut, turcs, eddy, and mackie girls, i hope you’re happy 🫶🫶

tagged: trevorzegras, _quinnhughes, mackie.samo, edwards.73, jackhughes, lhughes_06, _alexturcotte, rutgermcgroarty, luca.fantilli, markestapa

view all comments

lhughes_06 please for the love of god don’t explain the cow photo

→ username44 what happened in the cow photo 😧

→ yourusername okay username44 so basically i walked out of my parents house and i saw luke’s dumbass in a cow suit standing right next to my car

→ lhughes_06 I WAS 16 AND JACK SAID IF I DID IT HE’D DO MY CHORES FOR TWO WEEKS

adamfantilli why didn’t you post me 🫤🫤

→ yourusername i didn’t have any old bad pics of you 😕

username4 quinner is contemplating his life in that fishing pic

luca.fantilli okay but that cake was kind of good

→ yourusername uh huh maybe bc i made it

→ luca.fantilli ok i don’t know bout all THAT 🤣

→ yourusername ur the worst fantilli brother

trevorzegras i didn’t know everyone fell asleep on top of me on the couch 😅😅

_alexturcotte let me just say i beat cole in arm wrestling

→ cole.caufield yeah butttt who got the bigger gains??

→ _alexturcotte oh shut up

→ yourusername it’s okay turcs, not everyone’s as strong as cauliflower here

→ _alexturcotte BUT I LITERALLY BEAT HIM?? yourusername

→ cole.caufield hey lil drizzy i thought we left that nickname in 2020 🙃

markestapa you know i actually rode that skateboard pretty well

→ yourusername you fell flat on your ass

username76 i love how she’s exposing EVERYONE

edwards.73 hey it was fun getting thrown into the pool

→ yourusername says the one that started screaming bloody fuckin murder as soon as he hit the water

mackie.samo i look so disheveled eating that cake

rutgermcgroarty see me and jack held each other up in that second photo bc we’re just too strong for our own goods

→ jackhughes 🗣️🗣️

→ yourusername whatever helps you sleep at night

next chapter notes ) i’m actually grinding these chapters out it’s insane this one was really fun to make, esp the second post 😈😈 and also no booker this time so i hope yall like it a bit more lmaooo

[mypimpademia]

— Darlin’ I Don’t Wish You Well, When You Ain’t w Me

Ex!Bakugo x gn!reader

TW; Swearing, Bakugos a bit toxic but he doesn’t act on anything

Note: Part 2 (SMAU) is here !

⇶ While Katsuki wouldn’t be a bad boyfriend, he’d be a god awful ex

⇶ He’d treat you well during your relationship, actually, much to everyone’s surprise

⇶ Tends to all your needs and always makes sure that you knew how much he loves and cares for you

⇶ Your relationship wouldn’t be anywhere near bad, it’d be amazing actually and he makes a great boyfriend

⇶ But the way Katsuki acts in other areas is what leads to the downfall of your relationship

⇶ His ego, the way he treats and speaks to others, and other bad habits

⇶ He’s confided in you about his personal struggles with these things, and of course you were understanding and consoled him

⇶ But at the same time, you couldn’t stand seeing him act like such an asshole to people, especially since he acknowledges his issues but it seems to do little to nothing about them

“I can’t do this with you anymore, Katsu.”

You and Katsuki didn’t argue as much as people would think. And when you did, a lot of them were easily talked out after a quick intermission for both of you to calm down instead of screaming at each other. But there was one repetitive issue that you two never seemed to resolve.

A repetitive issue with him.

“What? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Katsuki heaved.

He knew exactly what you meant. He just hoped you didn’t actually mean it.

“I can’t be with someone who’s just such a fucking dick to everyone and anyone,” you ranted. “I mean seriously, would it really kill you to at least have basic human decency?”

He rolled his eyes and groaned. Truly, he’s too blinded by his own ego to understand what the problem is. It’s not like he treated you poorly, so why do you care so much?

“Oh my fucking god,” Katsuki whispered. “Why does this shit even matter to you so much? You act like this affects you somehow.”

The crazy part is, that he knows his ego is getting in the way of him seeing through this. But even then, he still can’t wrap his head around it.

“Are you deadass?” You gaped at him, completely in shock that he’d even think that, let alone say that to you. “‘Y/n, what’s wrong with Bakugo this time?’ And ‘Y/n, why’s your boyfriend such a fucking cunt?’ But you’re really gonna tell me this doesn’t affect me?”

“I mean, fuck, Katsuki, your head is so far up your own ass sometimes,” now, you were yelling, and Katsuki’s heart was sinking at the thought of what was to come. “You treat me right, and I won’t say that you don’t, but you can’t be that dense to not see how what you do bounces back onto others.”

His breathing pattern was all over the place, and his heart was beating rapidly. Katsuki wouldn’t have been surprised if he passed out right there.

“Okay, okay. You’re right, it does, I’m sorry,” he raked a hand through his spiked hair. “But what do you mean you ‘can’t do this anymore’?”

He wasn’t trying to deflect, and you both knew that. But the weight that the four words held was unbearable.

“I mean, I can’t be with you anymore.”

⇶ Katsuki isn’t a begger by any means, but he begged that day

⇶ He told you how much he loved you, and needed you, that you mean the world to him

⇶ And none of it was a ploy to get you to stay, he really did feel that way about you

⇶ He told you’d he’d change in a heartbeat, just say the word, and he would if it meant you wouldn’t leave him

⇶ But you left anyways, and to say that it crushed Katsuki would be an understatement

⇶ Between dying and admitting that he cried his eyes out for a week straight every night, he’d much rather die

⇶ Katsuki got his act together that same week, hoping that this was just something the two of you could move past if it was quickly resolved

⇶ He wouldn’t even call anyone an extra, or refer to Izuku as “Deku”, and everytime that he’d literally bite his tongue to keep him from doing so, he’d glance in your direction hoping that you were giving him a look of approval

⇶ But you hardly looked at him anymore, and when you did it wouldn’t even last a second

⇶ And his blood boiled when you moved onto someone else a few months later

⇶ You weren’t even dating the person, just casual back and forth flirting and talking

⇶ But it made Katsuki sick to even think of you with someone else

⇶ When you were dating, he always “joked” about how he wouldn’t want you to move on and be happy with someone else if he died while the two of you were together

⇶ But he wasn’t joking, and he doesn’t you to be happy with anyone else if he’s dead or alive, to be honest

⇶ Of course, he wants you to be happy and healthy and hopes you get all the good things you deserve… just not in a relationship sense when it’s not with him.

⇶ He acted like none of it bothered him, but it did

⇶ Katsuki wasn’t going to go as far as harassing you and your new partner. He’s thought about it, of course, but he knew that wouldn’t win you back

⇶ He also wasn’t going to go around with other people to get you back either, because that definitely wouldn’t work.

⇶ Not only would it not work, but Katsuki just isn’t the type to get around with people in general

⇶ He’s selective with who he gives his time to, and when he’s emotionally invested in something or someone, he goes all in, so he’d really hate to waste his own energy like that

⇶ Someway, somehow, despite being the one that got broken up with, his ego inflated even more when you left him

⇶ Sure he cleaned up his act, but that didn’t change the fact that he was a cocky asshole

⇶ When he first sees you with your new fling, he wanted to throw up at first, but eventually he got over it because in his head, you’ll never find anyone better

⇶ And he wasn’t totally wrong about that either

⇶ If anyone ever asked you, you don’t think you could even remotely lie and say that he treated you poorly in any way

⇶ Sure, you had your moments like any couple, but truthfully, he set a very high standard for your future partners

⇶ Katsuki always paid for everything, took you places, amazing dates (even if they usually weren’t expensive, because he knows the experience counts over everything), attentive to all your needs, never forgot important days, hardly even raised his voice at you despite his rough demeanor, and even more that you could go on about forever

⇶ He was an amazing boyfriend, really. So much so that even you weren’t sure if you’d find someone better

⇶ He might not actually do anything, but he will most definitely talk shit about your new little thing to Kirishima and the bakusquad

⇶ You expect that from him, but when Sero and Mina told what all he was saying (not to be snitches for fake, just to let you know that he’s going a bit crazy without you), you were honestly a bit shocked at how far he was going

⇶ They went from being Katsuki’s normal hater-ass comments to just nitpicky and spiteful

“Damn, did you see what the fuck they had on, I feel bad that Y/n even has to walk around with that.”

“That motherfucker seriously brought them _? Y/n hates that shit, it’ll be no fuckin’ surprise if they leave that loser.”

⇶ And while he won’t actively try to force himself back into your life, he can and will take every opportunity that will even slightly worm him back in

⇶ Opportunities usually present themselves in the form of group work, when the teacher still habitually places you two in the same group because they still think you’re together

⇶ And don’t let it be a project that’s just for a pair, because then he’ll LEAP for that chance

⇶ Even though there’s tension between you, for obvious reasons, you don’t feel awkward being alone with him. Even after months of hardly even looking at him

⇶ Katsuki is the type of ex you’ll always feel comfortable around, because he’ll always keep a special place for you in his heart

⇶ Still looks at you with pure adoration, even if he wants to gouge his eyes out with a spork when your new talking stage flashes you a smile across the library you’re working in

⇶ Still pays for everything, like the coffee and snacks you go get on your break, even if you insist that you can pay on your own. Granted, you’re much more angry about it this time around than giggly like before

⇶ Still takes you to one of your favorite hangout spots, even though the sweet memories you share there make both of your chests hurt now

⇶ Still calls you beautiful, gorgeous, pretty, his baby, angel, doll, etc even if you aggressively tell him to stop. And he does, he tries to at least, but it’s still so second nature to him that it just slips out like he never stopped using those names on you

⇶ Still asks how you’re feeling, how you’re really feeling, if you ate that day, drank enough water, even if you only grunt out short answers everytime

⇶ Eventually, he asks how you and “whatstheirface” are doing to cut through the thick silence

⇶ It catches you off guard, enough for you to raise your head up from your work to meet his eyes for the first time in forever

⇶ All you say is “We’re good”, but Katsuki knows better than that, he knows you better than that, and he chokes back a laugh at how much you suck at lying to him

⇶ All he says is “Y’know you can still come to me if you need anything?”, but you know better than that, you know yourself better than that

⇶ Because if you did talk to him more than you need to, you’d act on your urges to suffocate him with kisses and tell him you miss him, tell him that ‘whatstheirname’ isn’t jack shit compared to him, ask him if it’s too late to come back

⇶ You ask him if he’s talking to someone and he looks at you with adoring eyes, and shakes his head, leading you both back to an uncomfortable silence

⇶ Katsuki thought about telling you that he still loves you, that he misses you, to tell whatstheirname to fuck off, and so much more

⇶ Hell, for a split second he thought about begging again

⇶ The thing about Katsuki is, since he doesn’t like to use his precious time and energy on just anyone, when he views people in a romantic light, he views them as someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with

⇶ Someone that’s his everything, the only person in the world to him, his one and only

⇶ You were his first partner ever, and he wanted you to be his first and last everything

⇶ Which is exactly why you still are to him

⇶ Or you still can be at least, if you came back he’d have no objections, and he doubts that you’d have any either

⇶ The only question is, will you come back?

—

Thank you for reading, comments and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏾 !

[offtorivendell]

The possible significance of Azriel and Elain Archeron, the Embrace of Solas and Cthona, the paired blades Gwydion and Truth-Teller, and thin places; a theory

Disclaimer: this is a theory that came to me while reading HOFAS, and as usual it makes absolutely no claim of being canon. It builds on past theories that my friends and I have written about Elain, Azriel, the revival of certain lands, the blades Truth-Teller and Gwydion, and brings in some new info from the latest CC book. It also won't be my best effort, as time is currently lacking. I meant to get this out for @elriel-month but yeah, that didn't happen lol. As usual, rambles and overly long sentences ahead. Sorry!

Thanks as always go out to @wingedblooms and @silverlinedeyes for listening to me rant, and believing me when I say I'll actually get around to writing out my thoughts, even though it takes me ages. I love that so many of our theories tie in well together - please check out their theories, too!

Spoilers: Maasverse spoilers ahead, please proceed with caution if you haven't finished reading.

Gwydion (aka the Starsword) and Truth-Teller; the Made blades

In CC 1 we got a brief description of the stylised version of the Embrace of Solas and Cthona as a necklace, worn by Bryce's mother, Ember:

Five minutes after Bryce got there, Jesiba’s client—a raging asshole of a leopard shifter who believed he was entitled to put his paws all over her ass—prowled in and purchased a small statue of Solas and Cthona, portrayed as a sun with male features burying his face in a pair of mountain-shaped breasts. The holy image was known simply as the Embrace. Her mother even wore its simplified symbol—a circle nestled atop two triangles—as a silver pendant. But Bryce had always found the Embrace cheesy and cliché in every incarnation. - CC HOEAB, chapter 22

Firstly, could this be the (hypothetical) wyrdmark on the left shoulder of the figure on the HOFAS cover? The two mountains are there, but the mark between them isn't exactly a circle, so it's not blatantly obvious, but it's possible (I'd love it if the marks on her arms represented the different gods, or Urd in all of her forms). Perhaps light and dark light cancel each other out in some way? And how relevant will the spiral mark be? Does it represent a vortex/portal opening? Or is it the Cauldron's swirling eddies?

Secondly, I also think the two mountains/triangles and the circle/dot in between them look a little like a basic depiction of Gwydion/the Starsword and Truth-Teller (ie. the points of two blades) with a black dot/black hole/portal to nowhere. It's not exact, because the triangles aren't meeting at the tips, so I'm not super confident in it, but I don't think it's impossible, and it could tie back into the six pointed star, and three pairs of powers gathering in the space where they meet. I promise I'm not trying to claim every little thing for Elriel, and given Nesta has her own trio of Made blades, I suspect they could also be relevant here (if Narben is also found, then there would be six blades for the six siblings and six star points), but as Azriel and Elain were the first two to use Truth-Teller (in recent history), I think it's fair to consider their specific importance here.

Elain, Azriel and the Made blades

I've previously suggested that Elain may have powered Truth-Teller with her light, in order to pierce the fabric of the universe before shadow walking to save Nesta and Cassian in ACOWAR (here and here); this is a theory which is not unique to me, as quite a few of my friends think at least some version of it may be true. However, I believe that what we learnt in HOFAS about “thin places,” and the paired blades Gwydion (the Starsword) and Truth-Teller, could take this a step or three further.

To recap as briefly as possible, Elain previously used Truth-Teller to shadow walk in ACOWAR, and we have since had hints that she may use it again in the future. There are many questions left unanswered about Elain's successful use of what we now know is a Made blade, so we'll have to wait and see.

“You honestly think he’d ever give up Truth-Teller?” “He gave it to Elain,” Mor said, admiring a moonstone necklace in the counter’s glass case. “She gave it back,” I amended, failing to block out the image of the black blade piercing through the King of Hybern’s throat. But Elain had given it back—had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back. Mor hummed to herself. - ACOFAS, chapter 4

As a brief aside, there are also moments tying Elain to the shadows (whether or not it ends up being Azriel's shadows specifically, her own, or the Void in general remains to be seen), and I think we could find out that the middle Archeron sister, who is canonically observant and wise, may have learnt by watching.

Behind me, Mor took Nesta and Cassian by the hand, readying to winnow them to the camp, while shadows gathered around Azriel, Elain at his side, wide-eyed at the spymaster’s display. - ACOWAR, chapter 50

Does Elain hear Azriel's shadows singing, and can she and Azriel privately communicate this way?

Did she also hear his siphon singing beautifully in ACOWAR? Perhaps as kin?

The Truth-Teller scene in ACOWAR, below, was also important enough to be included in the ACOTAR Colouring Book.

She refused the knife Cassian handed her, though. Went white as death at the sight of it. Azriel, still limping, merely nudged aside Cassian and extended another option. “This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.” His wings had healed—though long, thin scars now raked down them. Still not strong enough, Madja had warned him, to fly today. The argument with Rhys this morning had been swift and brutal: Azriel insisted he could fly—fight with the legions, as they’d planned. Rhys refused. Cassian refused. Azriel threatened to slip into shadow and fight anyway. Rhys merely said that if he so much as tried, he’d chain Azriel to a tree. And Azriel … It was only when Mor had entered the tent and begged him—begged him with tears in her eyes—that he relented. Agreed to be eyes and ears and nothing else. And now, standing amongst the sighing meadow grasses in his Illyrian armor, all seven Siphons gleaming … Elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in Azriel’s scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard. “It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.” “I—I don’t know how to use it—” “I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” I said, grass crunching as I stepped closer. Elain weighed my words … and slowly closed her fingers around the blade. Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade— Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife. Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife. Paint that when we get home. Busybody. - ACOWAR, chapter 69

Firstly, @silverlinedeyes has a post that details how similar this passage is to the six pointed star scene from HOSAB, and the potential significance of it with regards to magical balance and the gathering of power(s). It's outlandish, but I think it could be important for any travels to Hel or beyond that the IC may undertake.

Secondly, I find it really interesting that Elain said to Feyre she didn't know how to "use" Truth-Teller; what if she meant she didn't know how to use it magically? I suspect it's possible that Elain didn't open a portal to nowhere (which appears to require both of the paired blades - perhaps their singing wavelengths cancel each other out?), but rather she created a portal to somewhere, and that's how she shadow walked across the battlefield in ACOWAR (aka she "slipped into shadow" and fought anyway). However, as we all heard her say that she didn't know how to use Truth-Teller, but then did, she obviously figured at least some of it out.

Alternatively, as @wingedblooms, @mrspettyferr, @cassianfanclub and myself have all wondered, did she possibly have some help?!

Was it Azriel, who told us in his ACOSF bonus chapter that he didn't need his shadows to read Elain?

Perhaps is was Nuala or Cerridwen, or maybe even Rhys?

Was it Koschei, the Mother, or a prince of Hel who gave Elain a helping hand?

Even then, how did Elain (hypothetically, of course) activate Truth-Teller? Just like Ruhn found Gwydion and Bryce accessed its magic, so I suspect Azriel found Truth-Teller, but it was Elain who first truly used its power (whereas Nesta, who was at the time full of the Cauldron's death magic, appeared to use it as a simple blade, hastening the king's death after Elain struck a fatal blow). Was it because her light stood in for Gwydion’s own magic and charged it? Is that why Azriel - who I have long thought may have Starborn heritage hidden underneath his shadows - has dark light, or shadows, instead of light? Is Truth-Teller actually devouring his light? Or - less likely - could the obsidian (wyrdstone?) blade be possessed by a Valg, or similar being? Though I'm less certain about that last point, as I wouldn't be surprised if the king of Hybern was possessed by a Valg (or similar) type creature, maybe a Daglan, and if that was the case then why would Truth-Teller decide to behave for Elain, unless the Valg* and Asteri/Daglan are enemies… anyway!

*What we learnt in HOFAS, about the blackest salt/obsidian drawing in the princes of Hel (while simultaneously repelling the Asteri/Daglan) makes me wonder about their possible ties to the Valg from TOG, who used obsidian wyrdstone rings and collars as a way to possess host bodies.

I'm not sure. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because I think Truth-Teller and Gwydion could be stand ins for Elain and Azriel (not necessarily in that order, though I do think a dagger suits Elain better than a sword does in terms of function); a bond needing to be reforged between them has always screamed “renewed shall be blade that was broken” to me (the Ballad of Strider), and the Truth-Teller scene could be suggesting that the grey - as in the blend of light and dark - could be a thin place between them. It would follow that this imagery, albeit very loosely, could be evoking The Embrace of Solas and Cthona, which Ember wears as a necklace, and that could possibly be a wyrdmark on the cover of HOFAS.

“Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two..." Just seems so relevant here.

Cthona and Solas represent dark and light.

Gwydion/the Starsword and Truth-Teller are (bright) light and dark light.

Azriel and Elain are dark and light... or perhaps light and dark?

Are Void and Chaos (the Mother?) involved?

Is the statue of the primal goddess that Nesta notices in ACOSF another hint here?

If being carranam ties into this, would it include Feysand and Nessian?

Light and dark have grey in between them, and the thin places are described as “gray.” Elain was even engaged to a man named "Graysen" for crying out loud; his family’s colour was even cobalt. I would be so surprised if all of this ends up meaning absolutely nothing in terms of her story.

How could Elain and Azriel stand in for Cthona and Solas when Elain is light and Azriel is darkness?

I could definitely be wrong, but instead of purely life, I (and @wingedblooms) prefer to think of Elain as rebirth, which inherently straddles the murky realm between life and death - the grey between light and dark (and grey) - and beautifully fits with her role as a gardener (relevant theories are here, here, here and here), the Book of Breathings rambling about "rot and bloom and bone," her position as the middle Archeron sister, her ability to blend quietly into the background, and definitely the grey of dawn and dusk. Azriel, though? The one Feyre described as the knife in the dark? Well, he has shadows that can brighten into sunlight, and I suspect that may have been what Elain was referring to in ACOWAR, when she said she needed sunshine.

So...

Azriel's shadows lightening into sunshine: Solas.

Elain and her many ties to the earth: Cthona.

I'm unsure if this is trying to tell us that Azriel will be the stand-in for Truth-Teller, because he is "dark light"/has shadowsinging abilities, while Elain is represented by Gwydion due to her prominent (so far) association with hope or brighter light, or whether it's the other way around, and we're actually being told that, while Elain appears to be light and warmth personified, in the future she will carry Truth-Teller, the blade that is her apparent opposite, as Azriel will wield Gwydion* (if they both end up having surprise powers, being able to swap between light and dark). It's all very murky, one might say a grey area. But I do think it likely that Elain and Azriel will each end up carrying either a blade that represents themself or their partner in some way.

* Yes, I know that Bryce gave Gwydion to Nesta, but she already has her own trio of Made blades. If I'm putting money on who will wield it, I think it will be Azriel, Elain or Feyre.

Thin places and Made blades

Before HOFAS was published @cassianfanclub and I had discussed the - we thought - insane possibility of the differently coloured mountain rock in Prythian being significant in terms of their possible salt content, and that it could be no coincidence that the black and grey rock of the Hewn City was in proximity to a known appearance of one “Lord Thanatos.”

Black salts were used for summoning demons directly—bypassing the Northern Rift entirely—or for various dark spellwork. A salt that went beyond black, a salt like the obsidian … It could summon something big. - CC HOEAB, chapter 18

Bryce stiffened at the moldy, rotten earth scent that crept from the bundle as he unfolded the fabric to reveal a handful of rust-colored salt. “What the fuck is that?” Ithan asked. “Bloodsalt,” Bryce breathed. Tharion looked to her in question, but she didn’t bother to explain more. Blood for life, blood for death—it was summoning salt infused with the blood from a laboring mother’s sex and blood from a dying male’s throat. The two great transitions of a soul in and out of this world. But to use it here … “You can’t mean to add that to their water,” Bryce said to the Astronomer. The old male hobbled back down the ramp. “Their tanks already contain white salts. The bloodsalt will merely pinpoint their search.” - CC HOSAB, chapter 38

Mor went right up to the obsidian dais, and I halted at the foot of the steps as she took up a place beside the throne and said to the crowd in a voice that was clear and cruel and cunning, “Your High Lord approaches. He is in a foul mood, so I suggest being on your best behavior—unless you wish to be the evening entertainment.” - ACOMAF, chapter 42

The mountain underneath the House of Wind - the one that houses the library in which I think a certain cat-like darkness could be a prince of Hel - contains both red stone and obsidian doors, with veins of silver running throughout (which reads like hope in the void, like the Velaris Weaver's tapestry, and I suspect may be important for Elain's journey, given she is frequently associated with hope).

Rhys stepped into a hall at the foot of the stairs, revealing a wide passageway of carved red stone and a sealed set of obsidian doors, veins of silver running throughout. Beautiful—terrifying. Like some great beast was kept behind them. - ACOWAR, chapter 20

If @silverlinedeyes, @wingedblooms, @ladynightcourt, @cassianfanclub, @psychologynerd and I are right that Clotho and some of her priestesses are involved in something massive, and have been contacting at least one of the princes of Hel, this would make sense! Black salt to summon something big, and red salt to pinpoint their search. And obsidian doors?!

We then learnt the following in CC HOFAS:

“The black salt, in such high quantity, keeps them away. They never realized that its presence drew us as much as it repelled them,” Apollion said with satisfaction. “It has the same properties that made us immune to the thrall of their black crowns.” - CC HOFAS, chapter

“The black salt only repels the Asteri; the mists repel everyone else. But certain people, with certain gifts, can access the power of thin places—on any world. World-walkers.” Aidas gestured gracefully to Bryce. “You are one of them. So were Helena and Theia. Their natural abilities lent themselves to moving through the mists.” - CC HOFAS, chapter

Elain is almost certainly a world walker - doe eyes searching across the world! - and Azriel may be one as well, but what if it is everyone who can winnow? Or just those like them, with a deeper affinity to the Void? And are they walking thin places themselves/as a partnership (remember the charged glance they shared last winter solstice), or do they just have a natural ability to make use of those which exist in the wild? Or is it some combination of the above?

Additionally, the obsidian hilts of Truth-Teller and Gwydion appear to be incredibly important here. In addition to the possibility that the Illyrian runes Truth-Teller carries on its scabbard may in reality be wyrdmarks, what if the obsidian hilts both summon the bearer in a way that allows them to access the void/murky realm and provides protection from any prying Asteri/Daglan eyes? Are the hilts made from wyrdstone? What about Koschei? Is Truth-Teller the reason his magic captured Cassian instead of Azriel in ACOSF?

There are so many possibilities beyond shipping, though given this is romantasy we know the relationships are more important to the story than your average romantic side plot, so we really can't separate the two while theorising. But either way, I'm so excited to see where this leads, and if we'll finally get detailed information about the gods in each or SJM's worlds, and how they may function throughout her extensive literary universe.

If you've made it this far, thank you for reading!

[milaisreading]

Hello~ Just want to tell you that your blue lock manager series is absolutely amazing! Feel that my life have became better since I found your blog. I already dropped some requests in your ask box, hope that was ok. x) and I definitely wanna read the part 2 about y/n's time with Bastards. I can imagine that Kaiser and Ness both want her attention (Ness is happy at heart that she likes him more that Kaiser and Kaiser wants go get her attention for himself finally) and Noa warm up for her too and now wants her to stay as official Bastards manager (poor real official manager, omg x)).

Oh, sorry, I can't be short not only in requests, which seems like a headcanons, not like requests, but also in my thoughts and messages. x)

Bless your blog! Wish you lots of inspiration! And feel free to talk and rant about bllk or manager to me if you want.

Author: Here ya go! They would all three honestly be a mess right after she leaves😭 it's funny to think of it tbh. Hope u enjoy this one tho!

Warnings ⚠️ : reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue lock belongs to:Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

Basically a continuation of this

'This is just like the first day at Blue Lock... I am about to throw up...' (Y/n) gulped as she nervously played around with the hem of her new uniform. It felt weird to be wearing the Bastard München one, when for the past months she had been wearing the one of Blue Lock.

'Is this what butterflies in the stomach feel like?!' (Y/n) thought as she waited for the coach to walk out of his office.

'Can't believe I will ne working for THE Noel Noa for the next 3 weeks! Should I ask him for an autograph for Isagi? No, that would be creepy! Haaaa I think Ego-san in the beginning was less stressful.' (Y/n) gulped as the door finally opened and the white-haired man walked out.

"Ah, you are here already. Pretty early too, I thought you won't be here until 8." Noa said, sounding genuinely surprised that (Y/n) was there earlier, since it was only 6.30.

"I always start earlier back in Japan. Sorry."

The girl said, sounding a little panicked that the man might find it weird.

"No need to apologize, it's good to that you did come earlier. It will give me now more of a chance to show you around. Come." Noel said as (Y/n) followed after the man.

'So cool!'

The tour around the stadium lasted for about an hour, with Noel giving her some introductions where certain places and rooms are, as well as what her role will be.

'Essentially I am doing what I did at Blue Lock, just for a professional team. I can do that!' (Y/n) perked up as Noel called out her name again.

"Yes?"

"If Kaiser says something uncalled for, tell me. He can be quite a handful." The French player explained as (Y/n) nodded her head.

"Thank you Noel-san, I will keep that in mind. I just wanted to know what the training plan was for the next 3 weeks? And if I can have a list with all the players? I want to be able to write the progress the players make during my time here."

"You won't be needing those, as I said you are just doing what you did in Japan-"

"I actually do that."

Noel blinked down at the girl as she felt her face turn redder in embarrassment.

'I shouldn't have said that?!'

"Ego makes you do all that?" The coach asked as the girl shook her head.

"Not really! I do it on my own freewill, I like keeping notes and analyzing." (Y/n) explained, which made Noel nod his head and then pointed at a nearby bench.

"You can wait over there, I will get you those things."

(Y/n) sighed in relief as she did as told and Noel went to his office to get the requested items.

'I wonder how the player here usually are. I know they are good,monsters more, when they play against other teams, but watching them train will be so cool!' (Y/n) thought, not realizing that two figures were approaching her, until...

"Ah! Ness, your little girlfriend is here." Kaiser exclaimed, putting an arm around the girl's shoulder.

"Kaiser, please leave her alone." Ness said, sounding a little annoyed as the girl looked at them both.

"Where did you two even come from? I didn't hear you."

"You looked lost in your thoughts, maybe that's why you didn't hear us. We came a little earlier to greet you." Ness explained. (Y/n) nodded her head, blushing a little as he smiled and removed Kaiser's arm from her. The blonde tsked a little as the two talked, still not over the fast that a girl picked Ness over him.

'Well I do have 3 weeks to change her mind.' Kaiser thought as he watched the duo talk over some random things.

"Good job you two. That was a pretty cool trick." (Y/n) said as she handed the duo their water bottles. It was the 2nd day by now and (Y/n) had made out a plan on what and how to do things. Noel was positively surprised how well she adjusted to the team and by the notes she had taken in the two days. Ness and Kaiser would act as her translators if one of the senior staff members told her something or to go to the store.

"You are doubting the great Michael Kaiser now?" The blonde wondered as Ness clapped a little.

"Well, the bar for you is low, so whatever you do will be interesting." (Y/n) said back, and to Kaiser's surprise Ness said nothing. He would usually attack anyone who offended Kaiser, but he couldn't bring himself to be the same with (Y/n). Something about the girl just warmed his heart, and he couldn't deny the small bit of satisfaction that she had picked him over Kaiser back then.

"Is that so? Then you will be in for a ride. Better keep your socks on unless you want me to knock them off."

"Hmmm..."

"So you finished the papers I gave you?" Noel asked at the end of the first week, surprised with how fast she had done the job. He expected her to need the whole 3 weeks to finish, but here he was holding them.

"Yeah, Ness and Kaiser helped me out with the translations and I got this ready too."

(Y/n) said, handing Noel the notebook she had been using for the past week. The man quietly started reading as a knock was heard and Kaiser barged in.

"Noel, is (Y/n) done yet? Ness and I are hungry!"

The man looked up from the notebook and looked at the blonde in confusion.

"What does she have to do with it? Just go and eat."

"She owes us food for being her translators." Kaiser argued as Ness peeked inside.

"This was Kaiser's idea."

Noel sighed and nodded his head, telling the three they are free to go. Once Ness and Kaiser pulled (Y/n) out, Noa kept on reading the notes, amazed with some of the things that caught her eyes.

"Hmm..."

"We are going to that food stand!" Kaiser announced as Ness stayed quiet while (Y/n) looked at it in confusion.

"Here? Alright, I would have expected you two to prefer some fancier place." (Y/n) commented as Ness patted her back and Kaiser handed her a piece of paper.

"I wrote down what you should order, now don't make my hours of teaching you German go futile."

"It was more Ness teaching anyways-"

"Technicalities. Now go." Kaiser said as he pulled (Y/n) along while Ness simply smiled along.

The 2nd week started off with the club having their day off, so Kaiser and Ness decided to use the opportunity to bring (Y/n) to some famous places in Munich. It was a rather cold day and while she wanted to refuse at first, Ness kept on asking so she caved in, to which Kaiser was a little offended.

"Are you still mad I told you no?" (Y/n) wondered as they ate breakfast.

"I am more offended that you told me no, while not even 3 minutes later saying yes to Ness." Kaiser argued, sending a side glare to the magenta-eyed eyed boy.

"I think those are skill issues on your part." Ness said, earning a laughter from (Y/n).

"Also, Ness was less aggressive about it." The girl blushed as she sent a few glances at Ness, who was flattered by the attention. Kaiser cleared his throat and leaned against his chair.

"Lovely, you two make me want to throw up-"

"Anyways, I made us a plan where we can go. We are in luck that today is less of a crowded day..."

With narrowed eyes, Kaiser stared at Ness and (Y/n) as the boy started explaining everything to her. It was honestly annoying how she was looking at him and hanging onto every word of his.

'Meanwhile she is pretending like I don't exist or isn't taking me seriously. Do I have to act nice around her to get some attention?'

"What...are you doing exactly?" (Y/n) asked as she walked into the storage room to get the equipment for the day. Kaiser turned around as he held the big box, surprised that she was here now.

"Helping."

"Why?" (Y/n) wondered, never expecting the blonde to pick up a box for her.

"Because I want to help you while you are still here." Kaiser answered simply and the girl nodded her head. His voice was a lot softer, making his words sound a lot more genuine than usually.

"I...uh thank you." (Y/n) said timidly and looked at her feet, a sight that made Kaiser stop and stare at her for a moment.

"Nothing worth mentioning." He smiled and (Y/n) followed after him, still in shock from his genuine words.

"Today's practice has left me a mess. I can't wait to sleep." Ness muttered as he leaned against the wall of the stadium, both him and (Y/n) waiting for Kaiser to finish changing.

"Really? I didn't notice it on you. You seemed to enjoy yourself a lot." (Y/n) spoke up as the magenta-eyed boy nodded his head.

"I did, football and playing with Kaiser makes me happy... a lot. But the day was just too tiring. Thanks for being here and helping us, I think it would have been a lot harder otherwise." Ness said, genuinely happy the girl was here with them, with him.

'I really wish I was in Blue Lock sometimes.'

"It's really nothing, I like helping you guys." (Y/n) grinned.

"Say.... why did I catch your attention of all people?" Ness suddenly spoke up, his face turning as red as (Y/n)'s was.

"I like your charisma...and the way you play football, it really looks like a magical performance."

'Also your smile is adorable!' (Y/n) finished the last part in her head, not daring to sat it out loud.

"Oh... I didn't think my play was that special. But thank you." Ness said with a soft smile.

"(Y/n), did you put up all the equipment?" Noel asked as the girl looked up from some papers the man gave her.

"Yep! I asked the assistant coach for some help though. Also! I finished writing down the plan for next week and I made an analysis diagram of the past two weeks. Kaiser went up with his speed and Ness became a lot swifter with his dribbling."

Noel looked at the said items again as (Y/n) continued speaking, the out of the blue patted her head.

"H-huh?" She stopped and looked up to see the man smiling softly at her.

"Great job. I will bring these to my office. Thank you."

"No... problem..." (Y/n) watched Noel leave with a flustered expression as Kaiser approached her with a pout and put a towel over her head.

"Hey?!"

"A bird pooped on you! Let me wipe it off!' The blonde said.

'Damn you,Noel.' Kaiser thought, glaring at the back of the man's head.

It was the third week now and Noel was nervously on the phone, waiting for Ego to answer.

"Yes?" Came the man's bored voice from the other side.

"I will cut to the chase. How much money do you want for (Y/n) to transfer to us?"

"Nothing, she is coming back to Japan this week. You all have a manager already. We need (Y/n) back here."

"Please Ego, she does a way better job than our manager did while he was here. Understand me too." Noel groaned, already dreading the day the man comes back. He wasn't bad or lazy... he just lacked the enthusiasm for the sport.

"I understand, but I do not care. (Y/n) is coming back this week." With that the man ended the call and the Frenchman sighed.

"Maybe she will have a change of heart in a month or two."

"Here! These are for you two." (Y/n) said, handing Kaiser and Ness two boxes. Confused, the boys took the boxes and observed them, one was blue and the other one was a light purple shade.

"What are these?" Kaiser raised an eyebrow as Ness kept staring at his with a lost look.

"I made some chocolates for you two, as a gift for helping me out these past 3 weeks."

With a red face, Ness started saying it was nothing and how they did just a normal thing. Kaiser felt his own face heat up a little bit too and he cleared his throat.

"It was nothing..." The duo looked at Kaiser, surprised by his soft tone.

"But why are you ficing us these now?"

"Huh? I am leaving for Japan tomorrow morning, what other time can I give them to you?"

"Tomorrow morning?!"

"And you didn't tell us anything?!" Ness and Kaiser asked in shock as (Y/n) raised her eyebrow.

"I thought Noel-san told you two..."

The two stopped talking and thought over her words, remembering that the man did mention something related to (Y/n), but they zoned out right after he said her name.

"Well, let's spend the rest of the time we have left with you." Kaiser said bitterly, pulling (Y/n) by the sleeve of her jacket.

"Yeah, let's make the best of what we have left." Ness added putting his arm around her shoulders.

"Do you two have to be this close though?" (Y/n) asked with a flustered face.

"Yes!"

[bella-rose29]

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - Part 2

To make this work (I'm sorry) the reader has a very large family, and they will have names (I genuinely cannot be asked to try and figure that out and make it entirely... non OC)

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: swearing, lockwood and children so beware your hearts, lockwood gets hugged and can't deal with it, the family members are mean, reader doesn't eat much, lockwood is still a bit of an arse and so is the reader (but hers is more justified), proofread maybe once

series master list

So far, it had absolutely been a shitshow.

Lockwood had remained silent for the next hour and a half of the train journey, and with not much else to do but plan every tiny detail of their fake relationship Y/n thought she might be going mad.

Luckily they already knew a lot about each other, so they could get away with not going over basic details about the other's life, but Y/n hadn't talked much about her family to anyone other than George in rants after phone calls with them, so if they thought that she was talking shit about them behind their backs (which she was, but they didn't need to know that) then they would descend like vultures.

She was disrupted from her thoughts when Lockwood stood up from the table seats they'd managed to get, his leg kicking at hers as he manoeuvred into the aisle, not sparing a second glance at Y/n. She frowned, about to call after him and ask where he was going, but when he disappeared out the doors and into the next carriage she decided that she didn't really care, and at least he wasn't brooding in her field of vision.

Y/n had barely been on her own for a minute when a family of five came into the carriage (they must have got on at the station they had recently stopped at), and with her being the only one sat on a table on her own and all the others taken, they made for her. She swallowed, for once wishing Lockwood was here to make her look less selfish, and sat up a little straighter in her seat.

"Excuse me, but would you mind moving? We've got three kids and need somewhere for us all to sit, and since there's only one of you..." The man trailed off, looking at Y/n pointedly, and while initially she had wanted to hold her ground she could feel herself shrinking under his gaze.

Where the fuck is Lockwood?!

He could talk his way out of this, she was sure. It was one of the few things she begrudgingly accepted was brilliant about him. It's not like Y/n didn't need the table; Lockwood's huge bag was sat on it and taking up most of the space, and her own backpack was on the seat next to her, but suddenly her breath was coming too quickly and her throat was closing up, and the man in front of her looked a little too similar to that one uncle-

"Is everything alright?" Lockwood's voice broke through the silence, and Y/n was annoyed to find herself reaching for him.

"Yeah, we just need this table, but this girl isn't moving."

"Sorry, my girlfriend's pretty tired at the moment, what with agents being in high demand right now. How about if we share? I think she needs a nap, poor thing, and we've got rather a lot of luggage between the two of us. I'll move over her side, shall I? Then you can take the other- yes, hello, little one." One of the couples' children had been tugging on Lockwood's hand, and Y/n could see the man's posture relax the more Lockwood talked, watching as her fake-boyfriend picked up the small child with ease and planted him on the train seat. The other two followed quickly, glad to not be on their feet any longer, and Lockwood came to sit next to Y/n, pulling his bag closer to them on the table and shoving her backpack onto the floor between everyone's legs. "See, you three all fit there perfectly don't you! You're only small," Lockwood was saying to the children, not yet noticing Y/n's shaky state. Their parents seemed to be content with the arrangement, taking their own seats across the aisle where they could watch their kids, and through the slight haze covering her eyes Y/n could see them visibly relax.

Once everybody was settled, Lockwood shuffled around in his seat trying to get comfortable, and when his elbow accidentally jabbed into Y/n's side he frowned at her.

"You alright?" he whispered, not wanting to draw the attention of their new companions. She took a moment to reply, not quite registering that Lockwood had actually said anything.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine."

"Right... just- you didn't say anything when I elbowed you just then and I'm worried you might be having a stroke."

"I'm not having a stroke, you idiot," she said, glare appearing on her face. She had some much better names for him, but with three children under the age of ten in front of her, she figured she should stick to the more family-friendly ones. Lockwood smiled, bright and wide and far too blinding.

"That's better." Apparently he had forgotten about the mishap on the platform earlier, and his previous ignorance of her presence, because after that he launched into a whole spiel of what their plan would be.

"Actually," she interrupted, not caring that he looked annoyed, "I've had a lot of time to figure this out. I just need you to confirm or come up with something better on a few things and we should be fine."

"Alright then, what's your grand plan?"

"Well we already know most of the basic stuff about each other, what with living together for nearly three years, so that solves that problem. One thing I did think of was family, since neither of us have actually..." she trailed off, unsure where the two of them stood on that subject given what had happened earlier. Lockwood was only nodding, his brow furrowed.

"Come to think of it, you've never really mentioned your family much," he said.

Y/n shrugged. "I just don't... you know... I just don't..." she flailed her hands around in front of her for a few moments, trying to come up with the right words.

"I don't know," Lockwood replied coolly, "Should I?"

"I just thought I'd tell you about who's gonna be there today, which is my mum and dad, my four brothers, my sister, my Aunt Linda, and her daughter Stephanie. Oh, and my grandparents on my mother's side, but they'll probably be in bed by the time we get there."

"That's... a lot of people."

"Yeah. There'll be more for the party tomorrow, and then the day after will be the same group from today again, and we're leaving that day anyway."

"Okay... what about names?"

"My mum is called Emma, my dad is Ben, my brothers are Sam, John, William, and Tom from oldest to youngest, and then my sister is called Olivia. My Grandma is Jean and my Gramps is Richard."

"Right." Lockwood paused for a moment, reciting the names under his breath. "Anything else I should know?"

"Aunt Linda and Steph are gonna be the worst, since they always try and make life miserable for me. They're ridiculously rich and like making fun of my job- oh, yeah, barely anybody supports my life choices or my job as an agent, so just prepare for that. Uh, where was I? Oh yeah, Steph and Linda will try and find out anything that could be used against us, so I really hope you can act because otherwise they'll figure this whole thing out in seconds."

"Wait-"

"And my brother Will is the most supportive, 'cause he knows that there are options for work after my Talent fades and I'm not going to be out on the streets-"

"Y/n-"

"-and he, John and Sam all play rugby so try not to piss them off because they're twice your size and will snap you like a twig-"

"Y/n!"

"What?!"

"You need to slow down! Go back to the part about your family not supporting your job?"

"Oh, there's not much to it, really." She felt awkward now, his gaze far too sharp for her liking. If he knew the full extent of how much she didn't like her family, he would waste no time in using it to make fun of her and take the upper hand while he could, and she would be left to sink further into herself until she disappeared. "They just don't think I'll have many options, so they want me to think about my next steps."

"Okay..." Lockwood trailed off, getting distracted by something the children were talking about and being asked his opinion on starfish. He looked as though he was about to start conversing with her again, but the train pulled into the platform they needed, and Lockwood was all business getting the luggage out safely.

~~~

"Are you alright?"

Y/n jumped a little in the back of the taxi, not expecting Lockwood's voice so close to her ear. "Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You're very bouncy. If you're fine then could you not? You're jolting me."

Why had she thought he was trying to be nice? She should have known better by now that he wouldn't ever be that way with her, but it still stung.

Truthfully, she was on the verge of tears.

She wouldn't ever tell Lockwood that, of course, because how could he understand? He seemed to walk into any situation effortlessly, with endless optimism and charm that made life easy for him. Y/n was stuck panicking about seeing her family again, because if she couldn't even stand up to some random strangers on the train, how was she ever going to stand up to her family? No, she would just have to do her best to hide everything from Lockwood, to reduce the amount of blackmail material he would have against her.

~~~

The taxi pulled up outside the large cottage-style house, and Lockwood let out a low whistle.

"L/n, you never said your family was this fancy."

"They aren't. It was my Grandma's house, then she got dodgy knees and never moved out, and we moved in after selling up our old place to look after her and Gramps. We're about as fancy as your family, Lockwood, in that we too have multiple mortgages on this building to keep it."

"Anthony."

"What?" Y/n frowned, not sure what he was talking about.

"If we're going to pretend that we're dating, you probably shouldn't be calling me by my last name."

"Oh." She hadn't thought about that. The only reason she even knew his first name was because it was in large print on the sign outside the house, since it was generally accepted that he went by Lockwood and that was that.

"Or you could use some sort of nickname. I've got a few for you if you'd like to hear them." The grin on his face made Y/n think that she really didn't want to hear them, but he opened his mouth again anyway. "How about Sugarplum?" Y/n got out the car, slamming the door shut on him a little more harshly than she needed to. "Snookums? I think you look like a Snookums." The taxi driver was giving the two of them strange looks as he unloaded their bags, but Y/n ignored Lockwo- Anthony (she would have to get used to that) and handed over the money for the drive. "What about Sun Beam? Actually, you're too grumpy for that one. Oh, I know! My personal favourite," he paused for some sort of dramatic effect, being left behind on the driveway as Y/n stomped towards the front door. "Schmoopie."

Y/n stopped suddenly, turning to look back at her fake boyfriend with an incredulous look on her face. "Schmoopie?" He looked far too proud of himself as he picked up his bag and caught up with her, and she resisted the urge to hit him.

"Don't you like it, Schmoopie?"

"Call me that again and I'll be chucking your Source in the furnaces within the week." Lockwood (Anthony - she really needed to start calling him Anthony or she'd be saying 'Lockwood' to her family) Can't you just use my name? Or, you know, a more generic pet name?"

"Fine. You're very boring, I hope you know that."

"Sure. Just swear to me you'll never call me 'Schmoopie' again." She said the word with disgust, scrunching her nose up and fighting the urge to gag.

"Whatever you want, darling." That wasn't much better, but at least it was normal. Y/n raised her hand to knock, but before she could the door was being flung open, revealing a woman in a very festive jumper.

"You're here! She's here!"

~~~

Lockwood stood back slightly as the woman wrapped her arms around Y/n, squeezing so tightly he feared for his colleague's spine.

He braced himself for a similar treatment when she pulled back and spotted him, and the next thing he knew he was close to being suffocated as she brought him into a hug. Lockwood held his breath, his eyes wide and arms stuck out to the side as he tried to figure out what the hell he was meant to be doing. He hadn't been hugged like this since, well, since Jess. It took him a few seconds to work out that he needed to reciprocate the hug, but once he had, god. Why was he choking up? He could feel Y/n's eyes on him, so he shut his own and basked in the feeling of actually being held.

"You must be the boyfriend!" the woman said, pulling back and holding him by the forearms.

"Mum! Please don't terrify him!"

So this was Emma L/n, Y/n's mother.

"Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs L/n." He flashed one of his winning smiles, and he could see her visibly relaxing.

"Oh Emma, please!" She looked back over her shoulder at Y/n, mouthing (incredibly non-subtly) 'He's handsome!'

"Mum!" Y/n hissed, starting to turn red.

"What's your name then young man!"

"Anthony Lockwood," he replied, and took particular pleasure in seeing Y/n squirm in the background.

"Well, you'd better come in. Do you need help with the bags?"

"Oh, no, I've got them," he assured her, shouldering his large bag and reaching for the suitcase handle that Y/n was currently holding onto. She didn't relent for a moment, and they had a silent argument for control of the suitcase until eventually with a small tug he won, stumbling ever so slightly from the effort.

"Everything alright?" Emma asked, frowning at the two of them.

"Yes, perfectly fine!" Lockwood called back, shooting a glare at Y/n. She reciprocated, clenching her jaw at his smug smile that came afterwards. He moved inside the house, Y/n following shortly behind and closing the door to keep the warmth in.

"Where should we put our bags?" Y/n asked her mother.

~~~

They had a problem.

A very large problem.

"Well I'm not sharing with you," Lockwood said, moving further into the room that Y/n's mother had shown them to.

"Good," she said, eyeing the double bed. "Just don't complain when your back gives in from sleeping on the floor for so long."

"What? No, I'm taking the bed."

"It's my family home, what gives you more reason to have the bed than me?"

"I'm your boss, and I pay your wages. If you want to keep being paid then I'm having the bed."

Y/n scoffed, shaking her head. "Arsehole," she muttered, going over to the windows and closing the curtains against the now-dark sky outside. The bed was definitely large enough for two people to share, but when those two people hated each others' guts and weren't actually dating, the bed was far too small.

"What was that?"

"Arsehole," she repeated loudly, making sure to look him dead in the eyes when she did so, then immediately turning and heading into the en-suite bathroom.

"What is your issue with me?" he said, following after her.

"You're taking the bed! It's my fucking house!"

"Let's not forget that without me, you would be in a lot more of a tricky situation! I think I deserve the bed for my efforts; it's not easy pretending to love you, you know!"

"Oh, like it's so easy to love you?! You are so horrible to me, all the time, and now I have to pretend to actually want to be with you?! I'd have been in a difficult situation anyway, the only difference is that in this one, I have a fake boyfriend. I could deal with the humiliation of not having anyone with me, but this?" she laughed bitterly. "This is near to being beyond me, Lockwood." Fuck, why was she tearing up? She closed the bathroom door firmly in Lockwood's face, ignoring the shocked expression on his face in the second before he disappeared from her view.

She pushed the lock, waiting for the click before turning and facing the sink, bracing her hands on the edge and heaving a few deep breaths. She hadn't realised how hard it would be to pretend that she was completely fine around her family while they picked and prodded and commented and made snide remarks, and having Lockwood around was only making it worse.

She couldn't even begin to imagine all the things he would use as ammunition in the future. He'd have a field day on this holiday, taking all of her family's words and turning them against her, becoming even worse than he had been before.

A knock sounded on the door, light and unsure, and Lockwood's voice followed afterwards. "...Y/n? I- I'm-" he sighed, and she could imagine him clenching his jaw and looking up at the ceiling as he tried to fight against the nice words he was clearly trying to say. "I have a shit sleep schedule anyway, and you go to sleep a lot faster than I do so it's better for me to sit in a chair when I can't get to sleep and you can lie down, so... yeah." Y/n was surprised at how kind he was, and was starting to wonder if he was having some sort of stroke. But then he started talking again and she knew that he was completely fine.

"If you could not take for fucking ever in the bathroom though that would be great, because I really need a piss."

~~~

"Ah, there you both are! You took your time putting your bags away!" Linda's gaze drifted to Y/n as she said that, eyes sharpening and making the back of Y/n's neck prickle.

"Oh, that's my fault, sorry," Lockwood started, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in. Y/n stiffened, not used to being so close to him, and tried to force a smile onto her face. "I got carried away asking questions about the photos around the room, and I think I might have driven her slightly mad." He was smiling so widely and cheerfully that Y/n could practically feel everybody relaxing and warming up to him. It was frustrating, really, how they had known him for roughly ten seconds and already seemed to like him more than her. Her brothers were eyeing him up, trying to figure out whether they needed to take him outside or just give him a good talking to. Her sister Olivia was also eyeing Lockwood up, but in a very different way to their brothers that was making Y/n somewhat uncomfortable. It wasn't that they didn't get on and that was what was wrong, but they were sisters, and therefore they naturally disagreed on some things.

Apparently Lockwood's level of attractiveness was one of them.

"Oh, not to worry," her mother said, already loving having Lockwood here. "I made tea, if you'd like some? There's cake too, and far too much of it, so take as much as you want!"

"Tea would be lovely, Emma, thank you," Lockwood said, moving his arm away from Y/n's shoulders. She nearly jumped out of her skin in shock when she felt his hand land on her lower back instead, pushing her forward towards the empty loveseat that sat closest to the roaring fire. "Try not to look quite so horrified at this whole thing, darling," he whispered right into her ear, emphasising the pet name. "And maybe relax a little too, yeah?" He sat down on the chair, leaving very little room for Y/n to sit down herself without pressing up against him. She gave up trying to keep space between them when she ended up perching on the edge and gained strange looks from everyone else. Lockwood pulled her back towards him, grabbing her waist with both hands and tugging until she was right up against his chest, their thighs pressed together. He didn't let go, keeping his arms around her and nestling his head in the crook of her neck. She hadn't loosened up since walking in to the living room, and she was entirely sure that her spine was as stiff as one of the wooden floorboards under her feet. Her mother handed over two mugs of tea, placing them on the small side table next to their chair, then went to cut two slices of cake, starting with Lockwood's. He accepted his plate gratefully, smiling brightly up at her.

"How big of a slice, Y/n/n?"

"Uh... maybe-"

"Don't give her too big of a slice, she doesn't need that much," Stephanie interrupted, her tone sickly sweet. Y/n froze, and behind her she could feel Lockwood glancing between the two girls, trying to figure out what was happening. Her mother cut a decent sized slice, ignoring her niece's comment and handing the plate to Y/n.

"Did you make this, Emma?" Lock-Anthony (she might just give up trying to correct herself in a minute) asked.

"Oh, yeah, but you know, it's not my best."

"Well I think it's delicious, you'll have to share the recipe with me so I can have more of it back in London!"

"I'd be happy to! Do you bake then?"

"Oh, no, I'm awful. I'd burn the house down I'm sure. But our friend George is a magician in the kitchen."

"Remind me what you do for work again?" her father asked.

"Actually, maybe you could just... tell us. Since we know nothing about you!" Linda laughed. "We don't even know your name!"

"Anthony Lockwood," he said, yet another of his classic Lockwood smiles taking over his face. Y/n was starting to feel sick from the way Stephanie and Linda were watching them, and she put her fork down on her plate. "Y/n hasn't mentioned me much then?"

"No," Linda simpered. "I have to say, I was very surprised when I heard my sister say that Y/n had a boyfriend. I'm even more surprised that you actually exist!"

"I can't really blame her for not saying anything, I suppose. We're very busy a lot of the time and when we are free I'm often dragging her out on dates and the like, so if you haven't heard from her then that's entirely my fault." God, how was he such a good liar? Everybody believed him right away, but if she tried to get away with something like that they'd be asking so many questions she would give up and tell the truth.

"And... what is it you do for work?" her father asked again, desperate for the answer.

"I'm an agent."

"Fittes or Rotwell?"

"Uh... no, I-"

"Bunchurch then? Or maybe Grimble?"

"Actually," Lockwood glanced at Y/n, and she nodded slightly, bracing herself for her family's reaction. "I run my own agency. George, who I mentioned earlier, is our researcher, Lucy is our Listener, Holly our secretary, and then of course there's Y/n. Best Touch in England." He squeezed her slightly, and when she looked back at him he was smiling up at her so adoringly that she wondered how she ever hated him.

Then he jabbed her side, making her wobble and nearly spill the tea that she'd just picked up, and she remembered that he was a dick.

"Your... own... agency?"

"Yes." Lockwood didn't seem perturbed, which was lucky, because Y/n was feeling increasingly more unsettled with every second that passed. "We're based in London in my family home, but we take clients from all around England."

"Right... so that makes you Y/n's... boss?"

"I know it's not... the usual, but there is nothing that says we cannot be in a relationship. Believe me, I've checked. I don't think there is anything that could have been done to stop me from falling for your daughter, sir, despite her own best efforts, and I like to think that I keep my role as her boss completely separate from my role as her boyfriend."

Y/n stared at him in mild shock, not quite believing how sincere he sounded, and Lockwood was refusing to look at her.

Uneasy glances were exchanged by nearly all of Y/n's gathered family members, the only exceptions being Will, who had always supported Y/n, and Olivia, who was too busy checking Lockwood out. Y/n put her plate of cake down, having spent the last few minutes picking at it and barely eating any, and ignored the look that Lockwood gave her. She wasn't feeling hungry at all now that she was surrounded by everyone, and Stephanie was watching every move she made with terrifying intensity. No doubt there would be some fresh insults this year, and Y/n couldn't wait to be back home again.

Home.

Since when had she considered Lockwood's house her home?

"You alright?" Lockwood whispered in her ear. He kept asking her that, and it was freaking her out a little.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She stood up, gently detaching herself from Lockwood's grip and putting her mug of tea on the side table, half drunk. "Just need the loo, be back in a bit." She tried smiling at everyone, but the water gathering in her eyes made it difficult to pretend that she was actually fine, and she left the room finding it hard to breathe. Y/n headed up the stairs and into the bathroom attached to the room that she and Lockwood were staying in, and for the second time that day braced herself on the sink as she tried to regain control of her body. "Fuck," she muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She splashed some cold water on her face, holding it against her skin in the hopes that it would shock her back into being alright again, then turned off the tap and sat on the floor, her back to the sink and her legs stretched out in front.

Only two more days to go, and then she could go back to her normal life.

Two more days of this, and she was free, and could eat as much cake as she wanted, because George and Lucy would be stuffing their faces too.

She just had to fake it until then.

part 3

Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @locklyebrainrot, @locknco, @mentallyillsodapop (I just realised I hadn't added you I'm so sorry 😭 although I don't know if you wanted to be added actually idkkk) @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

please let me know if I've missed you off the series tag list, and I'll put you right on! <3