#thank you for your kind comment on my writing

[wosofutbolfan]

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar

Alexia Putellas x Explorer!R

8.5k Fluff, Fun, Minor Angst

Hi Guys,

This is pt4. in the 'I Would Climb Every Mountain With You" otherwise known as Explorer!R Universe. TW: description of killing an animal.

Highly recommend you read those 3 first, as this is entrenched in lore. Pt 1 can be found here.

It's developed from an ask I received from @karsonromanoff so thank you so much for the idea! I hope I did it justice and I'm sorry for the delay and the words. ha.

This is the first time I've written since my dad died. I'm not being emo or heavy about it but I am asking to please, be kind. I know there's nice people out there but often they're drowned out by the loud haters.

So throw us a comment, like or reblog if you enjoyed. I'm just trying to get back into something that brought me joy. I know I enjoyed writing it.

Also, may be weird for a fic about a spanish gay footballer, but you probably need a good working knowledge of Bear Grylls to understand 80% of this. ha.

As has become tradition, here's the song running though my head when writing! Yes, my music taste remains to be that of someone born in 1962. God love Helen Reddy.

“Vamos Ale! I don’t like to make Miguel wait…” you shout from the kitchen, bag resting on the countertop as you try to fix your bracelet with your left hand,

“Deja de preocuparte, a él no le importa, I will be one minute…” you head called back from the bedroom where your wife had been getting dressed for 2 hours now.

Yes.

Your wife.

Sometimes you couldn’t believe it.

Sometimes the weight of the band on your finger catches you by surprise and you’d remember.

Sometimes Alexia would place her hand on your bare thigh and you could feel the cool metal on your skin and you’d remember.

Sometimes you’d get called “Mrs Putellas” at a school talk, or at the Doctors, and you’d remember.

It felt so natural that sometimes you’d forget that you weren’t always Alexia's wife.

But now you are. And had been for almost 6 months. And married life couldn’t have suited you more.

Your wedding ring was your new favourite accessory, you never took it off.

In a fire you would save Alexia and your ring.

Maybe even your ring first.

It was embossed with the imprint of grass that Alexia has been collecting from each pitch of each game she had played in since you had met. The intricate design brought tears to your eyes as soon as you saw it. Made even worse by the inscription “’cause you are my goal”. 

You would be embarrassed if Alexia hadn’t cried like a toddler when you presented her with the ring you had made for her, which had rock from each of the 7 peaks you had scaled, as well as a granule of sand from the Dead Sea set within it. Integrated into the metal, visible but smooth to the touch. 

The inscription 'every mountain high, every valley low' on the inside of the band.

You knew you’d done good and you knew your Ale well enough to anticipate the absolute mess she would be when presented with it, ensuring you had a pocket full of tissues for the inevitable waterfall.

You weren’t wrong.

You had to assure a passing couple on the trail you had chosen that she was fine, not having a medical incident and you were definitely not mid break-up but in fact exchanging wedding bands early because you knew your fiance well enough she didn’t need her teammates to witness this much of her soft side.

Though you tried, they still saw enough on your wedding day to tease her for the last 6 months with no sign of slowing down.

Though right now your wife's behaviour was nothing but unexpected. You had agreed to attend one of Alexia's events this evening. Since getting married you had felt more of a duty to attend and make up for the years you’d left her carrying her own handbag whilst you trotted over mountains on the other side of the world. 

She insisted that you didn’t have to. Like she always did. You weren’t one for the fancy dresses and the flashing cameras. But you saw the gleam of hope in her eyes as she insisted she would be fine on her own.

You couldn’t let that sparkle dim.

Also you had to set off for a camp in a few days and you had gotten seriously stuck in the honeymoon phase meaning that an evening without your wife by your side wasn’t something you could stomach.

Not that you would admit to being so clingy.

But it wasn’t like Ale to take so long to get ready, neither of you being particularly fussy, usually she would throw on some light makeup, smack your bum whilst you ate nutella off a knife under the hob light, procrastinating getting ready until she dragged you and dropped you into the ensuite, steal a kiss and a spray of perfume, and wait for you whilst watching old football clips in the living room.

But now, as you still struggled to attach the clasp of your bracelet and you had one eye on the poor Barca driver, Miguel, waiting in your driveway, you started to grow frustrated at your wife's sudden vanity.

You smelt her perfume invading your senses as you felt her arms envelope you from behind, moving your uncoordinated left hand away and easily attaching the clasp of your bracelet for you, pressing a kiss to your neck as she did so.

“Finalmente… Let’s g-...” you spoke as you turned in her embrace, finally taking in her attire which stopped you in your tracks.

“Boobs”

You had suddenly turned into a 14 year old boy and you couldn’t explain it.

You had seen your wife naked hundreds of times.

Hundreds of fantastic times.

But here she stood looking, regal. Her hair falling lightly over her face, her dark sparkly dress with wide shoulders and only what you could describe as a boob portal you had been rendered speechless. Mouth gaping open like a fish.

“...Amor?...” you heard the delight in her voice. “Are you listening to me… my eyes are up here.” she jokingly clicked her fingers in front of your face which took you out of your breast-inspired trance.

“Ale you are so beautiful” you looked deeply into her eyes but you didn’t miss the blush rising from her neck. And you meant it. She was. Wow. 

“Do you like it?” she asked, shyly, “You don’t think it’s too much? It’s just the first event we’ve gone to together since we got married and I wanted to…”

You interrupt her but pressing a kiss to her lips, and, well, if you slipped a little tongue in there then fine. She was your wife after all.

“What? Show the world what they're missing out on? I am so proud to stand by your side, my love.” you whispered into her lips, as you toyed with her wedding band. 

You couldn’t help yourself…”and your boobs are fantastic.” 

She barked out a laugh as you leaned back into where you left off, but she took a step back, her heel clicking against the tile floor, to which you let out an annoyed grumble.

“Oi Oi, Mi Amor. What about poor Miguel, he is waiting, Si?” she teased.

“He doesn’t care… Cálla y bésame.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You took a deep breath and leaned back on your chair at the round table you found yourself at. Alexia had been pulled from your side which she had stuck to like glue all evening,  to go and present the final award of the evening which she had just done, very sexily if you do say so yourself. All confident and boob-y.

You smiled, imagining her now making small talk backstage, eyes bored but a smile plastered on her face as she tried to make her way back to your table.

Your other table-mates seemed to take the opportunity of the break in the ceremony to raid the free bar put on by the charity. Which seemed very uncharitable of them. But, as you toyed with the rim of your glass, who were you to judge?

Stomach full from a mediocre-mass produced meal and head happily fuzzy from the bubbles you had consumed you found yourself oddly satisfied as you sat here. In this conference room-turned auditorium in the middle of Barcelona, here, loudly and proudly as Alexia's wife.

Mrs Putellas.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, you felt weirdly grown-up. With your wife, your house, and your business. You blinked and missed yourself becoming so settled and for once in your life you weren’t terrified of the idea.

You saw the glint in Alexia's eye. When Irene and her wife would come round for dinner and bring their kid. She’d surrender all hostess duties and sit on the living room floor, crawling around at the beck and call of whatever imaginary game the 5 year old insisted on. You’d seen her perfect her lion roar in that very spot. It probably matched the glint in yours when you were grocery shopping and a child being pushed in a trolley would go past shoving cookies into the trolley without their Mother seeing.

Maybe, you thought, maybe it was time…

“It is you! I am so sorry to interrupt. I had to come over to introduce myself. I am such a fan…”

You glanced around, expecting Alexia to be standing over your shoulder and smiling politely at the person who had approached your table to meet her… but you were met with blank space and then you engaged your silly brain and realised the person was speaking English and looking at you and…

Oh My God.

It’s Bear Grylls.

“Oh My God. You’re Bear Grylls.” 

You let out. 

Stupidly.

Standing and thrusting your hand out like an idiot to your legitimate childhood hero.

You and your brother would watch his series for hours as children. Sat cross-legged 2 inches from the TV on your living room floor, eating up every second of his adventures. Your mum had to stop you from eating a woodlouse once in your garden because you’d seen him eat a cricket in the Amazon the evening before. Your brother smacked upside the head for trying to drink a cup of his own wee for the same reason.

Now you were a well-seasoned adventurer yourself you knew that all of that was for theatricks. 

You had spent more than 7 weeks wandering the Amazon yourself once, and not one drop of urine passed your lips. Not one 8 legged insect had you gulped down in one.

But still.

Hero.

He took your hand graciously, as you both sat back down you prepared to barrage him with questions but before you could he jumped right in…

“I have been wanting to meet you for years. But my team said you had disappeared off to Spain and couldn’t be tracked down. Please, I've been desperate to know. .. Tell me all about summiting Orjas del Salado…”

So you told him, and you asked him about his adventures, and you chatted for what could have been hours, sharing stories and advice with Bear-fucking-Grylls.

He blushed as you pointed out his for-TV tricks and you thanked him for being a portal into the wider world from your living room.

At some point you felt Alexia return, a strong hand on your shoulder. You paused your monologue about Patagonia and giddily took her hand in yours, introducing them to each other. 

Polite pleasantries exchanged you could tell she had legitimately no idea what was going on or who this middle-aged English guy at your table was, but judging from your excited eyes, she didn’t need to interrupt.

It didn’t take too long for someone from his team to pull him away for an interview with the charity. But as you stood to say your goodbyes he made an offer, “You know, me and the production company are making a special about survival in the Alps… I would love for you to be a guest star.”

You stood there like a gaping fish for a moment. “Really?” you asked, in wonder, your 7 year old self spinning around in glee in your chest. Alexia smiling up at you from her chair at the joy in your voice.

“Of course! I would be honored, it’s especially about how to survive in an Avalanche situation. Obviously, with what happened in Nepal…you are an expert in that fie…”

At that point, Alexia stopped her polite silence she had been maintaining whilst you had your moment with your childhood hero. And abruptly stood, clutching your hand hard in both of hers, stern look on her face.

“No.”

From the look on his face you gathered that this successful upper-middle class white English man had not been told no too often, and a beat of silence followed which Alexia was more than happy to fill.

“Sorry Señor Oso. She doesn’t do snow now. Thank you for the offer though.”

She said it with such finality that even you didn’t think to question it. Her mis-translation brought a smile to your face. Her hands still encompassed yours, her eyes didn’t leave his face. As though daring him to rebuff her.

He looked at you as though to confirm she could answer for you. Of course she could. But you knew this refusal wasn’t just about you, but about her also. You knew the anxiety it would cause her for you to put yourself in that situation wasn’t worth anything on this planet.

Nevermind the trauma it would dredge up for you. So obviously, you agreed.

“Sorry Mr Grylls. Not my rodeo anymore. I’ve got some contacts though who you could work with” you politely confirmed your refusal and felt Alexias hands lessen their grip on yours in relief.

“No, no, of course. Sorry. But no. I would really love for you to be involved in the series. We have an episode about promoting women in outdoor pursuits. It's still on the drawing board, but if you are interested I’ll get our people to liaise with each other!”

“That sounds amazing but… I don’t have any people for you to…”

“Don’t be silly Mi Amor” Alexia interrupts again, hand still in yours and the other expertly reaching into her clutch and pushing a card into his outstretched hand… “We have people. Please, Oso, be in touch.”

Smiling vaguely and confusedly at your wife, still clearly mildly terrified of her, he takes the card as he's dragged away by his handler. He's probably still in hearing distance as you squeal in glee and throw yourself into your wife's arms, making her spin with the momentum.

“Ale, Ale, Ale!!! Do you know who that was….” you exclaim.

She can’t help but laugh aloud at your antics, soft look on her face as she lifts you lightly off the ground to stop your spin.

“Si Mi Amor, ese era el hombre oso de la televisión. Tu favorito.” she replies with a smile on her face, speaking softly, somehow, in the middle of this event where she was the guest star, making you feel as though you were the only person in the universe.

“No.” you corrected “..eres mi favorito.” You sealed your words with a light kiss to her lips, chaste but warm.

“Ah, Si. And you have had some wine. You always get soft after wine.” she lightly rolls her eyes with affection at your gushing over her.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes as you pull her into a soft sway, your childhood hero quickly forgotten now you’re in the company of your wife.

Though the giddiness in your bones from your encounter remains.

“Si the wine.” you agree moving your lips close to her ear as you whisper, breath dancing against her cheek, your hand moves to her chest and you feel her breath falter at your closeness,

“but also your boobs.” and you quickly poke her exposed chest between her breasts before she can stop you, and you move away from her pulling her behind you as you rush off to the bar.

“Amor!” she cackles.

“Vamos Ale! A La Barra!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Estoy Muerta.”

You grumble in complaint into the chest of the warm and moving pillow that you had clearly settled on in the night.

“Shh Ale.”

“Me estoy muriendo y a mi esposa no le importa.”

“You are not dying Ale. You are hungover and over 30”, you mumble in reply, moving away from resting on her chest, the heat becoming too much for your own fuzzy brain.

“Explain to me how that is different.” she doesn’t take kindly to your light chuckle in reply, as you move your hand to cover your eyes from the sunlight starting to bleed through the curtains.

You peek an eye open and see the remnants of your previous night strewn across the bedroom floor.

You take in the glorious dress of your wifes thrown across your chest of drawers. You recall unzipping it with your mouth after making very good use of the boob portal. Much to Alexia's delight.

You had probably taken it a little bit too far at the bar. Your giddiness let your binge-drinking brit out a little too much.

You had a flash of memory at dancing on a table at a dive bar in the town centre, before being brought down by Alba who you had called and demanded come and dance the night away.

Meanwhile Alexia had been in the corner trying to drunkenly explain to Mapi a set of complicated tactics that they should try out at an additional training session in the morning.

“I thought you had scheduled extra training today Ale” you teased after taking in her pasty complexion as you rolled over and settled back down onto your, cooler, side of the bed.

“I hate you.” she replied, quite seriously, as she moulded herself against your back, taking your hand in hers and burying her face into the back of your neck.

“Of course you do, dear, it feels like it.” you tease again, wiggling yourself and making her grumble again.

You rest there for a few moments, before you’re dragged onto your back again and pulled into Alexia's embrace as she moves you around like her own personal teddy bear.

You go with the flow, quite used to your wife's clingy nature, especially when she didn't feel well.

But your silence doesn’t last two minutes before she rolls you over again, now onto your back, “Oh bloody hell, where are we going now.” you mumble, as she rests her head on your chest this time, nuzzling into your breasts.

“me estoy poniendo cómodo.” she mutters into your bosom, “allá. ahora estoy cómodo”. You run your hands through her hair, smiling down at your wife who is practically purring at the attention.

“Bebé…”, you make a noise of affirmation.

“Will you…” you know what she wants, and you know she must be feeling bad if she’s asking for attention.

“Si, my love. voy a trenzar tu cabello. One big plait or lots of little ones?”. 

“The tingly ones por favor” she mumbles into your chest. Your heart expands at her adorableness, never quite learning the English for ‘french plait’ they became known as the ‘tingly ones’ in your household, because of the feeling she would get as you plaited her wet hair after a game, hands working through her scalp. 

It brings a smile to your face and you can see the lovesick smile on hers where it is squished against your chest.

You start to section out her hair as she lies still, your ministrations slowly putting her to sleep, working methodically in the quiet morning.

Moving strand over strand in intricate braids, lightly tugging her scalp and undoing when it's not perfect and redoing, giving her an extra scratch to the soft skin behind her ear when you get there, knowing it's her most sensitive spot. Receiving a sleepy purr in satisfaction as your reward.

You hear the animals from the national park outside, feel the sun starting to warm the room around you. Her chest rising and falling against yours hypnotising you further into the moment. You’ve got grand plans, brunch and a walk along the beach in your mind, maybe a lazy afternoon swim, hold on no. Maybe a lazy afternoon skinny dip. Yeah.

That sounds good.

You’ve almost finished tying off the last plait when you are startled back into the moment by the buzzing of your wifes phone on the bedslide table.

You fight back a smile at the groan that is emitted from your fully grown-pro-athlete-wife.  It resembled that of a teenager who’d been asked to clean their room or no dessert. When she doesn’t go to make a move you nudge her shoulder.

“Ale. Ale, your phone."

“No.”

“Yes."

“No."

“C'mon Ale.” you reach across and pick the phone up. “It could be important. It could be your secret wife wondering where you are.”

She rolls off you at your tease, throwing you a glare that resembles more of an angry kitten than anything, “It could not be, she knows where I am. I snuck out whilst you were dancing on the tables in that last bar to make plans for dinner.”

“Ah, Si of course. My mistake.”

She surges up and gives you a completely unnecessary chaste kiss, as though even the joke is too much and she has to confirm she’s kidding. The phone has stopped vibrating against the bedside table and the silence that settles over you both is welcome.

“How are you so okay? I feel like I have been run over by a truck.” she states as she rubs her face, finally sitting up to start the day.

“You are old.

“I am 2 months older than you.”

“Two, very long, months my darling.” you tap her cheek lightly as you move to get out of bed, throwing on one of her oversized t-shirts you find on the floor.

“Seria, how?” she asks again, now sprawling across the space you have vacated.

“I am English. I once did a vodka shot through my eyeball in the park. I was 14.” you state, plainley, eyebrow raised in challenge as she just looks at you, open mouthed.

“Ojalá no hubiera preguntado.” she mutters, as her phone starts to ring again.

“Ale, phone.” you say, just to annoy her.

“¡lo sé!” you hear thrown at you, as you head downstairs to set some food out for Billy-the-Goat, and make a coffee for your dying wife.

Soon after, you feel her presence behind you as you stir her coffee, turning as you feel her hands wrap around your waist and presenting her coffee and she takes it from you as though it's a ballon d’or. She takes a sip before she presses a kiss to your head.

“That was my agent.”

Your heart drops, and you can’t help the petulant whine that leaves your lips.

“No, Ale! I wanted to spend the day together. Try that new brunch place Alba told us about. Have a swim, just be together. Whatever brand needs you can wait. Tell them no, please” you finish your little monologue with a pout, and you feel a childish frustration rise as a laugh teases against her lips.  You don’t get very far when a kiss is pressed against your lips.

“Well that sounds like the perfect hangover cure Mi Amor. Do you not want me to tell you what it is before I tell them no though?” there's something in her taunt, a glint in the eye that makes you think twice as your mouth already wraps around the refusal.

You take a moment too long apparently, and she takes things into her own hands as she clutches her coffee happily and spins around, “I’ll tell them no! Don’t worry Mi Amor…” teasing lilt in her tone. Whatever the news is, it has pulled her from her hangover.

You wait a beat

Another.

“Fine, What is it!” you groan out in defeat, hands raised to the sky, Alexias t-shirt riding high on your thighs as you raise your arms.

Your wife turns and is distracted momentarily by the flesh on display. Before you cough and she remembers what she's supposed to be doing. Coy smile on her face returning.

“That was my agent…” you huff out at her drawing out the anticipation. “Or should I say our agent.” your brow furrows in confusion as she continues… “she has been contacted by a muy interesado oso.”

Realisation starts to dawn on you, memories of the previous night flashing in your mind and you can’t help the grin that forms.

“Si, Mi Amor. It turns out he really meant it. She said they were willing to offer anything to get you on. She’s getting the details now and will contact us again after our day together today to see if you are interested”.

“I am interested!” you exclaim with glee, Alexia throwing her head back in laughter.

“I know Amor, but let's let them sell it to you. You need the details. Though… I am sure it is no more dangerous than ojos de vodka.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hola, love!” you shout into your empty hallway, hands full of groceries, you shuck off your trainers, hearing them thump against the wall as you struggle into the kitchen.

Tonight was the premiere of “Man Vs Woman” , the special episode of your and Bear's adventure. After the offer was made you met with the TV production company via Zoom to go through ideas.

You pretended you didn’t know Alexia was standing just outside the door to your study, listening and clearly deciding if she thought it was too dangerous or not. At least that's what you deduced from her interrupting with a cup of tea every time a particularly hairy idea was mentioned.  

When you brought this up with her you pretended you didn't see her blush creeping up from her neck. Because you’re her wife and it was the wifely thing to do.

The concept was a really cool one. You were excited from the start. The idea was that you and Bear would both be dropped in an inhospitable environment with a map and a knife and nothing else. Neither of you would be told what type of environment but you had assurances in your contract that it wouldn’t involve snow. You had 28 days to get to the muster point. Whoever got there first won.

Simple.

Convincing Alexia it was really cool. Less simple.

“Amor what if there are animals!”

“I know how to avoid dangerous animals. And there will be a medical team on standby,”

“What if you fall and cut yourself on your knife."

“What if you get tackled and break your leg?”

“That's different. What if you lose your map and can’t find your way out and you have to live out there forever”

“I will always find my way back to you.”

“What If-”

“Ale.”

You stopped her rambling with a kiss and when you pulled away you looked deeply in her eyes.

“Que pasa I miss you too much?” eyes wide and vulnerable.

There we go. Her real source of anxiety.

You had spent more time apart than most couples but since you scaled down your travels you had fallen into a sweet domesticity you could admit was a struggle to pull yourself from. 28 days plus the week before to get to the location is longer than you’d like. But it was an adventure of a lifetime. Maybe… maybe your last adventure? The thoughts had been creeping in more and more recently.

Of early mornings chasing more than sunrises, maybe rising due to a baby's babble instead?

You’d made sure that Alexia really knew how much you’d miss her the night before you flew out. On reflection maybe you should have rested your muscles a little more before such a physically demanding month but. Be serious. Look who your wife was. 

You are not God's strongest soldier.

So, off you had gone. Competing against your childhood hero for all of womanhood. And you couldn’t lie. You loved it.

Being blindfolded and dropped in an unknown location was exhilarating. Learning the land as you went, with only a map and a knife in hand it was one of the biggest challenges of your life.

The team had made good on their promise and the tropical rainforest you were in couldn’t be further from a snowy mountain range.

You’d refused to let anything slip to Alexia in the 3 months you’d been back. Lips tightly sealed no matter what she tried. You wanted her to be surprised and watch it in real time with you. In all the games you'd attended since you had to deal with an injured Mapi yapping your ear off whilst you tried to concentrate on the game, probing for hints about if you won, what you won, where you were, if you wrestled a snake, how big was the snake you’d wrestled.

“Maria stop with the snake!” you’d finally snapped during the tense quarter final of the Queen's cup.

Which had worked.

For all of two seconds.

“What did the snake taste like?”

You’d originally planned to go home to England with Alexia to watch the premier with your family. But then a schedule mess-up in the league had meant that Ale had to play in a rescheduled game the day after the premier. It just didn’t work for her to come to England.

She insisted you still go, but you refused. You wanted to watch her game. And you knew she’d need you when the show was on. Even if she didn’t know that yet.

You started to unpack your groceries mindlessly, you’d picked some great snacks for the evenings viewing, you suddenly were hit with how suspiciously peaceful your house was, though, you were sure you’d seen Alexia's car in the drive.

“Ale! Love!, ¡Estoy en casa! Come help me unpack!” You shouted into your empty kitchen, back turned to your living room, you had a few hours before the show was on air, “I got that ice-cream you like! I know it gives you a tummy ache sometimes but don’t worry, I'll rub your tummy how you like afte…”

“Amor!”

You turned around at the panic in her voice, “Wha–”

“SURPRISE!”

Ale stood in your living area, face reddening, surrounded by her closest Barca teammates as well as Mario, his ever pregnant wife and his kids, your mum and brother as well as Eli and Alba. Everyone comically in paper party hats and some lop-sided bunting was up above your couch,

“HOPE YOU BEAT THE BEAR SNAKE!” it read, and you immediately knew who was on the decoration committee.

You jumped in surprise, dropping the ice cream and immediately ran into your mum's open arms, “Mum! You’re here!” you squealed into her neck, hiding the tears that had appeared in her presence.

“I am, love. Alexia literally wouldn’t let us refuse the flight. She pretended she didn’t understand English when we tried to at least pay for it. And you know I have a 265 day streak on duolingo but my accent must need work because she didn’t understand my Spanish.”

You pulled yourself from her neck with a wet laugh and transferred yourself into your wifes open and familiar strong arms. “Aleeee” you whined. She knew you meant thank you. And I love you. And you mean the world to me. But you were too British to do that infront of people.

“You need to stop pretending you don’t speak English when you don’t like what you hear.” you muttered without malice after placing a kiss below her ear.

“I know amor. I love you too. And your family needed to be here for your big moment! You couldn’t miss this with them because of me. And then also. Mapi happened and now we’re having a viewing party! There's a cake!”

“And Ice Cream Ale! Don’t worry, I’ve saved it! Though we don’t want your barriga to hu-” Mapi stands the space you'd just vacated holding up the abandoned and slightly battered carton of ice cream. She's stopped from her gleeful teasing by Ingrid covering her entire face with one big palm.

“We wanted to be here to support you.” Ingrid interrupted her girlfriend, addressing you kindly.

“We all did!” you hear from Alba in the back, already tucking into the buffet set up on the coffee table, paper hat skew-whiff on her head. You have never felt so loved. It was perfect.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, when are you going to tell her you’re ready for them?”

You are brought out of your daydream by Ingrid sidling up to you and addressing you with her familiar soft lilt.

“Huh?”

She doesn’t reply vocally, just nods her head towards your wife, who is currently having a very intense game of 2v2 in your garden with 2 of Marios youngest and Mapi.

The kids little legs making them toddle around after the small ball adorably, Mapi and Ale giving soft touches they would easily catch up with.

You can’t help but laugh out loud as Ale takes Mapi by surprise and takes a shot against her hard, the ball catching her bare thigh in a manner which must have left a sting much to the small Spaniard's disdain.

Her and the two kids start to chase Alexia around the garden, dramatically tackling her as she suddenly becomes some sort of football monster, rolling around and blowing raspberries on their stomachs as Mapi cheers her toddler army on from the sidelines.

You feel another knock against your arm, dislodging your hand which is supporting your head as you lean over the breakfast bar facing the garden. Lovesick looks clearly on your face, going off Ingrid's coy smile.

“You know, barn. Kids. Munchkins…”

“Yeah, Yeah I get it Ingrid…” you steal another look outside at your more-often-than-not-stern wife getting grass stains on her comfy shorts for the entertainment of your best friends' kids, suddenly you feel like being really really honest. You turn to Ingrid with a shy smile of your own, “soon.”

Her face lights up, teeth on display unable to disguise her smile. “Yeah?” she asks, before turning to look towards the garden, “Me too.”

You smile to yourself and drop your head onto the dark haired girl's shoulder, you both taking a moment to watch your partners play with the kids. The moment is ruined by your mum mussing up your hair on her way past,

“Come on Love, we need to wrangle these last-minute spaniards, it starts in 10 minutes!”

She had a point to be fair. A very chaotic 8 minutes later you practically push Eli into her seat on the couch after she tries to get another plate full of food for Mario’s wife, “¡Está llena de Eli! ella esta embarazada no tiene hambre!” you cheekily remind her, your wife looking up at you from her place on the floor with tender eyes.

“And you…” you turn your attention towards her as you make your way to your seat, “get up here.” you demand, patting the empty space next to you.

“I’m bueno down here Mi Amor, me and Bruno can watch from down here.” she insists. the 4 year old of Marios nestled on her stomach, her arms wrapped around his sleeping form where he attached himself to her after being forced back inside.

You hesitate for a moment, not watching to make a scene or be too needy in front of all your closest family and friends, but you knew that Ale would need to be within touching distance of you in the next hour. 

You’re about to make your peace with it when Mario glaces your way. You and Mario have worked together for years. Years before you met Ale and the girls.

You’ve battled more than just bears together. Weeks spent isolated in the mountains. And a bond like that means that you can communicate with just a look.

With just that glance he’s up and pulling his toddler into his own burley arms. Bruno remaining in his deep sleep through the change.

“I’ve got el monstruo Ale. Go sit with your wife."

She doesn’t need any more direction, the small interaction is subtle and missed by everyone, except your brother who sends you an exaggerated puppy dog look.

“Fuck off” you throw at him, finger in the air, quickly grabbed by Alexia, “Hey, I thought you wanted me to sit here!” she teases, sending your brother a wink.

“Stop ganging up on me…!” you’re about to protest further before you’re shushed by Mapi, of all people, sitting on the floor between Ingrid's legs who sits on the couch above her. “It's about to start!”

She has a point, a familiar British accent fills the living room, Spanish subtitles appearing on the bottom of the screen for the Spanish contingent. Bear’s voice is as dramatic as ever, long sweeping scenes fill the screen of intense jungle, a crocodile and an action shot of a snake thrown in for good measure.

“Serpiente!” Mapi shouts, pointing at the screen, before Ingrid hushes her and pulls her back against her legs. 

           “We all know by now that humans are masters of the jungle. But the unanswered question remains. Is it the King, or Queen of the Jungle? Find out tonight in Man V Woman.”

The title fills the screen with a dramatic crescendo of music. Your friends and family whooping as though it's the champions league final. Alexia barely contains her excitement next to you. You had been steadfast in your refusal to tell anyone the outcome.

The next shot is a recognisable one, the sound of trees being hacked with a machete accompanies a close up of a muddy puddle set deep in the jungle, until the water is disturbed by a ever-familiar battered boot stomping in the puddle, blaugrana laces pulled tight, as proudly as ever.

This prompts another wild round of jeering from the crowd around you as the camera pans out and reveals your full profile as Alexia places a loving kiss onto your shoulder, “That's my wife!” she shouts, proudly, making you laugh. 

Bear's voice over continues as you pull Alexia's hand into yours, half pulling her on top of you, she gives you a peculiar look, this being more PDA than you would usually allow in front of your English family, but she goes with it, too full of pride to be worried otherwise.

As the voiceover continues, highlights of your career flash across the screen to introduce you to the audience.

Mountains in Peru, Arctic Explorations, Treks across Siberia, all flash across the screen, mixed in with childhood pictures your mum must have supplied painting a picture of your career so far and your expertise in your career.

The music turns more dramatic as you shift uncomfortably, being the only one to realise in the room what's about to happen.

A picture of you smiling with Arjan at the peak of Everest, ice picks raised proudly in the air. You feel Alexia stiffen on your lap, ever so subtly. Stock footage of snow hurling down a mountain as Bear describes the avalanche you got trapped in.

He gives out stats and figures to heighten the drama… “your chance of survival drops 3% every minute you are trapped after the first 15 minutes… being trapped for 2 days… our guest star did the unthinkable…”

The room is bathed in a white light as the screen changes. Camera shaky and audio changing to the shouts and heavy breaths of whoever the body worn camera is strapped too. “Yahām̐, Yahām̐, she is here!”

The camera catches Arjan digging desperately, it's clear now the camera is strapped to a rescuer on the slopes of Everest, the TV production company having access to the footage through a sister company who were filming a documentary about altitude rescue at the time.

It shakes as the man helps dig, grunts of exertion as the spade digs desperately. A flash of colour and your snow suit is revealed, face pressed up against the rock you had found shelter near.

Arjan clears snow from your face desperately and puts his head close to yours, “She’s breathing!” he pulls you up and your hand, satellite phone frozen in place, falls from the side of your ghostly white face as the camera fades out.

The whole segment couldn’t have lasted more than 32 seconds. But it had felt like time had slowed. You could feel from her placement on you that Alexia hadn’t taken a breath. Her eyes remained wide as she stared at the screen.

There was a heaviness in the room around you. 

The voiceover continued, explaining the challenge to the audience but the silence continued. Eli glances at her daughter worriedly, every few seconds.

Just as you thought the tension couldn’t get any more intense… “That's what Alexia looks like when she visits England for Christmas and mum won’t let us put the heating on.” your brother jokes, awkwardly, a crooked smile on his boyish face. 

The room is silent, your mum hiding a smile behind a hand only you notice. He goes to speak again, probably to apologise when-

Alexias' laugh shocks even you, bubbling up from deep within her chest. She closes her eyes, a stray tear escaping at the pressure. Laugh still rumbling deep in her chest, slowly the room joins in, as though they’ve been given permission, and soon your in a choir of laughing spectators, your brother blushing deep red at the attention.

“Thank you” you mouth to him across the room, as you wrap your hands around your wife, whos body still shakes with the odd giggle.

He tips an imaginary hat at you in return.

Because he is an idiot.

The challenge begins, unhelpfully, with you throwing yourself out of a helicopter into the rainforest, “Oh Dios Mio” she mumbles, heard subtly under Mapis, “Cool!”.

You press your lips against her shoulder again and mutter into her skin; “I am here, I am warm, I am Safe.” Like a mantra, you feel her nod and grip your hand tighter.

The thing about being in the environment completely opposite to an avalanche inducing mountain range, was that it was hot. Hot and wet. The camera follows both you and Bear as you struggle through the elements seperatly, deciding when to camp down and preserve energy and when to try to gain more miles.

Bear goes hard, and Mapi looks up at you aghast as you decide to build a shelter and bunker down for seven days straight. The heat zapping any energy you had.

“What are you doing! It's a race!” she exclaims, to which you laugh and zip your mouth closed with your fingers, cocking an eyebrow at her as she eagerly looks back towards the TV like a small child.

You spend two days collecting water and, seemingly, according to Mapi, wasting time cutting palm leaves and collecting bark to make twine. Meanwhile Bear is hacking down trees, making spears out of sticks and rock and throwing himself at seemingly anything that would give him a bit of protein on the move.

You’ve ridden yourself of most of your clothing due to the heat. Smothering yourself in mud from the riverbank you were camped next to, you explain to the camera its sun-cream qualities and how it’s safer than clothing as it also protects you from dehydration. 

All the while you weave and weave and weave your leaves together, quietly, assuredly.

You explain to the camera; “I am a master weaver. My wife likes it when I plait her hair. Alot. She’s cute. Sorry Ale.” you wink at the camera as your wife groans on your lap and  her teammates start to tease her, “Amor! Why!”

“Now. Let's see how this works!”  you grin and pull up a large basket to the camera.

The screen shows you scantily dressed, boots safely on a rock in the background, in the river, moving twigs into position to make a run for the fish to swim directly into your basket.

You explain the contraception, set some bait and say your goodnights to the camera, crossing your fingers for a full basket in the morning.

Cheerful music begins as the camera fades back into your campfire, fish on a stick roasting and cooking heavenly, your muddied but smiling face coming into view.

“Bear can eat his roaches and drink his wee. I’ll be here with my fish buffet!” You joke, under your shelter, camera panning to tens of fish in your basket waiting to be smoked.

The next scene shows Bear explaining the protein benefits and the unusual flavours of a witchetty grub as he struggles against the rainstorm. 

The music begins to ramp up. Graphics on the screen showing both of your progress. Bear has made much more progress than you. But struggling physically. He’s developed a terrible case of trench foot but was still making steady progress with his machete.

You chose to travel up the river. Walking along its bed you are able to make more direct progress, but it’s more energy draining wading through water. You have, however, had a relatively strong diet over the last 3 weeks.

You’re sitting on the river bed, tending to your basket of smoked fish you’re carrying with you for energy when you suddenly remain completely stock still. Dramatic music begins. Your head raises subtly and then out of nowhere.

“Serpentine!”

A snake strikes at you from the shallows, clearly after your basket, or you, or whatever it can get its fangs in. You react quickly, crouching down to your knees, keeping a low centre of gravity to keep your balance as your right hand reaches into the shallows.

You and the snake strike at the same time, and you throw yourself to the side as you bash a jagged rock against its head.

The next scene shows you taking a mouthful of grilled snake; “Tastes like chicken!” you joke at the camera. Before popping a piece of charred snake skin into your mouth.

You feel Alexia shudder in your arms.

"I'm never kissing you again" she lies.

Mapi slowly turns around, mouth agape, gobsmacked look on her face. “Snake!” she whispers, in disbelief. “You beat a snake!” You can’t help but laugh and lean over to turn her head back to the TV.

“Told you you’d find everything out tonta.”

The map on screen shows the last day of the challenge, Bear's voice over explaining distances to the muster points, as well as geographical challenges. The screen swaps quickly between the two of you, running, climbing and swimming to where you both believed the finish line to be.

You were making good progress, as was Bear.

A close up of a Brazilian flag on the edge of a waterfall.

A close up of you throwing yourself into the river.

Bear gripping a cliff edge and heaving himself up. The camera shows the bottom of the flag pole as he pulls himself up. The camera pans up. And the flagpole is bare.

The screen changes to you.

Standing, still relatively scantily clad in your battered boots, your hiking shorts cut down to short-shorts and thin vest muddied and holey, fish blood staining your arms,holding the flag proudly up in one arm.

The room around you erupts. “She did it!” “¡Jefe de la Jungla!!!!” “I always knew!”, “She killed a snake!”. You find yourself at the bottom of a pile of bodies as Alexia's teammates celebrate in the way they know how. Which is apparently to throw themselves at you in a pile up.

“That's my wife!” Alexia chants proudly from within the pile, laughing gleefully, all earlier angst forgotten.

The screen goes blank, and the image shows you and Bear embracing, laughing as the voiceover continues; “... at least this time. It's a Queen of the jungle… or should I say. La Reina de la Jungla.” Bear quips, as Alexia groans, forever hating her nickname, and the screen cuts to black.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s hours later, many more plates of food, celebration toasts and questions from Mapi about the snake later. That you're finally in the quiet of your bedroom in your wife's arms.

Your mum and brother are set up in the spare rooms and you have all got plans to meet up with the Alexias family at the game tomorrow before going out for a meal.

Your head is settled on her chest as she plays on her phone above you, struggling to calm down from the evening's events, and as usual, struggling to sleep before a game.  You play with her wedding ring on her spare hand. Feeling the cool metal beneath against her warm skin.

You feel her swipe furiously through her phone, getting more agitated as time passes, grumbles that are not-quite words emitting from her chest.

“Hey. Love.” you sit up and pull her phone away. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” she replies, bottom lip out in a pout, pulling her phone back into her hand.

“It’s not nothing. Tell me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Alexia.” you sigh, “We aren't doing this.. What's got you so…” you look down onto her phone and see. Yourself? It's her tiktok open and you see an edit of the show being played over… “Hot Stuff? Ale. What's this?” you glance at the comments section and see a selection from seemingly anon accounts;  

‘I have never understood Alexia more’, ‘I wonder who calls who capi.’ ,‘Capi, your wife's thighs are bigger than yours’.

“Nothing!” she grabs her phone back from your grip… you arch an eyebrow at her which crumbles her resolve in 3…2…

“Fine! It's all over my TikTok.  The comments about you. The fans have made these edits. Of you! All, wet and… muscley and… nearly undressed.”

“And you…don’t… like me wet, and muscled and… naked? Cause, love, I have evidenced otherwis…”

“Shut up! Of course I do but you're mine!”

Oh. Realisation dawns on you and you can’t help but smile.

“Don’t laugh!” she grumbles. “You’re jealous….” you tease in a sing-song voice. “I am not jealous!” she insists, “It's just… tu eres mio! And these people are all looking at you”.

“I am,” you agree, with a smile. “But, love. Try being married to Alexia Putellas. Maybe you’ll keep your shirt on at games now.” you tease, making her smile and roll her eyes.

Eyes softening as you pull her phone from her grip and plug it in for her. Settling back into her chest, nuzzling against the warm skin you find there.

“I am so proud of you.” she whispers into the now dark room, placing a kiss on your head. The moment became more serious and tender.

“I love you” you reply, softly, the moment feels weighted, and you’re not sure what makes you do it. Maybe it's the adrenaline of the evening, having completed your life's ambition, or maybe it's the wine you drank.

Though, really, you know it's because of the images of your lanky wife curling herself onto the rug in the living room because Bruno had decided she was the world's best pillow again. But you can’t stop yourself.

“Ale. I want to have kids with you.”

Her hand stops its movement in your hair and she rushes over to turn the bedside lamp back on.

“Que?” she breathes out. Hands finding their place softly on your cheeks, a look of urgency in her eyes.

“I want us to have kids. Me and you. I want that with you. Is that something you’re ready for?” you whisper, eyes looking deeply into hers.

“En serio?” she asks, as though she's afraid of the answer.

You nod in response. Moving your hand to wipe away the tears that have appeared on her cheeks.

“Sí, Mi Amor. Quiero eso contigo. Mucho.”

You're both smiling too much to kiss, but you make a good go of it anyway. And as you bury yourself into your wife's arms. Hands roaming and adrenaline of a decision made rushing through your body you can't help but think.

This is the beginning of the biggest adventure of your life. 

[pathetic-life-form]

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[littlcdarlin]

My Burning Sun Will Someday Rise

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | read on AO3

summary: Joel and reader finally make it back to the hotel & all that sexual tension is resolved. tags: daddy kink, big age gap (Joel is 49, reader is 23), dbf!Joel, Joel has a lovely belly, Joel is a little mean, praise kink, Joel calls reader "kid", unprotected piv (very stupid, wrap it up kids), creampie, cunnilingus, face-sitting, (resolved) sexual tension, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, forced orgasm (not really? kinda sorta?), smut with a little bit of plot, no use of Y/N, afab!reader, reader has hair

Note: finally, the last part is here! I hope you’ll enjoy it, I had a lot of fun writing this. It’s one in the morning so forgive any typos — I wanted to post today. Thank you for the consistent love on this story, I really appreciate all your messages and comments <3

Joel positively drags you back to the hotel, one arm slung across your shoulder, your hastily packed bags in the other. He’s quiet, and you’re afraid that talking will break the spell, that he will hear your voice and remember who you are, and what he’s planning on doing to you. You’re nervous. Excited, yes, but nervous – you’ve been with people before, drunken hookups with collage boys who wanted to get off as quickly as possible. None of it felt like this, you didn’t want any of them as people. With them, it was about the sex itself, with Joel it is almost entirely about him.

Your thoughts are racing in your head, insecurities bubbling up inside of you, things that didn’t matter when you slept with those other people you barely knew – will Joel mind that you aren’t clean shaven? Did he expect you to be more experienced than you were? Were you even good in bed, or would he be underwhelmed, and secretly think you were pathetic?

You want this, more than you have wanted to be with someone maybe ever. But that want makes you vulnerable, strips you of any nonchalance you might have clung to if Joel was anyone else. He isn’t some collage boy who won’t remember you in the morning, he is your father’s best friend, for whom you are a more than controversial choice. Sleeping with you is a threat to his friendship with your father, and still, he’s ready to risk it, he pretty much told you as much. That gives it a level of importance you aren’t used to when it comes to sex.

When you reach the hotel, Joel hurries past the reception before the kind lady can stop you, and despite your nervousness, it amuses you. Joel presses the button to the elevator impatiently, making your stomach flutter. He’s so shameless in his desire for you, not embarrassed by this open display of wanting to get to his room as quickly as possible. You would have worried about looking needy, but not Joel. He’s secure, and solid, and unflinching.

The doors open, and as soon as you’re inside, Joel crowds you against the wall of the elevator, catching your lips in a kiss, before moving his mouth to your neck. You exhale shakily at the feeling of him sucking on your skin, the beard burn a surprisingly welcome sensation.

"They’ve got cameras," you breathe, a weak attempt at regaining some sort of dignity, while Joel quickly unravels you under his mouth and hands.

"Fine by me," he just answers, "Should ask them for a copy to take home with me."

Your knees threaten to buckle at those words, his admission that this isn’t just a holiday hookup, that he will want you just as much when you have left this paradise and returned to the world outside of your bubble.

"Careful, baby," he says, one hand holding you steady by the waist, his lips ghosting over your jawline.

Baby.

With a sudden ding!, the doors open again, and an elderly couple steps inside. Joel stops kissing you, but doesn’t step away, his hand still on your waist, his big body still close to yours. You offer the couple an awkward smile, and barely register the judgement in their eyes as their gazes flicker over Joel’s hair specked with white, because Joel’s hand starts moving again. He slips it under your shirt, no his shirt, rough fingers drawing featherlight patterns on your sensitive waist. His touch is teasing, clearly meant to get some sort of reaction out of you in front of these strangers. Joel’s getting off on this, you realize, on being seen with you, on people knowing just what he plans on doing once you’ve reached the third floor. You bite the inside of your cheek and do your best not to let show how you ache for him, how his gentle touches are affecting you. If you look at him, you know your resolve will crumble, so you pointedly look at a point over his shoulder, and try not to shudder.

As soon as the doors open again, you and Joel get moving, and a nervous chuckle escapes you when you meet his eye. His expression is hard to read – blatant desire, but also something more gentle, something that calms your nerves. It’s Joel. He didn’t leave you hanging when you needed to borrow a bike, didn’t make you feel stupid or guilty for it being stolen, and he won’t make you feel stupid now. That’s what you like the most about him, you think, as his hand ghosts over your back and he leads you towards his room, the way he makes you feel at ease. Whatever the opposite of shame is, that’s what Joel brings out in you.

You reach the door, and want to push it open, but Joel stops you, tilting your face towards him with a gentle touch.

"You don’t have to do this," he says seriously, "we can just go back to the beach. No hard feelings."

You appreciate his consideration, the way he seems to be aware of a certain kind of pressure or expectation his age creates for you, but the idea of going back now, when you’re so close to what you want, makes you want to weep.

"Getting cold feet?", you ask lightly, and he smiles at you, a fond smile, one that seems oddly out of place given the situation.

"I’m just sayin’, I get it if you changed your mind or something. I assume this isn’t the way you…usually do things."

"No," you say, holding his eye contact. "Usually they’re twenty-five years younger."

Joel’s face is a perfect mask, not sure what to make of your remark. You reach up, your hand gently touching his beard, and your eyes glide over the wrinkles around his eyes from years of laughter, the white in his hair, his warm irises.

"God…you’re so fucking sexy," you breathe, and there it is again, that color his cheeks only turn when you compliment him.

"I haven’t changed my mind, Joel," you say honestly, looking directly into his eyes. "Have you?"

"No."

His voice is deep, and he finally, finally opens the door, eyes still on yours.

As soon as Joel pulls you into the room, his lips are on yours again, your arms wrapping around his neck, as he walks you over towards the bed. He’s bigger than you, much bigger, and it only really occurs to you when your knees give out under you, and you land on the bed, sitting in front of him and gazing up.

He looks imposing, almost threatening, if it wasn’t for that expression he has on his face – something behind the desire. You feel safe in his hands, safe to give yourself over, not just in the physical sense. He looks so capable, so easy to trust. His hand comes up to your face, tilting your head up, and you move easily for him, letting him mold you in any way he wants.

"That couple," you begin as you watch him watch you, take you in, "they knew exactly what we were doing."

His hand travels over your throat, and although he doesn’t squeeze, it’s exhilarating to think how well it fits into his palm. You shudder as he pops open the first button of your shirt – his shirt.

"You liked it," you add, voice breathy as the tips of his fingers ghost over your collarbone.

His eyes snap up to yours, and you give a small smile, almost teasing.

"Didn’t hear you complainin’," he answers, holding your eye contact. "Think I should mark you up, so that the reception lady knows, too."

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, but you press your thighs together to relieve that terrible ache. Joel notices, and smirks almost imperceptibly, opening another button on your shirt. He’s taking his time, building tension by making you wait. He’s good at this, you think.

"But then she would stop calling you my Daddy," you breathe, trying hard not to close your eyes under Joel’s touch. Joel cocks an eyebrow, hands lingering on your shirt.

"Don’t tell me you enjoyed that, kid," he says, voice low, eyes intense. You flush, and wonder if he’ll kick you out now, if you have finally made things too weird to continue, but Joel keeps gazing at you, ever steady.

"Cat’s got your tongue?"

You swallow, and let out a shaky exhale. Joel pops open another button.

"That why you kept repeatin’ it to me? Cause it turned you on?"

He’s teasing you, dragging it out of you despite your embarrassment. He wants you to revel in just how debauched it is what the two of you are doing, and you get closer to giving in with every second. Joel’s fingers trace over the swell of your chest, finally visible now that he’s opened most of the buttons, and a weak sound escapes you.

"’S that it, baby?"

"Yes," you breathe finally, your cheeks burning. Joel’s answering smile seems oddly satisfied, as he opens the last button, lets the shirt glide over your shoulders and slump down on the bed in a little heap of linen. You swallow.

"Yes," he repeats, eyes trailing over your body. You wish he’d hurry up and get his hands on you, but with the way slick steadily leaks into your swimsuit, you can’t really complain. He sure knows how to play you like an instrument.

"Say it, then," he says curtly, a simple order, and you briefly close your eyes. It’s almost too good. His eyes are locked onto yours when you open them, expectant and blown wide with desire. He has stopped moving, and you realize he wants to hear you say it before he’ll go any further.

"I…I want to call you Daddy."

Your stomach curls up with need when you hear Joel groan, his resolve quickly crumbling, as he crashes his lips against yours again. He licks into your mouth with urgency, and it’s possessive in a way it wasn’t before, like he wants to claim your mouth. The thought makes you whimper, and Joel trails one hand over your side and down to the waistband of your swimsuit. You didn’t bother putting on your shorts again, just walked to the hotel in your bikini and shirt. His fingers slide under the thinnest part, right on your hip, and he lets it snap against your body. It doesn’t hurt, but the sound makes you groan.

His hands roam over your body relentlessly, squeezing, and tracing, and feeling the swell of your hips, the dip of your navel, your spine, your breasts. You almost don’t notice him undoing your swimsuit, until he slides off the top part, and runs one finger over your pebbled nipples. Your back arches and your hips twitch towards him, but he doesn’t give in yet, just teases the sensitive nubs while you whimper into his mouth.

Then he unties the little bows on your hips, and just like that you’re bare before him, your swimsuit coming undone with one tug of his fingers, while he’s still fully dressed. He’s disturbingly good at undressing you, something that used to be an obstacle to sex now a sensual part of it. You want to feel embarrassed at the amount of wetness between your legs, but when Joel’s fingers slide over your stomach and down to your throbbing core, he groans into your mouth.

"Jesus, you’re drippin’," he breathes against your lips, breaking away to watch his hand press circles into your clit. You try hard not to twitch under his gaze, his blazing eyes and skilled touch. Another whimper escapes you, as he keeps rubbing and watching your reaction, like he wants to take you in before continuing.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he gets you to the brink of an orgasm, but when your hips twitch towards him with little control, he stops, his eyes meeting yours again. You watch him lift his hand up to his mouth and suck his fingers clean, eyes not leaving yours. It’s the most erotic thing you have ever seen, the way he closes his eyes at the taste, and you wonder how you haven’t come yet.

"I’m gonna eat you out," he says, and it’s not a question. Immediately, insecurity floods your veins – you haven’t had someone do that before, and the men you have heard speak about it said they didn’t enjoy it.

"You don’t…I mean, you can just…", your voice trails off. Joel stops in his tracks, watching your face and cocking a brow.

"You ever been eaten out?"

"No," you say quietly, "and you don’t have to."

"I know I don’t have to," he says, and he sounds almost affronted, like he can’t believe you would think he didn’t enjoy it. "You want me to?"

"I just…know some people don’t enjoy it much," you mumble and look down. Joel’s hand comes up to your face, tipping your chin so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

"I want you to come on my tongue," he says, "and then again on my fingers."

You almost whine at that, embarrassment seeping out of you easily, and Joel traces his thumb over your lips. You let it slip into your mouth and suck, swirling your tongue around it.

"Alright? You let me take care of you," he mumbles, eyes trained on his finger between your lips.

"Okay," you say, when his thumb slips from your mouth, and then quietly add "Daddy."

"Good girl," he answers, and a wave of heat rushes to your loins. It’s fucked, what you’re doing, completely fucked, but so good you think you might cry. You were scared thinking about it for too long would break the spell you two seem to be under, but the more you do, the more turned on you get. You have Joel Miller in front of you, calling you a good girl and about to make you orgasm multiple times.

"Lie back, baby," Joel says, and you do, sinking into the pillow that smells like him. Joel keeps watching you, and when he kneels down on the bed and gently spreads your legs with his hands, you think you might come from just that sight. But you hold on, because something about Joel wanting to eat you out, not even having taken off his own clothes, makes you curious. 

He kisses your ankle and trails his mouth upwards, over your inner thigh and your hipbone, until you almost tremble.

"Jesus, Joel," you mutter, hips twitching on the bed, trying to get closer to him without your permission. He looks up at you, pressing his thumb to your clit again, and you curse. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s so much, almost too much.

"That what you call me?"

He doesn’t let up, his touch so insistent, you wonder how he expects you to come up with a single word.

"S-sorry," you stutter, grinding against his hand. "Daddy."

It thrills you to use that word, to know it gets Joel off, enough that he chastises you for using his real name.

"That’s right," he answers, and finally he lets up, placing his big palm on your thigh instead. Then, he leans down, and presses his mouth to your clit, flicking his tongue over it. It’s unlike anything you have felt before, and you actively have to will your hips to stop twitching, afraid to somehow hurt Joel. But he notices, ever perceptive, and breaks away, his mouth and beard already covered in your wet.

"Get up," he says, and you feel your anxiety rise again, questions of what you could have done wrong. He waits, but raises his eyebrows.

"You wanna come, or not?"

So you sit up, confused, and watch as Joel lies down on his back.

"Straddle me," he orders, and you move towards his lap, but he shakes his head. "Over my face, come on, baby."

You stare at him. His expression softens when he sees your disbelief, and he gives you a smile.

"Told you I’d make you come on my tongue, didn’t I?"

"Yeah, but Joel, that’s…"

Your voice trails off. You aren’t sure what you want to say – dangerous? Really fucking hot? You’re still sitting by his side, when he strokes one hand over your thigh, a soothing touch.

"I don’t know where you get the idea from that I don’t enjoy eatin’ you out," he says, his voice almost stern, "but you get that right outta your pretty head. Now, will you do as I say and sit on your Daddy’s face?"

Your mind goes a little blank when Joel calls himself that, and you feel helpless to do anything but nod, give him what he really seems to want.

"Words, baby."

His hand trails up your thigh and over your stomach.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl," he answers, looking directly into your eyes, his strong hands grabbing your waist and helping you move, hoisting you up until you’re hovering over his face.

"If I need to breathe, I’ll tap your thigh, alright?"

"Yes," you breathe, quickly adding "Daddy".

Joel’s hands force your hips downward and although the sensation of his mouth under you is exactly what your throbbing clit was begging for, you’re tentative and unsure of what to do – you don’t want to hurt Joel. 

"Move, baby, make yourself feel good," you hear Joel say, voice muffled by your body. You rock your hips forward once, and let out a groan – your clit bumps into his nose, and you feel him lick into your folds. His hands grab your hips, and he starts rocking you against his face, setting the rhythm for you, and and you feel yourself leak onto his face and into his mouth, as you start moving along with him. His beard feels scratchy in the most delicious way, as he lets you fuck yourself on his mouth, his thick tongue darting out.

"Fuck," you moan, "Fuck J-Joel, Daddy, fuck!"

It’s a lot to take in, Joel Miller’s head between your thighs, lapping at you like he’s starving, like he can’t imagine anything better than having you sit on his face. His strong nose keeps nudging your clit, again and again, and your movements slowly becomes more confident, though also less controlled.

Joel’s hands keep encouraging you, and you’re closer than before, right at the brink of coming all over his face, when Joel groans into your dripping cunt. The vibrations send you over the edge, and you practically sit down on his face with all your weight, but he doesn’t stop you, just lets you ride out wave after wave of your orgasm and chant a mixture of his name and daddy.

You get off of him with shaky legs, afraid you suffocated him, but he smiles up at you, looking absolutely wrecked – his hair is tousled, beard and face drenched in your juices, jaw a little slack. He reaches up to cup your face, and you go with his touch easily, laying down next to him. He rolls over until he’s half on top of you, watching your red, panting face, and slants his mouth over yours. You can taste yourself on his lips, can feel his soaked beard against you, and although it should be impossible after just having come, you throb at the feeling.

"So good for me," Joel mutters against your mouth, and trails his hand downward, over your stomach and to your overstimulated clit. You twitch under his touch, your body unsure if it wants to get closer to Joel, or get away from him, and he chuckles.

"She spent?", he asks, his tone a little amused, when you squirm under him. "That’s okay, baby, I’ll give her a break."

Instead, he slides his fingers through your folds, gathering wetness, and finally pushing into you. Your body opens up for Joel more than willingly, and although the stretch is tight, it’s not nearly as painful as you’re used to, you’re too wet and relaxed for that. 

Joel watches your face, your fluttering eyelids, as he pumps two thick fingers in and out of you in shallow thrusts. You whine – you know you’re being vocal, too loud for a hotel room, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when Joel curls his fingers against that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Your hips twitch upwards, and Joel smirks.

"There we go, baby, there we go," he mumbles, moving his fingers relentlessly, and already you can feel another orgasm building. He doesn’t let up, just lets you whine under him, thrash around, because his touch is almost too much, too good, too intense, but just right. 

"Give me another one, baby, come on," he coaxes, and you think your ears start ringing when his palm starts grinding into your clit with every movement of his hand, the tips of his fingers pressing hard against your insides. "You just let Daddy make you feel real good."

It feels like bursting apart, when you come again, some tight coil snapping and Joel practically wrenching the orgasm out of you with his relentless hand and dirty words.

"Daddy," you groan, your hand coming up to your face, as you bite down on your knuckle. Joel watches you with bright eyes, lets you tremble until he can tell it’s too much, and only then does he slip his fingers out of you. 

You’re weak, exhausted from the intensity of your pleasure, and Joel chuckles when you sigh, watching your glassy eyes.

"Okay if I fuck you now?"

You think you’d let him kill you, if he really wanted to.

"Yes," you breathe, "please."

He finally – finally – takes off his shirt, arms flexing, chest sprinkled in dark hair, his belly protruding over his trunks. You wish you had a camera, or a chisel so you could scratch his glorious body into a block of stone. He’s hard in all the right places, and soft in the rest, and with a jolt you realize you’re allowed to touch now, no longer confined to watching him swim from your deckchair.

"Jesus," you breathe, sliding one hand over his biceps, as he unties the band of his swimming trunks. You know you’re hindering him, but you can’t bring yourself to stop your hand from trailing over his chest, and down to his belly.

"Fuck, you’re so goddamn hot," you mutter when he slides the trunks over his hips. Then your mind goes a little blank, because finally his bulge isn’t confined to his trunks anymore, finally he’s naked in front of you, kicking his clothes onto the floor.

He’s big, just like the rest of him. Long, and thick, and uncut, and dripping in precum, the dark hair at the base of his cock a harsh contrast to the reddish skin. Joel closes his fist around himself, pumps twice, until you tentatively put your hand over his. His cock twitches, and you feel a little overwhelmed with power. Joel let’s go and lets you do the work, your hand much smaller than his. He looks even more imposing like this, as you move your hand up and down his length.

"Wanna suck it," you say suddenly, and you’re not entirely sure where the words come from, but you know they’re true – you want to get him into your mouth, feel him use your face the way you used his. Joel groans.

"God, you’re killin’ me," he answers, eyebrows furrowed, voice wrecked. You squeeze your hand a little tighter, just to hear him make his little sounds again.

"I’ll come if you do, baby, and I’m not sure I have two rounds in me," he says, regret lacing his voice, but his words make you clench around nothing – his age turns you on more than you thought possible.

„And I need to fuck you tonight,," he adds, and wraps his big palm around your wrist, so you stop moving it over his throbbing cock.

"So fuck me," you breathe instead, eyes wide and glued to his. You watch his expression change, something primal take over, and suddenly he’s on top of you, his hips pressing into yours.

"Again," he orders, almost growling.

"Please fuck me, Daddy," you whisper, your stomach clenching and unclenching in anticipation. Joel looks like he might come from just your words, but after a moment of collecting himself, he kisses you briefly.

"Alright, pretty girl, I’ll give it to you real good," he promises, and aligns his cock with your entrance. "You’re so goddamn fuckin’ wet, I can slide right in."

And he does, pushing his hips into yours. You feel the stretch of the thick tip, the widest point almost bordering on painful, and you bite your lip. Joel slides into you slowly, breathing into your mouth and making you feel everything. Then the tip is sheathed inside of you and Joel groans quietly.

"Grippin’ me so tight," he mutters, consistently pushing on, "halfway there, babygirl."

Your pussy flutters around him, clenches and unclenches, as he keeps going, and going. You feel full, and still Joel pushes on, until his hips are fully pressed into yours, and you feel him deeper inside of you than you have felt anything before.

"Breathe, baby," he reminds you, and you let out a shaky breath you didn’t notice you were holding. "Attagirl."

When he pulls out of you again, you make a raspy whining sound, your stomach clenching at the intense drag. Joel’s hands start trailing over your body, yours are gripping his shoulders.

"Look so pretty, all stretched out on my cock," Joel praises you, and God, the mouth on this man. If you weren’t so exhausted from the first two times he made you come, you would be trembling. You groan weakly, as he pushes back in, and starts moving at a quicker pace, setting a rhythm he likes. He punches into you with precision, angling his hips just right, and then he’s nudging against that spot inside of you.

"Ah…Daddy!"

"I’ve got you, sweet girl," he groans, moving both your wrists over your head, and pinning them down with one big hand – he easily engulfs you. You tug against him, testing his grip, and your hips twitch upward when you realize you can’t get out. He’s fully in control now, his cock nudging into you insistently, and you can only take it. You’ve never felt so cared for, as now, getting fucked raw by Joel Miller.

He doesn’t kiss you, but he keeps staring into your eyes, and it feels weirdly intimate. His movements become faster, more forceful, his belly nudging your body with every thrust. You whine, your body unable to do anything except for letting another orgasm build, one you didn’t think yourself capable of. The corners of Joel’s mouth twitch, when he feels you clench, and he fucks you harder.

"Daddy," you yelp at one particularly deep thrust, but Joel doesn’t let up – you don’t want him to. "Wanna come, p-please."

"You wait for my permission," Joel answers. Your belly feels like it’s on fire, tightly coiled with the need to just let go, but Joel wants you to wait, so you will wait. Anything, you think, anything. Joel’s jaw is slack, his brows furrowed, his free hand rough on your skin, but not unkind. You clench around him, and try your best to hold off coming, your eyes falling close.

"Eyes on me, kid," Joel orders, and despite your concentration, your eyes snap open. "Fuck, that’s it, my good girl."

My girl.

Joel fucks you like it, like you’re his. It’s possessive from beginning to end – the way he looked at you when you first wore his shirt, how he wouldn’t back away from you in the elevator. He plays your body like it’s his, dragging the pleasure out of you, and it makes your head spin. You can feel his thrusts go sloppy, can feel his restraint cracking, and your eyelids flutter a little.

"You want it inside, babygirl?"

You didn’t talk about that. You know you should say no. The head of his cock nudges your insides, and Joel’s free hand presses down on your stomach, feeling himself inside of you from the outside with every thrust.

"Yes," you breathe, "yes, please, Daddy, I w-want it."

Suddenly Joel is the one who has to close his eyes, as he keeps fucking into you.

"Fuck, you come for me first, baby," he groans, sliding his hand down to rub at your overstimulated clit. It’s too much, right on the brink of painful, and you thrash under him.

"I c-c-can’t Daddy, it’s…", your voice trails off, lost in the impact of his thrusts, but Joel keeps rubbing tight circles.

"Yeah, you can, baby, you know why?"

You don’t have it in you to answer, so you just stare into Joel’s eyes. You feel something wet on your cheek, and realize you must be crying, crying from how good you feel, how full.

"Cause I said so."

Your pussy throbs, clenches, and Joel moves his finger over your clit faster.

"Come for me, baby, I’ve got you," Joel drawls, and finally you do, your vision going white, your muscles going slack as you let Joel drag his cock in and out of you, the pleasure white-hot.

"Fuck, good girl, that’s my good girl," Joel groans, thrusting into you faster, until he presses into you harder than ever before, and you feel his thick cock twitch and throb against your cervix. Something hot bursts into you, and Joel keeps fucking into you for a couple more seconds, his eyes falling closed. Then, pulls out of you, your pussy fluttering, and he falls down next to you on the bed. You feel like jelly – you couldn’t move if you tried. Joel’s cum leaks out of you slowly, an odd, but pleasant sensation, and you sort of wish he would push it back into you.

After a couple of seconds, Joel pulls you against him, your face coming to rest against his broad chest, and he presses a kiss to your hair. You inhale his scent, and your spent muscles relax further, if possible.

"You did so good," Joel mutters, "so perfect."

His hands trail up your side and arms softly, a soothing contrast to the insistent way he fucked you. Your mind is pleasantly quiet, all caught up in his voice, his scent, his touch, his spent leaking out of you.

"Thank you," you sigh, and Joel chuckles. You smile weakly.

"Wanna get cleaned up, sweet girl?"

"No," you manage, "just wanna sleep."

Joel huffs a laugh, and tucks you more tightly against him.

"I’ll wake you before dinner."

***

When he does, the sun is already sinking. He trails kisses up and down your face – the softest way you’ve ever been dragged back to reality and out of a dream, and the first time you think reality is more fantastic than anything your sleeping brain could come up with.

"Mornin’, sleepyhead," Joel mumbles, catching your mouth in a kiss, his lips moving against yours slowly. You sigh into his mouth, when he pulls away.

"We should take a shower, baby, and you need a pill."

You open your eyes, a little confused.

"A pill?"

Joel raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, I’m not opposed to children, but I think your Dad might be," he says, and you snort weakly. Right, you think, the morning after pill.

"I’ve got an IUD, Joel, don’t worry."

He presses a kiss to your collarbone.

"Back to Joel, are we?"

You blush, and he laughs. It’s blissful, and a little unreal – Joel Miller, teasing you about the debauched, perfect sex you had not two hours ago.

"You prefer Daddy?"

"It’s…got a ring to it."

You can hear the smirk, even though your eyes are closed again, and you’re stretching your tired limbs. You yawn.

"How about room service?", you ask, Joel’s hand softly stroking the hair out of your face.

"Hmm," he mumbles, trailing one hand over your stomach, "or… we take a nice shower, you let me clean you, we have dinner with you lookin’ all fucked out, and everyone downstairs will know what we’ve been up to."

Your eyes open, and although you’re entirely, completely spent, your thighs clench together. Joel grins.

It’s quite the picture – Joel, with an arm around your shoulder ordering two cocktails, the redness on your skin from where he sucked too harshly or his beard burned you. You can see it in front of you, the same waiter as yesterday bringing your food, except this time, Joel lets you use his fork to try his meal, and instead of hurrying down to the beach afterwards, he’ll kiss you slow and long, just because he can, in front of every other guest in this hotel.

„Yeah…or that."

[heartsriki]

ALWAYS YOU ⌇타박상

pairing ᝰ jungwon x fem!reader — featuring.. hyuka mentioned | word count: 2.7k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ fluff, angst, school au, misunderstandings, bullying, physical fights not between reader and jw, bruises mentioned, kissing, cussing.

synopsis — after a misunderstanding two years ago you have lived your school life in solitude. At least you tried too but yang jungwon just won't give up! will he continue to cling to you or will another misunderstanding take him away?

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊I really loved writing this :( I can't seem to write fics without misunderstandings lol.. I'm also trying to write longer fics slowly, I can't believe I wrote 2.7k words I got carried away.. also tysm to my moots and non-moots! the reblogs and comments make me giggle :)

For a girl who barely spoke a word, you had a reputation that clung to you like a shadow—dark, persistent, and nearly impossible to shake. Around the school, your name was passed around in hushed tones, tethered to stories people wouldn’t normally want attached to their identity.

The rumors swirled, painting a picture of you that wasn’t entirely fair, but you never bothered to correct them. The “incident” two years ago was the foundation to all of this— a fight you didn’t start but somehow took all the blame for, thanks to a girl who played the victim flawlessly in front of a crowd. From that day on, you were the one to avoid. And you didn’t mind. Solitude came easier than the tangled mess of trying to prove yourself innocent.

But, of course, there was one person who clinged to you despite of all of this.

Yang Jungwon.

The boy who seemed oblivious to the rumors. The one person who approached you time and time again. He was everything you weren’t—loved by everyone, a model student, and the poster child for perfection. So why, of all people, did he keep showing up like right now?

“Hey, Y/N, what are you up to?”

Jungwon’s familiar voice broke through your concentration, and before you could react, he was leaning over your shoulder to peek at your notes. His smile was so casual, like he belonged there, completely ignoring the bubble of isolation you carefully maintained.

You nearly jumped out of your seat, glancing around frantically to ensure no one else noticed him. “Go away, Jungwon,” you hissed, your voice low but firm.

Instead of leaving, he sighed dramatically and walked around the table, dropping into the chair across from you. “Why? Are you waiting for a friend?”

You gave him a sharp, unimpressed look, one that he immediately understood.

“Right, sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with an apologetic smile. For a moment, he looked genuinely sheepish, but then his expression brightened like he’d just remembered something important. “Oh! I had something to ask you.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Ask me, and then go away.”

His grin widened, and for some reason, you didn’t like the look in his eyes. “Do you have a partner for the Valentine’s Day event?”

At first, the words didn’t fully register. You stared at him blankly, too preoccupied with figuring out why he was even sitting here. But the second it clicked, you choked on your breath, launching into a fit of loud coughing.

When you finally recovered, you stared at him in disbelief. “Jungwon, are you crazy?” you whisper-yelled, leaning closer to ensure no one overheard. “You do realize that’s for couples, right?”

His reaction was unreadable. His throat bobbed as he gulped, and his gaze dropped to the papers scattered in front of you. “Oh? Is it? I didn’t notice… My bad.”

His voice was soft, his words almost too casual, but the faint pout tugging at his lips gave him away. Without waiting for your reply, he stood abruptly. “Well, sorry for bothering you.”

And just like that, he walked away, leaving you frozen in place.

Your mind raced, replaying the scene over and over again. There was no way Jungwon didn’t know. He was on the committee that planned these kinds of events. He had to have known.

“He’s so irritating,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head and trying to refocus on your notes.

But even as you went back to studying, you couldn’t ignore the warmth creeping up your neck, the undeniable heat spreading across your face.

Not even two hours later, you were at the same spot.

The library was quieter than usual that afternoon, with only the occasional rustle of pages and soft whispers floating in the air. You had taken refuge in your favorite corner by the window, hoping for some peace after the strange interaction with Jungwon earlier.

But, as if on cue, a shadow fell across your table. Again.

“Hey,” came his familiar voice, soft but somehow still startling.

You looked up, already narrowing your eyes. “What now, Jungwon? Seriously you don't take a hint.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Relax. I come in peace.”

You weren’t convinced, but you knew he wouldn’t go away. To your surprise, instead of hovering or leaning over your shoulder like earlier, he pulled out a chair and sat down next to you this time, placing a small brown paper bag on the table.

“What’s that?” you asked, nodding toward it suspiciously.

He slid it toward you. “An apology.”

“For?”

“For, you know, earlier. Asking you something dumb and making it weird.” He avoided your gaze, scratching the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you opened the bag to find a small container of chocolate-covered strawberries inside. Your eyebrows shot up. “You bribing me with food now?”

“Is it working?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep a blank face but a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips before you could stop it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied expression.

For a few moments, the two of you sat in an unexpected but comfortable silence. The sunlight streaming through the window cast a golden glow over his features, and you hated how your eyes lingered on him longer than they should.

“So,” he began, breaking the quiet, “why do you keep pushing people away?”

His question was so abrupt, it caught you completely off guard. Your head snapped up, and you stared at him, wide-eyed. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” he said quickly as if trying to soften the blow, “you’re smart, funny—well when you’re not threatening to kill me—and honestly, you’re kind of cool. But you keep everyone at arm’s length. Why?”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. No one had ever asked you that. Not like this. Not with genuine curiosity in their voice.

“Surely you've heard things about me by now,” you said finally, your tone clipped as you looked away.

Jungwon seemed confused with your answer, but he didn’t push. Instead, he reached across the table and tapped the edge of your notebook. “Mm. I don’t think I have, tell me? Maybe?.”

You frowned, meeting his gaze. His eyes held something you couldn’t quite place—something soft, warm, and persistent.

“You should just stay away,” you muttered, trying to dismiss the subject.

“Don't do that…” he said, his voice quieter now, almost tender.

You opened your mouth to reply, but no words came out. Because the truth was, you didn’t know what to say.

Jungwon leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m not going anywhere. So, you’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t stop the warmth blooming in your chest—or the way your heart betrayed you with its quickened pace. “You’re such an idiot for a top student,” you mumbled, but the words lacked their usual bite.

Jungwon only grinned, his eyes sparkling with something that made your stomach flip. “Yeah? Do you like idiots?.”

And for the first time, you didn’t have a comeback.

The gym field buzzed with activity, laughter, and the rhythmic pounding of feet against the track. Today was the outside gym event—a day you had been dreading for weeks.

As you trudged toward your assigned group, whispers followed you like a persistent echo. You tuned them out, keeping your head low until the coach’s voice rang out like a firecracker.

“Alright, this activity requires duos! Everyone, find a partner and line up!”

Panic surged through you as you looked around. Pairs were forming fast—friends clasping arms, strangers locking eyes and nodding. Everyone but you. It didn’t take long for the coach to notice you standing there, alone and staring at the ground.

“Ah, Kai is absent,” he muttered, scanning the field. “Jungwon! Over here!”

Your head snapped up at the name.

Jungwon jogged over from the track, his face glistening with sweat but still managing to beam like it was the best day of his life.

“Hey, Coach, what’s up?”

“We need you to partner with L/N for this activity. Can’t do it solo.”

Jungwon’s gaze flickered to you, and almost immediately, he grinned. “Sure thing.”

“Shit.” You said under your breath.

He made his way to you, his grin never faltering, though his breath came in short bursts. “Hey, Y/N. Ready to crush this thing?”

You sighed, still refusing to meet his eyes. “You should’ve said no.”

The whispers around you grew louder now, all focused on the odd pairing of you and Jungwon. You knew this wasn’t good for him—not for someone as well-liked as he was.

Jungwon, oblivious to—or maybe just indifferent to—the stares, shrugged casually. “Why would I do that? Can’t let you be on your own.”

His words made you glance up at him. His ears were red, and he was pointedly not looking at you. You assumed it was just from his earlier run. Before you could retort, the coach strode over, handing out supplies.

“Alright, teams, grab your bag and rope for the duo beanbag relay!”

Jungwon’s face lit up with amusement as he looked at the gear, and then at you.

“Oh,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a mischievous smile. “This is gonna be fun.”

You could already feel the awkwardness seeping in as the realization dawned on both of you. The proximity was about to get really awkward.

As expected, you and Jungwon lost. Not because of Jungwon, but because of the proximity between you two. The way his hand rested over your shoulder for momentum, the way he whispered in your ear to calm your anxiousness, and the constant stares and murmurs from everyone around you—it was too much. It all ended with both of you falling at the last minute due to your distractions.

When the event ended, you bolted from the crowd, heading to the courtyard to be alone.

You felt like crying. That was so embarrassing—not just for you, but for Jungwon too. What would people say about him? Would his reputation be affected because of you?

You didn’t stop running until you found a water fountain tucked away in solitude. Brushing the strands of hair from your face, you leaned over to drink. Just as you felt the cool water hit your lips, you heard footsteps behind you. You turned around quickly.

“What the hell was that pitiful shitshow?”

Of course. It was Jungwon’s so-called fan club—a group of delusional girls who were utterly infatuated with him.

You muttered a curse under your breath, already knowing what was about to happen. “Not now.”

The leader of the group scoffed, turning briefly to her posse for approval. “We’ve told you time and time again to stay away from Jungwon. And now you injure him because you couldn’t run a few yards? Do you think I’m a fucking joke?”

You stared at her with a plain, uninterested expression. “I told you, I want nothing to do with him.”

She smirked mockingly. “Right… sure. One more chance, or you’ll regret it,” she said, turning to leave.

Something about her words struck a nerve. The way she thought she could control him—or anyone, for that matter—was too much for you. You couldn’t hold back.

“You’d think after all this time you’d stop being delusional and get yourself a real boyfriend.”

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face you, her expression morphing from shock to rage. Before you could react, she lunged at you with a punch.

Instinctively, you defended yourself and fought back. Within moments, students turned the corner and formed a circle around you, chanting and screaming.

You were so focused on the fight that you didn’t notice Jungwon pushing through the crowd until he and a few others separated you from the girl.

When your vision cleared, you realized how battered she looked. You hadn’t even noticed the stinging pain in your own hands and face, still numbed by the adrenaline. Looking up, you expected to see anger on Jungwon’s face, but instead, his eyes were filled with sadness and worry.

He grabbed your hand, ignoring the whistles and murmurs behind you as he pulled you away.

You didn’t say anything as he led you toward the infirmary. You didn’t need to—your thoughts were loud enough. You knew what was coming. He was going to be angry. He was going to misunderstand you, just like everyone else. He was going to leave you, like everyone else.

When you reached the infirmary, Jungwon guided you to a bed. “Sit and wait,” he said curtly.

You obeyed, glancing at him briefly before turning your attention to your bruised hands. As you brought them closer to inspect the cuts, you winced at the burning sensation.

Jungwon returned with supplies and sat beside you, placing them down. He was quiet, his face unreadable, and the tension was unbearable. You hated this. You hated how upset he seemed.

And yet, you hated yourself more—for pushing him away for so long, for the possibility that he might finally leave. The thought of never seeing him pop up at your desk unannounced, hearing his one-sided conversations in the library or even his stupid flirty remarks was enough to make your eyes well up.

Before you could stop yourself, tears spilled down your cheeks.

Jungwon looked up from cleaning your knuckles, his eyes widening at the sight of your tears. “Y/N? Hey, what’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer, unable to speak through the sobs.

Setting the supplies aside, he cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “Why are you crying, gorgeous?”

You blinked up at him, your voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I swear, she—it wasn’t me, I promise.” Your sobs grew louder, breaking his heart further.

Jungwon’s chest tightened as he took a tissue and wiped your face. “I know it wasn’t you,” he whispered softly.

Your head snapped up, meeting his gaze. “What?”

He smiled faintly and continued tending to your injuries. “I was there from the beginning. I saw her hit you first.”

You stared at him in shock, his words sinking in.

After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice tinged with frustration and concern. “I also heard about what happened two years ago. About all the things you’ve been through since. Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve helped you.”

You looked away, guilt washing over you. “Nobody believed me. Why would you?”

Jungwon froze for a moment, then tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “I’ve always believed in you. From the moment we met—it’s always been you.”

His words left you breathless. For the first time, you wondered if it was finally time to stop running. To stop hiding from what you wanted. You watched him as he took care of you gently, maybe you doubted him.

You were dragged out of your thoughts when he locked eyes with you. The air between you shifted, charged with something unspoken. Jungwon leaned forward, closing the gap, and kissed you gently. You were too shocked to respond at first, but soon, you let go of your fears and kissed him back.

It felt foreign but right. He held you carefully like if he was afraid you’ll go. The room was quiet with just the sighs and soft breathing from the both of you.

When he pulled away, his eyes were full of affection. “How about we hop over the fence and go somewhere hm? Just us.”

You laughed, hitting his shoulder lightly. “You? Skipping school? Don’t make me laugh.”

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

After the fall, Jungwon watched you run off, his instinct to follow immediately thwarted by the crowd gathering around him.

People offered him water and words of praise, but his attention shifted when he overheard a conversation nearby.

“I bet she did that on purpose. Ha, what a bitch.”

Jungwon’s head snapped toward the source of the comment, his jaw tightening. “What did you just say?”

The boy hesitated, startled, but eventually smirked. “Y/N. I mean, everyone knows about her, right? Acts tough, but I bet she’s just a slut looking for attention.”

Before he could think, Jungwon punched the guy, the crack of his fist silencing the crowd.

Ignoring the shocked gasps around him, Jungwon turned and bolted in the direction you had gone. His heart pounded, not just from the run but from the overwhelming need to find you.

He needed you to know. No matter what anyone said or what happened next, his choice would always be you.

[starkwlkr]

girl, so confusing | f1

an: this is SADLY the last part :( don’t worry, i do plan on writing more fics for the f1 dilf!! here’s your long awaited reveal on the baby daddy lol made this one extra long for y’all <3 enjoy!!

part 1 part 2

faceclaim gisele bündchen

liked by ynstyle, goss1pformulas and others

f1gossiproom could mark webber be the father? recently former red bull and williams drivers, mark and y/n have been spending time together. the pair were spotted having dinner several times and a source confirmed that webber attended y/n’s daughter’s recital! they were once again spotted out in australia spending time in bondi beach with y/n’s daughter (not pictured to protect her privacy) they were soon joined by friends and webber’s family. a source, who wishes to remain anonymous, saw them and said y/n’s daughter, gemma, and mark were bonding as if they were dad and daughter 👀 he even calls her ‘gem’ and ‘gemmy’! what do you think? is mark webber the real father? we certainly think so!

formulaho3 how about just leave them alone?

roscoesno1fan mark looks like a total dilf in that pic so yes

oscarspastry what if the real father is the friends we made along the way?

webberxvettel i need to know the truth before i die

hamiltonsmerecedes not f1 twitter trying to cancel y/n for getting with their faves 😭

lnwhores i stand by my cancelled wife

myhonestbitchface and when y/n reveals that sebastian is the bd then what 🤨 i feel it in my gut 👀 that german bitch is the bd

blackwidowswife bitch you’re just hungry

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THE PADDOCK SESSIONS has posted a new YouTube video!

Italics = voiceover by y/n

“Hello!” Y/n’s daughter, Gemma, opened the door to Dan. She knew that he was going to film an interview with her mother about her racing career. She watched as Dan’s camera man waved to her. She assumed they had already started filming.

“Gemma hates and loves when I’m away. She stays with her grandparents when I have to leave or if her dad is not busy then they’ll be together. I think she loves it because her dad lets her have ice cream before bed. I’m more of a strict parent between me and him.”

Photos of little Gemma appear on screen. The young girl was picture with her mother on her first birthday, then with Mark and family members then Sebastian and Jenson.

Dan entered Y/n’s London home with Gemma by his side. He spotted Y/n making tea. “Got here just in time.” He laughed as he joined the former driver in the kitchen.

“I hope the flight here wasn’t too bad.” Y/n passed a mug over to Dan.

“Slept my way through it,” before Dan could take a sip from his tea, he noticed the mug that he was given. It had ‘best dad ever’ sloppily written in paint. “Cute.” He held the mug up and smiled.

“Yeah, Gemma made it for her dad last year for Father’s Day.” Y/n smiled proudly at her daughter’s creation.

That’s when Gemma joined the conversation. “But I couldn’t give it to him on actual Father’s Day! He was away racing and couldn’t be here so I had to give it to him later.” She explained.

After the pair finished their tea, they walked together to Y/n’s small garden. There she had a little seating area where the rest of the interview would take place.

“Lovely garden.” Dan commented.

“Thank you, although I won’t take all the credit. Sebastian comes to help, Gemma kind of bosses him around telling him where each flower looks best.” Y/n laughed, setting her mug on the glass table.

“Dad loves the flowers I picked out for the garden.” Gemma pointed out as she joined them outside. As Dan started the interview, Gemma kept playing outside with her toys.

More images of a young Y/n flashed on screen. She was driving for Williams at the time, they were her first ever team.

“Williams was my first home. They were nice to me, but they put so much pressure on me to perform, like every race had to be perfect. And when it wasn’t, you could feel the disappointment, like a weight hanging in the air. I’d go back to my hotel room at night, and it was just me and the silence.”

The video showed a clip of young Y/n in the Williams garage getting ready for her debut race. She noticed the camera then smiled and waved. The video then cuts to from a happy, full of life Y/n to a gloomy, quiet Y/n sitting alone in her garage.

“I didn’t have friends in the paddock back then. Everyone was focused on their own thing, and the people around me—the trainers, the engineers—they all kept their distance. One of my trainers actually told me, ‘I’m not here to be your friend; I’m here to work.’ And that’s when I realized I was completely on my own."

Y/n then looked over her shoulder and saw Gemma using a teddy bear that her father had bought the girl for her birthday last year in Germany. The former driver smiled at the memory of her little family spending a special day together.

Back to the interview, Y/n then talked to Dan about her divorce. It was a dark time for her. She had been young when she said ‘I Do’ to a man she thought was the love of her life. At the time of her marriage, her husband was six years older. She was nineteen at the time, about to turn twenty.

Several headlines from the day her marriage was announced appeared on screen.

“Barely an Adult, Already a Wife: Y/N Marries Six Years Her Senior”

“Y/N’s Whirlwind Marriage: Chasing Love, Not Podiums?”

“Teenage Racer’s Rush to the Altar: Desperate for Love or Just Immature?”

“Is Y/N Looking for Validation in All the Wrong Places?”

“‘She’ll Marry Anyone’: Critics Slam Y/N’s Hasty Decision at Just 19”

"They painted me as some kind of desperate girl who couldn’t handle being alone. The truth was, I was 19, scared, and in love—or at least I thought I was. But that didn’t matter to them. They just wanted to sell papers."

Dan then spoke. “What led to the divorce?”

Y/n sighed deeply. Only a few people knew the real reason. “It’s . . . a complicated thing to talk about. I mean, when you’re nineteen and in love, or what you think is love, you don’t always see the red flags. At the time, I thought I’d found someone who believed in me, who would support me no matter what. But as time went on, I realized that wasn’t the case."

A picture of Y/n getting ready by herself on her wedding day appears on screen. Her family were not present as her husband at the time wanted it to be only them. She smiled brightly at the camera as her photo was taken. The image fades then clips of Y/n racing in the early 2000s play.

“He wanted a family. Kids, a house, the whole thing. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but he wanted it then, right when my career was just beginning. He gave me an ultimatum—racing or him."

Dan lightly gasped at her words. “Oh . . .”

“I chose racing. How could I not? It was everything I’d worked for, everything I’d dreamed of. But he didn’t take it well. He made me feel like I was selfish, like I was throwing away a chance at a ‘real’ life."

Several more images of Y/n and her then husband flash on screen. There’s no photos of him attending races, mostly because he thought racing was dumb and didn’t like loud crowds.

“He didn’t trust me. Whenever I was away at races, he’d insist I call him every single day, sometimes multiple times. If I missed a call because I was in a meeting or debrief, he’d accuse me of . . . things. Things that weren’t true. I couldn’t even have a normal conversation with my trainer or my team principal without worrying about how he’d react."

"There were times I wanted to visit my family, to go home and just breathe. But he’d make me feel so guilty for even thinking about it, like I was abandoning him. So I stopped trying."

The screen cuts back to Y/N on the sofa. Her hands are clasped tightly now, her voice calm but with an undercurrent of emotion.

“And then the divorce was final and for a moment I was happy until he went to the media spreading all sorts of lies.” Y/n added.

Several more magazine headlines appear on screen.

“The Truth About Y/N: Ex-Husband Reveals Why Their Marriage Failed”

“‘She Wanted the World to Love Her, Not Me’: Y/N’s Ex Speaks Out”

“‘All She Cared About Was Fame’: Y/N’s Ex-Husband Speaks Out About Their Divorce”

Then the screen cuts to clips of Y/n’s ex husband being interviewed about their marriage.

“I sacrificed so much to support her career, but she couldn’t give me the one thing I wanted: a family. She was too busy chasing the cameras and the glory.”

“It was rough. Instead of being asked about racing, I was asked about my failed marriage.” Y/n recalled all the times during interviews when her ex-husband’s name was mentioned. “I just wanted to go home a cry, but I had a job to do. But of course the attention I was getting got me fired.”

“How were you told you were no longe driving for Williams?” Dan asked.

“Would you believe it if I said it was a ten second phone call from Claire Williams?” Y/n laughed. “Claire and I were never enemies. A few days after I got her call, she had dinner in my house and explained to me that she didn’t want to be the one to call me, but she was pressured to. Apparently the Williams team thought it was best for her to tell me in a phone call because they thought it would be ‘easier’ if the news came from her, since she’s a woman. They thought it would hurt less coming from her. Can you believe that?"

Dan noticed how Y/n laughed at the mention of the famous ten second phone call.

“It was definitely ridiculous of them. But they didn’t understand how humiliating it was either way. But Claire . . . I could tell she hated it. She ended the call so quickly because she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want me to be dropped from the team."

A photo showed of Claire Williams talking to Y/n before a race. At the time, Y/n didn’t know it, but Claire was her only friend.

“I don’t blame her for how it happened. She was caught in the middle of a decision that wasn’t hers to make. And honestly, her coming to my house afterward to explain—that meant something. It didn’t fix anything, but it showed she cared." Y/n finished drinking her tea then resumed speaking. “That ten-second call changed everything for me. But at least I know it wasn’t Claire’s choice. It was just . . . Williams being Williams."

“After everything that happened with Williams, you had every reason to step away from the sport. But instead, you joined McLaren. Looking back now, would you say that was the decision that changed everything for the better?" Dan questioned. He watched as her face softened. She truly adored her time with mclaren.

Y/n nodded. “Joining McLaren felt like a fresh start, like a second chance to prove what I was capable of. At Williams, I was just surviving. But at McLaren, I got to thrive."

Clips of Y/n during her time with the mclaren team played. Her smile was genuine and she looked happier than ever.

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep racing. I didn’t know if I could trust another team. But McLaren . . . they believed in me in a way no one else had."

"It wasn’t just about the racing, though. McLaren gave me a second chance, not just at my career, but at myself. It reminded me why I fell in love with this sport in the first place."

“And then came those three idiots.” Y/n laughed when she remembered becoming friends with Mark, Jenson and Sebastian. Her cheeks tinting slightly, but her smile stays steady.

“But with that friendship came negative comments. I remember reading articles calling you horrible names just for having friendships with them.” Dan commented.

“Those negative comments still come my way even after many years,” Y/n added. “I stayed away from social media for that same reason until recently.”

“But with sharing your life on social media also came questions about your daughters life as well.”

Y/n knew it was something that was going to come up in the interview. Dan didn’t want to ask, but Y/n wanted to share. Gemma’s father and her had discussed it before and they both agreed to the interview.

“Yeah, the whole ‘who’s the father?’ thing has taken over every social media app i have. I can’t avoid it, especially when people constantly message me about it.” Y/n spoke. “Jenson thinks it’s hilarious.”

“Jenson?” Dan questioned.

“Yeah, he sent me a meme about it comparing us to Mamma Mia. I sent it to Sebastian and he sent it to Mark.”

The remainder of the interview, Y/n talked about her family she shared with the man who endlessly supported through everything. Every time she talked about him, she smiled brightly. It was clear that she loved him and their daughter more than anything.

As the video came to an end, Gemma was seen running towards someone who was out of frame. “Dad’s home!” Gemma jumped into his arms and hugged him.

“I thought you were flying in next week.” Y/n stood up to hug him.

“I come here to surprise you and Gem and this is how I’m treated?” He placed a kiss on Y/n’s temple, still holding onto Gemma. “Sorry, I definitely interrupted you two, haven’t I?”

“It’s alright, Jenson. We were just wrapping things up.”

INSTAGRAM

liked by landonorris, wagstyle and others

f1gossip after finally revealing the identity of her daughter’s father, y/n and her daughter gemma were seen together in a beach in california 👀 jenson button also lives in california so we’re thinking the button family is spending some time together.

vettelsbees GIRL SEB WAS SPOTTED AT LAX

hamiltonsmercedes AND MARK

nicorosbergisadiva WHAT IS GOING ONNNN

landonorris hey i know her

ferraridepressionclub ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HEREEE

webbertears what do you know you gremlin

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“Can I have money for ice cream?” Gemma ran up to her parents, Mark and Sebastian. The former drivers were all enjoying the sunshine of California, an idea that came from Gemma. She had been the one to call Mark and Sebastian to join her and her parents. They agreed even if they cancelled their plans with friends. They would literally do anything for the young girl.

Without hesitation, all the men took out their wallets and took out money for the girl. Their actions caused both Gemma and Y/n to laugh.

“Okay, thank you.” She gladly took the money from each of them.

“I’ll go with you, Gemmy,” Mark said as he got up from his spot and took Gemma’s hand in his. Together they walked to the ice cream stand.

“Has Claire called you?” Sebastian wondered. Ever since the interview was posted, the Williams team had posted several posts of Y/n when she was driving for them. They were finally acknowledging her wins and podiums. And of course they received some criticism from fans.

“She messaged me letting me know she watched the interview. She’s happy I did it.” Y/n replied.

“We all are. You should’ve done the interview years ago.” Jenson said.

Y/n only nodded and turned her attention to Mark and Gemma. The girl had always been close to both the German and Australian drivers, how couldn’t she when they had been in her mothers life and now they were in hers.

“Gemma asked if she could go to a race, but she wants you all to be there.” Y/n spoke up. Gemma desperately wanted the three men to join her. Y/n knew they would all say yes immediately.

“Did she say which one?” Sebastian asked.

“She said she wants to go to each of your home races.” Y/n grinned as Jenson immediately said he was in. Sebastian laughed then nodded. Of course they would join Gemma, the girl had them all wrapped around her finger.

“And will you be attending too?” Jenson winked at her. “We could do a repeat of what happened after Australia.”

“Funny, I was about to suggest the same thing but it happened in Canada.” Sebastian teased.

“Well weren’t you a busy woman.” Jenson smirked. “And Mark?”

Y/n kept quiet, innocently sipping her lemonade. After setting her drink down, the former drivers waited for her answer. “If you must know . . . We were in Vegas.”

Jenson groaned. “I was thinking Monaco.”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, baby.”

[wandanatrules]

Can you do g!p WandaNat fighting over reader but they just agreed with each other to take reader at the same time at a college party.

Three’s A Party

Hi guys! Thank you to all those that sent requests, please keep them coming. I kind of took this one loosely. I didn’t do the threesome part but if enough of you guys comment saying you want it I will write a part two!! I didn’t really feel like proofreading it (sorry it’s kinda ass).

word count: 1.8k

pairing: Beefy popular g!p Nat x Nerdy beefy g!p Wanda x cheerleader fem reader

warnings: smut, nat and wanda have penises, cursing, name calling, oral, drunkenness, penetration, foul language, dirty talk, roughness, voyuerism, potential threesome, slight angst, (let me know if I missed anything!)

“Tonight is the night I am finally gonna bag y/n. I can’t wait, she’s been catching my eye for a while now, being the only girl who hasn’t thrown herself on me.”, Natasha said, while looking in the mirror and making her final touches before the party.

Wanda’s head popped up at Natasha’s words. “Wait, what do you mean? I was gonna try to talk to y/n tonight.” 

“Wait damn Wans I had no idea you were into y/n like that. I guess the best one wins.”, Natasha said with a friendly nudge on the shoulder before heading out the door of their shared apartment.

The best friends arrived at the party together in Natasha’s car, immediately being swarmed by girls, Natasha in particular. Being the star basketball player and wrestler at their college, makes Natasha perfectly built with a figure that is to die for.

Wanda on the other hand was your typical nerd. While she does have an incredible physique herself due to her tendency to workout and strength train when she’s stressed, her focus on her studies keeps any attention away from her. 

And you were just the typical popular cheerleader, who just so happened to be very familiar with Natasha. You were always in the front cheering her on in her sports and congratulating her on her wins. While you tried to make it obvious you want her it seems as though she is always distracted by the hundreds of girls waking up in her bed. But tonight you were determined to be the last one to be in her bed.

Across the floor of the party you saw the pair chatting while sipping on their respective drinks. Natasha was wearing a black wife beater with a loose pair of carpenter pants and a black leather jacket. Her thick red hair was cascading down in full waves. She was talking with a shorter redhead who you didn’t know but had seen her with a couple times but it never seemed to be romantically, so you weren’t threatened.  

“Okay fine only because you’re my best friend. I'll back off and I'll let you talk to her first, but if she’s not feeling you I'll shoot my shot. Okay?” Natasha said as she saw you looking in their direction getting ready to come over.

Wanda sighed, that’s not what she was hoping to hear. The truth is that she lied about wanting to talk to you. She only said that to keep Natasha from talking to you, so she could talk to Natasha. Yeah she talks to Natasha everyday but she wants Natasha to talk to her the way she talks to the millions of girls in her bed every night.

”Hey y/n it’s good to see you again.”, Natasha said as she wrapped her hands around your waist in a tight intimate hug. Wanda bites her lip holding back a growl at the sight.

”Oh my god natty, you are so strong i bet you could pick me up and squat me.” You said with a flirty grab to her bicep and your classic bambi eyes.

”I probably could, hopefully I see you next time I'm in the weight room. But um I don't think you met my friend Wanda.” Natasha said while pointing you in the direction of a shorter redhead with a nice build as well. 

“Oh hey Wanda nice to meet you, I'm y/n”, you said hurriedly and dismissively, not interested in talking to anyone but Natasha at the moment. 

“What are you drinking Natty? Why haven’t you gotten me a drink yet?” You said teasingly, taking her drink and making a show of putting your mouth to the tip of the bottle. 

“Yeah go ahead Nat buy her a drink I'll be fine.” Wanda said, waving you both off.

”Are you sure?” Natasha mouthed before you pulled her away.

Wanda nodded her head before going off to find something stronger for herself to drown her sorrows. 

“Alright let’s cut to the chase natty, do you not think i’m pretty?” You said scooting closer to her on the couch you two ended up on.

”What y/n I think you are absolutely gorgeous baby.” She said putting your hair behind your ear. 

“Okay well then i want you to take me somewhere and show me just how gorgeous you think I am. Okay natty?” You said in her ear before she shot up and led you out the room by your wrist.

The two of you wandered down the halls of the frat house, before stumbling into the first empty room. She closed the door and pushed you up against it putting her lips on yours in a rough kiss. Parting your lips, she let her tongue lazily roam around the inside of your mouth. 

“mmhm” you moaned into the kiss, before pulling away for air. While you were catching your breath she moved to kissing your neck and sucking a hickey right onto your pulse point making you moan even louder.

”mhm can I take this off baby.” She said while tugging on the fabric of your dress.

”Yes please take me to the bed.” you replied while she tore your dress off and threw you on the mattress.

“No bra baby? I knew you were a slut.” She said while grabbing handfuls of one breast and popping the other into her hot mouth, giving you pleasure that no man has ever made you feel. 

“Please take your clothes off too, natty. I want to see you.” You whined as she pulled back from your breast with a trail of spit before wiping her mouth and standing up. She threw her jacket across the room and stepped out of her pants, making a show of slowly unbuttoning her shirt so you could see her incredibly defined abs. 

You got on your knees and moved towards the end of the bed, impatiently ripping the rest of the shirt off. She laughed while discarding her bra, leaving her in only her boxers.

You reached out to grab her bulge. “ I wonder if it’s as big as all the girls say it is.” You say looking up at her while gently massaging the bulge.

”Only one way to find out I guess.” She said with a smirk gesturing for you to take the boxers off. 

You reached up and pulled the waistband down, eyes widening when her seemingly foot long penis popped out and hit you in the face.

” Wow and it’s thick too.” You giggled while looking up at her and jerking it between your hand spreading the precum along the length.

”Go ahead and see how it tastes.” She said grabbing a handful of your hair to pull your mouth on her dick. “mmhm just like that baby.”

She slowly starts to move her hips, thrusting herself down your throat. She tastes better than any man you’ve ever sucked, most likely a result of her diet and exercise.

”Shit, I can tell you’re a fucking professional, i’m gonna have to keep you for myself.”

You take your mouth off and continue to jerk her off while you look up and nod fervently, hearing exactly what you wanted to hear. 

“I’m real close, are you gonna be a good girl and swallow it or do you want me to punish you?” She said, increasing the intensity behind her thrusts. 

“No please I want it so bad, natty.” You said sucking the life out of her before she released her load down your throat. “very tasty” you said after swallowing it all and wiping your mouth. 

“Oh my god, where did you learn that? Hopefully you won’t be disappointed when I return the favor.” She said pushing you back on the bed, while pulling your panties down your legs.

She hovered over you and kissed you on the lips, before kissing her way down paying special attention to your breasts again. When she finally made it to your cunt she licked a stripe through the wetness, groaning at the taste.

”You are so wet, baby. It tastes so sweet.” She said looking into your eyes with a smile. 

“Please natty, it’s aching so bad.” You begged for her to continue.

”Don’t worry baby. I got you.” She licked her way through your cunt again circling your clit. Latching on, she takes two of her fingers and rubs them through your wetness before inserting them. She furiously sucks your clit into her mouth while curling her fingers, pistoning them into your cunt.

”Damn you are so tight I can’t wait to feel myself inside you.” She said while watching your cunt swallowing her fingers.

”Ugh i’m so close, natty please.” You said ready to let go.

”Go ahead and cum for me then.” She said while furiously rubbing your clit, before you inevitably let go.

A hot gush of liquid squirted out of your cunt hitting Natasha in the face. Smiling, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue to catch your arousal.

”Oh that was so hot I got to get you to do that again. I never pegged you as a squirter though.”

”No one has ever made me do that before, but it felt so good.” You said with a goofy grin trying to catch your breath. 

“It was my pleasure, plus you taste delicious.” Natasha said before kissing you on the mouth, sticking her tongue in your mouth so you could taste yourself. 

“I know you’re still hard, I don’t think I need to beg you to fuck me. Do I?” You said pulling back and looking up at her. 

“Such a slut, I'm gonna teach you to watch your mouth.” She said, flipping you over and pulling you into your hands and knees. 

She slaps your ass and spits onto your cunt, before slipping in and bottoming out on the first thrust. 

“I knew you were gonna feel incredible, so fucking tight.” She moans while continuously slapping your ass. Speeding up her thrusts with so much intensity that the bed keeps knocking against the headboard.

”You fuck me so good natty, you’re so big.” You moan with a heavy breath, reaching back to feel her. 

“Are you on the pill? I don’t want to waste my load on your ass. I need to cum inside.” 

“Yes please I am cum inside me.” You begged.

Walking down the hallway of the frat house Wanda was stupidly drunk wanting to find somewhere to relax, because she figured Nat, the unrequited love of her life, had left her. Stumbling into the first room she saw, she slightly cracked open the door and was met with a heartbreaking sight. But she couldn’t help but watch. 

After a while of thrusting, Natasha felt this weird sensation of being watched, so she turned around and caught a glimpse of Wanda peeking through the door. She laughed to herself, not expecting Wanda to be such a perv. 

With a smirk she asked, “Have you ever had a threesome, y/n?”

”Yes I love being used by two people at once.” You said with a moan. 

“Okay. Come on in Wanda, I don’t mind sharing.” She said before hearing the door creak the rest of the way open. 

comment if you want a pt. 2!! 

[ikkyfics]

hiii, could you maybe write a dave lizewski x reader where the reader is also a huge comic book nerd like dave? and he comes over to her place to help her organize all her comic books + action figures into her display shelves + they yap together abt comic stuff or something

it can be established rs or pre relationship, i think either way would be still be so cute!!! it would also be rlly cool to see a more sarcastic reader utilized here, its cute to see that dynamic with dave!!!

i rlly hope this makes sense! i hope it didnt seem too rambly 😭😭😭😭 thank uuuuu

Supreme Sarcasm Power

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: "I knew you had an impressive collection, but… this is practically a nerd sanctuary." "You only say that because you want to marry me and get half of the assets in the division," you retorted. The teasing tone made Dave flash a crooked smile, nearly dropping the action figure. "I don't need a comic collection for that," he shot back, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "Just you."

Warnings: just fluffy

A/N: honey, yeees I understood, don't worry. I feel like I made a mistake with the nerdy references(so sorry), but I hope you can like it <33

Masterlist

The room was a perfect reflection of your personality: half Disney princess, half intergalactic warrior. Cute plushies shared space with incredibly detailed action figures, and shelves full of comics contrasted with delicate pastel-colored lamps. Dave was in the middle of the organized chaos, holding a Captain America action figure in one hand and a Watchmen comic book in the other.

"I knew you had an impressive collection, but... this is practically a nerd sanctuary," he said, trying not to sound too impressed—and failing miserably.

"You only say that because you want to marry me and get half of the assets in the division," you retorted, not even looking up as you stacked some issues of Saga. The teasing tone made Dave flash a crooked smile, nearly dropping the action figure.

"I don't need a comic collection for that," he shot back, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "Just you."

"Aww," you replied, turning to face him with an arched eyebrow. "But if you drop my Captain America, forget it."

Dave chuckled, slightly flushed, as he carefully placed the action figure on the designated shelf. "Seriously, how did you get this? This limited edition costs a fortune."

"Connections," you replied mysteriously, crossing your arms. "And what I did was sell part of my soul. Totally worth it, don't you think?"

Dave laughed, still eyeing the action figure in his hands before carefully returning it to its proper spot on the shelf. You could feel his gaze lingering on every detail of your room, as if he was absorbing it all. It was the kind of attention he gave to everything he loved, and, well, you knew that included you. But you weren’t going to admit that out loud, at least not without making a sarcastic comment right after.

"So, what's next on the organization list?" he asked, putting his hands on his hips in an awkward but absurdly adorable way.

You pointed to the stack of boxes in the corner of the room. "That one. But be careful with the one at the bottom, it has glass. And if you break something... well, let's just say not even the Hulk will protect you."

"Got it," he responded with a serious expression that lasted two seconds before giving way to a nervous smile. "No ruining my entrance to the Avengers, noted."

As he bent down to grab the next box, you returned your focus to organizing the comics alphabetically—because, of course, it had to be alphabetical. It didn’t take long for the comfortable silence to be broken by a strange sound coming from Dave: a mix of a sigh and a stifled laugh.

"What’s up?" you asked, not turning around. The casual tone was a clear attempt to ignore the little wave of concern that hit you. After all, that kind of sound coming from him usually meant he'd found something... compromising.

He didn’t answer, which only made your anxiety worse. When you finally turned around, your heart practically dropped to your stomach. There he was, holding a Quicksilver poster with a lipstick mark strategically placed on the character’s cheek. The bright red contrasted with the worn paper, clearly loved too much during its glory days.

"Oh, God," you muttered, bringing a hand to your face. "Dave, give me that."

He held the poster above his head with a grin so wide it looked like it might split his face in half. "I didn’t know you were such a big fan of Peter Maximoff."

"I’m not!" you shot back, already crossing the room toward him. "It was a teenage thing. Give it to me before I die of embarrassment."

"Teenage?" He raised an eyebrow, as if processing a revolutionary discovery. "You used to kiss posters as a teenager?"

"I didn’t kiss posters!" you exclaimed, trying to jump and grab the paper, but he had the height advantage. "It was just... I had a crush, okay? And that’s none of your business!"

He laughed, stepping back. "I think it is. After all, I’m the one who’ll have to compete with Quicksilver now."

"Dave Lizewski, I swear I’ll..." you began, but he interrupted, holding the poster even higher.

"What are you going to do? Summon your supreme sarcasm powers? Because, as far as I know, that’s not going to help you get this," he teased, his eyes gleaming with pure amusement.

You sighed, trying not to show how defeated you were in your own specialty: keeping composure. Dave seemed to be enjoying every second of this role reversal, holding the poster like a freshly won trophy, his dark curls slightly messy on his forehead, and his blue eyes shining behind his glasses. It was hard to stay truly mad at him when he had that expression—a half-smile, half-mischievous grin—that made your heart stumble before you even realized it.

But you weren’t going to give up that easily.

"Do you really want to turn this into a battle?" you shot back, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. "Because, as far as I know, you’re not exactly known for winning."

He laughed, a low chuckle that seemed to reverberate in the space between you. "Oh, sure. This coming from the person who’s literally turning red just because I found out she kissed posters."

"I didn’t kiss posters," you repeated, even though the evidence was incriminatingly clear.

Dave raised his hand even higher, the poster swaying dangerously above you both. He wasn’t exactly tall, but he was strong in a way that didn’t seem obvious at first glance—not until you noticed the muscles in his arms, visible even under the sleeves of his T-shirt. You tried again to grab the poster, but he leaned back, laughing once more.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," you muttered, stopping your jumping and placing your hands on your hips. "I can't believe I’m losing to you."

"That’s what makes me a genius, right?" he responded, still with that teasing tone. "I finally figured out your weakness: teenage embarrassment."

"No way," you said, your voice firm, even though the back of your neck was still warm.

You knew you needed to change strategies. Jumping and trying to grab the poster clearly wasn’t working, so it was time to do what you did best: turn the tables in your favor.

Straightening your posture, you took a step closer to him, closing the distance until you were almost invading his space. Your gaze deliberately moved from his eyes to the poster, then back to him, your lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile.

"Okay, you won," you said softly, your voice dropping to a low, almost melodic tone. "But, if we’re talking about kisses..."

Before he could process what was happening, you placed your hands on his torso—heat and firmness under the thin fabric of his T-shirt—and took another step closer. Your fingers lazily running along his sides.

"...maybe you want one too?"

You saw the instant transformation in him. The confident smile faltered, his eyes widened slightly behind his glasses, and color rose on his cheeks with almost comical speed.

"W-what?" he stammered, his voice faltering like someone had pressed the wrong key.

You seized the advantage, tilting your head slightly as if considering the idea seriously. "You heard me. Just tell me, Dave. I’m generous like that."

The poster started to drop—finally—but by this point, you didn’t even care about it anymore. All that mattered was the growing heat between you, the way his eyes couldn’t decide whether to look at yours or your lips, and the way his breath had become slightly irregular.

"I... I mean..." he tried, but the words tangled in an adorable way.

"Dave," you interrupted, your voice a little firmer, but with a hint of tenderness.

"Hm?"

"I don’t want the poster," you admitted, letting your hands slide a little higher up his chest. "I just want you."

The silence that followed was thick, but in a way that made the air feel electrified. He finally let go of the poster, letting it fall to the floor carelessly, while his arms came around your waist, pulling you gently closer.

"You don’t play fair," he murmured, his voice husky, but with that mischievous smile still present.

"I know," you replied, leaning in his direction until your lips finally met.

The kiss was slow but full of intention, a mix of quiet laughs and a passion that seemed to overflow with every touch. It was a little clumsy, as always, but that only made you fall for him more.

When you finally pulled apart, he was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling in a way that made everything around you feel lighter.

"You won this time," he said, with a theatrical sigh.

"I always win," you retorted, giving his chest a little push before turning to grab the forgotten poster.

But as you crouched down to pick it up, he spoke again:

"Just so it’s recorded... I definitely wouldn’t mind being defeated like that more often."

And in that moment, as you laughed and tried to look indifferent, all you could think about was how Dave Lizewski was your favorite victory.

[estellan0vella]

Exactly As It Should Be: L.M & H.J Lee Minho x fem!reader x Han Jisung (College AU)

WC: 19.5K

CW: pre-established relationship between Minho and Jisung, implied sex, mxm smut scenes (oral), simp Minsung, pining Minsung, protective Minsung, discussions of polyamory, mxf dry humping (reader and jisung are under the influence), masturbation, stalking, blackmail, upskirt picture (not taken by Minsung), fighting, violence, blood, discussion of drug use, alcohol consumption, Minsung are horny all the time

(first ever time writing any kind of smut and publishing it)

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The music from the main floor of the Alpha Phi frat house is fucking deafening. Bass reverberates through the walls, a constant, pounding reminder of the rager that has the house packed with sweaty, drunk partygoers. You push your way through the crowd, clutching your little crossbody bag tightly to your side. The smell of spilt beer and something vaguely fruity clings to the air, and you grimace. You’re already tipsy, your ill-advised pregame to survive tonight’s disastrous date, but you’re determined to find solace.

You make your way to the entertainment room. Unlike the chaos outside, it’s a haven for the members of Alpha Phi and their closest friends. The door is heavy, solid wood, and you knock three times in a rhythmic pattern Jeongin taught you before pushing it open. Inside, the atmosphere is calmer, the chaos muffled by thick walls and a closed door.

Chan looks up from his spot on the couch and grins. “There she is!”

The group perks up at your arrival. Felix pats the spot next to him, his golden blonde hair glowing under the warm lighting, and Hyunjin scoots over to make room for you on the other side. “C’mere, baby,” Felix coos, using the nickname you’ve earned thanks to your love for Dirty Dancing. “You look fucking freezing in that skirt.”

You plop down between him and Hyunjin, ignoring his comment but grateful for the warm presence on either side of you. “Hey, guys,” you say, trying not to slur.

Jeongin is already on his feet, grabbing a glass. “Vodka orange?”

“You know me so well, Innie.” You grin as he hands it over, his black hair flopping into his eyes. He sits back on the armrest of the couch, looking you over with a concerned frown.

“How was the date?” Chan asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

You groan and take a large gulp of your drink. “Oh, that, uh… That was less than great.”

Jeongin raises an eyebrow. “Need me to beat him up, or is it a ‘sic the whole frat on him’ kind of bad?”

Hyunjin snickers, leaning his chin on his hand. “Yeah, spill, Y/N. What happened?”

You sigh, placing the glass on the low coffee table in front of you. “Okay, so, he made a lot of comments about how nice my skin was.”

“Like, ‘Oh, I’m a dermatology student,’ or ‘I’m Ed fucking Gein’ kind of way?” Changbin cuts in, leaning back in his chair. His arms are crossed, and his black shirt stretches over his broad shoulders.

“The latter,” you say, cringing. “But, other than that, he was really nice.”

Seungmin snorts from the corner where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. “You have the worst fucking taste in men.”

“My poor baby.” Felix pulls you into a cuddle, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. His cologne is comforting, and you snuggle into his side as he pets your head. “I swear, only creeps date you.”

“That’s because she’s too nice to tell them they’re creeps,” Seungmin mutters.

You whine, nudging him with the heel of your boot. “Shut up, Seungmin.”

The door creaks open, and you glance over to see Minho and Jisung lounging on a large beanbag. Jisung is sprawled across Minho’s lap, both of them sipping on identical glasses of whiskey. You don’t notice the way their eyes linger on you. On your black and green tartan skirt, your thigh-high boots, or the green ribbon in your hair. They exchange a glance but stay silent as the conversation carries on.

“Oh, Minho, you got rid of the cherry red!” you exclaim, noting his newly purple hair.

Minho smirks. “Jisung and I made a bet. I lost. Now it’s purple.”

“I love it,” Jisung chimes in, his silver hair falling into his eyes as he leans back against Minho’s chest.

You hum in response, turning back to the others. “It suits you.”

Felix runs his fingers through your hair, still playing with the green ribbon. “So, baby, why do you keep giving these losers a chance?”

“Because I’m trying to stay optimistic?” you reply, batting your lashes at him.

“That’s bullshit,” Hyunjin says, his sharp grin softening the harshness of his words. “You could have anyone. Why settle for fucking creeps?”

“Maybe because I’m not as picky as you guys,” you shoot back, a teasing smile on your lips.

The group erupts into laughter, but Minho and Jisung stay quiet, their focus never leaving you. If you noticed, you’d see the faint flush creeping up Jisung’s neck or the way Minho’s fingers twitch slightly, itching to reach out. But you don’t, caught up in the comfort of your friends and the growing buzz of your drink.

Hyunjin grabs your phone from the table, his perfectly manicured fingers swiping across the screen as he smirks. “Alright, let’s see who the fuck you’ve got lined up, baby.”

You groan but don’t fight him. Felix leans closer, peeking over Hyunjin’s shoulder, his golden hair brushing against your face. “Swipe right on the cute ones. None of those creepy accountant types.”

Hyunjin hums thoughtfully. “Wait-” He freezes, looking at the screen. “You’ve got women on here?”

Felix looks intrigued. “Women?”

Before you can answer, Jeongin leans back in his seat, smirking. “Believe me, she’s dated just as many creepy women as she’s dated creepy men.”

“And creepy couples,” he adds, earning a dramatic gasp from Felix.

“Couples?” Felix asks, staring at you as if you’ve suddenly sprouted a second head.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I’m not picky.”

“Obviously,” Seungmin mutters dryly from the floor. You retaliate by kicking him lightly in the thigh, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Hey, they weren’t all bad,” you say, taking your phone back from Hyunjin for a second to scroll. “I mean, one couple was super nice. They just, uh…” You trail off, cheeks heating slightly.

“They stole so much of her fucking underwear,” Jeongin blurts out, grinning wickedly.

“They didn’t steal my branded ones,” you reply, deadpan, taking a sip of your drink. “So, it’s fine.”

The room dissolves into a mix of laughter and groans.

“What the fuck,” Changbin mutters, shaking his head. “How do you end up in these situations?”

“I’m curious about the logistics,” Seungmin adds, tapping his chin. “Like, were they doing recon during dinner?”

“Shut up!” you whine, throwing a cushion at him.

Hyunjin grabs the phone again and suddenly gasps, clutching your arm. “Ooh! A match!”

Felix leans in so close his nose nearly touches the screen. “Oh, they’re hot!”

You grin, a mix of excitement and apprehension bubbling up. “Okay, okay, let’s see what they say.”

Across the room, Jisung nudges Minho, who’s been quiet, watching the whole scene unfold. Minho leans back, resting his head against the beanbag with a smirk. Jisung turns his head slightly, lowering his voice. “If she’s into couples, we might have an in.”

Minho’s lips curve into a lazy smile as he presses a kiss to Jisung’s cheek. “We’re not creeps, so we’re already golden. Just play it cool.”

“Like you’re playing it cool right now?” Jisung teases, earning a light shove.

Hyunjin, Felix, and you let out a synchronized shriek, jolting everyone else in the room. You clutch Felix’s arm as Hyunjin clutches yours, all three of you staring at the screen in horror.

“What the fuck did they send?” Felix asks, barely containing his laughter.

Hyunjin giggles so hard he has to hold his stomach. “It’s- it’s so much worse than I thought!”

Chan raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Alright, move over.” He leans in and peers at your phone. A beat passes before he tilts his head, squinting. “Oh, wow.”

Changbin, unable to resist, gets up to look. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, his expression somewhere between impressed and horrified.

“It’s like Aslan’s tail,” Chan says, his tone completely serious. 

Seungmin, sitting on the floor, perks up. “What the hell are you guys looking at?” He crawls over, peeking over the couch, followed by Jeongin.

“Holy shit!” Jeongin barks out a laugh, covering his face. “Why does it curve like that?”

Felix, Hyunjin, and you are still clinging to each other, gasping for air between fits of laughter.

“It’s got a personality,” Felix wheezes, wiping at his eyes. “Like, it could be a main character.”

Seungmin scoffs. “Main character? That’s the fucking villain.”

Hyunjin waves a hand at him. “Shut up. That’s at least an anti-hero.”

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, trying to reclaim your phone, but Felix holds it away.

“Minho, Jisung,” Felix calls out, waving the phone. “Come see this.”

The two on the beanbag finally break their whispered conversation, leaning forward to look. Jisung’s jaw drops first. “No fucking way.”

Minho narrows his eyes, studying the screen. “Is it… braided at the base?”

The room explodes with laughter again.

“It’s got layers,” Hyunjin howls, collapsing onto Felix’s lap.

Jeongin snorts. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

You bury your face in your hands, your laughter muffled as Felix pats your head. “I think it’s safe to say this one’s a no.”

“Hard fucking no,” Changbin agrees, shaking his head as he returns to his seat.

Jeongin stretches dramatically, brushing the laughter from his eyes. “Alright, enough about dick pics. Let’s fucking dance! C’mon!” He’s already up, tugging at Felix’s hand.

Felix looks to you, eyes glittering. “You in, baby?”

You down the rest of your vodka orange, setting the glass on the table with a loud clink. “Fuck yes.”

The three of you head out into the living room, where the music is even louder. The bass of Government Hooker pounds through the speakers, vibrating through the floor and into your bones. The room is packed, bodies moving together in a sweaty, chaotic rhythm. The heat is suffocating, but the energy is electric.

Felix grabs your hand, twirling you like you’re the lead in some impromptu ballroom routine. “Work it, baby!” he shouts over the music, his golden hair sticking to his forehead as he grins.

You laugh, letting him spin you before pressing your back against Jeongin, who’s already swaying with the beat. Jeongin wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you as you move together. Felix starts voguing dramatically, throwing in exaggerated poses that make you and Jeongin double over laughing.

Mid-spin, Felix leans in close, his voice teasing. “Two o’clock, hot girl eyeing you up.”

You glance discreetly and immediately recognize her. “That’s Ryujin,” you yell back, barely containing your grin. “Kappa Tau’s finest. Regular of mine.”

Felix’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, it’s like that, huh?”

You shrug nonchalantly, adjusting the green ribbon in your hair. “I’ll see you in two hours after I let her desecrate the spare room upstairs.”

Felix snorts, his laughter following you as you weave through the crowd. Ryujin watches you approach, her head tilted in amusement, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her blue-black hair shines under the dim lighting, her sharp features accentuated by her cocky confidence.

“Ryujin,” you say, stopping in front of her, your voice light and playful.

“Y/N,” she replies smoothly, leaning in close. Her fingers trail up your arm before twirling a strand of your hair around one finger. “Looking like a fucking snack tonight.”

You look up at her through your lashes, your lips quirking. “There’s a room upstairs.”

Ryujin chuckles, her smirk widening as she leans in, her breath hot against your ear. “Oh, cupcake, I’m going to ruin you.”

“Promises, promises, Ryu.”

Her eyes darken, and she takes your hand without another word, leading you toward the stairs. Felix and Jeongin watch from the dance floor, both grinning as they see Ryujin’s confident swagger.

“She’s gone,” Jeongin observes, sipping from a beer he snagged from a passing tray.

Felix giggles, leaning against him. “She always crashes here, but I hope her lady friend knows I don’t make breakfast for my friends’ hookups.”

Jeongin laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t know how she fucking does it.”

Felix sighs dramatically, watching you disappear up the staircase. “It’s the doe eyes. She lures them in like a Disney princess.”

Jeongin smirks. “But sluttier.”

“And we love her for it,” Felix finishes, raising his beer in a mock toast.

Chan approaches, a curious look on his face. “Where’s Y/N gone?”

Jeongin points toward the stairs. “Upstairs. She’s with the dommiest mommy I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Felix leans against Chan, grinning like an idiot. “She’s going to come back a reformed woman, dommed into submission. Mark my fucking words.”

Jisung bounces over, dragging Minho behind him. “Who’s getting dommed?” he asks, his silver hair already a sweaty mess from dancing.

Chan jerks a thumb toward the staircase. “Y/N. By a dommy mommy, apparently.”

Jisung’s head whips toward the stairs, and his face immediately falls when he spots you disappearing with Ryujin. Minho stiffens beside him, his jaw tightening.

Jisung leans closer to Minho, whispering, “She really does get all the fucking attention, huh?”

Minho’s lips press into a thin line before he forces a smirk. “It’s Ryujin,” he mutters, but there’s a distinct edge of jealousy in his tone. “What did you expect? The girl has game.”

“She’s got more than fucking game,” Jisung replies, watching you vanish from sight. “She’s got her.”

They share a glance, both trying and failing to disguise the frustration simmering beneath their carefully crafted facades.

Felix notices their looks and nudges Jeongin. “What’s their problem?”

Jeongin shrugs, still grinning. “Probably just jealous they’re not getting dommed by Ryujin.”

Felix cackles, but Jisung and Minho remain silent, their eyes glued to the now-empty staircase.

The library is eerily quiet, as it always is on weekday afternoons. Jisung pushes through the heavy glass doors, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder, a list of books for his criminal psychology course clutched in one hand. He hates how the place smells, like old paper and dust, but he trudges in anyway, scanning the aisles for the section he needs.

As he rounds a corner toward the back of the library, he freezes. There, tucked away at a small table by the window, is you. At first, he’s caught by the sight of you: your sharp eyeliner that practically screams I know I’m hot, your red lipstick, and the flawless way your grey coat drapes over your shoulders. But then he notices the slight tremble in your hand as you hastily swipe at your eyes.

You’re crying.

Jisung frowns, his usual easy-going demeanour slipping for a moment. He watches as you hurriedly stuff a piece of paper into your coat pocket when you sense someone approaching.

“Oh, hey, Jisung.” Your voice is bright, forced, but your sniffle gives you away.

He drops his book list on the table and pulls a travel-sized pack of tissues from his bag, sliding them across to you without a word. You stare at it for a moment before taking one, dabbing at your eyes carefully.

“Is your eyeliner waterproof?” he asks, tilting his head, his voice soft but teasing. “Because it hasn’t smudged. Not even a little.”

You giggle weakly, and the sound tugs at his chest. “Yeah, it’s waterproof. Rain-proof, apocalypse-proof, probably space-proof at this point.” You gesture at your face with the tissue. “If this doesn’t scream ‘prepared,’ I don’t know what does.”

Jisung smiles, sitting down across from you without asking. He doesn’t mention the paper or your puffy eyes. Instead, he leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “So, I had no idea you were secretly a Terminator with indestructible makeup.”

“That’s me,” you reply, your voice a bit steadier now. “Just call me Y/N Schwarzenegger.”

He snorts, propping his chin on his hand. “You’re such a dork.”

For a moment, the tension in your shoulders seems to ease. You lean back in your chair, crumpling the tissue in your hand. Jisung doesn’t press you for answers. He knows better than to pry when you’re clearly trying to keep it together. Instead, he launches into random topics, filling the silence with his signature chaotic energy.

“So,” he starts, “did I ever tell you about the time the whole frat decided to get high on molly just for shits and giggles?”

You raise an eyebrow, the corners of your lips twitching upward. “No, but I feel like I need to hear this.”

He grins, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Okay, so picture this: everyone’s fucking gone, like, way too gone. I’m talking Changbin trying to have a deep conversation with the coffee table level gone.”

You burst out laughing, and Jisung’s grin widens. “Then Minho and Chan, don’t ask me why, decide it’s a great idea to strip naked and strut around the house like they’re walking a goddamn runway.”

“Oh my God,” you gasp, laughing so hard you have to cover your mouth. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Jisung chuckles, shaking his head. “And Minho, my boyfriend, mind you, starts fucking helicoptering in the middle of the living room.”

Your laughter bubbles up again, your shoulders shaking. “Helicoptering? Like, with his-?”

“Oh, yeah. Full fucking display. Meanwhile, I’m on the couch, so high I swear I was tasting colours, just watching him spin around like it’s a goddamn art performance.”

“What were the rest of you doing while all of this was happening?” you ask, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes.

“I was cuddling Felix and Jeongin,” he says, his grin turning soft. “Felix was curled up in my lap like a fucking cat, all snuggly and cute, and Jeongin was spooning both of us like we were his personal stuffed animals. Hyunjin was trying to draw some random shit and Seungmin was doing fuck knows what”

You’re laughing so hard now that the librarian at the front desk peers over, shushing you with an exaggerated glare. You press a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle your giggles, but Jisung’s grin is triumphant.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but seeing you laugh like this, your eyes bright, your smile genuine, makes him want to keep talking forever. He doesn’t need to know what made you cry. Not yet. For now, he’s content just being the one to make you laugh.

The soft glow of Minho’s bedside lamp casts a warm light over his bedroom, the sheets tangled around the two of them as they lie in the aftermath of their passion. Jisung is still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling against the pillow. Minho leans over, pressing soft kisses down the length of Jisung’s spine, his lips warm and gentle against sweat-slicked skin.

“You’re distracted,” Minho murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he lies down beside Jisung, pulling him into his arms. The sheets are cool, their bodies warm, and Jisung burrows closer against Minho’s chest.

“I’m not-” Jisung starts, but Minho cuts him off.

“Bullshit.” Minho brushes his fingers through Jisung’s damp hair, his tone playful but laced with concern. “You were distracted even when your dick was in my mouth, which, honestly, is fucking insulting because my blowjobs are top-tier.”

Jisung snorts, hiding his face in Minho’s chest. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“No, I’m serious,” Minho continues, pressing a kiss to Jisung’s temple. “And then you were distracted when I was fucking you with everything I have, which is even worse. My hips? Shakira level fluid, jagi. What’s up?”

Jisung groans, rubbing at his face before meeting Minho’s eyes. “I’m sorry. You know I’m usually way more focused during… that particular activity.”

Minho hums, waiting for him to go on.

“I saw Y/N earlier at the library,” Jisung admits, his voice quieter now. “She was crying.”

Minho’s brows knit together. “Crying?”

“Yeah,” Jisung says, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. “She still looked beautiful, of course, like, who the fuck cries and still looks like a goddess? But yeah, she was crying. And she stuffed this piece of paper into her coat like she didn’t want anyone to see it.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment, his fingers tracing absent patterns on Jisung’s shoulder. “We’ll keep an eye on her,” he says finally, his voice steady and reassuring. “If something’s wrong, she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

Jisung exhales, nodding. “Yeah. I just hate seeing her like that, you know? She’s always so happy. Or, at least, she pretends to be.”

Minho presses a kiss to Jisung’s forehead. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t stress too much, jagi.”

Jisung shifts again, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Can we go for a shower now? My ass is full of your cum, and I want to wash up.”

Minho chuckles, tightening his hold on him. “Just stay here a little longer.”

“Or,” Jisung counters, his grin turning wicked, “we could have round three in the shower.”

Minho’s lips quirk into a smirk. “Tempting.”

“I’ll even let you pretend I’m her,” Jisung teases, his voice dripping with mischief.

Minho’s eyes darken, his smirk growing. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Jisung laughs, rolling out of bed and dragging Minho with him. The two stumble toward the bathroom, their laughter echoing through the room as the door shuts behind them.

The night air is cold, crisp against Minho’s flushed skin as he walks back to the frat house, his bag slung across one shoulder. His head is buzzing with formulas and terms from his veterinary science assignment, and all he can think about is collapsing into bed. The campus is eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant hum of a car.

The click of heels behind him draws his attention. Minho slows his pace, glancing over his shoulder just as you appear under the glow of a nearby streetlamp. Your black leather trousers gleam faintly in the light, your boots adding an extra edge to your look. Your hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, with a few strands framing your face. Despite your flawless makeup and sharp outfit, there’s tension in your posture as you glance over your shoulder again, clutching your black handbag a little tighter.

When your eyes meet his, they soften with recognition, and relief washes over your features. You quicken your pace, linking your arm with his the moment you reach him. “Walk. Quickly, please.”

Minho nods without question, his body automatically adjusting to match your stride. “What’s going on?”

You glance behind you one last time before focusing on him. “I thought someone was following me. I’m not sure, but I saw you, and, sorry for grabbing you like that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Minho says firmly, his tone laced with a protective edge. “You heading to the frat?”

You nod, your arm still looped through his. “Yeah. I’m set to get stoned with Lix, Hyun, Chan, and Innie. Something about the best weed brownies ever, the kind that’ll make me see Jesus.”

Minho chuckles, the tension easing just a little. “You’ll have to let me know if you see the pearly white gates.”

You grin despite the lingering anxiety in your eyes. “I’ll say hello to the big man for you.”

Minho smirks. “Appreciate it. We’ll walk to the frat together then. What are you doing out so late, anyway?”

You sigh, your grip on his arm loosening slightly as you relax into his presence. “I was in the fashion department, working on my showcase pieces. The theme is nature, so I decided to use Monet’s Water Lily painting as my inspiration.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Sounds fancy.”

“It was a mistake,” you admit, shaking your head. “It’s taking up all my time, and now I’m behind on my consumer psych work. I’m basically drowning.”

“Sounds like you need a fucking break,” Minho says, his tone light but his concern evident.

“Tell that to my professor,” you mutter, your smile wry.

Minho stops walking for a moment, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Pass me your phone.”

You blink at him, confused, but comply, fishing your phone out of your bag and handing it over. Minho takes it, quickly adding a new contact before handing it back. “There. That’s mine and Jisung’s numbers. We have the most fucked up sleep schedules you could imagine, so if you’re ever out late again, let one of us know, and we’ll come meet you.”

“Minho-”

“No arguments,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for debate. “You shouldn’t walk across campus alone at night.”

You bite your lip, then nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

The two of you resume walking, the frat house’s glowing windows finally coming into view. You glance up at him, a thought clearly forming in your mind. “Hey, you box, right?”

Minho nods. “Yeah.”

“Any chance I could get some self-defence lessons?” you ask, your voice hopeful. “I don’t want to learn how to box, just how to defend myself. You know, in case someone actually does follow me.”

Minho’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Yeah, sure. I go to the gym Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Pick a day that works for you.”

“Saturday,” you say immediately. “No way I’m working out on a weekday.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough. We’ll start this weekend.”

As you reach the frat house, the tension from earlier is all but gone, replaced by the easy comfort of his presence. Minho watches as you step inside, greeted by the sound of laughter and the faint smell of brownies wafting through the air. He lingers by the door for a moment, his eyes softening as he watches you disappear into the living room.

“Saturday,” he mutters to himself, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he follows you inside.

Minho pushes open the door to his room, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Inside, Jisung is sprawled across the bed, clad in nothing but a pair of boxers with a ridiculous pattern of tiny ducks. Minho stops in the doorway, raising an eyebrow as he notices Jisung fully engrossed in Roblox Dress To Impress on Minho’s laptop.

“Really?” Minho asks, letting the door shut behind him. He peels off his long-sleeved t-shirt, revealing the defined lines of his chest and shoulders. His cargos follow, leaving him in just his boxers for a moment before he tugs on a pair of sweatpants.

Jisung’s eyes flicker up from the screen, his lips parting as he watches Minho’s movements. He licks his lips, unabashedly staring. “What? It’s a good game,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse.

Minho smirks, climbing onto the bed and leaning against the headboard. “You have your own room, jagi.”

Jisung doesn’t look away from the laptop, his fingers moving deftly on the keyboard as he accessorizes his character. “Yes, but it’s a mess, and why should I clean it when I have my gorgeous, sexy boyfriend’s bed across the hall?”

Minho shakes his head, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I walked here with Y/N.”

“Oh yeah?” Jisung’s tone is casual, but there’s a flicker of interest in his eyes as he glances up briefly.

“She was freaked out,” Minho continues. “Thought someone was following her. I’m teaching her self-defence once a week, she asked.”

Jisung finally pauses the game, looking at Minho properly. “Did you see anyone?”

Minho shakes his head. “No. But even if it was just a cat making noise, it shook her up. Walking home at night is a completely different thing for women, you know?”

Jisung hums thoughtfully, his fingers back on the keyboard as he adjusts his character’s pose. “You think she has someone specific in mind?”

“Maybe,” Minho replies, his tone serious. “She didn’t say, but I got the sense she wasn’t just spooked by random noises. It felt targeted.”

Jisung nods slowly, the wheels in his head turning. He presses a key on the laptop, making his virtual character strike a flawless pose in an outfit that looks straight out of Vogue. “First place, motherfuckers!” he announces triumphantly.

Minho laughs softly, shaking his head. “You really take this game seriously, huh?”

“Damn right, I do,” Jisung says, grinning. “You think I’m gonna let some twelve-year-old out-style me? Hell no. My outfits slay every single time.”

Minho rolls his eyes fondly, nudging Jisung’s thigh with his foot. “Anyway, she seemed shaken up, so I’m glad I ran into her.”

Jisung tilts his head thoughtfully. “I’m coming with you to the gym on the days you teach her self-defence, by the way.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

Jisung smirks, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “To hold the boxing pads. Or the water. Or something. Also, I want to see her in workout clothes.”

Minho groans, covering his face with his hand. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jisung closes the laptop, setting it aside before turning fully toward Minho. “We need to talk about her.”

Minho stiffens slightly, but Jisung continues. “I took a BuzzFeed quiz on it. Having a partner but also having feelings for someone else. You know what it suggested?”

Minho’s lips twitch, already anticipating something absurd. “Let me guess. Polyamory?”

“Exactly,” Jisung says, nodding earnestly. “And don’t laugh, okay? BuzzFeed told me I’m a Hufflepuff, told me I was bi, and that the celebrity I share a personality with is Cher. It’s my gospel.”

Minho can’t hold back his laughter this time. “You seriously take BuzzFeed quizzes as life advice?”

“Yes,” Jisung replies, entirely unbothered. “They’ve never been wrong.”

Minho shakes his head, the laughter still in his voice. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jisung grins up at him. “And you love it.” He sits up slightly, his fingers already toying with the waistband of Minho’s sweatpants. “Now drop your pants and let me suck your dick.”

Minho snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re so fucking shameless.”

“Uh-huh,” Jisung replies, tugging at Minho’s sweatpants until Minho shifts, lifting his hips slightly to help. “Now lean back and let me do what I do best.”

Minho sighs dramatically, leaning back against the headboard as Jisung settles between his legs. Jisung starts slow, kissing a trail along the sensitive skin of Minho’s inner thigh, teasing him just enough to draw a soft groan from his lips. His hands are steady, warm, as they glide along Minho’s skin.

“What are you thinking about?” Jisung asks, his voice low and teasing as he presses another kiss on Minho's thigh. “Me? Her? Me and her together?”

Minho groans, his hand sliding into Jisung’s hair. “You’re impossible.”

“Oh, you have,” Jisung continues, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he kisses his way up Minho’s dick. “Naughty, naughty Minho. Tell me about it.”

Minho’s head tilts back against the headboard, a flush creeping up his neck. “Jisung-”

“Are you the one in control?” Jisung interrupts, licking a stripe up Minho’s dick that makes him shiver. “Or are we both in control with her? Tell me, Min.”

Minho groans again, his hips shifting slightly as Jisung’s tongue flicks over the tip. “Both,” he finally admits, his voice low and strained. “I thought about both of us.”

Jisung hums in satisfaction, his hand stroking Minho slowly as he looks up at him through his lashes. “Mmm, tell me more.”

Minho swallows hard, his fingers tightening in Jisung’s hair. “I thought about her between us,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “About both of us taking care of her.”

Jisung’s grin widens, his tongue swirling teasingly. “Taking care of her how?”

“Jisung-” Minho’s voice is a warning, but Jisung only doubles down, his movements purposeful and unrelenting.

“Come on, Min,” Jisung coaxes, his breath hot against Minho’s skin. “Tell me. Are we gentle? Or do we ruin her together?”

Minho lets out a low whine, his control slipping. “Both. Fucking both.”

Jisung’s laughter is sinful as he leans forward, taking Minho fully into his mouth. He doesn’t let up, his lips and tongue working with practised precision as Minho’s breaths grow heavier. When Minho finally comes undone, his groan is deep, guttural, his body trembling beneath Jisung’s touch.

Jisung pulls back with a satisfied hum, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re a mess, Min.”

“And whose fucking fault is that?” Minho retorts, his chest still heaving.

Jisung crawls up beside him, curling into his side with a self-satisfied smirk. “You’re welcome.”

Minho shakes his head, his hand resting on Jisung’s back. “You’re going to be the death of me, jagi.”

“Worth it,” Jisung murmurs, his voice softening as he presses a kiss to Minho’s shoulder.

Jisung walks hand in hand with Minho, their fingers loosely intertwined as they stroll across campus. The morning breeze tousles their already messy hair, remnants of a quick and filthy session in the toilets. Jisung grins up at Minho, his cheeks still slightly flushed, and Minho smirks back, tugging him closer as they weave through the clusters of students.

“You’re disgusting,” Jisung mutters, his grin betraying his words.

“Disgustingly in love with you,” Minho retorts smoothly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Jisung’s temple.

Their playful banter comes to an abrupt halt when they hear a raised male voice echoing from a stairwell. Minho and Jisung share a glance, their curiosity piqued. Gossip is a shared hobby, and neither of them can resist a good dose of campus drama. They poke their heads into the stairwell, and what they see instantly wipes the humour from their faces.

You’re standing near the edge of the stairs, clutching the railing so tightly your knuckles are white. Your black cigarette trousers and white sleeveless turtleneck are pristine, your makeup flawless, but there’s fear flickering in your eyes as a man they recognize from Theta Tau looms over you. His sneer is menacing, his body language aggressive as he steps closer, forcing you back, closer to the edge.

Minho’s jaw tightens as he watches you stumble slightly, your heel slipping at the very edge of the flight of stairs. You grab the railing tighter, trying to maintain your balance.

The Theta Tau guy smirks, taking another threatening step forward.

Minho’s voice cuts through the tension like a whip. “Oi! You’ve got two seconds to back off before I throw you down those fucking stairs.”

Jisung steps up beside Minho, his grin sharp and dangerous. “Or don’t. I’d love to watch you break a few bones on the way down.”

The man’s smirk falters as he glances over at the two of them. Minho’s gaze is cold and unyielding, and Jisung’s expression is downright feral. But instead of stepping away, the guy leans in close to you, whispering something in your ear. Minho and Jisung can’t make out the words, but whatever he says makes your eyes flicker up to him with a mix of defiance and something else. Something wary.

The Theta Tau guy smirks again, straightening up before walking down the stairs, brushing past Minho and Jisung without a word.

Minho steps forward immediately, his hand brushing against your arm. “What the fuck was that about?”

You force a small smile, letting go of the railing as you straighten up. “Nothing. I had it handled.”

Jisung scoffs, crossing his arms. “Yeah, sure. You were about to fall, or get pushed, down the stairs.”

Minho’s expression softens, but his voice is firm. “Okay, come on. I’m teaching you how to throw a punch. Right now.”

You blink, surprised. “In this?” You gesture to your outfit, your tone incredulous.

Minho raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching upward. “Take the shoes off once we get to the gym. You’ll be fine. Let’s go. I’ll keep it light so you don’t sweat in your nice clothes.”

Jisung grins, already stepping toward the nearest gym. “I’ll hold the pads. Let’s see if you can throw a punch that’ll knock someone on their ass.”

The walk to the gym is lighthearted despite the heavy situation that led them there. Minho strides confidently at the front, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, while you and Jisung follow close behind. Jisung is already cracking jokes about how out of shape he is and how he’s going to collapse holding the boxing pads.

When they arrive, Minho efficiently signs all three of you in on his membership, exchanging a few friendly words with the staff before leading the way to the back of the gym. It’s quieter here, the distant clink of weights and hum of treadmills a background buzz. Minho gestures toward a corner, and you step onto the mat, kicking off your white stilettos.

“Nice socks,” Jisung says with a grin as he notices the pastel Tinkerbell pattern adorning your feet. “Love them. I want a pair.”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “You’d look great in them.”

“I know,” Jisung says, dead serious. “I’ve got the legs for it.”

Minho clears his throat, drawing your attention. “Alright, let’s get started. Boxing is great, helps you know how to throw a punch, but it’s not the only thing you need to know. You’ve also got to know how to get out of holds. So, someone grabs you from behind, what do you do?”

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Throw my head back and break their nose?”

Minho shakes his head. “Last resort. Sure, it could work, but it’s risky. You could disorient yourself, get a headache, or spotty vision. Now you’re temporarily free but vulnerable, and bam, he’s got you again. You need to focus on vital spots and the best way to get out.”

He steps behind you, his voice steady and calm as he explains. “If someone grabs you from behind, there are three good spots to target: the ribs, the groin, and the knees. You stomp backwards on their knee with those big-ass boots or stilettos of yours. Knees aren’t meant to go backwards.”

Minho gently places his hands on your shoulders to guide your stance. “Alright, lift your leg.”

You follow his instructions, lifting your foot slightly.

“Now, bring it back onto my knee. Gently. Please don’t fuck my knee up,” Minho adds with a smirk.

You laugh softly, bringing your foot down carefully against his leg.

“Good,” Minho says, nodding in approval. “When someone grabs you, your adrenaline’s going to be pumping. It makes you stronger, more alert. You kick their knee just right, they’re not chasing you anywhere anytime soon if their kneecap’s out of place.”

Jisung watches, arms crossed, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Damn, Min, you’re scarier than I thought.”

Minho ignores him, stepping back in front of you. “Alright, now, if someone comes at you head-on, you’ve got three main targets: eyes, throat, and groin. Blind, wind, incapacitate. Fingers to the eyes, punch to the throat, knee to the groin.”

“Blind, wind, incapacitate,” you repeat, nodding. “Got it.”

Minho steps closer, miming a punch to the air. “You hit them in those spots in quick succession, they’re done. But what if you’re pinned to the ground? Then what?”

You pause, frowning slightly. “I… don’t know.”

Minho gestures for you to sit on the mat, then lies down beside you, demonstrating the position. “If you’re pinned, you need to use your legs. They’re your strongest weapons in that position. Hook your leg around theirs, shift your hips, and roll them off balance.” He sits up, locking eyes with you. “The goal isn’t to fight forever. It’s to create an opening to escape. Always focus on getting away.”

Minho claps his hands together, signalling a change in the lesson. “Alright, punches. You’ve gotta learn how to throw them properly, or you’ll break your wrist or your thumb. And trust me, that shit’s not fun.”

He grabs a roll of hand wraps and steps closer to you, his fingers deftly unwinding the fabric. “Hold still,” he mutters, carefully wrapping your hands. His touch is firm but gentle, ensuring the wraps are snug without cutting off circulation. He secures the ends and slides on wrist supports to reinforce the wraps, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Thanks,” you say softly, flexing your fingers experimentally.

Minho nods, stepping back and motioning to Jisung. “Jagi, grab the pads.”

Jisung snatches them from the floor, slipping them onto his hands and holding them up. “Ready for action!” he declares, his grin wide.

Minho quirks an eyebrow. “Hold them properly, jagi. You might be my boyfriend, but I’ll laugh if she misses and messes up your pretty face.”

Jisung huffs dramatically, adjusting his grip. “You wouldn’t laugh. You’d cry. You’re obsessed with my face.”

“Shut up,” Minho mutters, shaking his head. “Alright, Y/N, let’s see your fist.”

You raise your hands, curling them into fists with your thumbs tucked inside. Minho’s eyes widen, and he quickly steps forward, his hands gently encircling yours. “Yah! Do not tuck your thumb inside your fist. What are you trying to do, ruin your hand forever?”

You blink at him. “Wait, why?”

Minho adjusts your fist, his movements deliberate. “Tuck your thumb across the base of your index and middle fingers, like this,” he explains, demonstrating. “Keep it on the outside of your fist to protect it from injury when you hit something. If you keep it tucked inside, you’ll fuck it up. Like, badly.”

“Fuck it up how badly?”

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling dramatically. “Like badly, Y/N. Just trust me.”

You mimic the proper fist formation, nodding. “Got it.”

“Alright, now punch the pad,” Minho instructs, stepping back.

You throw a punch, your fist connecting with the pad Jisung holds up. The sound is faint, almost unimpressive.

“I felt nothing,” Jisung says flatly, lowering the pad to give you a deadpan look. “Was that supposed to scare me?”

Minho smirks, crossing his arms. “There’s no power behind your punches. Like, none at all.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“Here,” Minho says, stepping behind you. He places his hands on your shoulders, adjusting your stance. His touch moves to your arms, guiding them through the motion slowly. “Like that. See? You need to use your whole body, not just your arm. Power comes from your legs, your core, and your rotation. Without that, it’s like throwing a frozen pea at a moving car.”

You try again, this time focusing on the movement Minho demonstrated. The punch connects with a louder sound, and Jisung staggers back dramatically, flailing his arms.

“Whoa! Oh no, she’s too strong!” Jisung cries, falling to his knees in mock defeat.

You burst out laughing, your shoulders shaking. “Jisung, get up.”

“Never!” Jisung declares, crawling on the mat like he’s been mortally wounded. “I’ve been taken out by the incredible, indomitable Y/N!”

Minho sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “You’re not helping, jagi.”

“Yes, I am!” Jisung retorts, getting to his feet. “She’s laughing, isn’t she?”

Minho shakes his head but doesn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But you’re holding the pads until she gets it right.”

“Deal,” Jisung says, raising the pads again with an exaggerated flourish. “Hit me, Y/N! But not too hard. I’m delicate.”

You laugh, taking your stance again as Minho steps aside to watch. The lesson continues, and while your punches still lack power, you’re improving with each attempt. Minho’s patient guidance and Jisung’s over-the-top antics keep the mood light, and for the first time in a while, you feel genuinely at ease.

Minho and Jisung lie tangled together in Minho’s bed, the warm glow of his bedside lamp casting soft light over the room. Minho’s laptop balances precariously on Jisung’s stomach as they scroll through the Theta Tau guy’s social media. Minho, shirtless and relaxed, has an arm slung over Jisung’s chest, his chin resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Jisung, still wearing Minho’s oversized hoodie, lazily scrolls with one hand while the other plays with Minho’s fingers.

“There’s nothing on here that points to Y/N,” Minho mutters, frowning at the screen. His thumb absentmindedly strokes Jisung’s hand.

“There has to be something,” Jisung insists, his eyes scanning the page with growing frustration. “I mean, you don’t just corner a girl in a stairwell and nearly knock her down the stairs for no reason. My journalist senses can feel it, Min, it’s tingling in my left nut.”

Minho snorts, burying his face in Jisung’s neck for a moment to stifle his laugh. “Your left nut? Really?”

“Yes!” Jisung exclaims, looking at Minho with mock seriousness. “It’s like that time Felix no-ballsed me into putting Deep Heat down there. Something was wrong that day, and that same wrong feeling is back.”

“All I remember from that day,” Minho says dryly, lifting his head, “is you crying like a baby and me having to help you wash your balls in cool water.”

Jisung groans, throwing his head back against the pillow. “It was traumatic.”

“For me, too,” Minho says, smirking. “You were screaming like you were being murdered.”

“Because it felt like my balls were on fire, Minho!” Jisung huffs, but there’s a playful glint in his eye as he turns back to the screen. “Anyway, focus. We’re looking for dirt on this dickhead.”

Minho chuckles, nuzzling closer as Jisung scrolls. A few moments later, Jisung suddenly perks up. “Ooh! Here!” He points to the screen, his voice tinged with excitement.

Minho leans closer, narrowing his eyes at the photo Jisung has pulled up. It’s a picture from a Theta Tau party a year ago. You’re front and centre in the photo, a red solo cup in hand, your smile wide but a little too forced if they look closely enough. The Theta Tau guy stands beside you, his arm slung over your shoulders, his grin wide and smug. The caption reads: Wildest girl on campus.

Minho’s eyes darken. “So now engage your criminal psych brain, Ji.”

Jisung sits up slightly, his focus sharp. “Alright,” he says, his voice more serious now. “My criminal psych mind jumps to stalker, but that’s just me. The photo, the caption, it’s giving possessive vibes.”

“Possessive how?” Minho asks, his fingers still absently toying with Jisung’s hoodie strings.

“Look at the caption. Wildest girl on campus. It’s like he’s trying to brand her,” Jisung explains, gesturing at the screen. “But we don’t really know anything yet, so we can’t make assumptions.”

Minho hums thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on the screen. “But if he does have some sort of obsession with her, it might explain why he was cornering her in the stairwell.”

“Exactly,” Jisung agrees. “But we need more to go on. This is just speculation.”

Minho sits up, taking the laptop from Jisung and setting it aside. He looks at his boyfriend, his expression serious. “If it is something like that, we’re not letting it slide.”

“Duh,” Jisung replies, rolling his eyes. “You think I’d let anything happen to her? I’d kick that guy’s ass myself.”

Minho smirks, pulling Jisung into his arms. “I’d pay to see that.”

Jisung grins, wrapping his arms around Minho’s waist. “Don’t worry, jagi. Between your boxing and my journalist instincts, we’ve got this.”

Minho presses a kiss to Jisung’s temple, but his mind is still racing with possibilities. Whatever’s going on, he’s determined to get to the bottom of it and to keep you safe in the process.

The college football field buzzes with energy. The stands are packed with students wearing the red and black colours of the Miroh Maniacs or the grey and purple of the Levanter Lobos. The crisp fall air carries the faint smell of popcorn and hot dogs from the concession stands, and the band plays an upbeat fight song to rile up the crowd.

You’re seated in the front row of the bleachers, your black and red tartan miniskirt catching the light as you cross your legs. The thigh-high black-heeled boots you’re wearing make you feel both powerful and overdressed compared to the sea of jerseys and hoodies around you. Your black turtleneck and red and black tartan blazer complete the look, and the red ribbon tying back your half-up, half-down hair flutters slightly in the breeze.

On the field, the Miroh Maniacs’ lineup is imposing in their red and black uniforms. Chan, #03, is shouting instructions as the team gathers at the line of scrimmage. Minho, #25, adjusts his helmet, his sharp eyes scanning the opposing players. Changbin, #04, slams his hands together, psyching himself up, while Hyunjin, #69, stretches dramatically, earning laughs from nearby players. Jisung, #08, bounces on his toes, and Felix, #01, waves at you from his position near the sideline. Seungmin, #11, and Jeongin, #23, exchange a quick fist bump before taking their positions.

When they all glance toward you and wave, you smile brightly, waving back enthusiastically. The sight of you seems to inject an extra burst of energy into the team, and Jisung flashes you a grin before nudging Minho. “She’s got the best seat in the house,” he says.

“Damn right,” Minho mutters, his focus briefly flickering to you before snapping back to the game.

The whistle blows, and the first quarter is chaos. The Maniacs play hard, with Chan’s commanding presence as quarterback setting up plays that leave the Lobos scrambling. Changbin bulldozes through the defence, and Hyunjin makes an acrobatic catch that has the crowd on their feet. Jisung is everywhere, darting through gaps in the Lobos’ defence with impressive speed, while Minho is a brick wall, stopping the Lobos’ offence in its tracks.

Halfway through the first half, Jisung glances at the bleachers to steal a look at you. His smile fades instantly. Minho follows his gaze and spots what Jisung is staring at: the Theta Tau guy is sitting next to you. His body leans in toward yours, and his lips move as he whispers something in your ear. Your face is a mask of calm, but your eyes are locked straight ahead, not acknowledging him.

Jisung’s grip on his helmet tightens. “What the fuck is he doing?”

The guy leans closer, saying something else, and you suddenly get to your feet. Your hand grips the strap of your handbag tightly, and you follow him toward the back of the bleachers. But as you walk, you glance back over your shoulder, your eyes locking with Jisung and Minho for a split second before disappearing out of sight.

“Chan!” Jisung shouts, his voice sharp with urgency. “Call a fucking break!”

Chan turns, confused, but the look on Jisung’s face tells him it’s serious. “Shit,” he mutters, jogging over to the referee to call for a timeout.

The crowd groans in confusion as the game pauses. On the sideline, Jisung and Minho are already ripping off their helmets and jogging toward the bleachers.

“Where the hell did she go?” Jisung asks, his voice tight.

Minho’s eyes scan the area, his jaw clenched. “Behind the bleachers. Let’s go.”

Without another word, the two of them take off, their cleats clacking against the pavement as they make their way to find you. Minho and Jisung crouch as they reach the back of the bleachers, their cleats scrape softly against the gravel as they peek around the corner. The sight before them makes their blood boil.

You’re standing with your back against a steel support beam, clutching your black handbag tightly in one hand while the other lightly presses against your mouth. Blood trickles from a split in your lip as the Theta Tau guy looms over you, his face twisted into a smug smirk as he waves his phone in front of you.

“Delete it,” you plead, your voice trembling but firm. “Please. Just delete it.”

“I told you what you have to do,” the guy sneers, his voice low and mocking.

You shake your head, tears glistening in your eyes as you struggle to maintain your composure. “I don’t want to do that.”

Before either of you can react, he grabs your face roughly, forcing you to look at him. That’s the last straw.

Minho is on him in an instant, his cleats kicking up gravel as he grabs the guy from behind and locks him in a headlock. “You fucking piece of shit,” Minho snarls, his biceps tightening around the man’s neck.

“What the fuck?!” the guy chokes out, his phone slipping from his hand.

Jisung snatches it up without hesitation, his expression icy as he flips the device over in his hand. “Hold his head still, Min.”

“Already on it,” Minho growls, adjusting his grip to keep the guy immobilized. The Theta Tau guy squirms, but he’s no match for Minho’s strength.

Jisung holds the phone up to the guy’s face, the screen unlocking instantly with Face ID. “Got it.” He hands the phone to you, his voice softening slightly. “Here, Y/N. Delete whatever he’s holding over you.”

Your hands tremble as you take the phone. Your breath hitches as you navigate to the photo gallery, and your face twists in a mix of relief and anger when you find what you’re looking for. An upskirt photo. Your eyes sting as you quickly delete it, your fingers moving with unsteady urgency.

“What did you threaten her with, hmm?” Minho hisses, his tone venomous. “Answer before I start breaking bones.”

The guy glares at Minho but falters when the pressure around his neck increases. “An… an upskirt picture!” he chokes out.

“You piece of shit,” Minho spits, his jaw tightening.

“Is it on your iCloud?” Jisung demands, his voice sharp and unwavering.

“No! Just my camera roll!” the guy blurts.

You glance at Jisung, who nods encouragingly. You double-check the recently deleted folder and erase the photo permanently before handing the phone back to Jisung. Without hesitation, Jisung hurls it to the ground, the screen shattering on impact. He stomps on it for good measure, grinding it into the gravel until it’s completely destroyed.

Minho loosens his grip slightly but doesn’t let the guy go. “What else did you do to her?” His voice is deadly quiet, his rage barely contained.

“I just followed her a few times! Sent her some notes! It was harmless shit!” the guy protests.

Minho’s laugh is dark and humourless. “Okay, so if that’s harmless, me breaking your nose is also harmless, hmm?”

Before the guy can respond, Minho lets him go, stepping back just enough to wind up and punch him square in the face. The crack of impact echoes under the bleachers as the guy stumbles back, clutching his nose with a pained yell.

Jisung moves to your side instantly, his hands cupping your face gently as he examines your split lip. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, tinged with worry.

You nod, but your lip wobbles, and tears spill over despite your best efforts to hold them back. Jisung pulls you into his arms without a second thought, holding you tightly as you cling to him. His hand smooths over your hair, his voice low and soothing as he whispers, “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

Minho steps back to your side, his breathing heavy but his expression softening as he looks at you. “We’ve got you,” he says firmly, his hand brushing against your shoulder in a silent show of support.

The Theta Tau guy stumbles to his feet and takes off without another word, leaving the three of you alone under the bleachers. For now, the game is the furthest thing from anyone’s mind. Minho and Jisung are focused solely on you, their protectiveness evident in every glance and touch as they guide you away from the scene.

Minho straightens his jersey and exhales sharply, his jaw tight as he glances between you and Jisung. Your face is buried against Jisung’s shoulder, your hands clutching at his jersey like a lifeline, and Jisung’s arms are wrapped protectively around you.

“I’ll go talk to Chan,” Minho says, his voice steady but edged with quiet fury. “Two of the newer guys can sub in for us. I’ll grab our bags from the locker room.”

Jisung nods, his fingers combing gently through your hair, careful not to disturb the ribbon tied at the back. His other hand strokes soothing circles along your back. “Go. We’ll be here.”

Minho jogs off toward the field, his cleats crunching against the gravel. Jisung looks down at you, his brows knitting together as he leans his cheek against the top of your head. “How long has this been going on?” he asks, his voice low but firm.

You don’t lift your head, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “A few months,” you admit, your grip on his jersey tightening.

Jisung’s heart aches at your admission. “Oh, our sweet, sweet girl,” he murmurs, holding you even closer. The words slip out without thought, and you don’t even seem to notice. His chest tightens as he thinks about everything you’ve been carrying on your own, and the urge to shield you from every possible harm swells within him.

He gently shifts his stance to hold you more securely, his voice softening. “We’ve got you, okay? Minho and I. Whatever you need, we’ll be here.”

You nod silently, the motion so small and vulnerable that it makes Jisung’s throat tighten. He stays quiet for a moment, simply holding you as your breathing evens out. His hand continues stroking your back, the repetitive motion grounding for both of you.

Minho returns a few minutes later, a gym bag slung over his shoulder and an intense look in his eyes. He pauses when he sees the way Jisung is cradling you, his expression softening for just a moment before he clears his throat. “Chan’s got it covered. He’s pissed, but he said he’ll handle it with the coach.”

Jisung nods, his hand still threading through your hair. “Thanks.”

Minho steps closer, setting the bag down at his feet. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, his tone gentler now. “Y/N, you good to walk, or do you need me to carry you?”

You shake your head slowly, lifting it just enough to meet Minho’s eyes. “I can walk,” you whisper.

“Alright,” Minho says, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch is light, careful, as though he’s afraid you might shatter. “Let’s go.”

The walk back to the frat house is quiet, the tension from earlier still lingering in the air. Jisung stays close to your side, his hand hovering near your back as if ready to steady you at any moment. Minho walks on your other side, his sharp gaze flicking to anyone who so much as glances your way. When the three of you step through the front door of the house, the familiar warmth and faint smell of laundry detergent and leftover pizza greet you.

Minho sets the gym bag down near the couch and turns to you. “We’re gonna go shower,” he says, his tone softer than usual. “You gonna be okay?”

You nod, managing a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Minho’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his lips pressing into a thin line. Jisung hesitates too, his brows furrowing, but he doesn’t say anything as they both head upstairs. Their heavy footsteps fade, leaving you alone in the quiet house.

You take a deep breath, exhaling shakily as you step into the kitchen. Bending down, you pull the first aid kit from under the sink and set it on the counter. You reach into your bag, pulling out your compact mirror and flipping it open. The fluorescent kitchen light illuminates the damage.

Your split lip looks worse now than it did under the bleachers, the small wound red and raw. A faint shadow of smeared lipstick surrounds it, a stark reminder of how hard you’ve been trying to keep it together. You sigh, reaching into the kit for an antiseptic wipe.

The moment the cool wipe touches your skin, a sharp sting flares up, making you wince. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, dabbing gently at the cut. The antiseptic smells sterile, a harsh contrast to the comforting familiarity of the kitchen. You work methodically, cleaning the area and wiping away the traces of blood.

As you do, your mind drifts back to the events of the day. The Theta Tau guy’s smirk, his hand grabbing your face, the fear that coursed through you as he loomed over you. Your hands tremble slightly, but you force yourself to focus, using the mirror to inspect your work.

“Not bad,” you mumble to yourself, forcing a weak smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

You toss the used wipe into the trash, closing the first aid kit and leaning against the counter for a moment. The silence feels heavy, pressing down on you as you try to shake the lingering unease. You press your hands against the cool surface of the counter, grounding yourself, and close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

They said they’ve got you. And for the first time in a while, you think you might actually believe it.

The hot spray of the shower cascades over Minho and Jisung, the steam curling around them in the small bathroom. Minho stands with his hands braced against the tiled wall, his head bowed, water dripping down his tense shoulders. Jisung watches him quietly, his own body relaxed but his mind racing.

“Min, you need to calm down, baby,” Jisung says softly, stepping closer and placing his hands on Minho’s shoulders. His thumbs press into the knots beneath the damp skin. “You’re too wound up to go back down and comfort her like this.”

Minho lets out a heavy sigh, his breath fogging in the humid air. “I know,” he mutters, his voice tight. “But it’s not fucking working.”

Jisung’s hands still for a moment before resuming their gentle massage. “Stress reliever handy?” he asks, his tone calm but purposeful.

Minho nods, his head dipping slightly. “Yeah.”

Jisung leans in, his lips brushing against Minho’s ear. “Make no mistake, I’m in control right now because that’s what you need.”

Minho nods rapidly, the tension in his shoulders shifting as he gives himself over to Jisung. “Please.”

Jisung hums in approval, his hands sliding down Minho’s arms before circling him from behind. “Relax, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Let Ji take care of you as we both think about our pretty girl, hmm?”

Minho’s breath catches, his hands curling into fists against the tile. “Fuck, Ji.”

“That’s it,” Jisung whispers, his hand wrapping around Minho’s dick with practised ease. His strokes are slow at first, deliberate, coaxing. “You kept our pretty girl safe, Min. You stopped that guy. I’m so proud of you, my Minho, my beautiful Min.”

Minho’s head tilts back, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts as Jisung’s hand moves faster. “Ji-”

Jisung presses kisses to Minho’s collarbones, his lips soft against the slick skin. “You kept her safe,” he continues, his voice full of praise. “You showed that guy what happens when someone messes with her. My strong, sexy baby.”

Minho cries out, his body trembling under Jisung’s touch. Jisung holds him steady, his strokes firm but comforting. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Come on, let go for me.”

Minho’s release is sudden and overwhelming, his body shuddering as he leans back against Jisung for support. Jisung holds him close, his free hand stroking Minho’s side in soothing circles as the water washes away the evidence of their intimacy.

“Shh,” Jisung whispers, his lips brushing against Minho’s temple. “You’re okay now, baby. Feeling calmer?”

Minho nods weakly, his head lolling to the side as he catches his breath. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “Thanks, Ji.”

Jisung smiles, pressing one last kiss to Minho’s shoulder before stepping back slightly to rinse them both off. “Anything for you, Min. Let’s finish up and go check on her, yeah?”

Minho straightens, the tension in his body eased but his determination renewed. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The two of them step out of the shower moments later, their movements in sync as they towel off and redress, their focus already shifting back to you. Whatever comes next, they’re ready to face it. Together.

Minho and Jisung descend the stairs, their hair damp from the shower and their moods slightly more composed. Dressed in sweatpants and soft t-shirts, they move through the house with purpose, their footsteps muffled against the carpet. As they reach the kitchen, they stop in the doorway, their gazes landing on you.

You’re perched on a stool at the kitchen island, your compact mirror propped up as you dab at your chin with a makeup sponge. “Hey,” Jisung says softly, stepping forward as you glance up at them. Your lips twitch into a weak smile, and he’s relieved to see even that small flicker of emotion.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice quiet.

Minho moves past Jisung, heading to the counter where the kettle sits. “I’ll make tea,” he says, his voice calm and steady, a grounding presence in the room. “For all of us.”

Jisung pulls out the stool next to yours, sliding onto it. He leans his elbows on the counter, his head tilted as he watches you. “Let me fix that,” he says, gesturing toward your face.

You blink, confused. “You can do makeup?”

Jisung grins, leaning closer. “Not eyeliner, I’m shit at that. But the basics? Yeah. Min likes makeup sometimes.”

You glance at Minho, who’s smirking as he fills the kettle. “Really?” you ask, your curiosity momentarily distracting you from everything else.

“Yup,” Minho says without looking up. “I’ve got the cheekbones for it.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you, and Jisung beams at the sound. “Okay,” you say, handing him the makeup sponge. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Jisung takes the sponge and your compact, his movements careful as he dabs at your chin. His touch is gentle, his focus intense as he smooths out the area where the blood had crusted earlier. “You’re good at this,” you murmur, watching him work.

“Told you,” Jisung replies, winking. “Minho’s got high standards, so I had to learn.”

Minho chuckles from across the room, pulling mugs from the cabinet. “That piece of shit won’t come near you again if he’s got a single brain cell in that thick skull of his,” he says, his voice low but firm.

You glance down at your hands, twisting your fingers together. “You guys don’t have to do all of this,” you say softly, guilt flickering in your tone.

Minho sets a mug on the counter in front of you, his sharp gaze softening as he leans against the island. “You don’t understand what we would do for you, sweet girl,” he says, his words measured but earnest. “But that’s okay. Give it time. We’re in no rush.”

You blink, confusion crossing your face at the intensity in his words, but before you can respond, Jisung leans back, examining his work with a satisfied smile. “Done. You’re back to flawless.”

You smile faintly, taking the compact back and glancing at your reflection. “Thanks, Ji.”

“Anytime,” he says with a grin, his hand brushing against your arm briefly before pulling away.

Minho places a steaming mug of tea in front of you, the warmth seeping into your fingers as you cradle it. “Drink,” he says simply. “You’ll feel better.”

You nod, taking a small sip, the warmth and taste grounding you. The two of them stay close, their presence comforting in a way that words can’t quite capture. For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself lean on someone else.

Jeongin’s room is a cosy disaster. There’s a pile of laundry in the corner that’s been waiting to be folded for weeks, and his desk is cluttered with an assortment of notebooks, snack wrappers, and half-finished projects. But his bed is a sanctuary, a fluffy mountain of mismatched blankets and pillows, perfect for a lazy night in.

You’re lying on your stomach in the centre of it, your feet kicking idly in your fluffy black socks as you sip straight from a bottle of cheap red wine. A cooling sheet mask clings to your face, and the glow of The Princess Diaries illuminates the room.

Jeongin is beside you, similarly face-masked and holding his own bottle of white wine, which he swirls like a sommelier despite it being something that cost less than ten bucks.

“I can’t believe you own a Juicy tracksuit,” Jeongin says, gesturing at your outfit with his wine bottle. The black velour set hugs your figure, the word “Juicy” spelt out in glittering diamantes across your ass. The cropped hoodie rides up slightly as you shift, revealing a sliver of skin.

“Hyunjin has it in pink,” you reply, completely unfazed. “Felix has it in blue. We found them at a thrift shop, and obviously, we had to buy them.”

Jeongin snorts, shaking his head. “I can’t decide if that’s iconic or tragic.”

“Both,” you say, grinning as you sip your wine. “But mostly iconic.”

The movie plays on in the background, the familiar scenes providing comfort. When Mia Thermopolis takes her infamous tumble in the bleachers, you both burst out laughing, even though you’ve seen it a dozen times.

Jeongin’s laughter fades as he looks over at you. “So,” he starts, his tone shifting slightly, “Minho and Jisung told us all about the Theta Tau dickhead.”

Your smile falters, and you lower your wine bottle. “Innie-”

He shakes his head. “I’m not mad at you. I just want to know why you didn’t tell me.”

You sigh, resting your cheek against the cool pillow. “I would have told you, but he said if I told anyone, that picture would go all over the internet.”

Jeongin’s face softens, and he reaches out to nudge your shoulder gently. “I’m not mad at you, idiot. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m okay,” you insist, though your voice wavers slightly. “My lip’s healed. The guy backed off after Minho wailed on him and Jisung smashed his phone to pieces. It’s handled.”

Jeongin doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he nods, taking another swig of his wine. “Talking about Minho and Jisung,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “what’s going on there?”

Your brow furrows. “How do you mean?”

“Girl,”

“Boy,”

“Be so fucking for real right now,” he demands, sitting up and glaring at you through the slits of his face mask.

You groan, rolling onto your back. “Okay, fine. They’re not exactly subtle, but what if they just want one night and done?”

Jeongin raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not!” you protest. “I mean, what if I mess things up? What if it’s just casual for them?”

“Well,” Jeongin says, shrugging dramatically, “you’ll have to ask them.”

“That sounds like hell,” you mutter, groaning again as you cover your face with your hands.

Jeongin pats your thigh consolingly, his voice softening. “It’s not hell if they care about you, and I think they do. You’re not as good at hiding your feelings as you think, and neither are they.”

You peek at him through your fingers, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Since when are you this wise?”

“Since always,” Jeongin says smugly, reclining against his pillows like a king. “Now shut up and pass me the chocolate. Therapy wine and The Princess Diaries require snacks.”

You chuckle, tossing him a candy bar from the pile of junk food on the nightstand. For now, you let the conversation drop, burying your worries beneath laughter and cheap wine as the movie plays on. But Jeongin’s words linger, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you know he’s right.

Minho’s room is a blend of chaos and comfort, with the faint hum of David Attenborough’s soothing narration on the TV providing a calm backdrop to Jisung’s enthusiastic commentary as he plays The Sims on Minho’s laptop. The two of them are sprawled on Minho’s bed, Jisung’s legs tangled with Minho’s as they cuddle beneath a blanket.

Jisung is perched with the laptop balanced on his thighs, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he perfects his newest sim. “Alright,” he says, biting his lip in concentration. “I’ve got your sim, and I’ve got her sim. Now it’s my turn.”

Minho doesn’t look up from the screen, where a pod of dolphins gracefully arches out of the water in stunning high-definition. “Make yourself hot, jagi,” he says absently, his hand lazily stroking Jisung’s thigh.

“I’m already hot,” Jisung retorts, smirking. “But fine, I’ll be extra hot.”

He finishes tweaking his sim’s features, giving it his trademark silver hair and an outfit that looks straight out of a runway show. Once he’s satisfied, he grins wickedly. “Okay, time to make my sim woohoo your sim.”

Minho finally glances over, raising an eyebrow. “Sexy.”

Jisung snorts, clicking the interaction button. “Look! We’re woohooing! Oh my God, the bed is shaking! Scandalous.”

Minho chuckles, his lips quirking into a smirk as he watches the pixelated characters dive under the covers with a flurry of hearts and confetti. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously hot, you mean,” Jisung says, grinning as he continues to make the sims woohoo. “Ooh, we’re going again. Look at us. Nonstop action. This is basically porn.”

“Pixel porn,” Minho deadpans, though his eyes are sparkling with amusement.

Jisung keeps clicking, his enthusiasm building. “Oh, wait, plot twist! Your sim is pregnant.”

Minho groans, throwing his head back. “Jisung.”

“Look!” Jisung exclaims, pointing at the screen. “Mpreg! Mpreg Minho! It’s even alliteration. Meant to be.”

“That is the worst thing you have ever done,” Minho mutters, though he’s laughing despite himself.

Jisung giggles uncontrollably, leaning against Minho for support. “You’re like an omega from A/B/O. Submissive and breedable.”

Minho snorts, swatting at Jisung’s arm. “Shut up.”

“Never!” Jisung declares, clicking away. “Ooh, we’re woohooing again. Now you’re woohooing her sim! Now I’m woohooing her sim! It’s a polyamorous paradise.”

Minho shakes his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

Jisung grins devilishly, his eyes glued to the screen as he starts making dirty commentary. “Oh, look at that. Jisung Sim, absolutely wrecking Minho Sim. And now Minho Sim is carrying twins. Who’s the daddy? Me. Plot twist, it’s always me.”

Minho groans, covering his face with one hand as his shoulders shake with laughter. “You’re insane.”

“And you love me for it,” Jisung says, leaning in to kiss Minho’s cheek before going back to his chaotic gameplay. “Oh no! Minho Sim is going into labour. What do we do?”

Minho rolls his eyes, still laughing. “Delete the game. That’s what we do.”

Jisung suddenly shuts the laptop with a decisive snap and looks up at Minho. “I have an idea,” he announces, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Minho raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard. “Is it a good idea?”

“When have I ever had bad ideas?” Jisung counters, puffing out his chest in mock indignation.

Minho doesn’t even hesitate. “Do you want me to start from the top? Because I will. How about the time you bought that vibrating cock ring and it got stuck?”

Jisung’s face flushes. “That was one time!”

“Or when you thought a double-ended dildo would be fun for us and ended up knocking over the lamp while trying to figure it out.”

Jisung groans, burying his face in his hands. “Stop.”

“Oh, and let’s not forget the brilliant idea of edible lube that tasted like fucking cough syrup,” Minho continues, smirking. “Or-”

“Okay!” Jisung interrupts, holding up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ve had a few missteps.”

“A few?” Minho scoffs, but his smirk softens as he leans forward. “So, what’s this idea?”

“I’m going to go ask Y/N on a date,” Jisung declares, his grin wide.

Minho blinks, his brows knitting together in surprise. “Uh, what?”

“Not just me,” Jisung adds, hopping off the bed and heading for the door. “Both of us. A date with both of us.”

“Wait, hold on,” Minho says, sitting up straighter. “You’re going right now?”

“Yup,” Jisung chirps, already halfway out the room. “Be right back!”

“Jisung!” Minho calls after him, but Jisung is already bounding down the hall, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. Minho lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples. “Fucking hell.”

In Jeongin’s room, you’re lounging on his bed, the remnants of your wine bottle on the nightstand and the sheet mask peeled off and discarded. “Y/N!” Jisung’s voice rings out, loud and enthusiastic.

You and Jeongin both whip your heads around to see him standing in the doorway, his silver hair slightly damp and his grin as bright as a kid who just found out it’s Christmas.

“Uh, hey, Ji?” you say cautiously, sitting up straighter.

“You, me, Minho,” Jisung says in one breath, pointing at you with both hands. “Date tomorrow night. We’ll pick you up from your place at eight. Okay, bye!”

Before you can respond, he spins on his heel and marches back down the hall, leaving you and Jeongin staring after him in stunned silence.

“What the actual fuck just happened?” Jeongin finally asks, blinking at the empty doorway.

“I… I don’t know,” you admit, your face heating up as you process what Jisung just said. “A date? With both of them?”

Jeongin looks at you, his lips curling into a grin. “Girl, you better dress for that. This is huge.”

Your heart is pounding, your thoughts racing as you glance toward the door, then back at Jeongin. “This can’t be real.”

“Oh, it’s real,” Jeongin says, grabbing his phone. “We’re planning your outfit now. You’re going to knock them both flat on their asses.”

Jisung returns to Minho’s room triumphantly, shutting the door behind him as Minho stares at him, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement.

“What the hell did you do?” Minho asks.

“Secured our date for tomorrow,” Jisung replies. “Get ready, Min. We’re making moves.”

Jisung grins at Minho, his silver hair falling messily over his forehead as he dramatically flops back onto the bed, his hands behind his head.

“Okay,” he declares, “now suck my dick! For being the best and getting us a date.”

Minho snorts, leaning against the headboard. “Now there’s a good idea.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I’m serious, Min. I deserve a reward.”

Minho rolls his eyes but pushes himself up from his relaxed position, crawling over to where Jisung lies sprawled out. His movements are slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs, brushing Jisung’s hair back from his forehead before leaning down to press a teasing kiss to the corner of his lips.

Jisung shivers under his touch, his grin softening into something more genuine. “You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”

Minho smirks, trailing kisses along Jisung’s jawline, his hands sliding under the hem of Jisung’s oversized t-shirt. “Shut up, Ji.”

Jisung laughs softly, but the sound catches in his throat as Minho’s lips move lower, his mouth hot against the sensitive skin of Jisung’s neck. “Min-”

Minho doesn’t reply, his hands slipping down to tug at the waistband of Jisung’s sweatpants. “Lift your hips,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

Jisung obeys without hesitation, his breath hitching as Minho drags the fabric down, exposing him. The cool air of the room contrasts with the heat pooling between them, and Jisung’s hands grip the sheets beneath him, his confidence wavering just slightly in the face of Minho’s intensity.

“You really think you’re the best?” Minho asks, his voice teasing as he settles between Jisung’s legs.

Jisung’s grin returns, though it’s laced with a hint of nervous energy. “Obviously.”

Minho chuckles, his hands firm on Jisung’s thighs as he leans down. “Let’s see if I can knock you down a peg.”

Jisung’s laughter fades into a sharp inhale as Minho’s mouth closes over him, the sensation stealing whatever witty retort was on the tip of his tongue. His head falls back against the pillows, his fingers tangling in Minho’s hair as Minho works him over with maddening precision.

“Fuck,” Jisung breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “Minho-”

Minho hums in response, the vibrations drawing a shuddering gasp from Jisung. His pace is steady, his movements calculated to draw out every sound Jisung tries and fails to stifle.

“You’re too good at this,” Jisung manages to choke out, his grip tightening in Minho’s hair as he teeters on the edge.

Minho pulls back slightly, his lips slick and his smirk sharp. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, jagi.”

Jisung doesn’t have the chance to respond before Minho takes him again, pushing him past the point of no return. His release comes with a strangled cry, his body arching as Minho holds him through it, his hands grounding him even as he feels like he’s falling apart.

Minho finally pulls away, sitting back on his heels with a satisfied smirk as Jisung struggles to catch his breath. “Reward enough?” Minho asks, his tone light and teasing.

Jisung’s chest heaves as he laughs weakly. “You’re gonna kill me one day, you know that?”

Minho leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to Jisung’s forehead. “Only in the best ways, jagi.”

Jisung grins, pulling Minho down beside him and curling into his side. “I fucking love you, Min.”

“I know,” Minho replies, his smirk softening into a genuine smile as he pulls Jisung close. “I love you too.”

Minho’s car pulls up outside your dorm building, the sleek black exterior shining under the dim glow of the streetlights. You glance out the window as you lock your door, catching sight of him leaning casually against the car.

Minho’s outfit is effortlessly chic. A deep purple silk shirt that drapes perfectly over his frame, black slacks that fit like a dream, polished black shoes, and a black beret perched at an angle that only he could pull off. The pearl earrings and matching necklace glint faintly under the light, adding a touch of elegance to his beauty.

Your jaw drops as you step closer, the sound of your white wedges clicking against the pavement. “How do you look prettier than I do?” you ask, half-joking but fully in awe.

Minho looks up, his lips curving into a soft smirk as he takes you in. “I have an androgynous face,” he replies smoothly, gesturing toward his sharp cheekbones. “But you look stunning, so shush. Now hop in.”

“Flatterer,” you mutter, though a blush rises to your cheeks as you glance down at your blue sleeveless halterneck denim jumpsuit. The faux pearl necklace and earrings you’ve paired it with catch the light, complementing the way your hair cascades half-up, half-down, tied with a crisp white ribbon.

Jisung leans out of the backseat, his grin mischievous as he waves at you. He’s dressed to kill in a black tank top under a white jacket with intricate gold detailing, black trousers, and a matching belt. A gold chain hangs around his neck, catching the light with every movement. “Get in here already,” he calls.

You slide into the backseat beside Jisung as Minho gets into the driver’s seat. Jisung immediately pulls out his phone to fiddle with the music, his leg bouncing with restless energy.

“So,” you ask, settling into the plush leather seat, “where are we going?”

“The ice-skating rink,” Jisung announces, turning to flash you a grin.

“Isn’t it closed on Sundays?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jisung shrugs nonchalantly. “To the public, yeah. But we know the owner. Connections, baby.”

“Like a mafia boss?” you tease, smirking.

Jisung snorts, his laugh bright and unrestrained. “Exactly like a mafia boss. Just call me the Don.”

Minho shakes his head, smiling as he starts the car. “We figured it was fair to do something we’re all bad at.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Oh, I did figure skating for thirteen years.”

Minho glances at you in the rearview mirror, one perfectly shaped eyebrow quirking upward. Jisung pauses mid-scroll on his phone, slowly turning to look at you.

“Thirteen years?” Jisung echoes, his tone incredulous.

“Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p’ and crossing one leg over the other. “Competitive and everything.”

Minho exhales dramatically. “Of course. Of course, you’d just casually drop that after we’ve made plans.”

“Oops?” you offer, biting back a smile.

Jisung leans closer, narrowing his eyes playfully. “You’re about to embarrass the hell out of us, aren’t you?”

You grin, leaning back in your seat. “Maybe. But hey, you’re the ones who invited me.”

Minho chuckles, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel. “This should be interesting.”

The ice skating rink is eerily quiet as Minho unlocks the door, the sound of the key turning in the lock echoing through the crisp night air. The three of you step inside, the cold instantly hitting your skin. The faint hum of the cooling system and the smell of frozen air transport you back to your years of figure skating.

Minho flicks on the lights, and the rink glows, the pristine ice reflecting the overhead fluorescents. He glances over at you and Jisung. “Grab your skates,” he says, nodding toward the rental booth.

You find a pair of skates in your size with ease and sit down on a bench to lace them up, the movements instinctual after years of practice. Jisung and Minho follow your lead, though it’s clear neither of them has the same muscle memory. Jisung struggles with the laces, muttering a string of curses under his breath, while Minho frowns at his skates like they’ve personally offended him.

“Here,” you say, getting up and kneeling in front of Jisung. “Let me.”

Jisung freezes for a moment, then smirks as you begin retying his laces, your fingers moving quickly but carefully. Over your head, he wiggles his eyebrows at Minho, who rolls his eyes but can’t hide the faint quirk of his lips.

“You’re insufferable,” Minho mouths silently at Jisung, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“You’ve got to lace them like this,” you explain, tugging the laces tight. “It’s like when you wrapped my wrist for hitting the pads. It’s the same principle. Tight enough to protect your ankles but not so tight it cuts off circulation.”

Jisung hums in understanding, watching you with a fond smile. “You’re like a skate whisperer.”

“Shut up,” you say, but you’re smiling as you finish and move on to Minho’s skates. You crouch in front of him, repeating the process. Minho watches you quietly, his expression soft as you work.

“You’re really good at this,” he says after a moment.

“Well, it’s second nature at this point,” you reply, glancing up at him briefly. “Thirteen years and all that.”

Minho nods, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Thanks.”

Once everyone’s skates are secure, you stand, brushing your hands against your jumpsuit. “Alright, let’s do this.”

You step onto the ice with ease, your movements fluid and graceful as you glide across the rink. The cold air bites at your cheeks, but it’s familiar, comforting. You pick up speed, spinning in place and lifting one leg behind you in an effortless arabesque.

Minho stops at the edge of the rink, blinking. “Well, shit.”

Jisung stares, his jaw dropping. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

You laugh, skating backwards to face them. “Come on, guys. It’s not that hard.”

Minho and Jisung exchange a glance before gingerly stepping onto the ice. Immediately, they both wobble, their arms flailing slightly for balance. Minho grits his teeth, muttering a curse, while Jisung lets out a string of nervous laughter.

“I’m going to die,” Jisung announces dramatically, clutching Minho’s arm for support.

“You’ll be fine,” you say, skating over to a nearby rack. You return with two penguin supports, the kind designed for children, and slide them toward the pair. “Here. These should help.”

Jisung stares at the penguin like it’s an insult. “Seriously?”

“You want to fall on your ass, or do you want to skate?”

Minho snickers, grabbing one of the penguins. “You look cute, Ji. Like a big kid.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jisung grumbles, but he takes the support anyway. “This is humiliating.”

You glide effortlessly across the ice, your movements smooth and fluid as you circle around Minho and Jisung, who are clutching their penguin supports like their lives depend on it. The contrast between your grace and their awkward stumbling is almost too much to handle.

“Show-off,” Jisung mutters, his feet skidding out from under him for the third time in thirty seconds.

“You love it,” you tease, skating backwards with ease as you flash him a cheeky grin.

Minho lets out a dry laugh, his beret somehow still perfectly in place despite the way he clings to his penguin. “I feel like Bambi learning to walk.”

“You look like Bambi learning to walk,” you quip, spinning in a quick circle before continuing your laps.

The two of them wobble and slide, their movements anything but coordinated. Every time Jisung tries to pick up speed, his penguin wobbles dangerously, forcing him to stop. Minho isn’t faring much better, though he’s at least managed not to fall. So far.

“Fuck this,” Jisung grumbles, glaring at the penguin as if it’s personally offended him.

You can’t help but laugh, your voice ringing out across the rink. “You’re doing great, Ji.”

“Shut up!” Jisung retorts, though the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

As if to prove his point, he leans forward on the penguin, trying to push off with more force. But the extra weight causes the penguin to tilt forward, and before he can react, both he and the penguin hit the ice with a loud thud.

“Fuck!” Jisung yells, sprawled on the ice as the penguin lies face down beside him.

Minho, who’s been watching the entire thing, bursts into laughter. It starts as a chuckle but quickly escalates into full-blown cackling. He’s laughing so hard that he loses his own balance, his feet slipping out from under him as he crashes onto the ice next to Jisung.

“Bullshit!” Jisung declares, sitting up and glaring at Minho. “This is fucking bullshit. Minho, I take back everything I’ve ever said about your intelligence. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Minho is too busy laughing to respond, tears streaming down his face as he tries to catch his breath. “Oh my God,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Jisung scowls, nudging Minho with his foot. “You’re a dick.”

You skate over to them, crouching down beside their tangled forms with a bemused smile. “You two okay, or do we need to call an ambulance?”

Jisung narrows his eyes at you, a mischievous glint flickering in them. “Oh, you think this is funny?”

Before you can answer, Jisung reaches out and grabs your wrist, yanking you down onto the ice with them. You land with an unceremonious thump between the two of them, your arms flailing as you try to brace yourself.

“Jisung!” you yelp, glaring at him as you sit up.

He grins, looking far too pleased with himself. “Now we’re all on the same level.”

Minho finally manages to compose himself enough to smirk at you. “Welcome to the chaos.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. “You two are ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” Jisung says smugly, echoing your earlier words.

“Debatable,” you tease, but the warmth in your eyes betrays you.

Jisung shifts closer to you on the ice, his hands sliding to your waist as his dark eyes meet yours. There’s a flicker of mischief and something deeper in his gaze before he leans in, capturing your lips with his. The kiss is warm and insistent, his fingers digging into your sides just enough to ground you in the surreal moment.

Minho sits beside the two of you, his posture deceptively casual as he watches. His gaze flickers between your lips and Jisung’s hands on you, his teeth dragging across his bottom lip as he suppresses a groan. Something about seeing Jisung kiss you, your soft gasp, the way your body melts into the kiss, makes his skin tingle and his throat tighten.

Jisung pulls back slightly, his lips curving into a smug grin. “We could head to the staffroom,” he suggests, his eyebrows waggling.

You laugh breathlessly, still slightly dazed. “This jumpsuit isn’t exactly quickie-suitable.”

Minho clears his throat, smirking as he adjusts the collar of his shirt. “Besides, we’re doing this properly, you horny fiend,” he chides, his voice steady but teasing. “We’re not hooking up with her casually. We’re romancing her. Woo City Central.”

Jisung sighs dramatically, flopping onto his back. “You’re right,” he grumbles, though there’s no real disappointment in his tone.

You blink, the words catching your attention. “Not casual?”

Jisung lifts his head, grinning at you. “Oh, you haven’t figured it out? Pretty airhead, hmm?”

Minho chuckles, leaning closer as his hand brushes against your cheek. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re a lot dumber than you look, huh?”

Your lips part to protest, but before you can, Minho’s lips are on yours. His kiss is harder, more insistent, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. It’s a sharp contrast to Jisung’s earlier kiss, where Jisung teased, Minho demands.

Jisung groans from beside you, his hand sliding down to palm himself through his trousers. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

Minho pulls back just enough to glance at Jisung, his lips curling into a smirk. “Bad Jisung,” he scolds, his tone mockingly stern. “Do you want to get frostbite on your dick?”

Jisung grins unapologetically, his eyes dark with heat. “I’ll happily risk it.”

Minho sighs, his forehead resting against yours as he brushes his thumb across your cheek. “We’re going out for food later, remember?”

“Oh yeah!” Jisung exclaims, perking up instantly as he sits up. “Dinner plans. Can’t forget those.”

Minho chuckles, finally pulling back but not before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “C’mon,” he says, standing and extending a hand to help you up. “We’ve got plenty of time for everything else later.”

Your cheeks burn as you let him pull you to your feet, your thoughts swirling. They weren’t kidding about the whole not casual thing and now, you’re not sure how you’ll survive the rest of the night.

The restaurant is tucked into a quiet corner of the city, its understated exterior hiding the cosy luxury inside. The three of you are escorted to a private room, the soft glow of hanging lanterns creating a warm and intimate atmosphere. At the centre of the low table is a built-in grill, the heat already radiating faintly.

You settle into the plush cushion across from Minho and Jisung, smoothing the fabric of your jumpsuit as you adjust your pearl necklace. The room is quiet except for the faint hum of conversation from other private rooms, giving you the perfect bubble of privacy.

Jisung leans back with a grin, pulling the menu toward him. “Alright, here’s the deal,” he says, his tone conspiratorial. “Minho’s love language is cooking. So just let him do everything, because if we try to help, he’ll hiss at us like a fucking feral cat.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, not bothering to deny it as he rolls up his sleeves. “I’m not that bad.”

“Bullshit,” Jisung says, pointing at Minho with the corner of the menu. “You’re worse. You’ll even feed us because that’s how you express love. But, and this is important, if you try to touch the chopsticks, he will swat your hands away. It’s like trying to take food from a tiger.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Got it. No chopsticks. Let Minho do his thing.”

Jisung nods approvingly and waves down the server. “We’ll take the bibimbap ingredients and a platter of assorted meats for grilling. Also, soju for me and her, and soda for the chef over here.”

Minho snorts as the server leaves, setting the table with plates and utensils before disappearing. “I like how I’m reduced to chef.”

Jisung leans over, kissing Minho’s cheek. “You’re my sexy chef.”

Minho rolls his eyes but smiles as he starts arranging the grilling tools. When the server returns with the soju and soda, Jisung pours a generous shot for you and himself, raising his glass. “To surviving ice skating with minimal injuries.”

“And to your future culinary masterpiece,” you add, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip.

Minho sets the platter of meats on the grill, the sizzle filling the room as the aroma of seasoned beef wafts through the air. He works methodically, flipping the strips of meat, his expression calm and focused.

Meanwhile, Jisung turns his attention to you. “Alright, random question time. What’s your favourite colour? And if you say blue just because you’re wearing it, I’m calling bullshit.”

You laugh, swirling your soju. “Green, actually.”

Jisung gasps dramatically. “Minho! Green! She’s practically your soulmate. Your plants would love her.”

Minho glances up from the grill, his lips twitching into a smirk. “I think my plants would approve.”

Jisung continues firing off questions. Your favourite ice cream flavour, your go-to karaoke song, your weirdest hobby. Somewhere along the line, the conversation shifts, and he dives headfirst into the Princess Diana conspiracy theories.

“So, hear me out,” Jisung says, leaning forward like he’s about to drop the secret of the century. “What if it wasn’t an accident? What if one of the British MI-”

“Oh, please,” you interrupt, waving your chopsticks. “Jeongin and I have been over this a million times. It was too convenient. The paparazzi were just a cover.”

Minho shakes his head, flipping the meat. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes,” you and Jisung reply in unison, making Minho chuckle despite himself.

As the meat finishes grilling, Minho picks up a perfectly cooked strip with his chopsticks and holds it out to you. You instinctively reach out to take it, but Minho swats your hand away with a sharp flick of his fingers.

“Uh-uh,” he says, his voice amused. “Open.”

You blink, momentarily surprised, but you do as he says. Minho gently feeds you the meat, his eyes watching yours as you chew. It’s tender and flavorful, the perfect bite.

“Good?” he asks, his tone soft.

“Perfect,” you reply, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

Jisung claps his hands together. “Alright, chef, my turn!” He leans forward eagerly, and Minho rolls his eyes but obliges, holding out a piece of meat for him as well.

Two hours and several bottles of soju later, the three of you spill out of the restaurant. The night air is cool against your flushed skin as you giggle uncontrollably, your arm hooked tightly around Minho’s. On his other side, Jisung stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet before Minho steadies him with a firm grip.

“You two are ridiculous,” Minho mutters, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you and Jisung dissolve into another fit of laughter.

“You love it,” Jisung says, slurring slightly as he leans heavily against Minho. His gold chain glints under the streetlights, and his grin is unabashedly cheeky.

“I think I like you, Min,” you declare dramatically, clutching his arm like he’s your lifeline.

“You’re adorable,” Minho replies dryly, his tone betraying the affection in his eyes. “Now let’s get you both into the car before you faceplant on the sidewalk.”

With one of you on each arm, Minho expertly guides you both to the car, his patience saintlike as you and Jisung trip over your own feet. By the time you reach the car, you’re hiccupping with laughter, and Jisung is humming a song that doesn’t seem to have an actual melody.

Minho sighs, opening the back door and gently manoeuvring Jisung inside first. “In you go, jagi,” he says, pushing him into the seat.

Jisung flops back with a dramatic groan, throwing an arm over his eyes. “This is so comfy,” he mutters.

Minho turns to you next, his hands firm but careful as he helps you into the seat beside Jisung. “Your turn,” he says, buckling your seatbelt like you’re a tipsy toddler. “Try not to kill each other back here, okay?”

You nod solemnly, which would be more convincing if you weren’t giggling the entire time. Minho finally shuts the door and rounds the car, sliding into the driver’s seat with a long-suffering sigh.

As he starts the engine, he hears a faint click from the backseat. Glancing in the rearview mirror, his eyes widen at the sight. You’ve unbuckled your seatbelt and climbed onto Jisung’s lap, your hands tangled in his hair as your mouths move together in a heated kiss. Jisung’s hands are on your hips, guiding them to rock against him as he groans into your mouth.

Minho bites his lip, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he feels a rush of heat pool low in his stomach. “Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes flicking between the road and the mirror.

Jisung’s fingers slide down to your ass, gripping it tightly as his other hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The sound of your soft whimpers and Jisung’s quiet groans fills the car, and Minho feels his self-control slipping with every passing second.

“You’re our girl now, yeah?” Jisung murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with want.

You nod silently, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Jisung’s grin is wicked as he presses another searing kiss to your lips, pulling you closer and making your hips grind harder against him.

From the front seat, Minho exhales sharply. “So much for romancing it,” he says, his voice strained as he adjusts himself in the driver’s seat.

Jisung pulls back just enough to smirk at Minho in the mirror. “I think she likes this way,” he says, his tone teasing as his hands tighten on your waist.

Minho tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he forces his eyes to stay on the road. But the sounds coming from the backseat are impossible to ignore.

Every soft whimper, every muffled groan, every wet, needy kiss reaches his ears and sends a sharp thrill through him. Despite himself, his gaze flicks to the rearview mirror, and what he sees makes his breath hitch.

Jisung’s hands are firm on your waist, guiding your movements as your hips roll against him. His head tips back briefly, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as his hips buck up in time with the motion. You’re straddling him, your hands buried in his hair as your lips move together in a desperate, messy kiss. Your soft whines are muffled against his mouth, your body arching as you cling to him like he’s the only thing grounding you.

Minho swallows hard, the heat in his chest spreading lower. “Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the sounds of your shared desperation.

Jisung shudders, his chest heaving as his grip on your hips tightens. “Fuck,” he groans, his voice rough and breathless. He presses his forehead against yours, his dark eyes glazed with need as his fingers dig into your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Minho forces himself to look away, his jaw clenched as he focuses on the road. The tension in his body is palpable, his breathing heavier than he’d like to admit. But just when he thinks he’s regained control, another sound from the backseat pulls his attention back to the mirror.

Jisung’s hips stutter beneath you as he lets out a strangled moan, his body shuddering as his grip on you falters momentarily. You follow seconds later, your head falling against his shoulder as a high-pitched whimper escapes your lips. Both of you slump against each other, your chests heaving as you come down from the high.

Your lips move lazily against Jisung’s in the aftermath, the kisses slow and sloppy but no less hungry. Minho exhales sharply, shifting in his seat as he struggles to ignore the heat coursing through him. “You two are going to fucking kill me,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

Jisung glances up briefly, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “Eyes on the road, Min,” he says, his voice rough but teasing as he presses another kiss to your temple.

Minho grits his teeth, refocusing on the drive. But the image of the two of you tangled together is seared into his mind, and he knows it’s going to be a long night in more ways than one.

Minho pulls into the driveway of the Alpha Phi frat house, parking neatly before cutting the engine. Without a word, he gets out and opens the back door, ushering you and Jisung out with a roll of his eyes as both of you stumble slightly, still giggling and leaning on each other for support.

“Upstairs,” Minho commands, his voice firm but laced with amusement as he hooks an arm around Jisung and places his other hand gently on the small of your back, steering you both toward the door. “Before you embarrass yourselves in front of anyone else.”

“We’d never,” Jisung protests, though his slurred words and tipsy wobble say otherwise.

Inside the house, the late hour has left the main floor quiet, and Minho takes advantage of the calm to herd you both up the stairs to his room. The cosy space smells faintly of fresh linen and the faint citrusy scent of his cologne. Minho flicks on the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow across the room.

“Clothes,” Minho says, rummaging through his dresser and pulling out two oversized t-shirts and pairs of sweatpants. He tosses one set to Jisung, who catches it with a wide grin, and holds the other out to you. “Put these on before you fall asleep in your fancy shit.”

You glance at the clothes, then back at him. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Minho replies, his voice exasperated but fond. “I’m not dealing with you whining about creased jumpsuits in the morning.”

You sigh dramatically, setting the t-shirt and sweatpants on the bed before reaching behind you to unzip your jumpsuit. Jisung is already halfway undressed, pulling the t-shirt over his head as his trousers drop to the floor. But when you peel off your jumpsuit, revealing a matching green lace bra and boyshorts, both Minho and Jisung freeze.

Minho’s lips part slightly, his eyes trailing over the intricate lace hugging your figure, the green contrasting beautifully against your skin. Beside him, Jisung groans audibly, his hand twitching at his side before it cups himself through his sweatpants. “Fuck,” Jisung mutters, his voice thick. “You’re so-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Minho cuts in sharply, though the edge in his tone is undercut by the way his gaze lingers.

You pretend not to notice as you pull on Minho’s t-shirt, the fabric falling just below the tops of your thighs. The sweatpants remain untouched on the bed. “Too warm for those,” you say, pointing at the pants as you climb onto the bed.

Jisung lets out a breathy laugh, tugging on his own t-shirt before flopping down beside you. “You’re killing us, you know that?”

Minho sighs, dragging a hand down his face before slipping off his beret and tossing it onto the dresser. “Okay, you two,” he says, his tone firm. “Bedtime.”

Jisung grins mischievously, crawling up the bed and pulling you with him. “Minho,” he says sweetly, his voice lilting with suggestion. “Let us help you.”

You nod in agreement, your eyes wide and teasing. “You deserve it.”

Minho’s lips twitch into a grin as he lets out a low chuckle. “Fine,” he says, climbing onto the bed and lying back against the pillows. “Go on, then.”

Jisung giggles as he turns to you, his hands sliding up to cradle your face as he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s soft at first, almost tender, but it quickly deepens as his lips move against yours with a growing urgency. The kiss is intoxicating, leaving you breathless as your fingers tangle in his hair.

Minho watches from beneath half-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling steadily as his hand drifts to the waistband of his trousers. He palms himself lazily, his touch light as he watches you and Jisung kiss, the heat in his gaze burning brighter with every soft whimper and muffled groan.

Jisung’s lips leave yours for a moment, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he murmurs, “She’s perfect, isn’t she, Min?”

“Fucking perfect,” Minho replies, his voice low and rough as his hand presses harder against himself.

Minho lies back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, his breathing still heavy and his body far too aware of its unmet need. The bed shifts slightly as Jisung and you snuggle closer to each other in your sleep, soft snores escaping both of you. He glances over and nearly chokes on a laugh at the sight.

You and Jisung, curled up like contented cats, are completely dead to the world. Your lips are slightly parted, your body curled instinctively into Jisung’s side. Jisung has one arm thrown haphazardly across your waist, his face smushed into the pillow, and both of you look blissfully unaware of Minho’s predicament.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Minho mutters, though his lips twitch with amusement. The situation is absurd, he’s rock hard, practically squirming, while his boyfriend and new girlfriend are passed out like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

A giggle escapes him, soft at first but quickly escalating into a full-body laugh. He claps a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he tries not to wake you or Jisung. The harder he tries to stop, the funnier it all seems, and soon he’s burying his face in the pillow to muffle the sound.

Eventually, Minho gives up on willing his problem away. “Jesus Christ,” he groans, sliding out of bed as quietly as possible. He grabs a clean towel from the dresser and pads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

The warm spray of the shower does little to soothe him at first, his mind racing with images of you and Jisung in the car. He leans one hand against the tiled wall, the other sliding down as he exhales shakily.

The way you’d straddled Jisung, your hips rocking against him, the breathless sounds you’d both made. It all plays in his mind like a vivid, erotic film. Minho bites his fist, stifling a groan as he gives in to the memory. His breath comes in uneven pants, the heat of the water cascading over his shoulders doing nothing to cool the fire coursing through him.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his movements quick and desperate as he chases relief. His mind is a whirlwind of you, Jisung, and the heat that had radiated off both of you. It doesn’t take long before he shudders, his knees nearly buckling as he leans heavily against the wall.

The water washes away the evidence of his release, and he exhales deeply, feeling the tension finally leave his body. “Better,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head as he shuts off the water.

Minho dries off quickly, pulling on a pair of soft sweatpants before heading back into the bedroom. The sight that greets him pulls a small smile to his lips. Jisung and you are exactly as he left you, tangled together in a heap of limbs and blankets.

Carefully, Minho tucks the blankets around the two of you, his hands gentle as he adjusts the covers. He hesitates for a moment, watching your peaceful expressions, before climbing into the bed on your other side. He manoeuvres himself so that you’re nestled between him and Jisung, the three of you forming a warm, protective cocoon.

As he drapes an arm over your waist, his fingers brushing against Jisung’s, a wave of contentment washes over him. The night has been chaotic, messy, and entirely unexpected but it’s also felt right in a way that Minho hasn’t experienced before.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, then to Jisung’s shoulder, before settling in. “Goodnight, loves,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic sounds of your breathing.

The sun streams through the windows of the Alpha Phi frat house, casting golden light across the hallway where Jeongin, Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, and Seungmin are gathered, whispering and snickering like schoolchildren. They’re huddled just outside Minho’s door, their curiosity about the previous night reaching a fever pitch.

“You think they fucked?” Hyunjin asks, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with mischief.

“Of course, they didn’t,” Seungmin mutters, rolling his eyes. “Minho’s too much of a perfectionist. It’d have to be candles, music, and some five-star hors d'oeuvres first.”

Felix giggles, clutching Jeongin’s arm. “But what if they did? Imagine the chaos.”

Chan, ever the ringleader, presses a finger to his lips to silence them. “Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, pushing the door open just a crack to peek inside.

What he sees makes him freeze for half a second before a wide grin spreads across his face. He motions for the others to look, and one by one, they peer through the door, their laughter barely contained.

Inside, you’re sandwiched between Jisung and Minho, still fast asleep. Jisung’s arm is draped over your waist, his face tucked into your hair, while Minho’s hand rests protectively on your hip, his body curled against yours. The blanket is haphazardly thrown over the three of you, and the peaceful scene is both heartwarming and hilarious given the frat’s usual chaos.

“Oh my God,” Jeongin whispers, pulling out his phone. “We need pictures. This is too good.”

One by one, they start snapping photos, their phones clicking softly as they try to stifle their giggles. Hyunjin nearly drops his phone when Changbin elbows him, his laughter threatening to burst free.

Suddenly, Jisung stirs, his face scrunching as he lets out a low groan. “What the fuck…” he mumbles, blinking blearily as he turns toward the doorway. His hungover brain processes the scene slowly, but when it clicks, he frowns deeply.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Jisung grumbles, his voice hoarse. He shifts slightly, making sure the blanket covers you properly, shielding your barely dressed form from prying eyes. “Piss off.”

“Good morning, sunshine,” Chan teases, snapping one last picture before ducking out of sight.

Jisung groans again, rubbing his temple. “I hate all of you.”

The commotion is enough to wake Minho, who sits up with a start, his sharp eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene. He spots the group of frat brothers clustered outside the door, phones in hand, and his jaw tightens.

“Jeongin!” Minho barks, throwing the blanket off as he leaps out of bed. “You little shits!”

Jeongin squeals, bolting down the hallway with the others close behind. Minho snatches a handful of tissues from the bedside table as he gives chase, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor.

“Minho, no!” Jeongin yells, laughing so hard he nearly trips. “It was Chan’s idea!”

“You’re all dead!” Minho shouts, his voice echoing down the hall.

He catches Hyunjin first, tackling him to the ground and straddling him with surprising ease. “Open wide,” Minho says, his voice deceptively calm as he shoves the tissues into Hyunjin’s mouth.

“Mmmph!” Hyunjin protests, flailing his arms, but Minho grabs his wrists and pins them to the floor.

“You should’ve thought about this before you joined the fucking paparazzi,” Minho says, his tone dripping with mock menace.

“Min!” Jisung’s voice calls from the bedroom, cutting through the chaos. “Can you start on coffee and breakfast? You’ve got two hungover lovers in here!”

Minho freezes, his expression shifting from murderous to begrudgingly affectionate in a heartbeat. “Of course,” he shouts back, releasing Hyunjin with a pat on the cheek. “You’re lucky,” he mutters before heading back toward his room.

Jisung’s voice follows him. “We’ll be down in ten!”

Minho shakes his head, chuckling softly as he makes his way downstairs. He pulls out ingredients from the fridge, eggs, bacon, and bread for toast, moving with practised efficiency. As the smell of sizzling bacon fills the kitchen, he feels a sense of contentment settle over him.

Minho is in the kitchen, carefully plating up scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and golden toast. The coffee pot hums softly as it finishes brewing, and he pours two steaming mugs, knowing full well his hungover partners are going to need it. The sound of shuffling footsteps and soft groans pulls his attention to the doorway.

Jisung appears first, his hair a chaotic mess and sunglasses perched on his nose despite the dim lighting inside. Behind him, you shuffle in, similarly dishevelled and wearing one of Minho’s oversized basketball shorts, the waistband tied in a haphazard knot to keep them from falling. You’ve also got sunglasses on, though they don’t quite hide the exhaustion etched into your features.

Minho sets the plates down with a smirk. “Look at you two,” he coos, his tone dripping with faux sweetness. “My poor, hungover babies.”

“Shut up,” Jisung mumbles, collapsing onto the couch and immediately reaching for one of the coffee mugs. “I can hear colours right now, and I don’t like it.”

You flop down beside Jisung, groaning as you grab the other coffee. “Min, why did you let us drink so much?”

“I didn’t let you do anything,” Minho replies, amused, as he carries the plates to the coffee table and sits beside you both. He starts eating without ceremony, entirely unaffected by the previous night’s chaos.

You and Jisung nurse your coffee in silence for a moment before Jisung looks over at Minho, squinting through his sunglasses. “Hey, Min,” he starts, his voice scratchy. “What did you do last night? We fell asleep pretty early.”

Minho glances at him, entirely unbothered, as he sips his coffee. “Jerked it in the shower.”

Both you and Jisung burst into laughter, the sound unrestrained but quickly turning into groans as the movement jolts your heads. You clutch your temples, wincing. “Fuck, it hurts to laugh,” you complain, leaning into Minho’s shoulder for support.

Minho chuckles, setting his mug down. “That’s what you get for overdoing it.” He stands and walks to the window, pulling the curtains closed to block out the offending sunlight. “Better?”

“Much,” Jisung says, his voice muffled as he leans back against the couch, coffee mug still clutched in his hands.

The three of you settle into the couch, the aroma of breakfast wafting around the room. You and Jisung pick at the food, your movements slow and deliberate, while Minho continues eating with the precision of someone who didn’t wake up feeling like death.

When the food is gone, you and Jisung instinctively lean into Minho, your bodies slotting against his like puzzle pieces. He wraps an arm around each of you, pulling you closer as he grabs the remote. “How about we put on something soothing?” he suggests, scrolling through the options until he lands on Bridgerton.

“Scandal and corsets,” Jisung mumbles. “Perfect.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the soft sounds of the show mingling with the occasional hum of Minho’s approval as he strokes both your heads. His fingers are gentle as they thread through your hair, the motion lulling you and Jisung into a haze of comfort.

One by one, you both fall asleep, your breathing evening out as you curl into Minho’s chest. He glances down at you and Jisung, his expression softening as he adjusts the blankets to ensure you’re both covered. His arms tighten around you, his touch protective and tender.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” he murmurs quietly, his lips brushing against the crown of your head.

Despite his words, there’s no trace of complaint in his voice. Minho sits there, holding you both like you’re the most precious things in the world, the quiet hum of contentment filling the space.

For the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly as it should be.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

[redvexillum]

I want to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude to everyone who took the time to comment, reblog, and show support for something that was both utterly ridiculous and deeply heartbreaking. Last year was particularly difficult for me due to the wave of hateful messages I received for something as simple as writing fanfiction—a hobby meant to bring joy and connection. But the kindness and support from this fandom have far outweighed the negativity, and for that, I’m truly thankful.

I’d like to give a special shoutout to those who left such thoughtful reblog messages—@peach-flavored-flambe @redfoxwritesstuff, @witch-of-the-writing-desk, @dewdropdinosaur, @toxic-gorgon, @tune-on-in-folks, @synamartia, @fraugwinska, @alastorthirsty, @starmover

Your words, your time, and your kindness did not go unnoticed. It means more than I can say to know that there are people out there who see me and choose to stand by me.

Sometimes, being online feels strange, doesn’t it? There’s this odd mix of feeling like part of a group, yet also feeling so isolated. As human beings, we crave physical presence, touch, and face-to-face connection. The online world, while beautiful in many ways, can sometimes amplify that sense of disconnect. And when you’re on the receiving end of hate, it can drive that knife in even deeper—at least, that’s how it feels for me.

But the support from you all has been a light in that darkness. It’s helped me feel a little less isolated and reminded me that, even though I’m just a stranger on the internet, there are people out there who took the time to care. That kindness, that simple act of standing up for someone you don’t even know, speaks volumes. Words can’t truly express how much I appreciate every one of you for that.

To the anon and the individual who started this whole thing: criticism is fine. It’s part of sharing your work. But hate? That has no place here. If you want to engage with others, do so with respect. Hiding behind anonymity to tear someone down isn’t necessary or welcome.

Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who has shown me support. It’s not easy to step into someone else’s drama, and yet so many of you chose to do so with kindness and empathy. Please know that your support made this gal feel truly seen, valued, and a little less alone.

With all my love and gratitude,

RedVexi 💖🫂

PSA: RACISM, BIGOTRY, ENTITLEMENT IN HAZBIN HOTEL FANDOM

CONTENT WARNING: Inflammatory hate speech, White hate, political baiting, gaslighting, racism, death threats

The messages I’ve received and am addressing below contain upsetting and harmful language that has no place in any community. If these topics are distressing to you, please prioritize your well-being and feel free to stop reading here. Thank you for taking care of yourself.

I never imagined I would find myself addressing this, but here we are. This post is regarding my recent story, Stay With Me, which has stirred up unexpected controversy due to my decision to imply the reader’s race as white. I want to clarify that this choice was made purely for plot purposes.

The story is set in 1920s Louisiana, a time and place where racial and class dynamics were deeply significant. This backdrop was essential to the narrative’s themes of tension and forbidden love, as it explores the societal barriers that would have made a relationship between Alastor and the reader virtually impossible. The decision to depict the reader as an upper-class white individual was not arbitrary—it was intentional, aimed at heightening the drama and emotional weight of their story.

I deeply value the Hazbin Hotel fandom and the x-reader community. Writing for this space has brought me immense joy, and I’ve formed wonderful connections with both readers and fellow writers. That’s why receiving such hateful and inflammatory messages has been incredibly disheartening. The accusations of racism, the vitriol, and the twisting of my creative choices into something they were never meant to be—this has shaken me more than I can express.

To the anonymous senders of these messages: I want to make it clear that my work comes from a place of love and passion. My intention has always been to tell compelling stories that explore complex emotions, societal norms, and the human condition—stories that resonate with readers on a deeper level. To reduce my work to a political agenda or an act of prejudice is deeply hurtful and entirely unfounded.

I want to echo sentiments shared by Kit (please check out her explanation here), another writer in the fandom, who also explored the racial and class dynamics between characters. Like them, I am fascinated by the tension and drama that arise from star-crossed love stories, particularly when societal laws and prejudices forbid such relationships. Writing the reader as white in this context wasn’t about excluding or favoring anyone—it was about creating an authentic narrative rooted in the realities of the era.

For those questioning why I made this choice, I ask: if you can suspend disbelief to fall in love with a cannibalistic, asexual deer demon, why is the reader’s race—chosen for specific plot reasons—the line you cannot cross? My goal as a writer is to craft stories that make sense within their own context. The entitlement to demand otherwise, or to impose personal prejudices onto my work, is unfair and unwarranted.

I hate that I’ve had to turn off anonymous asks. Some of the most heartfelt and hilarious messages I’ve received have come from anonymous users, and losing that connection with my readers pains me. But unfortunately, the actions of a loud, hateful minority have left me with no choice. I will not entertain further discourse on this matter after this post.

To those who have supported me, who have read my stories and shared kind words: thank you. Your encouragement is what keeps me going. Writing for this fandom has been a labor of love, and I pour my heart and soul into every piece I create—for free, might I add. It’s devastating to feel that love overshadowed by hostility.

I won’t let this stop me from creating, but I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t made me question my place here. To anyone who feels entitled to tear down what others create out of hatred or spite: I hope you take a moment to reflect on the harm your words can cause.

To my true supporters: I appreciate you more than words can express. Your kindness reminds me why I love writing in the first place. Thank you for standing by me.

[cherrixpie]

Hiiiii I’m so so excited for your requests being open!!! Also CONGRATS ON 300!!!!!!! so deserved.

If it’s alright, may I please req an Enzo fic or headcanon list where reader is like very day dreamy? Like very head in the clouds type of person, preferably Ravenclaw!reader? Anything else is up to you

Thank you so so much for reading my req, and happy new year!

↬ enzo x dreamy!ravenclaw!reader

I imagine your first encounter being when you ran into him in the corridors one day, completely caught up in one of your vivid daydreams, when you, not for the first time (that day) run straight into someone.

You apologize profusely to the pretty slytherin boy you ran into, his cute smile only worsening your embarrassment.

Despite being in the same grade, you only know so much as a last name about him. Your friend groups have no overlap at all, you barely have any classes together and you have a hard time concentrating in those, so you had never greatly noticed a lot of things about him.

Like how cute and radiant his smile is. How good you could drown in those brown eyes of his. How gentle his hands are, even when he's picking up old schoolbooks. His dimples. His smooth voice. How kind he is, despite you staring at him for a good minute, completely lost in thought (and his eyes)

You are awkward and stutter a lot, but Enzo thinks it's cute. Though he does recommend you see Madam Pomphrey for advice in case you need glasses. At this, you explain your habit of daydreaming, feeling embarrassed, but he only comments how this must be the creative spirit of Ravenclaw

Ever since then, you can't help but notice him more often. You tend to wake out of your daydreams in class whenever Enzo says something, and you notice that he's a good student and almost always right.

You also notice a lot of other things. How he crouches down to pet every cat that crosses his path. How he seems to be Mattheo Riddle’s cooling down pill. That he tends to spill ink on his fingers from writing so fast and proceeds to clean them with a silken handkerchief.

The next time you properly meet is in Hogsmeade’s book store. The Hogwarts library doesn't have many novels and even less muggle books, so you get your supply from Hogsmeade. You run into each other in the muggle section, greeting each other shyly and you somehow find yourself recommending a book.

You thought that would be the end of it, even though your thoughts sometimes slip away to a parallel universe where you could spend more time drowning in those brown eyes. But it isn't.

Only a week later, Enzo calls out to you after class (he has to call your name several times), running up to you and thanking you for the recommendation. Since books are one of the few things you can actually concentrate on, you end up discussing the novel with him in great detail.

That evening in the library, Enzo comes to sit next to you at your usual desk. You realize you can keep your mind on school stuff much better when he's around, somehow. But over your hopeless pining, you tend to miss the flush of his cheeks and flustered expression whenever you accidentally touch hands or you talk passionately about a book.

His friends start noticing that he hangs out with that one Ravenclaw girl that always seems a thousand miles away recently, especially when he starts walking you to classes you have together instead of going with them.

They tease Enzo for falling for someone who's got their heads in the clouds all the time, for ditching them for the quiet mooncalf ravenclaw girl in their grade, but he only scoffs about their teasing remarks and smiles to himself, making them holler with glee.

It took a while for you two to actually cross your platonic boundaries, though. Mainly because his attempts and nudges went right over your oblivious head and you stocked up all signs to your amorous daydreams. Enzo couldn't possibly like you like that, right? It had to be a fickle of your imagination.

Little did you know that Enzo was growing quite desperate as time went on and you failed to pick up on any of his hints. Or did you, and ignored them because you weren't interested in him romantically?

He had one or two smaller breakdowns with his friends who kept reassuring him that he just had to man up and ask you out.

When he finally did, you spaced out for a good few seconds, making him sweat with increasing unrest. When you finally got your mind back, you agreed enthusiastically, stumbling over your words and blushing furiously. Enzo was beyond relieved.

As your boyfriend, Enzo insists on walking you to every class, even those you don't have together, because your daydreaming not only makes you knock into people, objects or walls, but your sparse concentrations on your surroundings (he is the exception) makes you prone to fall for trick steps, false doors or moving stairs.

Enzo loves to listen to you talk. When you trail off in the middle of a sentence, fall silent and stare into space for a while, he waits patiently, caressing your thigh in gentle brushes and waiting for you to return to him.

Sometimes he will ask you to tell him about his daydreams, and when you do, you compliments your creativity and kisses away your embarrassment.

It's much easier to concentrate with Enzo around since his presence alone has the effect that it draws your attention, therefore anchoring you in the present. Especially effective is his touch, though he is a little shy about that.

Enzo would frown and glare at anyone who laughs about you behind your back, even if you tell him it doesn't bother you. If people tease you badly to the point of hurting you, he will call up his friends.

Is that… Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott beating up the Gryffindor guy that made fun of you? No, no, darling, don't look at that, just walk with me, yeah?

Enzo calls you his dreamy girl, affectionately referring to you as “dreamy” in general.

He makes sure to write extra orderly when he takes notes in class so they can be of use to you later in case you spaced out in class. When you study together, he always makes sure you drink enough because you tend to forget taking proper care of yourself sometimes.

If the hustle and bustle of school life makes you shifty and nervous, he looks for an empty classroom for the two of you to sit and talk, or lean into each other in silence while runs his fingers through your hair.

You are nervous around his friends, but once they realized how serious Enzo was about you, they have stopped teasing him (so much). Instead, they (at least some of them) make an effort to make you feel welcome (and maybe even making up for bullying you in the past pshhh)

Enzo is absolutely enamored with you and your endearing habits, and he feels honored by your trust. While you could get lost in daydreams for hours, he could spend an eternity being lost in you.

[drewdoa]

𒈔 ⸺ enforcer agenda ♡ viktor hcs/blurbs

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ a/n: hey there :)) happy new year!!! i’ve been gone for a little bit cause busy with family >.< BUT IM BACK WITH STUFF YAY!! i should be on my writing grind now that i’ll have spare time during school and such so i should be back to normal :D!! i hope you enjoy these blurbs cause they’re honestly my favorite

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ extra info: no gender specific reader!, a bit of flirtation, you’re in an enforcer uniform/gear, implied nsfw

ꕥ —

vik is so used to seeing people in uniform, but never in a billion years would he expect you to turn bluebelly! you’ve expressed before that enforcers make you feel some kind of way, you’ve seen what they’ve done to the people of zaun. however, caitlyn thought you could use some training incase something turned sideways. she suggested you train with the enforcers to learn a thing or two, which honestly isn’t a bad idea at all. so you took up the offer.

you knew viktor would get a kick out of this, you becoming stronger and in that heavy outfit. you could already hear his slick and funny comments in your head, teasing you and hints of flirting. at the end of the day, you still know he’d still have you arched like the bridge of progress.

rotting away in his lab as the sound of chalk scraping against his board travels around the sound waves. normally, viktor doesn’t bat an eye at the sound of the metal gear tapping across the halls nearby. until the sound of the tall wood doors that hide the lab cracked open, steps gradually getting louder. “you know, it’s just etiquette knocking before entering, don’t you agree?” viktor spat before turning his back and facing you. he stood there for a moment before placing down his pencil behind him.

“you-” he paused, relaxing his shoulders and taking the sight of you in. “look good. who gave you that?” the rest of his sentence flew out as he began to circle around you. “i got it from caitlyn’s closet, she surprisingly has bigger sizes but that’s probably cause of vi”

“no complaints here, it fits you perfectly” viktor follows with a laugh. this lead to you coming into his lab often when you’ve got some extra time on your hands. even if it’s just to go in there and give him a kiss :)) (where you kiss him is up to you😋)

he 100% pulls you in with his cane, especially when you’re stuck guarding the hallways and can’t be caught slipping. coincidently, viktor had a spare moment and dedicated it all to you. let’s just say when you were back on duty your uniform looked like you’d been roughing it ;).

oh you’d so catch him wearing the uniform cause it smells like you. he wants anything that resembles you at all. gotta out him here, definitely a pervert to take your underwear and stash it in a box along with all your other personal things. he just wants reminders of you all the time <3 (this is also foreshadowing him tying one of your old shirts around his cane :)))

no surprises when it comes to viktors hidden talents, he would definitely take a blank book and write all of his thoughts about you in it. he’d think of it as his prized possession, never leaving it out of his sight, and especially keeping it away from you. viktor couldn’t bare the embarrassment honestly, imagining you reading the filthy things he’s written about you sends a chill down his spine. but its viktor we’re talking about here, he’d probably enjoy that. <3

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ hello!!! i feel like this was just a bit short but i have a few fics i’ll be releasing as soon as im finished up with them ! you pt 2 in the works as well for all you viktor lovers just like me <33 and im working on expanding my writing and will be working on stuff for new characters >v< hopefully you can stick around till then, thank you for reading - drew

[ciaradream8]

Where Are You (Part 2)

A/N: So I'm still upset with Zayne for not coming home when midnight hit during new years and before that (He rarely showed up at the cafe and when he did he was on his laptop the whole time). So I'm still letting out feelings and the new year is not being kind to me in RL as well. Just needed to vent in my own way so I made a part 2. I know I know those who commented wanted a better outcome and I PROMISE there will be happy ending. It's just going to take a few parts to get there. Please be patient with me. I didn't plan on making this more than 2 parts it just happened. I just went with the flow. I didn't really proofread this either so I'm sorry for the terrible writing. Like I said I was just venting in my own way.

Warnings: Angst (with a bit of comfort from Tara until later)

Words: 1.5K

If this is your first time reading this I suggest going to the first part:

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“Did you have a good new year’s?” Tara asked as she took a bite of her lunch.

“Yeah.” I replied, giving her a small smile. She put her fork down and gave me a look.

“What happened? You don’t look like someone who celebrated and is excited for the new year.” she frowned.

I sighed. After sending that text to Zayne he still had not replied. It’s been a couple of days. All I could see was that he read it, but he didn’t do anything beyond that point. I just felt worse after that. Everywhere I looked something reminded me of him. It didn’t help that Linkon was snowing. Even if someone mentioned snow he would just pop in my head and wouldn’t leave my mind for a long period of time. I didn’t want to tell Tara what happened for two reasons: I didn’t want to worry her and hearing it from my own mouth would make me cry again.

“I…I rather not talk about it.” I spoke up after a minute of silence. Tara opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It was strange. She normally would try to pry things open, but it appeared she noticed that I was feeling at my lowest. I had my downs, but this was by far the worst I have ever felt. Things have been going wrong since the Zayne situation happened: my packages went to the wrong address, my takeout orders have been way off, my reports had errors despite me double checking them, and more. Why was this happening? They didn’t involve Zayne yet after my breakup text things have been consistently going wrong.

“Okay. I won’t force you, but at least let me do a new year reading for you! It might help!” Tara offered.

“I…I don’t know.” I hesitated.

“Please? Pretty please?” She gave me her puppy eyes.

I gave a small laugh, “Okay. Go ahead.” To be honest, I was scared. Tara’s readings have usually been on point. Let’s see how terrible my year will be. I thought to myself. I watch Tara take out her cards with excitement after setting aside her lunch. She proceeds to lay out her cards on the table while I take another small bite of my lunch. After she finishes she puts her index finger to her chin and analyzes the cards. My heart rate speeds up due to nerves, but I try to quell it down and prepare myself for a negative year. Next thing I see from her face is a smile.

“You’re going to be fine, (Y/N). The beginning of the year is sometimes rough for everyone. I can see you were let down by someone for a while, but they have their reasons. I know. I know it’s no excuse and I can see you’re going to give them a fight. This special person of yours is willing to fight to win your heart again. No matter how long it takes. This year won’t be bad for you at all. I promise.” Tara placed her hand over her heart.

“Tara…you know who this special person is…” I sighed.

“I know. But I also know saying his name will hurt you more with the way you’re feeling now, right?”

“Thanks for not saying it.” I smiled.

“Of course! What are friends for? Let me read the rest.”

According to Tara, my career is still going to skyrocket along with my luck. I just had to get through a rough patch for the time being. I hated that. Luckily she said that it was for a very short time and that soon things will fall into place, but at the end of the day I made the choices in my life. Even though I didn’t tell her exactly what happened, she made me feel better.

3 Days Later

Mornings suck. I like being a hunter, but the only complaint I have is that we’re supposed to report for duty in the morning. I grabbed my phone to check the time and nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of what I saw on my screen.

A text message from Zayne.

He’s sending me a message NOW? Why? Wait. Should I have blocked him? But I can’t since he’s my primary physician. Maybe I can call Akso Hospital to see if I can switch. The less I see him the better. I thought to myself while I unlocked my phone to see what he sent. There was no explanation. Just one question:

Can we talk?

That was it. I slapped my forehead and laughed a bit. Was this man serious? This was the last thing I wanted to do. What if Tara was wrong in her reading? Zayne doesn’t want me. He probably got tired of me for all I know. “Think, (Y/N). Think. This is a bad idea. You’ll go crawling to him after the pain he put you through.” I shook my head. The pain of wanting to see him and being disappointed in him were fighting against each other. I needed to think with my head this time. “It’s fine. I can go on without him. I don’t need…I don’t need…” I couldn’t finish that sentence. I proceeded to cry in bed again while I clutched onto my phone.

After a good cry I decided not to answer. He never answered my texts so why should I? I don’t care if it was childish. I had the right to be like this since he was the one so busy with work that he ignored me, got annoyed with me when I tried to get him to pay attention, and ignored my messages and missed out on our celebration for the new year and first year anniversary. I’m a big girl who can live without him just fine.

“Hunters. This year is off to a slow start, but that doesn’t mean we have other things to take care of. Such as your physical.” Jenna announced and everyone groaned. “It is necessary that we have all these medical appointments to ensure that your body is doing well to keep going. Being a hunter is a big responsibility. It is my hope that one day that all wanderers are gone for good and that the city won’t need hunters anymore. That the world will no longer have to fear wanderers invading their home and we can live a peaceful life. We got a taste of that these past few weeks. Unfortunately, they are not gone. That is where you come in. Maintaining a healthy body and mind is necessary for jobs like these. You may have become strong in more ways than one, but at the end of the day we are human. We have our vulnerable side too and that’s okay. Your physical must be done by the end of the month and I will receive your medical report from your doctor.”

“Yes, Captain!” We all shouted.

“Good. All of you get back to work.” Jenna said before walking away. The moment we couldn't see Jenna’s silhouette Tara pulled me to the side.

“Are you going to be okay with that?” Tara asked with a worried look on her face.

“Honestly?” I bit my lip and shook my head. “Maybe I can switch doctors or have one of the doctors do it for me?”

“Do you really want to switch doctors?”

I looked to the side, “It doesn’t matter. It’s probably best.”

“(Y/N)...”

“We got weekly reports to do. We better get started on those.” I cut her off.

After finishing work and leaving the Hunter’s Association I saw that there was heavy rain. My remaining coworkers who stayed overtime with me were frustrated since the weather report didn’t mention anything about rain tonight. I groaned.

“Just my luck. I didn’t bring my raincoat or a thick jacket. Tara…I’m probably the first person whose reading is wrong.” I walked to the parking lot to get my motorcycle, but when I tried to turn it on, a weird nose spurted out. “Are you kidding me?!” I tried to turn it on again, but next thing I knew a bit of smoke came out. I am so close to screaming. I took a deep breath to try and calm down, but with everything falling apart it was becoming difficult. I walked out of the parking lot and got my phone out to call a taxi only to see my phone was dead. That was the last straw. I threw my phone as far as I could as I screamed.

“CAN THIS DAY GET ANY WORSE?!” I looked up while the rain poured. “I JUST WANT SOMETHING TO GO RIGHT? JUST ONCE. A SIGN OR SOMETHING WOULD BE NICE DAMN IT!” Tears began to roll down my cheeks while I panted. I heard footsteps behind me. I didn’t bother turning around, thinking it was a stranger who thought I was nuts. But it wasn’t a stranger.

“(Y/N).”

Impossible. I thought. I slowly turned around to face the person I was hoping not to see. He wore his black knitted shirt, dark gray coat and slacks. He held up his large, black umbrella above him.

“Zayne?”

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A/N: Thank you for letting me let things out. This year is already off to a rough start honestly, but at least it's giving me inspiration to write stuff like this? I'll probably just write whatever I want to write unless you guys have requests. I do know more than Love and Deepspace so if you're curious what more I can do you can ask and I will answer yes or no. Again I promise this will have a happy ending! I am just salty with Zayne hahaha

[doodlewizardry]

ooohhhh long long post!!!! [this is @doodlejoltik's main btw for any of the people I tagged that might not recognise it]

@pillowbugs aww thanks ! i didn't realise/remember that your blog was new at the time :O that's awesome to hear! it's fun seeing your art and writing!

i cannot possibly mention everyone cool that i know on this site but I'll try for a few at least. again in no particular order

@beastkonohaworld BK!!! you've been a great person to work with and an even greater friend :D chemmet is one of the highlights of my merch collection too. here's to another great year!

@protagpigeon KAIT! :D collabs shenanigans silliness you name it, if it's comedic we can do it XD immensely enjoyed all the time we've spent together, may there be endless more fun times to be had

@reestallized hey reestal! fellow Rei fan :D love your art and ideas loads, they're always so great to see !!! especially your traditional art it's something you do that is very cool :O same with the colour palette challenges

@cheesecake801 cheese it's quite possibly your fault that I enjoy volkner so much. it's contagious you spread it to everyone XDDD love the warm colours you use in your art and all the Character Thoughts you have, they're so wonderful <3

@skitter-kitter aka. one of the Lear fans ever. it's Definitely your fault i like Lear so much i blame you entirely /lh thank you for the fun times vibing about writing in DMs together, the community you've organised for us Lear fans, and generally being Very Cool <3

@ursamajorgamma we only met this past year, but it's been a delight knowing you! VC shenanigans beloved all our conversations have been so interesting and/or fun. epic Lear art and other paintings too :OO

@defoozor thank you for the cool art talk and other conversations, the awesome concepts you've made (Lear_Gem and Arc Suit Consequences are iconic) and also the VC fun hehe

@davepeta neppy you're always down for fun and silliness and you appreciate a good Bit! cool writing too, and art, and it's just awesome to hang out with you on chat.

@choochooboss Jun thank you for everything you've done for the community and being an AWESOME person to know! I've gushed many a time about how much i love pokemagma so I won't repeat myself but suffice to say it's one of the best things I've ever been part of. and to borrow from BK: U CUTE also!

@turtwisp we've only been talking regularly pretty recently, but you are very cool :3 love your barries !!!

@grubbin22 you are so nice and so sweet i've very much enjoyed the time we've spent together!!! and I've always admired your art so it's awesome to make your acquaintance

@monvallaria our acquaintance has been short so far but I'm absolutely loving it!!! you're a delight! love all your little doodles with hearts everywhere and much hilarity it's wonderful <3 <3 <3 here's to more fun together

@antihibikase it was super fun to talk and hang out productively, plus it's nice to see you around. i hope 2025 is a good year for you <3

@ultipoter yippee ulti! i love your art so much... such a recognisable and distinct artstyle with some traditional and anime influences that is Very Tasty. awesome character thoughts like that one Volo comic that popped off, hilarious Bits (Volo Cola, our incredibly stupid venn diagram /affectionate) and one of the guys of all time (holds up Jirou like a lil plushie). it's always a delight when you're around! I'm very happy to know you

@scraggscribbs hey scraggs, hope you've been well! i appreciate all the support and amazing comments you've given me on my fics <3 and you make such AMAZING manga with such interesting characterisation, I'm in awe! enjoy all our conversations very much and would love to catch up again :D

@hwpn-gurire I really appreciate all the comments and positive energy you bring to the pokemas community! you uplift everyone and always have a kind word :) plus your art is fantastic - thanks for teaching me that lil trick about offset colour, it's a really fun effect to use!

@claitea you have Many character thoughts that we are in agreement on / make me Think. really great stuff, thank you for appreciating my insane tag rambling on your posts LOL frequently pointing like yeah YOU GET IT! your art is great too with many :O comics that live in my brain rent free 👍

@kobandan you've listened to me a lot over this past year, thank you for that <3 your art is awesome, especially love your submas series with all their different pokemon. seeing those less popular combinations get the spotlight is great!

@smashwolfen originator of UPDOG my beloved snorlax.... thank you for the Very Epic name and continuing to stay subscribed to my silly Updog Newsletter XD I promise to continue the saga! also love your art, so much good PLA <33333 the Volo sketch page I remember quite well, phenomenal stuff hahahaha

@raikouswish rei-membering all the good times we've had this year 😁 i always have so much pun talking to you! here's to staying f-rei-nds in times to come >:3

@shibearts U CUTE !!!! love your designs and OCs they are super epic and you always hit me with the nostalgia blast. you've inspired me with your character design! geographyverse collab sometime this year surely

@submastrain it's been awesome collaborating with you! your rendering and colours make my brain light up they're so good :O

and many MANY more people that I've had the pleasure of talking to or reblogging posts back and forth with or drawing with - I'm sorry I can't mention you all!! appreciate all of you, whether we're mutuals or you're just following me along on this ride - both here and with my pokeposting :3

happy new year!

@jumpy-buggy-33 @ollie-arts67 @ashmeertheimp @k4izershasfreakycanon @cyrophobia

[And all my moots becuz I'm supposed to be helping out during party 😋]

[celestialseawitch-ff]

Hanukkah 2024 in Review

Every year I post on my blog/Ao3 every single day of Hanukkah. This was my fourth year doing this and while I wouldn't say it was my best year (that goes to the year I posted "Stealing Magic" because that story still blows me away), I do think it was super successful!

I am super pleased with "If I Know Love, It's Because of You" and "The Beginning and End of Everything" as one-shots this year. They're such contrasting versions of Harmony (in age, experience, and how one starts in the canon time-line and the other is basically a complete AU), but I think that's why I like them so much? I feel like they're very exemplary of the types of stories I've always written and will continue to write ("If I Know Love...") and the stories that I plan to be writing in 2025 ("The Beginning...").

Overall, I was super pleased with the Hanukkah updates, even though this was easily the hardest year for me to do it. I work in management in retail right now, and this is the hardest time of the year. Add to that the fact that Christmas, Hanukkah, and New Years, all fell across the middle of the fucking week, and I am DEAD to the world now. Thank god it's over and may I either be dead or not in retail next year.

Despite how hard this is for me every year, I did just want to take a moment to say THANK YOU to all my dear readers. I received well over 300 comments across all my stories/updates this year. It was insane. I responded to a sliver of those and I'm so sorry, it was just very overwhelming in the best of ways. I read through comments all day through my work days and it really kept me going.

Your comments and endless love and support are the reason I keep coming back to do this every year. Everyone was so enthusiastic and happy with everything that was posted. Thank you so much for all your kind words and the best of luck to all of you this new year!!

xx

[crackinthecup]

AO3 Wrapped

Tagged by the very lovely and very talented @queerofthedagger—thank you so much <3

Total words published at end of year: 43k

Fandoms: Silmarillion and Elden Ring

Top 3 ships: I have only written for one ship this past year oops—Angbang

Top 5 tags:

Character Study

Relationship Study

Suicidal Thoughts

Abusive Relationships

Unreliable Narrator

Top 3 fics by wordcount:

Moments (Angbang; 9,166 words; rated E)

Know Thyself (Angbang; 7,724 words; rated E)

Not Quite a God (Elden Ring: Miquella & St Trina; 7,531 words; rated T)

Highest everything (raw kudos, hits, comments):

Hits: The part that hurts the most (1,834)

Kudos: Moments (98)

Comments: Know Thyself (19)

New things I tried:

I wrote a fic for a video game for the first time—Elden Ring. I love the game to bits, have sunk many many hours into it, have platinumed it, and it was really fun to engage with it in such a different way, through fic-writing. I went into it completely underestimating the amount of research I'd have to do. More than I'd usually do for a Tolkien/Silm fic, if I'm honest. It just really made me appreciate the scale of the lore in this game. It also made me realise I very much have a character type, i.e., people who drive themselves on and on and on chasing some ambition, becoming blinded and corrupted in the process.

Fic I spent the least time on:

Wait for You, I think. It was my shortest this past year, around 2k, and also materialised as a stream-of-consciousness kind of thing that bled all over the page in one sitting.

Favourite thing(s) I read:

I will have to keep this short, I'm afraid, as I don't really seek out fic these days. What I read is by my wondrous and inspiring friends, and here is my favourite of the year from each of them:

hunger by @sauron-kraut: a sumptuously vivid Mairon/Thuringwethil fic—a pairing that honestly doesn't do much for me EXCEPT that this fic is so delicious and is packed so full of fascinating characterisation that it now lives rent-free in my head.

anyone else by @tarmairons: this is a Will/James ficcy in the Dark Rise fandom and oh me oh my it is a hot knife plunged through the chest it is cold and clammy mist clinging to skin it is hot and tender and unnerving and on the right side of heartbreaking.

LAST BUT NOT LEAST Limerence by @elevenelvenswords: friend, your Angbang is a mind-fuck in the best possible way. This sucked me in and made me breathless and made me yearn and made me feel sharp, painful things AND some lines like "I’m scared" are still rattling about in my mind months after reading.

Writing goals for 2025:

Hmm. I have fallen into a depressive slump sadly and feel deeply uniniterested in... pretty much everything, at present. I don't have any writing goals right now—I'm not sure how much or if I'll be writing going forward. We will see.

Tagging @elevenelvenswords and @sauron-kraut if you would like to give this a go and haven't been tagged already!

[makemeimmortalwithahug]

2024 WRITING REVIEW

thank you for the tag @ahyperactivehero !!

stress free tags: @oddessea @nix-nihili @read-write-thrive

number of stories posted to ao3: 8! Exclusively Dead Boy Detectives and I started in August, there will be more in 2025!

word counted posted for last year: 45,885 words

fandoms i wrote for: Dead Boy Detectives

pairings: mainly payneland, but also palasaki

stories with the most kudos, bookmarks and comment threads:

kudos: I'll Love You Carefully - A cursed Edwin falls from the Tower Bridge and Charles rushes to his rescue

bookmarks: also I'll Love You Carefully (something about protective!Charles just hits right)

comment threads: The Road to Ruin - Edwin gets taken to Hell for the second time but Charles is in a much much worse mental state

work i’m most proud of (and why):

it must be The Road to Ruin because I am actually proud of my characterisation of Charles and it's my first attempt at a multi chapter fic, so that alone is enough for it to have a special place in my heart. I love really getting into the Hell aspect of it all and I think the introspective nature has something to it that I previously never quite managed to capture with my writing.

work i’m least proud of (and why):

probably How Could You Think, Darling, I'd Scare So Easily? - Charles gets capture by Esther and Edwin rescues him Tam Lin style. It was the second fic I ever posted but I have to say I should've worked longer on it. It's not bad but I realised that it could've been more angsty and it feels kind of rushed when I reread it now

share or describe a favorite review you received:

it was so hard to pick just one because I love every single comment and they all make me stay motivated and want to get better. But if it's just one, then probably this one:

(sorry for all the tags btw, oddessea dear, you've been such a huge part of my journey on ao3, I cannot thank you enough!)

I think this is the one comment that genuinely made me tear up because I had been struggling with the way I wanted to write this fic and reading that it apparently worked out was just absolutely bloody wonderful

a time when writing was really, really hard:

Probably the last few weeks because I have all of these ideas but also a lot of pressure (put there by myself, mind) to have them turn out perfectly. I won't get into any details, but real life hasn't been too good either for a while now, so it's hard to get into the right mindset sometimes. But it will get better

a scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Crystal surprised me a lot! I adore her so much and I want to do her complexity justice and while I don't think I have posted a lot of Crystal yet, I enjoyed writing my palasaki fic Bloom Like A Flower so much because it allowed me to show that while Crystal is incredibly powerful and has been through a lot, she's still a teenager

a favourite excerpt of your writing:

I think this one stuck with me:

He pressed Charles even closer to himself, as if he wanted to embrace him fully, so as to not let any of his demons reach Charles in any way. Charles moved to brace his hands against Edwin, somewhere between resting them on his shoulders and pressing them against his collarbones. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to push Edwin away in desperation or pull him closer until no one could untangle them anymore. Edwin was coming undone around him and there was nothing for Charles to do to ease his pain. It was obvious that whatever Edwin was seeing, hearing, feeling, it was paranoia and not something Charles could see. How could you help someone who saw the world burning and crashing around them while you were still standing on solid ground, mere millimeters between both of your realities? - The Case of the Turning Key

how did you grow as a writer last year:

A lot, seeing as I had never written fanfic before and had been struggling with my original works for so long that calling it "writer's block" would've been a huge understatement. So just the fact that I managed to finish 7 (!) fics is already a huge accomplishment for me. Apart from that, I got better at finding the characters' voices when changing POVs.

who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer, beta, cheerleader, etc.)

shoutout to a few people as well!

I obviously have to thank @im-perfectly-normal-about-this for listening to my yapping about various ideas in dms and giving me feedback on my Charles characterisation! I appreciate you so much!

Also dear @oddessea for making my day with every single comment you write!

And then of course the entire DBDA Haunt server. Joining was probably the best decision I made in 2024 and all of our discussions in the writers room are so special to me.

Thank you to: @genevievefangirl, @ahyperactivehero, @read-write-thrive, @moonikabear, @dead-but-still-sarcastic, @zmorak (I'm so sorry if I forgot anyone! Y'all are all so loved!!)

anything from your real life show up in your writing last year:

definitely, little nods to things I enjoy or have done myself. I am good at projecting my own insecurities and problems onto Charles and of course the best example would be Days by the Sea - the agency goes on vacation in Scotland. That was entirely created from my wish to someday visit Scotland

any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

have fun!! When I don't pressure myself into writing and just do it for fun, I get the best results, not because they're perfect or anything, but because I genuinely enjoy working on them and then also feel good about finishing them. Having fun is already a big step

any projects you’re looking to starting (or finishing) this year?

The Road to Ruin will defintely find an ending in 2025! Apart from that, I obviously have my F1 AU that I've been yapping about. A different Modern AU and then let's see what I'll come up with next 👀 I'm looking forward to this year <3