#then maybe it was all worth it in the end

[ghstzzn]

roommates for dummies!

pairings: lee heeseung x f!reader, jay park x f!reader, jake sim x f!reader, park sunghoon x f!reader synopsis: desperate to get off of your bestfriends couch, you decide to reply to an ad online in search of a roommate. sure, you were skeptical about living with four men—but if anything, just desperate. it wasn't long before you started to completely regret this decision. however, some things just might be worth the stress and anger.

part two! wc: 7.8k

tags/warnings (chapter specific): SMUT. theres no fivesome happening (sorry..), rough sloppy sex, oral (f.), overstim, squirting, lots and lots of gross vulgar talk, jake tries to be mean dom but he's just desperate, creampie, unprotected sex, degrading, usage of the word slut & whore, nothing makes sense, slightly unedited if there's mistakes then oopsies, chaewon bestie moment, arguing, jayhoon secret gay lovers, slight mxm but it's also nothing at all, jake cums untouched but it's barely mentioned, heeseungs always listening, and they talk about fucking her at the start. every one sucks in this btw. reader likes being a whore. jake has an imaginary bet going on with the other guys. if i missed anyth lmk!

🍊: sorry this is almost two months late. got busy teehee. also, yes this is a series, no it's not a strict timeline or anything. it's just porn with some plot that doesn't work in one part. i kind of hate the intro but enjoy!!! <3

masterlist / part one / part three

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT!

roommates were a strange concept. living in a house full of friends, or even your partner, was one thing. but moving in with strangers and entrusting your entire life with them seemed so normal.

although, living with four men was quite uncanny, and a bit scary at first. everyone thought so too. it was no surprise to you that word got around through a small crowd that you were the boys’ new roomie, and of course people thought you were no more than just their fuck toy.

was the wild accusation really that far from the truth?

you never had more than two roommates at a time in your life, but you always categorized them; the friend and the enemy. maybe it was bad luck, but you always ended up stuck living with someone you never quite got along with. the short-lived housing situation with your ex-boyfriend claimed both titles to himself though. 

but now, you sit and wonder where your current roommates fall in these categories. you weren’t exactly friends with any of them. save for when you sit and rant to jake about your day or his best friends or the 2 a.m accidental kitchen meetings with heeseung because the both of you have a nonexistent sleep schedule (for totally opposite reasons.) but you would never consider those enjoyable because he can’t seem to keep things normal. ever.

your status with jay remained awkward. there was a weird tension between the two of you that you wouldn’t call sexual or was it because either of you were shy. maybe it was because he was sunghoons (the enemy) best friend, or the fact that he walked in on sunghoon balls deep inside of you in the shared kitchen and kept nonchalant about it.

the two of you bicker but it ends quickly because you both run out of things to say, and you suppose that's where the sexual tension comes in but you both walk away before it makes its grand appearance.

but oh boy, when sunghoon comes around, jay can’t keep his mouth shut about you. he could go on about how you’re such a bitch and all you do is nag. you wonder if the two get off next to each other as they talk about their supposed shared hatred for you.

heeseung is another good example of an odd relationship. you weren’t his friend, and he surely wasn’t yours but it’s also not like the two of you are constantly out for each other's heads. this could be because he’s high out of his mind half the week or because he locks himself in his room more than half the day.

when the sun disappears, heeseung makes his appearance. 

it’s been a few weeks since your escapade in the kitchen with sunghoon and heeseung. for some sick reason, you thought some pussy would shape them into better roommates— better people. but unfortunately, men will always remain men.

also, to your surprise, nobody told jake.

and jay? he completely forgot it even happened.

“YOU FUCKED HER?” jake screeches loudly from the living room. “both of you?!”

heeseung giggles like a teenage girl, legs swinging as he sits on the counter across from jay, where he slaves away at the stove to make sure his best friends remain fed.

“yeah, yeah.” sunghoon rolls his eyes. “could you be any louder?”

“no?” jake holds a look of distress as he paces back and forth from the living room to the kitchen.

“wait- that was her? on the counter, sunghoon?” jay suddenly asks, holding a large knife in his hand as he recalls the day he walked in on sunghoon fucking you against the kitchen counter.

the taller male hums, returning his attention to his phone. jay smacks his lips and shrugs.

“against the counter?!” 

“dude, shut up!” 

jake slams his hands against the counter top, “i demand details. now.”

“you don’t need to know sh-“

“oh my god, she was so tight.” heeseung cuts his roommate off, “i made sunghoon hold h-“

“you fucked her at the same time?”

heeseung throws the entire roll of paper towels at the brunette haired boy, “stop fucking interrupting! anyways… yes. hoonies a fucking freak, you know.”

“says you,” sunghoon retorts. “day one gooner over here just couldn’t wait to get into her pants. he made me hold her while he got his dick wet.”

“i’m getting hard just thinking about it.”

jay shoots an appalled look at heeseung before turning off the stove. the boys gather around the kitchen island, grabbing portions of food for themselves. the conversation drifting away into something new— video games and sports. man talk.

“wait, so did she like it?” jake speaks up once more about the topic.

sunghoon and heeseung share a smirk before turning to jake, who honestly seemed a little afraid of the two men at the moment.

“oh, that girls a fucking slut.”

it was a surprisingly quiet morning.

you were able to sleep in thanks to the silence in the house, the sound of light rain pattering against your window lulled you back to sleep the first time you woke up.

exiting your attached bathroom, you peel off your shirt and throw on a cuter, more put together, top. you exhale and stretch your arms upwards, rolling out your neck, relieving any tension from the night before.

this is what you needed. a relaxing, tension free day to yourself.

“hey.” 

forget that. of course the incels are still home.

“jesus fucking christ jake!” you jump back and curse at the man who just barged into your room. “i thought i locked that fucking door.”

jake glances at the door knob and shakes his head. 

“okay, then knock next time!”

he shrugs his shoulders and steps further into your room, studying your walls and decorations. “cute room, baby.”

you roll your eyes and follow him with your eyes. “much cuter when there isn’t an obnoxious man inside.”

“heeseung? has he been in here too?”

“what?” you ask, dumbfounded. “no. what do you want?” 

“you let heeseung fuck you?”

all you could do was stare at your roommate. “i can't even get a good morning? not a ‘hey! how’s your morning going!’”

“and sunghoon? you let them both fuck you in the kitchen?!”

you let out a long sigh, running your hands through your hair and sit at the edge of your bed. you couldn’t lie, jake bringing up the entire situation made you heat up a little but you had to keep up a nonchalant act in front of these men to keep their egos from exploding.

“yes, jake. i fucked them both.”

jake lets out a groan— or whine. and you only stare at him with confusion. “whyyy?” he throws his hands over his face dramatically.

“…why did i fuck them or-“

“yeah! why did you fuck them first?”

you blink at him, trying to wrap your head around his absurd curiosity. he’s like a child asking why his sibling got to go outside and play while he was told to stay inside. jake seemed genuinely upset and so curious about it all. it’d all be endearing if the conversation at hand wasn’t about your pussy and who you let use it first.

and here you are, at a loss for words. because why did you?

“well, i-i.. it’s not like i meant to..” jake listens intently to your answer. for the first time, he’s paying attention to you but for the wrong reasons. “it just happened. one minute we were arguing and the next i- well, you know…”

“no, i don’t.” he replies flatly.

you start to speak again but go quiet. what exactly did he want from you now? and why did this somehow feel serious?

“were they good?” jake asks. “did they eat you out? did they pull out? did you even cum?”

“jesus christ jake!” you cut off his rambling. “are you jealous? or like, upset?”

“so.. no?”

you groan and lean back on your arms. this entire conversation was actually starting to piss you off, and you didn’t even know what the point even was. 

“why the fuck do you care? i’m not some thing you can just fuck and use when you please! i mean i have feelings and-“

jake nods, fingers on his chin as he “listens” to you rant to him. he lets out a few hums, faking his responses for you. to him, by doing this, he’s winning brownie points.

“-you all walk all over me and treat me like shit!”

“oh, baby…” jake sighs, stepping closer to you and kneeling down in front of you. your body tenses up as he puts his hands on the mattress, caging you between them. “it must be so difficult knowing no one here bothers hearing you out. i'm so.. sorry. you deserve better, yeah?”

you furrow your eyes at the man kneeling before you, torn between wanting to smack him in the face or thanking him for actually listening. “i… yeah. it���s just not fair.”

“yeah?” he hums. “it’s not, is it? it’s not like you have a choice either… so you just have to put up with it.”

“yea- what?” 

“i wish i could take all your frustration away.” he continues, “i wanna make you feel better— can i make you feel better?”

you scoff at him, pushing him away by his forehead, sending him falling backwards.

“what was that for?”

“did you listen to a single word i fucking said?” you shout at him, blood boiling at his responses. “you are such a prick, jake. i was being vulnerable to you.”

“and i appreciate that you trust me enough to do so! now let me make you feel better in return.” he crawls back between your knees.

“you weren’t even listening— and i don’t trust you!” 

jake feigns an offended expression, holding a hand over his chest. “i was!” 

“then what did i say?” you ask him with crossed arms, awaiting his response as he deeply thinks about your question, but you already know his answer.

“you said.. you said sunghoon pisses you off! or something like that,” you scoff at his response. “please! you’re being difficult.”

“you’re annoying.”

“let me eat you out.” 

“no.”

“come on, please.”

“jake.”

“let loose a little! i already know heeseung didn’t do that much for you, so let me!” he continues to plead. “look, i can make you feel really really good. i’m better than him when it comes to eating pussy— i can make you forget all about them.”

you roll your eyes and scoot further up the bed, it may seem like an attempt to get away from the man but he only persists and follows your movements. “come on, baby. i want you to cum on my face. you don’t have to like me for me to do this.”

“you are seriously an insufferable piece of shit, it’s no wonder you’re best friends with these idiots.” jake smirks at your response, ghosting his hands down your sides to your thighs. he’s absolutely eating up every reaction you give him. you do it all the time, and you’ve done it since you moved in. the way you shyly avoid his gaze and tell him to quit yet you never move away from him.

even when you argue with jake, you blush a deep red and he doesn’t think it’s all from anger. jake thinks it’s quite endearing, actually. all you need is a little love, and a few touches.

and it pisses him off that he wasn’t the first one to fuck you.

like seriously? you hate sunghoon. you hate sunghoon more than the other three boys. since the day you moved in, you and sunghoon would go at it like cats and dogs. he pissed you off to no end with his arrogant attitude and his narcissism. the man was another rich asshole who spoke with a mouthful of silver spoons that didn’t even belong to him.

you fucking hated nepotism.

and though the other three weren’t much better, at least jake could hold a conversation without flexing how many figures his daddy makes in a year. or that his mommy owns the neighborhood you all reside in.

or that his family owns the fucking university you go to and threatens to get you kicked everytime you piss him off.

maybe you do favor jake out of the four. it’s not like you adore the guy in any way, but he was more tolerable than the nepo-baby, the gooner and the… whatever the fuck jay has going on. he was a different breed of asshole.

and though the sentiment isn’t real, jake will gladly sit there and listen to you rant about his own friends. before he found out what happened between you, sunghoon and heeseung, he proudly sang with confidence that his time spent with you would land him a free ticket in your pants.

seriously, how many times does jake have to cover up his horniness as a genuine connection. how many times does he have to flash you his signature smile and playfully flirt with you until you fold?

was he the first to fuck you? no. but jake is sure he’s about to not only make you cum on his tongue, but also his cock and boy is he going to rub it in all of their faces.

but you aren’t stupid.

“get,” you grab his hands and push them off of you, “out.”

“what?”

you roll your eyes and climb out of bed, standing over jake, who was still on his hands and knees. “i said get out. i have plans today and i don’t need any of you foiling them.”

“what the hell?”

-

“why are you so on edge?” 

you look over at chaewon from your position on the couch, previously focused on jay moving around in the kitchen and jake sitting at the island with his face shoved in his nintendo switch.

“it’s too calm here.” you mutter in response. truly, it felt like the calm before the storm. you were currently co-existing with your roommates at a near distance and not a single person was making a rude comment.

granted, chaewon was visiting and it’d be childish to act out in front of a guest. and both jay and jake are on the calmer side of the spectrum when it comes to pissing you off. 

chaewon cocks an eyebrow at you, “do you want the opposite.” 

“no. it’s just weird.”

your best friend hums and nods her head, suddenly scooting closer to you. “so, who was it?”

“what do you mean?”

“girl, who fucked you in the kitchen?” she shoves you playfully and your eyes widen. you glance around to see if the two males heard that and cringe deep down when jay makes eye contact with you.

you sigh and shoot her a glare, “you have such a loud mouth.”

“okay? is it either of them?”

you shake your head, looking around once more. sunghoon and heeseung were home, but either hidden away in their rooms or somewhere else in the house and your friends curiosity won't die down unless she sees them face to face. 

“heeseungs probably in his room,” you start, pausing to think about the other male’s whereabouts. “i’m not sure where sunghoon is.” chaewon groans in response, causing you to roll your eyes and playfully swat at her.

“do either of you want some fruit?” a voice interrupts the two of you.

you slowly turn your head towards jay and blink at him. he doesn’t remove his gaze from you, not even for a second.

“oh, that’s really sweet of you…” chaewon trails off.

“jay.”

a nervous smile takes over her expression and she nods at his short reply, “jay.. yeah, i’ll have some.”

he continues to stare at you, waiting for your response.

“sure.”

every single time you have tried to reach for a piece of fruit, jakes hand is beating you there. the first few times could’ve been mistakes, but now he’s shooting you a smirk when his fingers graze against yours. in any other situation you would’ve found it to be an endearing mistake. but this is jake. it’s not endearing. it’s annoying.

with a roll of your eyes, you bring your hand back to your lap, earning a confused and quite offended look from jake.

chaewon sits silently next to you, nervously biting into a piece of watermelon. the poor girl was too scared to speak over the glares you were sharing with the two men.

you were sure this was apart of some elaborate plan from the two. they have never once offered sliced fruit in your few months of living here, nor have you ever just sat in the living room, bonding, as chaewon put it.

“so, chaewon..” the mentioned girl looks up rather quickly from the same watermelon piece she’s been chewing on for the past few minutes. jake is sprawled out on the lounge chair, playing with a few strands of his hair. “what do you do? like, what’s your major?”

chaewon straightens her posture, setting the slice of watermelon down. she shoots you a quick glance, as if asking for permission to speak. you give her a reassuring smile and she takes a deep breath.

“well…” she trails off, explaining her major and why she’s taking it. jake is staring at you the entire time with one hand running through his hair and the other resting on the crotch of his jeans.

you let out a scoff, slightly louder than intended, gaining everyone’s attention. chaewon raises an eyebrow and a cocky grin spreads across jake's face.

jay looks up from his phone, “that was a little rude, wasn’t it?” as if he were paying attention in the first place.

jake lets out a snicker as the other male keeps his gaze on you. you readjust your sitting position awkwardly and mutter a quick sorry to your best friend, urging her to continue.

“my plan is to be a nurse,” chaewon continues, “i feel as if people don't appreciate nurses as much as they do surgeons or doctors. i just want to help people in more ways than just a scalpel.”

she smiles and looks down at her lap. you’ve always found her so endearing, and you knew her soul was beautiful inside and out.

“wow, that’s really something,” jake responds, clapping his hands together as he leans forward. “you know, jays dad owns a few hospitals, i’m sure he could help you out there.”

“really?” 

jay looks at jake before looking at chaewon, giving her a small nod. “hm, sure. we could get you in as soon as you’re ready. my dad is kind of strict on hiring but i can tweak some things.”

“what’s the catch?” you’re the center of attention once again, but you direct your focus on jay, who’s now sporting a cocky expression as he leans back against the couch.

he tilts his head and throws his arm around the back of the couch, “why would there be a couch? just helping a friend in need.”

“but she’s not your friend, nor is she in need.”

chaewon goes quiet again, looking everywhere except at the two of you. your other roommate is shaking his head as he holds back his own laughter.

“jeez, no need to get jealous. i’d be more than happy to pull some strings for you too.” jake butts in, “look, you made your friend feel bad.”

you turn your head towards chaewon, “hey, i didn’t mean it like that. i just— i mean, i don’t trust them.”

“they are your roommates.” she mutters.

“aw man,” jake cooes. “you should really learn to lighten up. not everyone is out to get you.”

you shoot a glare at him and he throws his hands up in a defensive posture. chaewon darts her eyes around the tense living room, deciding it would probably be best if she left right now.

“i’m gonna get going,” she announces as she stands up, “it’s late.”

“it’s not even seven.”

she ignores jay’s comment and grabs her bag, heading for the front door. you follow her and shoot her an apologetic look before letting the girl out.

“seriously?” you cross your arms as you walk back into the living room.

jake shrugs and leans over for another piece of fruit, popping it in his mouth, “we didn’t do anything except give her a really useful piece of information that could help her further down in life.”

“yeah, right.” you roll your eyes, “i’m not dumb and you guys can't operate without there being a catch.”

“that attitude is going to get you absolutely nowhere,” jay says, “your bitchy tone drove your own friend to leave— not my job offer.”

you scoff at his insult, it wasn’t your fault, what the hell? jays smug expression made you want to hop over the couch and wipe it off yourself.

“seriously though, we were just being nice. a friend of yours is a friend of ours.” jake spread his arms out, motioning between himself and the other male sitting across from him.

“we aren’t friends.”

“ouch, babe.”

you roll your eyes again. you’re sure that one day they’ll get stuck that way. “i’m going to my room.”

as you finish collecting your belongings from the living room, shoving them into your bag, jay speaks up once more.

“you know, i’ve never truly had a problem with you… but today, you really do prove that you’re just a bitch who can’t even tell when someone is truly being kind or not.”

you have two options; throw your entire bag at jay while screaming, or walk off cooly and not let it bother you.

“‘never had a problem with me?’” you quote in the air, “tell that to all the times you and your boyfriend shared snide comments about me to each other.”

“my boyfriend?”

“yeah,” you nod, pushing back your own smirk, “park sunghoon.”

he scoffs at you, looking up from his spot. you can’t even deny how good it feels to be above him, even if it is just your current position. “i know who you’re talking about.”

“oh, well. i’m glad that bit is settled.” you respond with a soft smile, tilting your head ever so slightly to portray the faux ignorance to the true reason he’s upset.

jays jaw clenches and he’s about to say something before jake springs up from his seat with a loud, dramatic sigh. “all you guys do is fight. it never ends.”

“we don’t fight.” you respond with a shake of your head. it was somewhat true– you and jay rarely spoke to each other and only half of your conversations included snarky remarks towards one another. the problem was that jay only spoke up about you when others were around.

jake looks back and forth at the two of you with a bored expression. jays attention is focused on the faux houseplant in the corner of the room, avoiding both of your gazes. 

“jay just likes to talk shit about me when you and the other boys are around because he thinks it’ll impress you,” you continue, “like it’s gonna make you guys worship him and suck his dick.”

“you’re so fucking gross,” jay spits. you give him a sarcastic smile in exchange. 

the shorter male cringes and scoffs, “you are very vulgar sometimes, you know that?”

if it weren’t for the situation, his comment would be funny considering he only let you move in because you were a woman with a seemingly hot voice. except, you refused to give it up for months after moving in, and that pissed jake off. and you wouldn’t be surprised if the others were just as mad you didn’t open your legs for them either.

but before you could respond, jay beat you to it. 

“i really miss the days you would hide in your room.”

you chuckle, “ah, you’d like me in my room wouldn’t you, fucking freak.”

the male rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat comfortably, “don’t be weird, not everyone wants to fuck you.”

jake shrugs at the response, mumbling a soft “wrong” earning a glare from the other. 

“and what’s that supposed to mean?” you were pushing him. jake was getting antsy at the way you continued to egg jay on. he wishes you’d submit and run to your room so he had the chance to relieve you of your anger and stress.

but you were so god damn full of yourself. and so fucking stubborn. 

“seriously?” jay lets out a dry laugh. you tilt your head, waiting for him to elaborate after a few moments of silence. “i don’t know what you did to get these three so pussy drunk– but it won’t work for me, especially if that’s how you plan to get your way around here.”

“i haven’t fucked her?”

the both of you ignore jakes comment, “pussy drunk? i haven’t done shit.” you respond. “you think you’re so wise using every word to call me a slut but it was your friends that came onto me first.”

“sure,” you squint your eyes at him, confused as fuck. “sunghoon doesn’t even make you pay rent. you walk around here like you fucking own this place– when you don’t and you’ll never come close to living a lifestyle like this.”

you were sure that jay was using this moment as a flex considering he genuinely had nothing to hold against you. bringing up money and work was not surprising at all to you, he’s just doing exactly what his best friend does to you. 

“you love bringing up sunghoon and you try so hard to act just like him,” you respond, voice full of amusement. “you’re so obsessed with the man, is he your sugar daddy? is he fucking you hard and deep, jay? because i don’t understand the big deal about that man.”

jays face crinkles in disgust. “you’re fucking crazy.” 

“i’m sorry you didn’t get first dibs on the pussy that has me living rent free here,” you sigh. “i’m sure another willing girl will waltz in here sooner or later. or maybe go take your dicks frustration out on hoon or one of your guitars he bought you.”

“hoon?”

“i’d come up with a nickname for you too but you missed the chance to fuck me,” you repeat. it’s not even like you wanted to have sex with the man, but he was the one who kept bringing it up. it pissed you off that he pretended to know everything– how he acted as if he were god and beyond superior all because he didn’t stick his dick in you.

jake stands there awkwardly yet very amused. 

“i told you i’d rather die.” jay spits.

“then fucking die, jay, i don’t know what you want me to say.”

jake holds his hands out, ��woah, hey guys. no need for death threats!” he waves his hands in front of you both. “we are all friends here!”

“sure, if that’s what you wanna call it.”

“the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

you laugh at jay’s quick response, “i’m talking about your relationship with sunghoon.”

“okay! guys, please,” jake pleads, standing between the two of you but only facing you, “let’s chill. ignore him, he’s just trying to piss you off and you know this.”

jay stands up from his chair, mumbling under his breath, “i didn’t even start this shit.” he growls as he walks off, disappearing further into the house. you both hear a door slam in the distance and it takes everything in you to not laugh.

“he’s such a child.”

the shorter male shakes his head, “and you love to fight, don’t you?”

“no? but he fishes for it.” you huff, finally grabbing your bag to travel to your own room, away from the testosterone in the house. jake follows you like a lost dog, and you know it’s because he has nothing better to do so you let him.

he pushes past you into your bedroom and plops down on your bed, spreading his legs and leaning back on his hands. jake watches as you organize your work on your desk, though his eyes are focused on the curve of your ass each time you bend over.

jake feels like he’s suffocating. he’s been sporting a half hard dick since your interaction this morning because he cannot stop thinking about eating you out. sure he can be a bit needy and gross when it comes to getting his dick wet, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been this down bad for somebody knowing his friends got to them first.

it started out as a joke, that he’d be the first to fuck you when letting you move in. he honestly had no plans on making moves on you, nor did the others. but when you got comfortable enough to walk around in your skimpy pajamas and those thin, dainty tank tops you loved to wear, he started to lose his mind.

the amount of times jake has walked into the kitchen to see you sitting on the counter in an oversized shirt, leaving what's under it to his imagination, he’s had to walk out immediately. 

when he would run into you at three in the morning, seeing your half asleep figure in nothing but a tank top and shorts, a strap falling down your shoulder, he’d run back to his room and watch loads of porn to distract himself from you. 

“you feelin’ okay?” jake asks, clearing his throat to avoid a voice crack. he needs to do this smoothly.

you straighten your posture, turning to face him. “honestly, i’m pissed off and all i want to do is relax.”

“lay it on me, baby.”

“it’s just…” you sigh, stepping towards him. “chaewon was over so we could study for our exams next week and i feel like both jay and i ruined it for all of us.”

which is not what he meant whatsoever, but he sits and he listens, nodding as his eyes shut to mask his own frustration, “have you thought about moving out? i’m not asking because i want you to, but…”

jake’s eyes flutter open as he waits for your response. honestly, he’s over talking about all of this. he doesn’t care much for the beef that you have with him or his friends anymore, and he’s certainly over them shit talking about you all day.

“yeah, but i mean i don’t want to leave,” you start with a loud sigh, “i mean, it’s the middle of the year and i can’t get into a dorm, my parents live fifty miles away, and fuck even just a studio is way over my budget.”

“so, what?”

“i need to fucking meditate or something,” you respond, placing a hand on your forehead, “i’m not gonna lie and say i don’t start half of it. i need to be the bigger person here but i have no outlet for my anger.”

jake hums, then pauses. a lightbulb goes off in his head and if you could see inside his mind, you’d see him deviously rubbing his hands together. you let out another sigh and shake your head, “i’ll figure it ou-”

“hear me out.”

“i am not doing this, jake.”

you ought to hear jake out on his ideas more often. sure, it pissed you off that he had only one thing on his mind. but you could feel the anger and tension leaving your body as his tongue flicked against your clit again.

“f-fuck, right there.” you tug his hair upwards and he follows your needy command. his tongue diving through your wetness as if he wanted to drink it all up and his nose bumping against your sensitive bundle of nerves. you’ve always wondered what it’d feel like to have his thick lips attached to your pussy and you’re not at all disappointed by this turn of events.

jake was a god when it came to eating pussy.

suddenly, his words from that morning are flooding back into your mind. you haven’t even come yet and you’re already thinking about the next time you’ll have your roommate between your thighs.

as if on cue, his nose bumps against your clit again and you clench around his tongue, which was buried inside of you. your back arches, forcing your cunt into his mouth as an orgasm washes over your body. jake doesn’t stop either, nor does he slow down. his hands wrap around your thighs and pulls them apart as he nuzzles against your wetness with a grunt.

you have to yank his hair when it all starts to overwhelm you. jake lifts his head up, wearing a surprised look, half of his face drenched in your arousal. “what’s wrong?”

“‘t’s too fucking much, jake.” you breathe out, legs twitching in his hold.

“that’s kind of the point,” he grins widely at you. “feelin’ less frustrated though, right?”

you agree with a whiney hum, in which he responds with a chuckle. “you know how long i’ve had to wait to get you in this position?” you watch as he lifts himself and leans forward. “so long, babe. too long.” jake places a sloppy, wet kiss to your jawline. you can feel your own slick against your skin, he pulls back and places a kiss to your lips, biting softly. “even if the reason is jay, i’ll fucking take it because you taste so fucking good and i’ll sit between these thighs until you’re screaming for me to stop.”

oh. he’s insane about pussy and it makes you throb down below. jake lowers himself once again, placing soft kisses down your stomach before facing your cunt. his eyes flicker to yours before diving in.

you yelp out when he sucks your clit between his lips, legs shaking around his head. 

“louder.”

it’s near impossible to be quiet as he makes out with your cunt, his words only egg you on. you aren’t the only noisy one in the room either. jakes groaning against you, or talking you through it, whether he’s telling you to be louder or asking how it feels.

his fingers prod against your entrance, pushing the tip of the two digits in before out again. he has no plans starting you off slowly, he wants you to feel his own frustration all while taking you out of yours.

“c’mon, baby, don’t you want him to hear?” he cooes, “want him to hear how good i can make you feel… you don’t need them, huh? never did.” he plunges his fingers inside of you, curling them while bringing his mouth back to your clit.

you don’t even know who he’s talking about, it could be jay or it could be sunghoon, but you don’t have time to think over it because the way the tips of his fingers push against the spot inside of you paired with his tongue flattening against the bundle of nerves has your mind completely blanking. 

“mff- yes, god!” you cry out, throwing your head back against your mattress. you lift one of your hands from jakes head and bring it under your shirt to play with your own nipples, pinching and squeezing to add to the pleasure. 

jake takes notice of this and lifts his head for a mere second so he could throw your shirt over your chest, wanting to see you mess with your own tits.

“does it feel that good?”

you nod your head, whining at the way his fingers pump in and out of you, curling and reaching that spot inside of you so well. he can't hide the smile growing on his face as he watches you arch your back into his touch and grope your tits with pleasure.

he leans down, voice low as he mouth plays with your clit, “tell me– tell me how good it feels. i wanna hear you.”

“t-they’re gonna hear,” you manage to respond in between moans.

“let them.”

jake circles his tongue around your clit before softly biting down. the action itself is painful but so good, paired with the fast pacing of his fingers, you’re biting back a scream but he does it again. he wants you loud and unapologetic. fuck, if he could, he’d get you screaming for sunghoon who resides secluded on the other side of the house to hear, better yet, they neighbors. 

because ultimately, he won.

“‘m gonna fucking cum, jake.” you gasp loudly, “d-don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop.”

you don’t have to tell him twice. in fact, he speeds his fingers up and sucks loudly on your clit, sloppy, messy and loud– how he likes it. your body jolts and you grip his hair tighter as you feel your orgasm approach once more. a loud, choked sob escapes your throat as you cum, squeezing your eyes shut and chanting his name like a mantra. 

jake slurps up your wetness, removing his fingers so he can shove his tongue in your dripping hole, wanting every last drop of your cum down his throat. he was a fucking mess and it was all because of you. 

your thighs close around his head so tightly that he can’t even hear your loud moans and pleads for him to let off, just the ringing in his ears from the pressure. he nuzzles his face flush against your cunt, as if it were possible to get any closer. 

“jesus, fuck!” you practically scream out. it was almost painful but if it weren’t for your estranged yelp, he would remain buried. 

he looks at you in a daze, completely fucked out even though his cock remained untouched. but he can feel himself dripping in his own pants, his boxers clinging to his dick due to the dampness, he’s not even sure if he came untouched because he was so focused on your cunt.

“y-you’re fucking insane,” you pant, chest rising and falling dramatically. 

jake shakes his head, a droplet of your arousal falling from the tip of his nose. he looked amazing like this, and it scared you how much it turned you on. 

“please let me fuck you.”

it’s not like you want to say no, but he spent so much time abusing your cunt with his mouth that you’re on the verge of numbing out. “jake, i’m so sensi-”

he cuts you off, leaning forwards a pressing his bulge against your wetness, “i’ll be gentle– i can be gentle, just please, i think i need to fuck you before i actually lose my mind.”

jakes plan on fucking you dumb, to the point of forgetting where you are or why you were upset had completely backfired and now he felt like the stupid one. his head was dizzy and all he could think about was stuffing you full.

for all those times he’s had to restrain himself, to hold back because he didn’t want you running out the door–it’s paid off in a way. when his friends told him about their experience fucking you, he lost his moral compass on the way to your room the next morning. he’s begging you to let him lose himself in your cunt because it all he needs.

“‘t’s not fucking fair,” he groans, burying his head in your neck. “you only take cock from them now? can’t let me have this?”

you don’t know what he’s rambling about nor does he. he grinds against you again and you let out a whine.

“see? you want it so bad, don’t you? walking around here like you hate us, but let us fuck you just how you like because you’re so god damn full of shit, huh?” 

“jake-”

“so fucking hungry for cock,” he continues, one hand doing all the work to free himself from the restraints of his jeans. “they’re right. such a slut but god it’s so sexy, you know that right?”

before you can blink, jake buries his cock deep inside of you. he has to pause to breathe and let his head clear before he lets himself loose and cums before even starting. for a second time. he lets out a deep sigh before rocking his hips slowly, warming himself up before speeding his pace up.

your cunt flutters around him and he chuckles, readjusting your position so that your legs are resting on his shoulders. his hair is damp and stuck to his forehead despite not even moving much.

“look at you,” he groans softly, “don’t like being called a whore but sure do like getting fucked like one.”

he tries to speak up but his own moan cuts himself off. he couldn’t degrade you more if he tried because holy fuck your pussy might have him convinced he won in life. jake pulls his hips back before roughly plunging his cock back into you. he drinks up every loud moan you give him, and he thrusts into your leaking hole as if trying to get you to be louder.

but at this point he’s chasing his own pleasure. no matter how hard he fucks into you, it doesn’t feel like its enough. jake leans forward, pushing your knees to your chest so he can hit it from another angle. 

letting out a loud groan like whimper, jake presses his forehead against yours and continues his rough, sloppy pace. your moans mixed together plus the sweet sound of wet slapping fills the room like a song, and there was no denying that the entire house could hear it.

it was far too much, he said he’d be gentle but jake has fucked the both of you into stupidity. but you can’t bring yourself to be upset because the way the tip of his cock almost meets your cervix has you seeing the fucking stars. the entire scene was desperate and messy. jake couldn’t even get his pants fully off before fucking you and you could feel the material of his jeans rub against your ass almost painfully.

“god, fuck me,” jake roughly whines, “pussy ‘s so good.”

his voice is breaking and stuttering, attempting to hold himself back but he just can't. the male's lips are wet against yours, desperately biting and kissing yours with fervor. he can feel his stomach tense up but he holds back, edging himself to get the most of your pussy because jake knows once he cums, he’ll be fucking cooked. 

“j-jake, please,” you cry out, gripping his shoulders tightly. you feel as if you’re about to explode, the pleasure is overwhelming and almost painful due to his sloppiness but nonetheless you feel another intense orgasm creeping. “please cum soon, i-i can’t-”

he groans loudly, lifting himself to thrust harder– he was about to have the best orgasm of his life. the man can’t even be embarrassed about the literal whimpers and sounds coming out of his mouth because he knows god damn well that any other man would be in the same position if given the chance to fuck you like this. 

a sharp yelp rips from your throat and your legs wrap around his wait, almost restricting his moments. but when he looks down, he sees god. 

clear liquid gushing from your cunt, soaking the bottom half of his shirt and covering the both of your thighs. his eyes roll back as he cums without a second thought to it, cock pulsing as thick, white ropes cover your walls. 

it takes a few long moments for the both of you to recover from your orgasms. nothing but the sound of panting fills the air.

“p-please get up,” you smack jakes back softly. his body jolts, realizing he almost fell asleep in the position. 

he whispers an apology before lifting himself up and off of you. the feeling of his cock dragging against your creamy walls almost makes him want to go another round, but he knows he has to resist.

though, if it were up to him, he’d be making up for every missed opportunity today. instead, he kneels in front of you, trying not to get lost in the way his cum drips out of your pulsing hole, and helps you sit up. this way, the two of you can see the wetness covering both bodies. 

“you squirt,” jake comments, “that’s real fucking hot.”

before you can reply, the door slams open and shut within two seconds.

“what the fuck, heeseung?” the both of you spit at the same time.

the red haired male stands there with his hands up, “look, i was trying to be respectful and blow a load in my own room but sunghoon came in all pissed off mid jerk off and told me to shut you both up.”

“so?” jake answers before you, “what, is he like, jealous?”

“i don’t know, i gave up figuring that out because i heard you say she can squirt and i wanted to see.”

your tired eyes widen and you yank your shirt down, attempting to cover yourself, not that he hasn’t seen it all already. 

“you missed it–should’ve been here earlier.” jake states with a smirk.

“hold the fuck on-”

“nah, i’ve fucked this girl standing up, she has more stamina than you think.”

you get hit with major deja vu. the two conversing as if you’re not there.

“what makes you think i’d squirt again for you?” the two men look at you, a predatory smirk growing on both of their faces.

but before anyone could make a move, a loud guitar riff cuts them off, barely muffled by the wall that separates yours and jay’s bedroom. you shift awkwardly in your position, suddenly aware that everyone in the house did in fact hear you.

“look at her acting all shy,” heeseung snickers, “three down, one more to go. you’re just lucky he’s distracted with his guitars right now, baby. that just means you can be as loud as you want.”

“leave the door open though, they love watching.” jake mumbles before leaning down, placing kisses against your knees and thighs. heeseung chuckles and pulls the door ajar before making his way to the both of you, gripping his shoulders and looking at you as he hovers from behind him.

you visibly gulp at the sight, watching as heeseung leans closer to jakes ear, pressing his body flush against his friends back. you can feel jake’s cock twitch against your thigh and you decide then and there that you’re content with this situation in its entirety–and that you have more ways than one of getting back at your angry roommate in the other room, strumming his guitar with frustration. 

🍊taglist (bold couldn’t be tagged): @filmnings @deobitifull @leov3rse @hooniehon @roslayy @strxwbloody @cutiepatootiejungwon @jakeswifez @yuriknows @d-dilemma @kon-ss @sunooqvrlsx @ayablogsblog @miszes @jaeyungxrl @143won @jaylvrsworld @kaykay11sworld @wonnienyang @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @wonsohl @vixialuvs @demigodmahash @ribbioniki @enhamonsterghoul @nshmrarki @wonuziex @firstclassjaylee @isagistar @mothafawkingher @hee-yunie @denleave1088 @matchacake2 @ch4c0nnenh4 @planetmarlowe @binniesbabe @hoonjysn @drunkodazed @rapmonie2047 @yangjungwonisms @isa942572 @simj4k3 @doyotint @jiungscougar @btxtenha @lol6sposts @tinycatharsis @prkhaven @innocygnet

(taglist is closed. if i tagged the wrong account/made a mistake, mistakenly tagged you or you want me to remove you, please let me know.)

[inkandapex]

You're worth it

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando Norris and Y/N share an undeniable connection, but the pressures of F1 and personal hesitation have kept them in the "just friends" zone. Despite their close bond, an unspoken tension hangs between them, each moment charged with what-ifs. With a little nudge from fate, aka, their best friend Max, the two are pushed to give things another shot. Will Lando find the courage to make his move, or will Y/N slip through his fingers, forever just out of reach?

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: swearing, light angst, mentions of anxiety.

Lando’s season had been anything but smooth sailing. Sure, the car was leagues ahead of where it had been, delivering near-constant podiums and even his long-awaited first race win. He was sitting second in the championship, closer to the title than he’d ever been. On paper, it was a dream season. But pressure had a funny way of twisting even the sweetest moments into something suffocating.

Lando had always been good at managing the weight of the sport—keeping his mind sharp, his body stronger. But even the best-built machines showed signs of wear. His friends saw it in the way his laughter didn’t reach his eyes. His team noticed the uncharacteristic silence between debriefs. His fans, ever watchful, caught glimpses of something heavier behind the usual smiles.

Now, with a rare break in the chaos, it was clear that he didn’t just need rest. He needed reinforcements.

“The food I ordered half an hour ago? Yeah… they just told me the restaurant’s actually closed now,” Lando muttered

Max blinked, mouth slightly open. “So… they told you there’s no food, and you died on Tarkov? That’s a double fucking shitter, my jeez.” He dragged a hand down his face, visibly pained for his best mate.

Lando let out a defeated laugh. “Hasn’t exactly been the best couple of months for me, really.”

Max exhaled. “Mate, you need a personal chef or something. You’ve got too much on your plate.”

“I actually have nothing on my plate right now, funnily enough.”

“Right, well—eating weeks-old frozen food from your fridge isn’t exactly the fix, is it?” Max sighed, already knowing that’s exactly what Lando was about to do.

"Don't really have much of a choice now don't I mate?"

"Chat's saying you need a girlfriend" Max states rather matter of factly

"You could say that again"

-----------------------------------------------------------

A series of persistent knocks, followed by the sharp buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand, dragged Lando from the depths of sleep. He groaned, squinting against the soft morning light that seeped through the curtains, his brain sluggish as he reached for his phone.

A slight frown tugged at his face when he saw the caller—one of his closest friends. A couple of missed calls from both them and Max F. only deepened his confusion. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pulled his hoodie over his head and shuffled toward the door, answering the call as he went.

“Y/N? I just woke up—sorry, could you give me a minute? I’ll call you back, someone’s at the—” He stopped mid-sentence, mid-step.

Because standing on the other side of the door, phone still pressed to their ear, was Y/N. Bags in hand.

"Hey… Max told me you knew I was coming. Him and P just dropped me off. They’re out running a couple of errands," Y/N said, ending the call and slipping her phone into her pocket.

Lando blinked at her, still processing. "No, actually, he didn't. I didn’t even know he was coming here. Did you just get here, or?"

"I landed about two hours ago," she said with a soft laugh. "Been standing here for the past twenty minutes, though."

"Shit, my bad, Y/N. I really didn’t know." Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair, his brain scrambling to recall any moment where Max might have maybe mentioned this.

"Hey, it’s all good! Sorry for dropping by all of a sudden—I really should’ve reached out beforehand anyway. I just thought you and Max had already sorted it out."

"What? No, Y/N, don’t apologize, silly." Lando finally snapped out of his trance and stepped aside. "Come in—fuck, I mean, the apartment’s a mess, but make yourself at home." He quickly reached for some of her bags, ushering her inside before shutting the door behind them.

"What exactly did Max say?" Lando finally asked, still scrambling to pick up the mess scattered across his living room. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you, but this is just so... out of the blue."

"Honestly? He was worried," Y/N admitted, grabbing a few stray items to help. "Said you didn’t seem to be doing too well. Thought maybe you could use some company during the break. Listen, Lando, I came here thinking you knew about this. I completely understand if you’d rather be alone right now—I know you’re busy and all—"

"No!" Lando cut in, pausing mid-cleanup. His expression softened, and for the first time since opening the door, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. "I'm… I'm really glad you're here. Max is right. It hasn’t been easy." He exhaled, offering her a small, tight-lipped smile. "Thank you. For being here. I really appreciate it."

Then, with a playful tilt of his head, he spread his arms. "You gonna hug me, or are you just gonna stand there?"

Y/N let out a small laugh, relief washing over her as she finally saw that familiar spark in his eyes. Taking a few steps forward, she let Lando wrap her in a tight hug, his hold warm, grounding. Exactly what he hadn’t realized he needed.

------------------------------------------------------------

The first day of Y/N being there was more housekeeping than anything else. Between cleaning up Lando’s apartment, clearing out the fridge, and fixing up the guest room, the day passed in a blur of chores. By the time Max and P finally arrived, the boys volunteered to head out and pick up some late lunch—partly because there was absolutely nothing to eat at Lando’s place, and partly so Max could finally discuss the sly plan he had cooked up.

A heavy silence filled the car as Lando gripped the wheel, his knuckles tightening against the leather.

"You’re awfully quiet," Max finally said, side-eyeing his best friend from the passenger seat.

"Oh yeah? Wonder why," Lando bit back. "Maybe ‘cause my best friend decided to go behind my back and plan shit without telling me. The fuck were you thinking not mentioning she was coming over to stay?"

"Mate, it was all in good conscience," Max said with an exaggerated sigh. "Plus, what happened between you two… it was months ago—"

"Exactly!" Lando snapped. "I haven’t even been back home to talk about it since. Fuck’s sake, Max… it’s weird enough I haven’t seen her in ages, but springing this on me? That’s insane, even for you."

Max groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Why can’t the two of you just admit you like each other like the grown, mature adults you supposedly are and get on with it? It’s honestly exhausting."

"You know why."

"I actually don’t. Please, do explain. I’d love to hear whatever shit excuse you’ve got lined up. Go on then."

Lando let out a slow, tired sigh. "I’m busy, she’s busy. I can’t just drag her along with me and make her leave everything behind so we can be together. And you know how the media is, Max. I don’t want her dealing with all that hate. You’ve seen how bad it gets."

Max scoffed. "And what do you think she just did? She dropped everything to be with you when you needed her, yeah? Her choice. She’s already doing work at Quadrant—her own volition, might I add—on top of her own career. And might I remind you, you were the one who didn’t want to go through with it. From what I heard, she was willing to make it work."

"Yeah?" Lando let out a dry laugh. "From what you heard?"

Max smirked. "Fine. P told me."

"Lando, mate. If it all goes to shit—not that I think it will—I’m sure you’ll sort it out. She cares about you. And I know you feel the same way about her."

Lando sighed, pulling into the parking lot and turning off the engine. He leaned back against the seat for a moment before finally looking over at Max.

"I know you have good intentions," he admitted. "And despite how insane this is, I do appreciate it. I’ll… see where it goes." Then, with a smirk, he nodded toward the door. "Now go pick up the food, ‘cause I’m fucking starving."

Max narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at him as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "This conversation is not over, by the way."

Lando just laughed, shaking his head as Max climbed out of the car.

------------------------------------------------------------

Lando woke up to the unfamiliar yet oddly comforting sounds of pots clanking and the scent of food filling his apartment. It was so foreign that, for a second, he thought he was dreaming. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled out of his room, hair a complete mess, barely awake.

"Morning," Y/N greeted, smiling as she wiped her hands on a tea towel. "There’s breakfast on the counter. I’ve got meals sorted out for the rest of the week—followed your diet, so don’t worry."

Lando blinked at her, then at the kitchen, which now looked like a fully stocked catering service. "It’s 9 in the fucking morning, Y/N. What time did you get up for all this?"

"Like… 6:30?"

"Y/N"

"What? I have jet lag."

Lando squinted at her. "We’re in Monaco. London is one hour behind."

"Okay, fine," she sighed. "I wanted to make sure I had it ready for you. It’s nothing, really—it didn’t take me too long."

"Nothing?" Lando gestured at the sea of neatly packed containers. "My kitchen looks like McLaren hospitality right now."

"It’s not a big deal, Lan, really, I—"

Lando didn’t let her finish. He reached out, gently grabbing her hand and stopping her from cleaning. "Could you—please slow down for a sec?" His voice was softer now, his brows furrowing as he tilted her chin up so she’d look at him. "Y/N, you don’t have to do all this. You don’t have to take care of me."

Lando sighed deeply, his arms instinctively pulling Y/N into a tight hug. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his heart heavy. "I don't deserve you."

Y/N’s arms wrapped around him, her voice soft as she spoke, her thumbs tracing gentle circles on his back. "You have me, either way"

Lando pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression clouded. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the words. "Look, Y/N... we can't. I can't do this right now. What I said about us—about this, months ago... that's still how I feel. I like you... a lot, trust me, I do. But this is too much, and I can't possibly ask you to—"

He couldn’t keep eye contact, his gaze drifting as if the weight of everything was too much to bear.

Y/N took a step back but stayed close, her eyes searching his. She offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I get it, Lan. I’m here for you. As a friend." She took a deep breath. "What I said, about me wanting to be here... to do this with you... I meant that too. I still feel that way. I told you I can wait. You’re worth it."

"You two done being sappy, or should I give you a couple more minutes?" Max's voice echoed through the apartment, making both Lando and Y/N jump and scramble to step away from each other in a panic.

"You little shit, how long have you been stood there listening? You fucking weirdo." In a swift motion, Lando grabbed the nearest object, a spatula, and tossed it across the room. It flew past Max’s head, narrowly missing him as he stood frozen in the middle of the living room.

"So sorry, guys. I told him not to come in without knocking." P finally steps into the apartment, giving Max a pinch on his side. Max let out an exaggerated yelp, squirming away from her with a pained expression.

"Ow! Everyone’s so violent this morning," Max groaned, rubbing his side as P smirked, clearly satisfied with herself.

"You're ridiculous. Just gonna run to the bathroom real quick then we can have breakfast and plan the rest of our day" Lando shook his head with a groan, but a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaves the room

Max took the chance to walk over to Y/N, who was quietly setting the table for breakfast. "You good?" he asked, his voice low, careful not to let Lando hear.

Y/N glanced up at him with a soft, knowing smile. "Take a wild guess, Max. Bet you heard enough to figure out how I'm doing right now." She let out a quiet laugh, but it was tinged with something he couldn’t quite place, defeat, maybe?

Max took a breath, his tone shifting to something gentler, more understanding. "Look, he... you know how he is. As much as I want this for the two of you, you don’t have to wait for him. He can’t just expect you to be there until he’s finally ready. No one’s gonna hold it against you." His voice dropped.

Y/N shook her head slightly, her smile softening. "You’re really sweet, Max, but I’m okay. I promise." She was careful, though, making sure her words felt sincere.

Max gave her a small, thoughtful nod. "Just trying to look out for the two of you is all."

"I know," Y/N replied. She didn’t need Max’s concern to know what was best for her, but it was comforting, knowing that someone understood.

------------------------------------------------------------

Several races had passed since Y/N was last at Lando's apartment. Despite the distance, they’d kept in close contact—calls, texts, little check-ins whenever they could steal a moment. Lando was clearly doing better, each conversation revealing just how much he’d grown over the past few weeks.

Now, it was the Singapore Grand Prix weekend, and Y/N had finally managed to take some time off work. She’d been counting down the days until she could see Lando again, her excitement mingled with the kind of nervous energy that had been building up ever since she booked her flight. The anticipation was almost unbearable, especially when she considered how much her feelings for him had grown since their last conversation.

Despite the distance, despite all the unsaid things, she found herself thinking about him more and more, how his laugh had sounded over the phone, how his presence felt like a comfort when they’d been together. But now, standing outside of Mclaren's hospitality, waiting for Lando to step out his driver room after finishing free practice, everything felt good.

"Y/N! Hey, haven’t seen you around in a while. How have you been?" Zach, a close friend of Oscar Piastri, and someone Y/N had become friends with, walked over with a smile.

"Zach, it’s good to see you. I’m great, just been busy with work is all. The car seems good, Lando and Oscar are driving really well too" Y/N replied with a warm smile, happy to see a familiar face in the paddock.

"Things are looking great. We’re doing really well in the constructors, too. You waiting for Lando?" Zach asked, leaning against the railing casually.

"Mhmm, I’m catching a ride with him back to the hotel. He texted me, he’d be out in a bit." Y/N explained, glancing down at her phone to check for any updates from Lando.

"Right... listen. Are you free any time this weekend? Maybe even after the race? I was thinking—"

"Ready to go?" Lando's voice cut in, and he walked over to the pair, bag slung over his shoulder and phone in hand. "Oh, hey man, sorry, we gotta go. Got some friends waiting for us."

Zach smiled, stepping back. "Oh, don’t let me hold you back. I’ll see you around, Y/N. You still got my number, right?"

"Yep, I’ll catch up with you next time," Y/N said, giving Zach a friendly nod.

"Perfect. Hope you enjoy the weekend. It’s great having you back in the paddock," Zach said with a grin, stepping in to give Y/N a quick hug before patting Lando’s arm as he walked past. "Great stuff today, man. See you around."

Lando raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with slight bitterness as they walked toward the parking lot. "Didn’t know you two were close like that."

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, hello to you too, Lando. So great to see you after months, feels fantastic to finally be here with you."

Lando chuckled, though it was clear there was a hint of jealousy in his voice, "I didn’t mean it like that, just... you two seemed pretty chummy." He smirked at her, trying to play it off.

Y/N leaned back in the passenger seat, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't know, I actually think he's pretty cute."

Lando almost slammed the door shut in frustration, his face twisting into a scoff. "Cute? Right."

"What? You jealous?" Y/N teased, barely able to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm not," Lando grumbled, eyes focused on the road but his jaw clenched slightly.

"You so are. Your ears are red."

"I'm not" he repeated, his voice tinged with defensiveness.

"So you don't mind if I go out for dinner with him after the race then?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, her tone light but with a little edge, just to push his buttons. It was playful, but they both knew the boundaries—they weren’t together, not officially.

"No."

"No, you don't mind?" Y/N repeated, pressing him further.

"No, you can't" Lando snapped back, his hand gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

"Why?" she asked innocently, though a knowing smile played at her lips.

"Cause then you'll miss my victory party," Lando replied with a sly smirk, glancing over at her briefly.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed. "Oh wow, cocky now, are we?" She let out a laugh, though deep down, she couldn't ignore how his confidence was somehow making him all the more attractive.

"Wow" Lando gasped dramatically, glancing over at her with exaggerated disbelief. "You don't think I'll win this weekend? You're breaking my heart, darling."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "Don't get too cocky, Norris. The race isn't over until it's over."

"True," he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I like to think I’ve got this in the bag. You better be there to celebrate my win, Y/N."

She met his gaze, her playful teasing giving way to something softer, something more real. "We'll see," she replied, a small but genuine smile on her face. "But if you win, I'll begin to think I'm your lucky charm."

Lando nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. "You just might be."

------------------------------------------------------------

"We’ve got this in the bag, Lando. Stick to Plan A, do what you do best, and we’ll take care of the rest. Focus on the drive, and if anything shifts, we’ll adjust. We’re counting on maximum points from you two tonight." Will, Lando's race engineer, pauses, his eyes locking with Lando's, waiting for confirmation after his brief but crucial words.

"Lando."

"Yeah yeah. Maximum points, drive fast, got it." Lando mutters, his response flat, his attention half there. As important as this race is, his mind keeps drifting back to Y/N. She’s in the garage, talking with Zach. His Y/N. The thought pulls at him in a way he can’t shake.

Will’s voice cuts through the haze. "I need 100% of your focus, Lando. The race starts in 30." He hands him his earplugs, but Lando’s gaze is distant.

"Yep, heard." Lando mutters again, his tone quieter, his mind still elsewhere as he turns to leave, the weight of his thoughts lingering like an anchor.

Y/N and Zach were in the middle of an easy, lighthearted conversation. Lando, across the garage, could only watch, his gaze sharpening as he noticed how comfortable Y/N and Zach looked together. The laughter between them, the way they stood too close, it ate at him.

"Y/N, can I talk to you for a minute?" Lando’s voice cut through the air, direct and intense, as he strode toward them.

Y/N looked up at him, surprised but giving him a warm smile. "Yeah, what’s up? You nervous?" She didn’t get up from her seat, still in that calm, relaxed mood.

"Alone" Lando said, his tone sharper now, as the urgency in his words broke through.

"Oh—yeah, of course." She rose to follow him, a furrow crossing her brow, concerned by the intensity in his eyes. They walked towards a quieter corner of the garage, far enough from prying eyes and cameras.

As soon as they were alone, she looked at him. "Is everything okay? Do you need me to call Max or—"

Lando didn’t give her a chance to finish. "I don’t like this. You and him, talking... being all flirty. I don’t like it." The words spilled out of him faster than he could stop them, relief and frustration flooding his chest. It was all coming out at once.

Y/N blinked, trying to keep her voice steady. "I’m not flirting, Lando. He’s just a friend."

Lando’s frustration reached its peak. "I’m just a friend, Y/N! Fuck’s sake... I can’t get in the car like this, not with this on my mind. Not like this." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "Hey, Lan. What’s going on? You wanted this—actually, no, you didn’t want anything right now, did you? You said so yourself. I’m not doing this to make you jealous or get back at you, He's just a friend. That’s it."

But Lando shook his head, his voice shaking with vulnerability. "I don’t know what I want, okay! But seeing you... with him? I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I can’t lose you."

A soft laugh escaped her lips, though it held a touch of sadness. She gently took his hands in hers, stopping him from messing up his hair further. "You’re not gonna lose me, you silly boy."

Lando looked at her, searching her eyes for some sign that she understood, that she felt the same pull. "One kiss. Give me one kiss. Let’s pretend nothing else matters. Just right now, right here, with you. One kiss before I go." His voice was a whisper, full of longing and desperation.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she met his gaze, her eyes softening. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing across his jawline as she spoke quietly, almost to herself. "Nothing else matters... I don’t have to pretend. You’re all I want, Lando. Why can’t you see that?"

Lando exhales quietly, his fingers grazing her cheek as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. They stand close, the world around them fading into the background, neither in a rush to break the moment. Their eyes meet, lingering, only flickering downward for the briefest second before finding each other again.

"You take corners faster than this—are you gonna kiss me, or should I send in a request for DRS?" Y/N teases, tilting her head with a smirk.

Lando leans in, closing the small space between them, his lips pressing firmly against hers. It’s not their first kiss, there had been fleeting moments before, small pecks here and there, brief touches exchanged in passing, but this is different. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Their movements are unhurried, deliberate. It’s a kiss that speaks of everything unspoken, deep and certain, carrying the weight of something that had been waiting to happen.

She’s the first to pull away, though neither of them really want to. But reality tugs at Lando, he has somewhere to be.

Before stepping back, he presses a lingering kiss to her lips, another lighter one at the corner of her mouth. His lips brush her cheek, then her forehead, a quiet farewell without words. When he finally pulls away, he catches the flush creeping up her neck and smirks.

"I'm quick when it matters," he murmurs. "But some things are worth taking my time on."

-----------------------------------------------------------

It was the kind of weekend that felt almost predestined, Lando wins in Singapore, by a massive 20-second gap to Verstappen in P2. But even with the trophy in his hands and the roar of the crowd in his ears, his eyes searched for only one thing.

And there she was.

Among the sea of faces, hers stood out effortlessly, beaming with pride, hands clapping in celebration. The victory was unforgettable, but this moment, seeing her there, cheering for him, was the one he’d carry with him forever.

Lando could hardly sit still. He’d been rocking on the balls of his feet, barely paying attention to the post-race interviews with Oscar, his mind already somewhere else. The second the cameras cut off, he was up, grabbing his things in record time, making Oscar chuckle at his urgency.

"Word in my garage is you’ve got yourself a little lucky charm now," Oscar smirked, watching as Lando fumbled with his phone, already dialing Y/N.

"Word spreads fast, huh?"

"Finally made a move?"

"Yeah, took me long enough," Lando laughed, giving his teammate a quick pat on the back as he pressed his phone to his ear.

The call barely rang before her teasing voice filled his speaker. "Why hello there, champ. Miss me already?"

A grin stretched across Lando’s face, warmth creeping up his chest. "Always, baby. Where are you? Need my post-race kiss, like, now."

"On your left."

Lando spun around, immediately spotting her seated outside the motorhome with Max and P. He didn’t even bother ending the call properly, just stuffed his phone in his pocket and made a beeline for her.

"There he is! Mr. 20-second lead. Mate, you were proper flying—"

Max didn’t even get to finish before Lando stopped behind Y/N’s chair, tilting her chin up and leaning down to kiss her. This one deeper, lingering, completely unbothered by the fact that they had company.

"Shit—when did this happen?" Max gaped, his arm tightening around P as if he needed something to ground him.

"Just before the race. Can’t believe you’re only finding out now, thought the whole paddock knew by now," Lando chuckled, hands rubbing Y/N’s shoulders as she sat there, visibly flustered, still adjusting to the attention.

"Well, damn. About time."

Y/N glanced up at Lando, still a little dazed, but the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, made her forget about everything else. He pressed one last kiss to the top of her head before leaning down, voice just for her.

“You’re my good luck charm.”

She laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “Guess that means I have to stick around then, huh?”

Lando grinned, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Oh, baby, you’re not going anywhere.”

[abyss-seer]

Next week predictions

Check out my Insights on the missing Drum in Kim Krans Original Wild Unknown Archetype Deck (it is based on eternal recurrence of repeating life lessons)

Click the link below

Heres some predictions for

3 march to 8 march vedic astrology predictions

This week the sun is in Shatabhisha Nakshatra and Saturn in Purva Bhadrapada. This could speak a lot about expansion in a structured manner, as our souls feel propelled towards creating boundaries and finding ourselves drawn towards the concept of history repeating itself, as we end up finding ourselves in the same loop while struggling to expand ourselves for reaching out new horizons. Thus taking time to reflect on the patterns we are looping in while struggling to expand/extend ourselves.

You might see government and authorities repeating the same patterns, and trying to con us to hide something we were supposed to know, cause Shatabhisha does represent hidden mysteries being hidden, saturn in Purva Bhadrapada conjuct to sun, kinda supports this. Anyways with Mars in punarvasu we will be people actively trying to restore or protect themselves, taking time to replenish before hitting their potential. A perfect time to replenish yourself. This week is harmonious for making sweet efforts. Don't give up no matter what happens. Your efforts will be worth it this time around. Make your efforts for the balance in your life to be restored. Mars in Punarvasu, comes with beautiful results, but the catch is don't give up due to initial losses. Jupiter stays in Rohini, so there's a lot of potential for growth. A good time for liquid related business. You will feel motivated to grow this week, laziness may creep in, but lessons on emotional stability and growth will be learnt. So yeah rejuvenation is at it peak at this point. Venus is retrograde in Uttara Bhadrapada, a heavy karmic time in relationships for some of you. Given how moon stays in Ashwini nakshatra from 3rd March to 5th march, let's just say that healing is prevalent. Punarvasu and Purva Bhadrapada lord Jupiter is sitting in a moon nakshatra this time around, so calculative saturn and action taking mars are both focused on moon. And moon being in Ashwini nakshatra for these days signifies deeper healing. Wishing good lucks to you all. Happy shadow work!

Venus retro might make you feel like love doesn't exist for a while and some even feel like they are in the verge of break-up maybe, Rahu in Uttara Bhadrapada conjuct venus, gives that maybe you might realise you have been living in the illusion of one. There's some need to touch some grass when it comes to your love life / delivering your affection for the other person. As people might not be as interested as you might think. Or people might fly away. Be careful of being catfish in love.

As you are calculating and waiting on the next move with your years of accumulated make sure your relationships/love/luxuries of sleeping away, don't distract you. Especially the ones that may appear to be the genuine ones at first. Try to relax and see things from a leisurely perspective or continue doing your hobbies and what makes you happy rather than flying to moon for first sight love or stuff of that sort

Some may face difficulties in emotional growth due to recurring patterns in behaviour. Better communicate all your issues, before 11 march comes, cause Mercury goes retrograde then.

Alright take care of yourself, Good Bye

Eternal recurrence.

Wikipedia / Image from pinterest / Machiavelli / George Santayana / Thucydides / Image from pinterest / Abba - Waterloo / J. M. Barrie - Peter Pan / Fibonacci spiral / Catherynne M. Valente

[isuggestforcefem]

I know this is probably going to the wrong account, but maybe you can explain - why is it that friends call me an egg all the time? I don't understand it. Sure, I hate my body alright and wish I could hop between them at will until I found something fitting, but I just cannot be trans, it's way too late to even think about that. (heck, my friends actually started worrying about me recently, but imo it's misplaced at best) And yet, I think about it from time to time - it's a question without a clear answer, seemingly always ready to make my day bitter. How can I just make it stop? Erase it from my head somehow?

Hi cutie. I do not know you personally, but I believe that the reason they do is that you may be one. It’s not normal to hate one’s body. And it’s not cisgender to disregard these thoughts because of a belief it is too late, so let me say.

It is not too late. I don’t know how old you are, but that doesn’t matter. It is NOT too late. Not right, not in a few years. I have seen many girls transition late in life and bloom beautifully. It is not too late.

What then? I know how scary this is, and how much you do not wish to think about it. But it is worth the fear, trust me, for the joy you will obtain. Look into your heart, into yourself. You will only come out on the other end a more beautiful you.

Your friends seem supportive. Talk to them about it. Ask them what they see.

[gothicflowers]

damn why did Kyle’s ass block us tho

Continuing this Gaz blurb

*4 months later*

Gaz still felt guilty, and even worse… he couldn’t get off without recalling the way your body moved and voice sounded that night. Gaz was ruined. The innocent pictures he had of you when you two went to the beach once were like a playboy magazine to him. He tried a few hookups from shitty pubs but none compared to how you made him feel. Loved, warm, safe… happy.

He tried going on a few dates… one he accidentally called her your name as they were making out in his car. The other looked like you but lacked personality. Needless to say karma was biting Kyle in the ass.

“So you blocked her, after you took her to the fanciest steakhouse, wine back at her place while sharing secrets… and had the best shag of your life” soap says from the other side of the aircraft. “And let’s not forget all the cute couple shit you two had been doing”

“Who we talking about” ghost questions.

“Lass that Gaz was seeing months ago, and bloody blew it after a quick shag from the sound of it” soap snickers.

“I thought you were still seeing her” ghost questions.

“I didn’t think I’d actually sleep with her, that wasn’t my goal. And no, it’s been a while” gaz defensively replied.

Soap pinches the bridge of his nose “so your original plan was essentially a break off date”.

Gaz shrugs “I didn’t want her last memory of me to be me saying see you later after our usual Sunday walk. Plus we were never technically together”.

Prices eyebrows raised “So you just strung her along for a month and you were going to ghost her regardless of how the night ended”.

“Well… yeah and it was actually more like five months” gaz sheepishly replied.

The men went silent as they gathered their thoughts. Price being the first to speak up after a painful awkward silence “five months, you bastard she probably was falling in love with you, then you decided to pull the shittiest move a man can make”

“I panicked” Gaz shrugs and diverts his eyes from his captains burning gaze.

Ghost chuckles “wrong, you premeditated disappearing from her life. Sounds like you got a fear of commitment”.

Gaz defensive responds “I do not, it’s just with what we do it’s not worth the risk. I mean what if something happens”

“Sounds exactly like something a person with commitment issues would say” ghost quickly replied.

Soap decides to add fuel to the fire “Aye didn’t you do the same thing with the last gal you liked. Maybe it’s the chase you like. Love ‘em and leave ‘em“.

“Fuck off soap” Gaz responds trying to control his irritation.

Price sighs “I didn’t realize how much of my life I wasted having that mentality when I was your age. Had some fun one night stands but the loneliness catches up real quick. Granted things are turning up for me but boy do I feel like I missed out on that young love”.

Gaz starts to think about what price said. After a plane ride home in deep thought he asks price one last question before departing base “So what should I do to get her back”

Prices brows furrowed “You want something optimistic or something realistic”

“Fuck, realistic I guess” gaz leans against the doorframe of prices base office.

Price stands next to a filing cabinet and shakes his head “Honestly I’ll be amazed if she gives you as much as a moment to explain. But if she’s does let you, be honest about why you left and apologize. No point in lying when you have everything to gain and you can’t lose what you’ve already lost Sargent” price gives him a sincere look “regardless of how it turns out you need to let this be a teaching moment. Because maybe she doesn’t take you back, maybe life sends someone else your way. But if you get that lucky you know better than to fuck it up like this ever again”.

Gaz nods “Would flowers be a nice addition to the apology”.

Price smirks “I don’t think flowers will help your cause much, but maybe it’s sweeten her up”.

Gaz nods “thanks, see you later captain”

Gaz needs a plan to get you back, forever hopefully.

*the next day*

She wasn’t even home. So Gaz decides on waiting to see if you’ll come home anytime soon by sitting on your front door steps for two hours. He has no plans to leave until he sees your pretty face.

Gaz scrolls endlessly on his phone when the sound of heels awaken his senses, only to actually look up when he hears your voice “What are you doing here” you very clearly are not happy to see him.

Gaz stands up with flowers in his hand, clearing his voice he carefully starts his plan “I came to explain, but more importantly apologize”. Gaz sheepishly said.

Your eyes look down at the flowers in his hand, appalled. “No need honestly, I’ve moved on and I think you should to”.

Shit this isn’t going well Gaz thinks. Time to take the soft puppy dog approach. He takes a step forward to you and his eyes fill with hurt “Would you at least let me explain, if you don’t want to hear it I’ll leave now but at least let me be honest as to why I ran off”

You huff defeated, hard to say no when he’s looking at you like that but you can’t give in. “Nothing you can say will change my mind”.

“My job. It’s dangerous and I was worried that it wouldn’t work out because of the demands. And I didn’t plan on sleeping with you. Honestly I just wanted you to have a nice night before I disappeared” gaz trying to reach for your hand, you move back.

“That’s great Kyle. Well my boyfriend just left his office and I’m making dinner, so I really don’t have time for this” you fumble with your keys, as they slip to the ground Gaz picks them up and unlocks to door for you.

“At least let me help carry all this in for you and I’ll be on my way” he politely asked. Praying you’ll let him in.

You sigh a defeated “Fine”. You walk in the door first as Gaz grabs the rest of the bags on the porch. He watches as your hips sway, he can feel the blood in body start to boil. Stay calm, stay fucking calm.

Your home still smells like fresh cotton and lavender. Still perfectly tidy and comfortable. He looks over at that corner sofa where you two made out. He closes the front door and walks to the kitchen and sets the groceries on the counter, he notices a silver watch with a rather large band. Must be a big fella. That’s when he hears the front door open and close. A heavy set of footsteps approaches silently.

“I think you should get going now” you say plainly avoiding Kyle’s burning gaze. He hurt you too much for you to have a moment of doubt.

A deep voice speaks as the footsteps stop at the kitchen “Sargent”.

Gaz turns around to the voice in the room and swallows hard.

“Captain”

Pt.3

[actias-android]

Y'all got to know other nonhumans in school? Damn...I was already an adult when I got here. (Then again, I'm not sure I'd have been mentally normal about it when I was younger. I had too much going on and I'm pretty sure I'd have treated it like some kind of super-special escape from reality.)

The problem I run into is that a lot of what I have to say is just really hard to put into words because it's mostly the kind of thoughts you arrive at via long-lived experience, and the rest of it isn't that exciting to people. Because a lot of the second type is, 'Hey, stop trying so hard. Don't stress yourself out about this. Chill. Enjoy the ride. You don't even have to be an expert about yourself, let alone anybody else. Relax on the clannish behavior a bit. Let go of making mountains out of the molehills that are various alter/nonhuman communities. None of this is the end of the world, none of it is even provable so it's fine to treat it with some levity, and most of all none of it is worth the kind of middle school clique drama the communities are known for.'

And that's like...it goes over about like a lead balloon. The people who need to hear it don't wanna hear it, and the people who don't need to hear it just kind of nod, and in either case you can't even lead the horse to water, let alone make them drink. Younger people want there to be big universal narratives with answers, and for things to be important, and understandable. Everything is just that much more intense when you're young. You need to know and you need to know RIGHT NOW and emotions run high and it wouldn't be such a global trope if middle schools weren't legitimately full of drama because that's just the developmental stage, you know?

And then you get older and (hopefully) realize that was all kind of unnecessary actually.

And then you get older still and realize that as unnecessary as it was, you still probably couldn't have done it any other way. You can be young or wise, pick one. There's no way to actually impart what you've learned on someone who isn't there yet.

So it just ends up easier to occasionally fling some philosophical rambling into the void, hoping it'll maybe connect with someone who's at a point in their journey that they'll get it, and otherwise stay quiet until the urge to make words strikes again. Like, you've done your heavy introspection. Not a lot jiggles the new ideas loose anymore, that tree has been shaken of most of its fruit now, and you've gotta think about stuff like what's for dinner later.

One thing they don't tell you about being an adult therian is that much of the online community gradually feels more and more alienating. Posts about wearing gear to school or writing about your theriotype at college stop feeling relatable. And it's admittedly hard not to get grumpy about it. Sure, occasionally you see some insights about working a 9 to 5 when you're a dog, or managing your appointments when you're a bird, but most of the short-form writings you come across feel less like the relevant ramblings of your peers, and more like looking through a window at a life you had to leave behind. I don't miss school, good gods, nothing could ever make me wish I was 16 again. But I do miss the relative simplicity of it, and the ease with which I related to other school-age therians.

[lexiputellas]

Broken Vows

part2 - mdni

June 12th. Laundry day.

The monstrous, all-consuming, never-ending laundry day.

You remember when laundry was as simple as dropping off a bag of clothes at the dry cleaner and picking it up a few days later, crisp and fresh. That was before. Before life became an endless cycle of dirty socks, misplaced jerseys, and sheets that always seemed to need changing.

You start in Nora’s room. Nora, who is what some might call "spirited" but what you would call an absolute tornado. She plays football, like Alexia, but in terms of clothes, she is nothing like her mother. Alexia is meticulous. Methodical. Everything folded in perfect squares, socks matched like puzzle pieces. Nora? Chaos incarnate. At one point, you even wondered if she had ADHD, but then again, navigating a six-year-old’s mind is harder than you ever anticipated.

You strip the bed, replace the sheets, and move to Iris’s room.

The moment you step inside, a memory crashes over you. You and Alexia painting the walls, carefully placing the crib, folding tiny baby clothes. You were so pregnant with Iris that you joked about rolling around instead of walking. So big, so round, so full of expectation. But the reality was different. Harder.

You cried while feeding her, your nipples raw and bleeding. Your body didn’t feel like your own, you were right on the edge—so close to falling into postpartum depression that you still wonder if you actually did. Just a breath away from giving up.

But that was then. And today, you refuse to dwell on it.

You move to your bedroom, stripping the sheets, gathering Alexia’s clothes from the bathroom floor. You wash them the way she likes—because, of course, Alexia has a very specific way she likes things done. You are halfway through making the bed when her phone slips off the mattress, landing right on your foot.

Pain explodes up your feet.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you hiss, grabbing your foot before bending down to retrieve the damn thing.

You think about texting one of the girls, letting them know Alexia left her phone at home. But as you glance at the screen, a name catches your eye.

Eva.

There are several messages. You shouldn't look. You know that. You know it’s wrong. But the urge is overwhelming.

Who the fuck is Eva?

Your heart pounds as your fingers hover over the screen. You know Alexia’s passcode. It used to be your birthday, then hers, then Nora’s. You try and it works, the messages open.

It’s not a long conversation. Not pages and pages, just a few days’ worth. But it’s enough.

*Where are you? I’m worried.*

*Did your wife give you a hard time for getting home late?*

You didn’t. You pretended to be asleep when Alexia climbed into bed last night.

*When will I see you again?*

Your stomach twists. Maybe Eva is just a friend. A close one, maybe even a best friend. But deep down, you know. You fucking know. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers move.

You type back, pretending to be Alexia.

*Last night was good.*

You hit send. Your heart is pounding.

It takes barely a moment for Eva to reply.

*Oh, just fine, yeah?* she asks, her words dripping with a quiet, simmering edge of something darker.

*Was it just good when you fucked me against the balcony?* she adds, that sharp edge now unmistakable, laced with a daring smirk you can almost hear.

You freeze. Your pulse spikes, the room spinning around you. The words blur. The world tilts.

Alexia fucked someone else.

Eva.

Eva, who?

Eva, the reason she stopped coming home for dinner?

Eva, the reason she stopped tucking the girls into bed?

Eva, the reason she started giving up on you?

The name pounds inside your skull like a drum, like a fucking rock concert reverberating through your entire being. You can’t breathe. You can’t fucking breathe.

You drop to the floor, staring up at the ceiling, hot tears pricking at your eyes.

Is Eva prettier than you? Does she fuck better than you? Is she hotter? Funnier? Nicer?

You don’t know what to do. You don’t even know how to exist in this moment.

A cry pulls you back.

Iris.

You forgot you left her in her playpen.

You wipe your tears, stand up, and go to her. She snuggles into your arms, warm and safe. You hold her close, pressing your lips against her tiny forehead, and think—What the fuck am I going to do?

———————————————

7 PM. Dinner is ready.

You always wait until 7:30 to see if Alexia is coming home. You text Jana, telling her Alexia left her phone behind. Jana just says, Okay.

Alexia arrives on time. Kit still on, hair in a messy bun, looking every bit like the woman you fell in love with. She comes straight to you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before heading to the girls, lifting them onto the kitchen counter as they sing along to something on the iPad.

She asks where her phone is.

"Upstairs," you say.

She kisses the girls again before heading up.

You had deleted the messages. Every single one. You’re not stupid.

When she comes back, phone in hand, she helps you set the table. You sit next to Iris, feeding her small bites, while Alexia chats with Nora. It feels normal. Eerily normal. Almost like the past.

You eat Dinner. Do the dishes. Put Nora to bed and Alexia tucks in Iris.

After being done you go to your bedroom, with an idea in mind.

Alexia is already there, sitting against the headboard, scrolling through her phone.

"You know what I was thinking?" you say.

She hums without looking up. "Hmm?"

"I got something for you. Want to see it?"

Her head tilts. She looks intrigued.

You haven’t bought or worn lingerie in years. Not since you stopped feeling like the woman who used to leave Alexia breathless. But you still have some—tucked away in the back of your closet, hidden like a past life.

"What it is? Show me," she says.

You step into the bathroom, slipping into the black lace. It hugs every curve, pushes up your breasts, makes you look almost unfamiliar to yourself. You barely recognize yourself.

But when you step out, Alexia does.

She stares.

Not just a glance—she looks at you like she used to, like she’s seeing something she forgot she could have. Like you’ve just stolen the air from her lungs.

Her phone slips from her fingers, forgotten.

You crawl onto her lap, slow, deliberate, feeling the heat radiating from her body the moment your thighs settle over hers.

Her hands move without hesitation—roaming, squeezing, claiming. Her breath is heavier, her fingers digging into your hips, trailing up your sides, gripping your waist like she’s trying to memorize you all over again.

"Fuck, baby," she murmurs, her lips dragging over your throat, her voice thick, ruined. "You look so fucking hot."

Her fingers move lower, tracing the lace, teasing the edge of the fabric. You roll your hips against her, slow and smooth, watching the way her jaw tenses, the way her fingers twitch against your skin.

She groans, low and guttural, her hands sliding up your back, over your shoulders, down your arms—like she needs to touch every inch of you. Her lips trail lower, hot and open-mouthed, sucking bruises into your collarbone, your breast, dragging her teeth over lace-covered skin.

Her hands are on your thighs, spreading you, guiding you against her. You grind down, chasing something desperate, moving against her fingers the second they find you—slick, eager, drowning in want. Her breath hitches as she pushes inside, stretching you, filling you.

Your forehead drops against hers, your breathing uneven, your body trembling. It’s messy. It’s hungry. It’s not enough.

And then—

You lean in, your lips ghosting over the shell of her ear, and whisper—

"Does Eva fuck like I do?"

Everything stops.

Alexia’s hands freeze inside you, her breath catching in her throat.

She pulls back just enough to see your face, her brows furrowing, her eyes flashing with something dark, something uncertain, something dangerously close to breaking.

She looks at you like she doesn’t understand.

Like she doesn’t want to understand.

You smile.

"Yeah, Alexia," you whisper, voice sharp, taunting, twisting the knife. "I’m not fucking blind."

[wchswift]

─── SO HIGH SCHOOL

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: As teenagers, you and Dean had a whirlwind romance before everything fell apart. Years later, you reunite—and it’s like high school all over again.

contents! mutual pining, teenage love, soft, flirting and touching, stupid in love dean, mdni 𖤐 18+

word count: 2.8k

𝒟ean masterlist !

Dean was the first and only real love you had.

Well, not exactly real. And maybe not exactly love.

He was the good part of your day. That person you knew would be there. The person who made school possible and tolerable.

Dean was always known for his charm, for his way with girls. For always having them. But the moment Dean joined your group of friends and you two became even remotely close, it was as if something, a connection, that you didn't know could exist, finally made itself present within you.

It wasn't something verbalized, something explicit. But as soon as you had your first kiss, there was no one else. No other girl in school had a chance with him. He wouldn't let you go, and much less took his eyes off you.

Everything felt so real. Even if it was just between the lines.

He was the best "relationship" you ever had. The best moments and the best treatment you had from a boy were with Dean Winchester.

And then just as it all began, suddenly he wasn't there anymore.

One night you two were together in the back seat of the car and the next morning he was gone from town, without any explanation.

And when you were seventeen, that was the last time you saw Dean.

You and Dean were sure you would never see each other again. You were teenagers, it was normal. People come and go from school all the time, it was common to meet people at school and then never see them again, never find out how they are.

This is what you and Dean thought things would be like. Just a memory that would fade in time. Never having to worry about looking each other in the eye again.

But when was anything ever simple in Dean Winchester's life?

A case never ended up being just a case.

The small town didn’t exactly scream "monster hotspot," but something was definitely off. Three people had vanished without a trace in the past two months, all last seen at the same place—a cozy little diner on Main Street that doubled as a bookstore. The place was old-school charming, the kind of spot with checkered floors, the scent of fresh coffee in the air, and a tiny bell over the door that jingled whenever a customer walked in. Nothing about it screamed "supernatural danger," but Dean had learned long ago that the worst things often hid in the most ordinary places.

“Alright, so we got three missing persons, no bodies, and a common location,” Sam said, flipping through his notes. “No signs of struggle, no EMF spikes, no sulfur. If it’s something supernatural, it’s keeping a low profile.”

Dean tapped his fingers against the Impala’s steering wheel, squinting at the diner across the street. “Or it’s just smart. Maybe a witch, maybe something we haven’t seen before.”

Sam sighed. “So, the usual—talk to employees, check out security footage, dig through lore?”

Dean smirked. “Aw, you're so smart, Sammy.”

With that, they climbed out of the car and crossed the street, the bell over the door announcing their arrival. The place was warm and inviting, filled with the quiet hum of conversation and the soft crackle of pages turning. Dean barely had time to take it all in before his gaze landed on someone behind the counter.

He recognized you instantly. There wouldn't be a day that he wouldn't.

You were busy jotting something down, focused on a customer, completely unaware of him—at first. Dean’s stomach tightened, his pulse kicking up. It had been years, but damn if you wasn’t still the same girl he remembered—just sharper, more grown-up, but still you. The girl who had once snuck out of your house to meet him, who had laughed against his lips under the Friday night stadium lights, who had looked at him like he was worth something—until he left without saying goodbye.

When you lifted your head, ready to serve the new customers, that’s when you saw him.

For a second, just a second, your eyes met, and he saw it: the flicker of recognition, the moment your heart probably dropped into your stomach the same way his had.

To this day, Dean always remembers the way you used to look at him. The sparkle in your eyes, the way they seemed to smile, emanating happiness and trust.

Just seeing you made him feel as if he were in high school again.

And now? Now you were standing behind the counter, your apron tied around your waist, a pen tucked behind your ear, looking at him like you weren’t sure whether to punch him or pretend he didn’t exist.

Dean opened his mouth, but for once in his life, words failed him.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you finally muttered, eyes narrowing.

Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, Dean—?"

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, Sammy.” Dean snapped out of it, forcing a grin. “Long time, no see, sweetheart.”

"Didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Winchester.” Your voice was calm, even, but there was an edge to it, a quiet challenge. "Guess life’s full of surprises."

Dean exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah… guess it is."

Sam, ever the unfortunate third wheel, glanced between them and shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, we’re actually here about the disappearances. We’re—"

"FBI?" you cut in, lifting a brow. "Do you want me to believe that you two are FBI?"

Dean had to bite back a smirk. Of course you weren’t buying their act. You had always been sharp. Always saw right through him.

Sam hesitated. "We just have a few questions."

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the counter before jerking your chin toward an empty booth in the corner. "Fine. Take a seat. I’ll be over in a minute."

Dean watched as you turned on your heel, disappearing into the back. Only when you were out of sight did he let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“Well,” Sam muttered, “that wasn’t awkward at all.”

Dean ignored him, eyes still locked on the door you had just walked through.

Yeah. This case just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

Only to get better, when you return, you decided to act as if he didn't exist. There was no sign of recognition on your face. No lingering shock, no flicker of emotion. Just cool, effortless professionalism, like you didn’t just have the wind knocked out of you moments ago.

A notebook is in your hand now, the pen twirling between your fingers as you slide into the seat across from them. Your eyes flick briefly to Sam—acknowledging him first, like Dean isn’t even there.

“So,” you say, tone even. “What exactly do you want to know? If this is about the disappearances, let me say I don’t know much. Just that they all came in here before they went missing. We gave their names to the cops already”

Dean leaned in, arms folding as he tilted his head slightly. “You always this helpful, sweetheart?”

The nickname made your eye twitch—barely.

You finally, finally glanced at him, and for a second, all he could see was the fire behind your gaze.

“I try my best, agent.” Your lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Anything else?”

Sam cleared his throat, glancing between the two of you, clearly picking up on the weird energy but too polite, more like too damn confused, to say anything. “Uh—right. But anything else you might’ve noticed? Strange behavior? Anyone bothering them?”

You exhaled through your nose. “Not that I remember.”

Feeling that with all this tension he wasn't going to get anywhere, Sam decided to stop there. “Alright, I think that’s all we need for now, then. If you remember anything else, let us know.”

With a nod, you began to rise from your seat, your body moving almost instinctively as you embraced the end of the conversation. “Sure thing."

As Dean watched you walk back to the counter, he couldn't believe you acted as if he wasn’t even there. However, if you thought that was the end of it, you were mistaken. Now that Dean had found you again, he wasn’t planning to just walk away. Not this time.

“Dude,” Sam muttered, voice low, snapping Dean out of his reverie. “What the hell was that?”

Dean exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “It’s complicated.”

Sam frowned. “Yeah, no kidding. You gonna fill me in?”

Dean didn’t answer right away, just watched as you disappeared through the swinging door behind the counter.

He used to love watching you walk away. Now it just felt like he was losing you all over again.

After a beat, he pushed up from the booth. “I’ll be back.”

Sam sighed. “Dean—”

But Dean was already moving.

The back door of the diner led to a narrow hallway—one he knew you’d taken to get a breather. It was quieter back here, the hum of conversation fading into a dull murmur.

And sure enough, there you were.

Your hands braced on the edge of a small counter, eyes closed, breathing deep. He knew that look. Knew you were trying to steady yourself, get your walls up before he could knock them down.

Too late.

“Still not gonna look at me?”

Your shoulders tensed at his voice, but you didn’t turn. “What do you want, Dean?”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms folding. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe a little acknowledgment? A hey, Dean, long time no see. Thought you were dead or in jail—”

“Wouldn’t have been surprised.”

Dean let out a sharp breath, a humorless smirk twitching at his lips. “Yeah, well. Didn’t end up that way.”

Silence.

You reached up, rubbing your temple, like talking to him was physically painful.

And hell, maybe it was.

After a beat, you finally turned to face him, arms crossing. Your eyes were sharp, guarded. But there was something else beneath it. Something raw.

“Why are you here, Dean?”

His chest ached at the way you said his name. Not like you used to—soft, familiar, like it meant something. Now it just sounded… tired.

“Job brought us here,” he said, keeping it simple.

You studied him, unconvinced. “And what? You thought, hey, let’s stop by and ruin her day while we’re at it?”

Dean huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, because that’s what I wanted. To see you look at me like I’m a damn ghost.”

You flinched. It was quick—so quick he almost missed it. But he didn’t.

And suddenly, the fight drained out of you. Your gaze dropped for the first time since this whole thing started, fingers tightening against your sleeves.

Dean’s throat worked.

He could push. Could try to get you to really talk, break down that wall you were building brick by brick.

But the way you looked right now? Like you were holding yourself together with nothing but sheer will—

He couldn’t do it.

Not yet.

Instead, he exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Look. I don’t know how long we’ll be in town. But I think we’re gonna be crossing paths whether you like it or not.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t answer.

Dean nodded, stepping back. “Just… don’t pretend I was never here, alright?”

And with that, he walked away.

He didn’t see the way your jaw clenched, the way your fingers curled into fists like you were stopping yourself from reaching out—

Didn’t hear the breath you let out, shaky and uneven, as soon as he was gone.

You knew this wasn’t the end—couldn’t be. Deep down, you knew that your story with Dean Winchester was far from over. And you knew that the moment he decided to see you again, he would pull you close once more, weaving his way into your heart until you could never imagine leaving his side again.

Weeks passed.

Looking back, you weren’t sure when exactly everything shifted.

Maybe it was after Dean came back to the diner and made you listen while he told you the truth—even though at the time you were sure that the man you once loved was completely insane.

But maybe it was when you started helping with the case, and somewhat believing him—not because you wanted to be a hunter, but because you wanted to be with him.

Or maybe it was just inevitable. Like gravity pulling you back into his orbit, like you never really had a choice in the first place.

All you knew was that, suddenly, it felt like before—like sneaking out past curfew, like warm summer air and stolen kisses in the Impala, like every love song that made your chest ache.

Only now, you weren’t kids anymore.

And Dean Winchester had never been the kind of guy to love halfway.

Which was how you ended up here.

Sitting in a diner, trying to pretend like Dean’s hand wasn’t sliding up your thigh under the table.

Across from you, Sam exhaled sharply through his nose. His patience was wearing thin.

“Dude,” he gritted out, glaring at Dean. “Can you stop touching her for five seconds?”

Dean, the picture of innocence, took a sip of his coffee. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sammy.”

Sam’s expression was pained.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, but when Dean leaned in—his lips brushing your ear when he definitely didn’t need to be that close—you swatted at his chest.

“Dean.”

“What?” He smirked, not even pretending to be sorry. “Just admiring my girl.”

Sam muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like I hate this.

But it only got worse from there.

Dean was relentless.

His hands were always on you—an arm wrapped around your waist, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, palm resting low on your back. He kissed your temple absentmindedly, whispered things that made you flush, smirked when he caught you looking at him like you still had a teenage crush on Dean Winchester.

Because you did.

You always had.

Later, at Bobby’s, the three of you sprawled in the living room—Dean practically wrapped around you on the couch, arms snug around your waist, his breath warm against your neck.

Sam was across the room, doing some research on his laptop, eyes glued to the screen as if sheer focus could block out the absolute nonsense happening beside him.

Dean, completely unbothered, nosed at your temple. “You cold?”

You weren’t.

At all.

But you hummed innocently, just to see what he’d do.

Dean, ever the problem, tugged you closer, his hands sliding beneath the hem of your sweater, tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

You shivered.

He felt it.

And he smirked.

“You’re shameless,” you whispered, biting your bottom lip to repress a smile.

Dean nipped at your jaw. “Yeah?” His lips brushed your ear, and God, you felt it everywhere.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet, meant just for you. “Wanna know somethin’?”

You swallowed. “What?”

Dean shifted, his mouth so close his breath fanned warm against your skin. “First time I saw you? When we were stupid teenagers?” His hands traced higher, fingers barely grazing the edge of your bra. “Damn near forgot how to breathe.”

Your stomach plummeted.

“Dean.”

“Mm?”

Your heart hammered, but you fought to keep your voice steady. “Sam is right there.”

Dean pulled back just enough to glance at his brother—who was clearly tuning you out, laser-focused on not acknowledging this entire situation.

“If he has a problem, he can get up and leave.”

You swatted at his chest, biting back a laugh, but when you turned to face him, his expression shifted—no teasing, no smugness. Just him, looking at you like he was seeing you all over again.

His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up.

And just like that, you felt seventeen again.

God, what was it about him that made you feel like this?

That made you ache?

Dean’s lips parted, his gaze flickering down to your mouth.

Your breath caught.

He grinned—slow, lazy, devastating. “You gonna let me kiss you, sweetheart?”

You were sure your heartbeat was so loud.

Sam made a strangled noise in the background.

Dean groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. “Jesus Christ, Sammy, just leave the damn room.”

“I'm living here too,” Sam deadpanned, not directing his gaze towards you.

Dean huffed, shaking his head before turning back to you—his eyes darker now, filled with something deep and warm and completely unshakable.

You swallowed, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

This man knew what he wanted and, boy, he definitely got you.

But God, Dean Winchester was so much. And he had been from the start.

And you were so gone for him.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

lina's notes: I should have posted this a long time ago lol, but it didn't turn out exactly how I wanted and I was a little unsure but I hope you liked it <3

taglist: @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bettystonewell @rositaslabyrinth @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @freeluigihesbae (if you want to be removed or added let me know <3)

[jeanjauthor]

Some things you can do politically:

WRITE A (polite!) LETTER TO YOUR MEMBERS OF CONGRESS. They genuinely sit up and pay attention to handwritten messages.

Phone 'em. Fax 'em. Be polite, but tie up their phones with your concerns.

YES, EVEN THE DEMOCRAT ONES. Too many of those folks are crumpling under the assault.

Consider writing a POLITE letter to the SCOTUS outlining your genuine concerns. Don't rant, but talk about your Constitutional Rights being violated. Maybe they won't do anything, but it'll be on the record that You Do Not LIke What Is Happening.

Closer to home:

Remember how the Citrus cephalocoprolii ordered the Army Corps of Engineers to dump two reservoirs' worth of water out of California? California, which grows 14% of the US food supply?

Grow a veggie garden. You don't need a yard, you just need a windowsill or a balcony/porch that gets some sunlight.

Get some pots and put some dirt and some seeds in them. You can literally get plastic tubs / storage bins from a thrift shop and put some holes in the sides near the bottom, fill them with dirt, and use that.

You can also use a bag of potting soil (don't use MiracleGro as it wrecks seedlings; use it only for mature plants), and follow the directions from this blog: https://www.facebook.com/share/p/18kjBF6bUR/ and then https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1GosUmGo5L/ (They will have more posts later on as we get closer to spring. Whidbey Island is north northwest of Seattle, so it's a maritime climate, our winters are milder than most other places this far north, but you can adjust your growing times & needs for your local conditions.)

If nothing else, get some dirt in some plastic tubs, buckets, whatever, and get some baby potatoes from the grocery store. Put them in the dirt, cover 'em by a few inches, and water it regularly but not heavily. For every baby potato you plant, you can get 5+ potatoes in return by the end of the growing season.

Harvest when the above-ground plants wilt, then store them in paper sacks for about a week in a cool dark place so they can toughen up for storage, and store in a humid, cool, dark location. Avoid sunlight as that causes the skins to go greenish, and the skins are where a lot of vitamins & micronutrients are stored.

Radishes are a quick crop to grow, and their green leaves can be eaten. (Some kinds are a little fuzzy, but they can be eaten raw or cooked, and can be quite tasty.) Carrots need deeper soil and a much longer growing time. But while they take a lot longer to grow, their greens, too, can be eaten. Lettuces are also quick if you get the leaf-kind, and once they get big enough, just "graze" every few days enough for a salad to help keep you healthy. You can also plant successive crops, like, a row of radishes and leaf lettuces alternating every week. (The last thing you want is to have too many ready to be eaten all at once, so it's wiser to plant in small amounts at intervals.)

You're going to need to be healthier than you are now, just to survive all this flying fecal matter, so make sure you take care of yourselves, folks.

Do. Something.

[rafescherie]

SALT IN THE SUGAR BOWL — RAFE CAMERON

synopsisᝰ.ᐟ pogue!rafe decides to end things between the both of you, before either of you get too attached — but it's already passed that point, for the both of you.

warningᝰ.ᐟ angst really, sweetheart!kook!reader gets her heart smashed

cherie's note — heavily inspired by letthespiceflow on c.ai c: been using that bot a bit, and wanted to write a fic based off of the intro of the bot! they hv a lot of good bots on c.ai and spicychat as well, pls check them out if u like rafe cameron bots! part one of two!

rafe had never been one for the kook life — fancy boats, and stupid polo shirt outfits. more than one hundred spent on an outfit and it became one for 'special occasions', otherwise it would be covered in the filth of the garage floor, and deep obsidian motor oil. his hands were already stained, not something unusual for his line of work. despite his resentment for the kook life, and everyone on the other side of the island, they paid him a hell of a lot of money for the work he did — and he did it well. it had only been a few years since he had opened his own mechanic garage, months worth of projects to work on since the very first day. he was always kept busy — whether it was with upgrading a vehicle, or fixing somebody else's, he always had his hands full.

that's how he met you. so generously, he had offered to tow your vehicle back to the shop upon discovering it moiling the smoke from under it's hood — like your guardian angel sent from heaven, it was the least he could do for a pretty girl. his mother had taught him better, always trying to be a gentleman where he could be.

until today. this morning was different — the air hung thick with the aftermath of the hurricane in his brain from the night prior. he knew he needed to act on his thoughts, and do what was best. but he absolutely dreaded seeing the look on your face, and watching it completely shatter your heart.

"need the wrench, angel." he requested from beneath the heavy vehicle, grease smothered hand appearing from below to extend an open palm. bounding almost excitedly off of his leather-worn workbench, you placed the cold steel tool in his hand.

"so uh, listen," a grunt escaping his lips, absentmindedly going back to working on the vehicle. his muscles tensed with every torque of the wrench, biceps shining with a mixture of grease and sweat. the unmistakable sound of heavy bolts hitting the cold cement of the locally-owned garage rang through the bay, the hum of rock music playing throughout the shop.

his heart thundered against his chest — he felt like such a dickhead. it had only been a few months since the both of you had started seeing one another, and he was already planning on ending things. it wasn't something he wanted to do: it was something he needed to do. he hated knowing he was the reason you held yourself back from the possibility of college. no matter how much he had stressed to you that your schooling was important, especially given the opportunity of growing up on figure eight, it never seemed to stick with you. all you wanted was to be around him, and as much as he adored having you tag along every day, he didn't want to be the reason you would ruin your future.

"been thinking... maybe we should, cool things off, a bit."

the words stuck in your head for a minute, heart racing over the sentence. had you heard him right? there was certainly the possibility you had misunderstood. "what is that supposed to mean?"

rafe sighs, audible even from beneath the heavy vehicle he had been working on the last few months. the last thing he wanted to do was look at you, speak directly to you — the hurt in your eyes would eat him alive like no other, as if the guilt wasn't already working towards that alone.

"you know.." he starts, voice tame despite the race of his emotions, "you an' me."

you furrow your eyebrows, confused on the sudden shift. he had been so sweet just yesterday — peppering you with so much love you were sure you would have fainted on the spot. but maybe that was his attempt at sweethearting you — trying to help soothe the mental turmoil he was experiencing for ending things so suddenly with you. "what, why?"

he shakes his head, wishing you'd just drop it. but an explanation was what you deserved, after all. it was the least he could do. he drops the wrench onto the cement beneath the car, sliding out from underneath to kneel in front of you. he runs his tainted hand over his buzzed hair, another deep sigh falling from his nostrils.

"you're a smart girl, sweetheart. think about it — you're a kook, and i'm a pogue. you come from the rich side of the island, and i come from the cut. it wouldn't work," he starts, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around your fragile body, reassuring you it wasn't your fault, "besides, last thing you need in your life is someone who dropped out of high school, 'specially since you're headed to college in the fall."

ouch.

"rafe..." you trail on, biting the inside of your cheek in any sort of control against the tears that threatened to spill onto your flushed cheeks. "i- i thought you didn't care for all that?"

"i don't," he replies, ocean blue eyes looking around the shop in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact.

"so where is this coming from?" you ask, heart thundering against your ribcage. desperation was laced within your voice, soft and trembling at the realization of the news you were being hit with.

he let out a sigh, hesitating before he opened his mouth to speak. there was no easy way to say this, so he opted for brutal honesty. his eyes never left yours as he said the words he dreaded most.

“it’s dangerous,” he started, his voice low as he slowly stood up in front of you. “it’s just asking for trouble. people would have my head. not to mention what your parents would say. we just…we can’t do this anymore.”

none of this was fair — neither to you, or to him. but there was no turning back now, the words had already popped out of his mouth, and the inevitable damage was already done. the look on your face was like a gut punch to his stomach, making him feel dizzy and sick all at the same time. he hated himself — really, he did.

one thing you knew for sure about rafe — he either didn’t care at all, or he cared too much. he always told you it didn’t matter what your parents thought or how anyone else would react; he promised he’d always take care of you. but as reality crashed down on you like a ton of bricks, that promise felt like a slap in the face. you hadn’t even realized you were crying until the hot tears streaked down your flushed cheeks, landing on the bare skin of your shoulders, exposed by your tank top.

"it's for the best, baby."

the oil on his hands smudges onto the denim fabric of his wrinkled, disheveled shirt before he lifts them to cup your face in his palms. his blue eyes search yours, the sting of salty tears making it harder to hold his gaze. but you don’t let him linger — you swat his hands away and turn for the exit, your footsteps heavy against the garage floor.

you stupidly wish to hear his footsteps trailing behind you as you walk back to your parked car — but they never come. how foolish, how naive, to think he would follow. even after he fell in love with you. even after he let you fall in love with him.

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Before I end up making that post I want to talk about briefly with the release of IS5 again, the concept of each IS havin a fundamental theme of unreality to them. I really like this, because it feels like in a pretty unsubtle way a solid way to ground the structure of a roguelike setting into what is normally a pretty grounded storyline.

IS1, Ceobe's Fungimist (please Hypergryph let it return), is a hallucination caused be Ceobe eating weird forest mushrooms. Nothing that happens in IS1 is real, explicitly. However, IS1 is fundamentally drawing from something, and in Ceobe's case, it seems to be drawing from her memories of traveling abroad Terra looking for the origins of her axe (and food, of course). What are things Ceobe's remembers happening to her, what are hallucinations filing in the gaps, and what are Ceobe catching glimpses of fundamental truths of the world (the Black Procession and the Feranmut skeleton that is Maybe? Lifebone for instance) is left extremely vague. Characters such as the Frozen Monstrosity do seem to genuinely exist, but there was no Frozen Monstrosity in Lungmen. Was Ceobe using something she herself experienced in place of Frostnova, or is Ceobe hallucinating the entire thing regardless? Who knows. Ceobe probably doesn't have the answers for you.

IS2 has explicit themes of madness and deception, and although I do not find him a particularly compelling character or plot device, a playwright who can literally warp reality with his plays. Much of the stage design recycles echoes the stage design from IS1, almost as if the Troupe is welcoming you, the player, onto their stage. You aren't here to discern the truth behind the Troupe, you're here to save one man, and while you are able to peel back the curtains somewhat, you never really do learn what the Troupe is. There are puppets who come to life and whose music damages your souls, there are actors driven so fully into their roles that they end up traveling to Sami to carry out their destined end, there's a Troupe Leader whose defining imagery is puppets and strings, and yet, you're no closer to finding out how this all happened than you are trying to explain why the Knights' Duel node exists.

IS3 asks the question "What if time is like evolution?" and presents its unreality in the form of a sprawling, massive bundle of alternative timelines to your own. It feels almost impossible to line up most of the events and memory mappings and endings on top of each other, and even the endings seemingly branch off into several versions of themselves. While, for example, the Irene encounter maps onto her own memory mapping story, we never see the timeline involving Lumen's memory mapping in the game at all. There is no Seaborn version of Gladiia in-game for you to fight. This is made seemingly all the more uncanny by the fact that there is actually a canon timeline going on, and the implication through the Bosky event that you are only seeing these alternative timelines because curiosity got the better of you. You came into contact with technology alien and yet familiar, and as a result, your good little timeline where you just save a girl who tries to commit identity death turns into you having to watch from the third person a version of the world where you and Mizuki are potentially the only intelligent life left on Terra for all eternity.

(No seriously, this ending is fucked up, what the fuck.)

IS4, on the other hand, gives us a reality that is unraveling, so fragile and malleable that you can cause things to manifest out of sheer force of will, something there are explicit warnings about not doing. It's a land where the living become the shambling, almost mechanical dead, and the mechanical being living creatures. It's a world where the abyss looks back at you, and finds you to be worth destroying. Gravity isn't right, time isn't right, language isn't right, snow falls black and the dead rise once again to beckon you home. There's nightmares in the shadows, and they're eating away at everything.

Sorry shit I got dark there. IS5 is Nymph's happy little storytime where she explores future and alternative versions of Kazdel through the imagination of her and her compatriots. What if Theresis and Theresa worked together and Nasti completed her designs (and maybe committed a genocide????) and Kazdel was a flying utopia city? What if the Teekaz all walked in a different direction and became the Sankta, or all became the Anasa? You know, sometimes you lose your sense of reality and become dependent on the visions you see from the Revenants, sometimes you need a little bunny to pull you out, and sometimes those Revenants might have actually caused a new reality to exist but haha, don't worry about that.

What if, hahaha, just saying what if, there was a version of Amiya in a world where the Sarkaz barely exist, where she was given the crown by a dying Theresa with no guidance on how to use it ethically? Haha I mean, what if Kal'tsit wasn't around? What if, just theoretically, there was a version of Amiya for whom the most formative person in her life was the decaying mind of a man stuck as an AI program who kept his people alive for 10,000 years? What if, hehehehe you know, what if, there were special endings you got for each of the stories you told where you went onto fight her, showing up closing up those stories, those worlds, to eternally protect them until she can find the answer to all troubles? What if the Sarkaz prophecy from Chapter 7 kept coming up, over and over again, the prophecy of an Amiya who would melt millions of lives into memories over and over again? What if this was an Amiya so immediately dangerous that the Sankta version of Buldrokkas'tee doesn't hesitate in trying to kill her?

I mean that would be a really scary story if it was true. Really it's Nymph's special storytime with the revenants. Don't worry about it.

Anyways I love pretty much each of these takes (IS2 is definitely the weakest though) and it shows a lot of thought from the storywriters about how they wanted to integrate a roguelike mode into their game.

[premiumbitch]

۶ৎ GLAMOROUS, BOLD & ICONIC: THE NAOMI LAPAGLIA MANIFESTATION & SCRIPTING PACK ˙⋆.˚

This is for the lovely people who want to manifest stuff about themselves or script this in their shifting script! this pack is a naomi lapaglia (from wolf of wallstreet) theme ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ enjoy!

♯┆BEAUTY.ᐟ

Your beauty is a scandal waiting to happen, the kind that makes men forget their morals and women question their confidence.

Your hair is golden silk, cascading over your shoulders like sunlight woven into strands. Always voluminous, always perfect—whether styled in sultry waves or swept up in a messy yet intentional updo.

Your skin is soft, luminous, touched by wealth itself—glowing as if kissed by sunlight, champagne, and luxury face creams worth more than a car payment.

Your eyes are hypnotic, unreadable, teasing—a perfect blend of innocence and danger, promising something unforgettable but never revealing too much.

Your lips are the definition of temptation—glossy, pillowy, always painted in the perfect shade of power.

Your cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass, sculpted to perfection, highlighted just enough to catch the light with every turn of your head.

Your nails are always polished, always elegant, always deliberate—a detail not to be overlooked. Whether soft pink, a classic French tip, or a bold red, every choice is a silent statement.

Your legs are long, smooth, effortlessly sensual—the kind that turn a simple walk into a slow-motion scene straight out of a movie.

Your scent is intoxicating—a mix of warm vanilla, white jasmine, and a lingering trace of expensive perfume that stays in the air long after you leave.

Your smile is a game, a secret, a promise—sweet but knowing, inviting but dangerous. It lingers in their minds for weeks.

Your wardrobe is a collection of dreams and decadence—figure-hugging dresses, delicate lace lingerie, diamonds that catch the light, stilettos that make you walk like a goddess.

Your voice is syrup and silk, sweet but commanding—a voice that draws them in and makes them lean closer.

Your posture is flawless, intentional, hypnotic—you don’t just walk, you glide like you own the world.

Your beauty isn’t just about looks—it’s about presence, power, and the kind of allure that stays under their skin.

♯┆AURA .ᐟ

Your aura is gold-dusted and champagne-laced, wrapped in confidence and just a touch of danger.

You move like a whispered secret, a slow exhale, a stolen glance.

You don’t beg for attention—you command it, without even trying.

You are the embodiment of untouchable luxury—not just beautiful, but desired, craved, unforgettable.

Your presence lingers in rooms long after you leave—the scent of your perfume, the sound of your laugh, the memory of something they’ll never quite figure out.

You are sugar spun into steel—soft when you want to be, unbreakable when you need to be.

You know when to stay quiet and when to make them listen.

You don’t need validation—you are the validation.

People don’t just notice you, they study you, they admire you, they try to figure out what makes you so magnetic.

You walk like you have a secret worth millions, and maybe you do.

You exude power in whispers, dominance in silk, strength in the softness of your touch.

You make life look like a dream—a slow-motion scene drenched in gold, dripping in diamonds, soaked in luxury.

You are both a fairytale and a warning, a dream and a lesson, the beginning and the end.

You don’t just exist—you leave a mark.

♯┆SMARTS .ᐟ

Your intelligence is sharper than a diamond-studded dagger—beautiful to admire, but deadly in the right hands.

You let them think they’re winning—right until the moment they realize they were playing your game all along.

You understand that power isn’t about being the loudest in the room—it’s about being the one everyone listens to when they finally realize you’re the one in control.

You play the game so well, they don’t even realize they’ve lost until you’ve already won.

You are dangerously perceptive—you see through facades, hear what isn’t said, understand people before they understand themselves.

You know that beauty opens doors, but intelligence decides which ones are worth walking through.

You’re always three steps ahead—planning, strategizing, watching the board while they focus on the pieces.

You don’t waste time proving your intelligence—you let your success speak for itself.

You make success look effortless—because they don’t see the hours you’ve spent perfecting the art of getting exactly what you want.

You understand people better than they understand themselves—that’s why they keep coming back.

You could ruin them, but you don’t—because power isn’t just having control, it’s knowing when to use it.

You don’t need to be the loudest in the room—you only need to be the one they fear disappointing.

You know how to play innocent while orchestrating everything behind the scenes.

You don’t beg, plead, or convince—you state, you offer, you walk away if necessary.

You understand that luxury isn’t just a lifestyle, it’s a mindset.

You know that silence is often louder than words.

♯┆PERSONALITY .ᐟ

You have the kind of presence that makes people sit up straighter, talk a little softer, try a little harder.

You don’t just take up space—you make the space yours.

Your laugh is a melody, a weapon, a promise of something unforgettable.

You are both the party and the reason they’ll never forget it.

You never have to ask for attention—you simply exist, and they give it willingly.

You make people feel special when you choose to—and invisible when they no longer serve you.

You are both the dream and the wake-up call.

You know when to be soft and when to sharpen your edges.

You have the ability to make anyone feel like the most important person in the room—until you decide they aren’t.

You can make a moment feel like a scene from a movie, a slow-burn romance, a plot twist they didn’t see coming.

You carry yourself like a queen—not the kind who needs a crown, but the kind who wears one effortlessly.

You love deeply, but you will never beg to be loved in return.

You are elegant, untouchable, and always a little unpredictable.

You make people wonder what it would feel like to be wanted by you.

You are the standard, the legend, the fantasy that haunts them.

You know how to make people fall for you—and how to make them regret it.

You turn the ordinary into the extraordinary—because life is too short to be anything but unforgettable.

You don’t just turn heads, break hearts, or make statements—you create a legacy.

[delicateperspective]

I really appreciate this post because it touches on something I’ve experienced firsthand. I’ll admit, I was hesitant to engage with the fandom for a long time. I didn’t get involved with the online discourse until I finally broke down and made this Tumblr, and even now, I actively avoid Twitter and Reddit because it’s just… a lot.

When I first started digging into things, I had so many questions and doubts. At first, I’d see clips and “proof” that were taken way out of context, and once I tracked down the full interviews or videos, I realized some of those moments weren’t as strong as they were made out to be. But in doing that, I’d stumble across other things that didn’t make sense in the official narrative. And that’s how it started for me—a little doubt here, a little curiosity there.

For a while, my brain was doing mental gymnastics, trying to make sense of everything. I thought, “Okay, so Harry was obviously really into Louis, but maybe it wasn’t reciprocated.” Then I’d see videos of Louis being so overly fond of Harry that it completely blew that out of the water. Next, I thought, “Well, maybe they were just best friends who looked at each other like that,” but then came the overtly sexual moments that made that impossible to believe. Finally, I thought, “Okay, maybe it was just a band thing and it’s over now.” But then the solo lyrics started matching up so much that I couldn’t ignore it.

At every step of that journey, I could have stopped. I could have stayed at any one of those stages and convinced myself that was the answer. And honestly? Without some weird hyperfocus and a natural tendency to question everything, I probably would have stopped.

But here’s the thing: interacting with the Larrie fandom was initially terrifying. There wasn’t anyone to guide me through the journey or help me connect the dots I was missing. Instead, I came across people saying things like, “If you don’t believe they’re together now, then you’re not a Larrie,” or, “If you believe Louis is a father, you don’t belong here.” That kind of attitude doesn’t help anyone—it just makes curious people back off entirely. It discourages people from learning, from asking questions, or from engaging in a way that lets them discover more.

And that’s where we, as a fandom, need to do better. We have to be open to letting people question things, to debunking our own “proofs,” and to occasionally being wrong. Otherwise, we’re not a fandom built on open discourse and communication—we’re a cult with “requirements.” And that’s exactly what the mainstream narrative needs us to be. They rely on us miscommunicating, taking things out of context, and looking like fools so they can have their big “gotcha” moment where they say, “See? They were crazy all along.”

Between that, the small percentage of overly invasive fans, the hate we all get from the press or solos, and Louis’ denials, it’s no wonder people are overwhelmed. It’s easier to just walk away and let your theories simmer quietly in your brain. You gaslight yourself into believing whatever explanation makes the most sense because that’s what we’re fed.

Honestly? If I’d been just a little less questioning of the media or a little less willing to dig deeper, I wouldn’t be here now. I would’ve stayed on the sidelines, convinced myself it wasn’t worth it, and never gotten to see the full picture.

So yeah, I agree with you—this fandom needs more support and curiosity, more room for respectful questioning, and less division. We need to be able to talk and share without tearing each other down. At the end of the day, no one (except the two of them) has all the answers, but we can at least respect each other’s journeys and help each other along the way. 💙

I feel like one of the shittiest things as of late is how many little corners of the larrie fandom there is, and how we all aren’t together because “they broke up” or “I believe in Larry but he’s got a kid” or “I believe larry was a thing but ___ cheated on ___ because of this song lyric that I interpret” or whatever other “hot take” that is constantly posted loudly on Twitter. don’t get me wrong, im always up for a healthy and respectful debate, but everyone’s trying to create new theories and it’s exhausting. like cmon team… we’re just an easy target if we divide our already small (but strong) community into even smaller parts.

back in the day you were either an anti or a larrie, or in the far smaller world of neutrals or another pairing (back then there defs wasn’t as many folks in those categories as now). and sure, people still had some wild takes, but we’d usually talk about it no matter how ridiculous it was. we were curious. we wanted to learn and hear from each other. the support was there and it just doesn’t exist on twitter, and that’s where the vast majority of newer fans set up shop, because it’s a bigger platform than tumblr these days.

if you’re curious about more to do with larry or know people who are, bring them over. we have a million masterposts, blogs who’ve been here for years, a wealth of industry and legal knowledge. but for the love of god, make sure to be respectful of each other. this Twitter bullshit I’ve been seeing recently is disgusting

[hugheshischier4313]

YOU MISS HIM DON'T YOU | Q. HUGHES

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Quinn Hughes x fem!reader 

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | Emotional cheating (not on Quinn),  angst, fluff, oblivious!reader and Quinn, soft!Quinn, neighbors-to-lovers, reader x OC (Andrew, reader's boyfriend), alcohol, flirting. 

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | Months into your friendship with Quinn the two of you finally admit to what's been there all along. 

 🎧 Playlist | 📷 Pinterest Board

Based on a scene in Season 3 of Desperate Housewives (No spoilers in the writing. Bolded words are quoted from the show): “Don't tell me nothing happened. We’ve been fighting over this all week. You miss him, don't you?”

𝗪/𝗖 | 6.8K

𝗔/𝗡 | hi lovelies, thank you for being patient with me for the full fic of this idea. The lines indicate time jumps, they jump back and forth to different scenarios of reader and Quinn through the time they have spent together. I absolutely love these two and this idea and I couldn't find a perfect ending. I rewrote multiple endings and ultimately decided to just make a part two when I finally figure it out. Hope you enjoy, love ya!

It had been a wonderful night, the wine glass in your hand still full, the bottle sitting on the coffee table. The random episode of Bob's Burgers in the background forgotten, adding nothing more than a soft glow to the room. As you sat there listening to Quinn talk about his summer back in Michigan, you found yourself examining him. The way his eyes roam the room as he speaks, the smiles before he lets out a laugh and the way his hands run through his hair occasionally.

"You should have visited, even for just a weekend. You would have thought this was way more entertaining if you were there." Quinn teased as he finished his story. You pushed down the feeling of guilt as you smiled back at him, poking a finger into his shoulder. "I wouldn't have let you live it down if I had been there. So it's probably for the best," You teased back, but the truth was you had wanted to visit Quinn over the off-season, but when the time came, life had another plan.

_________________________________

"You should come down for the week. The sunrise and sunset alone would make the trip worth it. Imagine spending your week off by the lake, a beautiful sky for you to take pictures of. I can send you a ticket, just say the word." As the smile crept onto your face, so did the slightest tinge of pink. You had been putting away groceries when your AirPods had read the message out loud. Quinn had a habit of making fun of your love for the sky. Always calling you out, shrieking, 'The sky is so pretty' like you had repeatedly done (in a terrible attempt to match your voice). You swear you could hear it through the text despite him being over 2,000 miles apart. 

When Andrew's call came through, you found your phone and typed the text about sending it. "Y/N! I got it, I got the promotion!" His voice came booming out, and the excitement was evident in his voice. "Congratulations, Andrew!" you reciprocated his excitement. "And what better time than before you have a week off. I was thinking of going away for the week, maybe Banff? I'll rent us the cabin we had when we went last time." He kept ranting, too excited to keep anything in, but his voice was drowned out by the thought of Quinn. 

"I have to go, but I'll send you the flight information later tonight. I can't wait to see you." Andrews's voice didn't falter, almost like he was on autopilot, just rambling what he knew to say. They exchanged their quick goodbyes before he hung up. 

As if to taunt you, the next sound into your ear was' NEW MESSAGE FROM QUINN 'Or even just for the weekend if you have other plans for your week off.' As you looked back down at the phone and saw the unset message,  'A whole week of sunset pictures? Count me in Q'; the thought of deleting it weighed heavily on you. 

The truth was you had truly missed Quinn this summer. You had moved to Vancouver for grad school in the fall, and as luck would have it, Quinn lived in the apartment next to you. In the past 10 months, you had known each other; the only time you hadn't seen each other was when he had away games. And even then, when he returned, he made it up to you by devoting time to be with you. He bought you a postcard from all the cities he played in, and you had them displayed on your fridge. He signed all of them after the few glasses of wine you shared after one of his longer roadies.

You had (in your tipsy state) jokingly told him to sign one so you could sell them if he ever decided to be a jerk to you. And as he did, you knew you could never sell them; they meant too much to you. He had made a joke about writing nonsense on them to lower the value if you tried. Over the off-season, you found yourself religiously turning them over to look at his little notes, his penmanship holding inside jokes that you held dear to your heart.

As you stood there staring at the postcards on your fridge, thinking of the brunette, you couldn't help but feel the guilt in your chest. The nagging thought that your friendship with Quinn may not be as platonic as the two of you acted.

Why were you standing there thinking of another man when you were just on the phone with your boyfriend? You hadn't and would never cheat on Andrew, but the world seemed to disappear when you were with Quinn. Time slipped by faster, and you longed to sit on a couch with him again.

And at that moment, it had become apparent that you no longer had a choice; you had to choose between the two men, Andrew or Quinn? But then again, it wasn't really a choice between the men; it was a choice between right and wrong.

'Sorry Quinn, I can't this week. Take lots of pictures for me. Can't wait to see them when you're back.' Send. It was vague, and you knew he could send them to you whenever, but you also knew that, at least for this week, he couldn't be your primary focus. You needed to focus on your partner and his accomplishments.

_________________________________

As you had sat in a surprisingly unpopulated section of the airport for a Friday night, you haphazardly skipped through Instagram stories until you were faced with Quinn's private story of him on the boat with his friends. You had no reason, or right, to be this upset, but as you looked at the sunset on the picture's horizon, you couldn't stop yourself from hitting the call button. 

The phone barely rang once before you heard his voice, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "Hey, I was j-" His voice was laced with exhaustion as if whatever physical activity he was doing was still fresh. And you found yourself more clam than you had been in days. Oh, how you had missed his voice.

"Are you upset with me?" The words were rushed and tumbled out before you could comprehend the repercussions. You knew that now was not the time to be having this discussion. You were sitting in the corner seats at the airport, waiting for your plane to begin boarding. But it had been two days since that last message you sent, and you had heard nothing from Quinn.

You had been a little hurt when you spent all of Thursday waiting for a response from the brunette. He had never taken more than a few hours to respond to you, which is why you had given him the benefit of the doubt that Wednesday night after you sent the last message. But now that you had spent the entirety of your workday contemplating writing a new message, you were upset, and the Insta story had only added fuel to the fire.  

"No, of course not. Why?" His voice was genuine and calm, a nice contrast to the loud background on both sides of the phone. You figured he was still on the boat with his friends. "Oh, I just figured you were upset since I haven't heard from you." You felt stupid for calling and continuing to talk despite it being obvious he wasn't alone. "But I'll let you go; sorry for calling." you hit the red button before you had time to overthink. Your voice had become weak, and you hated that you were taking time away from him and the time he had to spend with his friends and family.

You had the overwhelming feeling to cry, but you didn't know if it was because of guilt for Andrew or Quinn or because any doubts you had that Quinn was mad at you had disappeared. NEW MESSAGE FROM QUINN: 'Give me 10 minutes, I'll call you back'. The message held an inevitable dominance over it; there was no question that it was a conversation that had to happen, and it had to happen now. 

_________________________________

Quinn had known about your boyfriend from the very beginning. He had seen you together, bringing boxes to the apartment beside his, and noticed you immediately. He wished he could say it had all been innocent, but the first thing he saw was how your legs looked in the tennis skirt you had been wearing. You bent down to pick up a fallen pillow as he exited his car in the parking garage. His eyes lingered on you, and he forced himself to turn away before you noticed. He swore he would offer to help you before he met eyes with Andrew as he stepped out of the parking garage elevator.

"I didn't mean to; it just happened. You were bent over, in a skirt, right outside my car; it was hard to look away when I didn't expect you to be there." Quinn had a slight pink tone to his features right now, and you were smiling, trying to suppress a laugh. You stood in the kitchen, pouring the margaritas into your cups.

"You mean the skirt I'm wearing right now? Is that why you mentioned it? Quinn, you could have kept that secret forever. I mean, you couldn't waterboard that information out of me." You were always more giggly when drinking, which was contagious to Quinn. "But since you didn't, I'm gonna use this against you for the foreseeable future."  The laugh left you when you got back to Quinn's couch. "I'll try not to make any sudden movements that may catch you off guard," you teased as you stood before him and handed him his drink.

"It's not funny; I've felt bad about this for months." he tried to be serious, but the smile never left his face. As you nodded with a smirk on your lip, you turned from him after he grabbed the glass, "Y/N, I'm serious." He wasn't; he could never stay upset with you, even in a joking manner. 

"I guess I'll just go back to my apartment then; I don't want to bring back any of your past shame." your body once again turned towards him as you leaned down over to hug him, "Bye, Hughes, I'll make sure to only wear this when you're out of town." He let out a sarcastic 'ha.' "You don't have to leave; I can control myself. I promise." he rolled his eyes and slowly got up to stop you.

"I don't know; I think the only logical answer is to wear your Drew sweats." You had pivoted and ran to his room before he could reply. You had bugged him countless times to try them on over the past months; you had just wanted to see if they were worth the hype because the black sweats had been sold out forever (and maybe, subconsciously, because of your past love for Justin Bieber). And every time he said no, you took this as your opportunity to try them and bug him simultaneously.

Being in Quinn's room was familiar to you. You had spent most days at one of the two apartments, and sometimes that meant laying in his bed watching TV after he had just returned from a string of away games or after a challenging game or practice. You had worn his clothes before, too; it was always in a platonic way, the first time you had locked yourself out after being out on a run when it started raining. You lost your key on the run, and the concierge was gone for the night. You had also spent the night; he let you sleep in his bed and took the couch. 

As you ran into the room, you closed the door behind you and walked into the closet, closing that door, too. You had found the sweats and slowly walked out of the closet. There was no sight of Quinn, and the bedroom door was still closed. You walked towards the door, sweats in your hand, as you called out to him, "Q? Are you -" But you were cut off as he tackled you onto the bed next to you.

The two of you lay on the bed laughing before turning to face each other. The laughter died down, and you were smiling and looking at each other. The two of you lay there for a while, not saying anything until you broke the silence, "Your eyes are a different color every time I see you, but today I can see every shade in them." You don't know why you needed to share your observation with him, but it felt right. "You cut your hair." He reached out to tuck a strand behind your ear and play with the end of another. His voice had been so him, soft yet dominant. It was true; you had gotten a slight trim the day before and a few longer layers at the bottom of your hair, a small and simple detail that could have been missed. In fact, he was the only person to notice; none of your classmates or even Andrew, although over Facetime, had noticed. 

The room felt heavy as you looked from his hand in your hair to his eyes again, stopping to look at his lips for a second. And when you reached his gaze, it was unreadable. "I -" A phone began to ring as Quinn was about to speak. You could see a shift in his demeanour as you continued to look at him. He got up to find the cause of the sound. "It's your phone." He walked it over to you before heading out to the living room again. The phone illuminated ANDREW CALLING.

You looked towards the empty doorway as you brought the phone up to your ear. "Hey you," your playful voice sounded forced, and the smile on your lips was even more so. "Hey, I have a surprise for you. The notification said it was in the lobby." This shocked you, not only because it was a surprise but because Andrew was never one for small gestures. It was always something big like him ordering 4 dozen roses to your desk after your fourth date. But he had never just sent you or given you something randomly.

Andrew could be a sweet guy; you worked together before he asked you to have dinner with him. You knew you were moving and had no intention of starting anything serious before moving to Vancouver, but he had been so persistent, and it felt nice to have a distraction with all the craziness of moving. But living in different provinces has brought no comfort to either of you. It felt like pen pals most of the time. You would call him a few times a week and talk for an hour before he had to go. There had been a few times where you could have sworn you heard someone else there, but the times you mentioned it, it felt like the fight had been more trouble than the issue itself.

And maybe subconsciously, you felt like a hypocrite. Your relationship with Quinn was platonic, but the number of times you were confused as a couple in public could be seen another way. In fact, you hated to admit it, but it felt like you communicated more with Quinn when he was away than with your boyfriend. 

"There's something for me in the lobby of my apartment complex? Andrew, what did you do? It's 7pm?" As you started talking, Quinn walked into view, bringing your drinks and extending to you. "It's a surprise; you should go get it now; I'm assuming it's just on the concierge desk based on the picture." You stared up at Quinn as you listened to Andrew, "Okay, I'll be down in a minute, and I'll call you back once I have it." The phone call was quickly over. 

"What did you order?" Quinn asked with a smile, used to all the packages you've received. A few that had been too heavy for you to carry on your own that Quinn had taken himself. Even when they hadn't been too heavy, he would carry them for you if he was there. "I'm not sure, Andrew sent it to me." You could have sworn there was a look on his face that was gone as quickly as it appeared. "You want me to go with you in case you need help?" there was no hesitation in your quick reply of 'yes.'

As the two of you walked down the hall, you were overly aware of the distance between you. It was no different than it had been in the past, but there was a particular charge. The words shared and unshared in the bedroom hung heavy. "So I never got to even put the sweats on," you joked while waiting in front of the elevator. "You can borrow them when we get back up if you want," his answer made your breath hitch. He had never let you try them on, much less borrow them.

He looked at you, letting you walk into the elevator first. The ride down was quick and quiet, but how you looked at each other made everything race faster. Your heartbeat quickened as you saw his slight deviation towards your lips before making their way back up. "Quinn," your voice came out as a low plea; whether it was to continue or to stop was uncertain. He stepped closer to you as the two of you stood in silence for a brief moment before the doors opened. As you stepped out, your heart felt heavy.

As you made your way towards the front desk, you saw the back of a man at the desk, but when you heard the voice,  it made you freeze. Andrew he was in your lobby waiting for you, Quinn failed to notice your pause and ran into you. However, before you could tip forward, Quinn had steadied you with a hand on your arm and waist. Andrew called out when he turned around. 

"Andrew! What are you doing here?" You didn't miss the look he gave the sight of the two of you or how his gaze only lingered on Quinn's hand on your waist as he walked closer. You unhooked yourself from Quinn to hug Andrew. The hug was stiff; he held himself higher, and his head hadn't moved from the position it had been in before. You figured he was still looking at Quinn. 

"I wanted to surprise you; we settled a case earlier than expected, so I took a few days off." You had pulled yourself to his side, a view of both him and Quinn. They kept looking towards each other, completely ignoring you. "Well, Andrew, this is my friend I always tell you about, Quinn. He introduced himself the day I moved in, remember? He lives next door to me." Andrew smiled down at you as you continued. "Quinn, you remember Andrew." Quinn looked from you to Andrew before extending his hand. "Good to see you again, man." Andrew hesitated before shaking his hand. 

There was a quick silence before Quinn grabbed his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen, excusing himself, "I have to make a phone call; I'll see you around," but before he could walk off, you gave him a side hug goodbye. You had done it a thousand times before, and feeling like you couldn't because Andrew was there didn't feel like a good sign, so you did it anyway. "I'll text you," you quietly said as you let go.

The next few days had been uneventful, showing Andrew around Vancouver. The hallway had felt unusually empty each time you passed, hoping to run into Quinn. A string of away games was starting that Monday, and when you came back from dropping off Andrew at the airport on Sunday night, you noticed the bag sitting in front of your apartment door. 

The black sweats were inside with a note, 'I'll pick them up when I'm back. Enjoy :). ~ Q" He never asked for them back

_________________________________

"Hey," his voice was clear despite the pixilated quality of his Facetime call. He was wearing a white T-shirt, his hair was wet, and he had a look on his face you had never seen. "Hey Q," your pulse felt overwhelming as if anyone who looked at you could see it throbbing against your neck. "Are you having a good time back home?" It was a buffer; you didn't know what Quinn wanted to say, and judging by the look on his face, you weren't sure you wanted to.

"Andrew called me." His voice was blunt, direct to the point, despite the few seconds he stared at you, hesitating to continue. "He asked if I was sleeping with you." His eyes held yours while the rest of his face had no expression. "What?" The nervous laughter that filled the air around you was nothing more than a way to suppress the hurt and anger of this new confession.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry Quinn. I don't know why he's been so paranoid lately. It seems like he misinterprets everything I mention to him as something else." For the last two months, you had known that Andrew suspected your friendship with Quinn was something more. He had brought it up the last time he was in Vancouver and again over the phone a few weeks ago (although it had been in retaliation to the question you had asked him about the girl with him in a video his friend had posted on their story). 

"Did he misinterpret it, or did he just see what is obvious that you and I can't admit?" The question was loaded with truths that weren't meant to come out. The look that the two of you shared through the screen had only confirmed it. In a split second, months of ignorance had led to a confession when the two of you were thousands of miles apart.

His breathing was heavy; you could hear it through the phone; he had a look on his face that closely resembled his look when his team lost in the Playoffs. It was the look you saw in the mirror this morning when you had not heard from him. It was the split-second look he had in the lobby the day Andrew surprised you.

Everything playing in your head; all the nights he would knock at your apartment after a game with a box of food, the way you would pack him an 'after-game snack' consisting of oranges, a granola bar and a fruit snack (which he teased you about until you mentioned it was like they did in little leagues), the way your breath hitches every time he gets shoved or falls. 

All the times, the two of you had gone for a drive when life felt too heavy, and you shared secrets you had never told anyone before. The way he took off your makeup when you had gone out one night or how he knows your coffee order for every cafe you go to. Quinn and you had been in the in-between since you first hung out. 

"I mean, how long are we going to pretend like nothing is happening?" His voice was calm and demanding, with a hint of subdued anger or annoyance you hadn't picked up. "Quinn, I -" You were at a loss for words; nothing could genuinely capture how Quinn had made you feel. 

You knew you were safe with Quinn around, not only in a physical sense but emotionally. The way he made you feel heard and seen. The two of you were floating in two separate worlds, but the weight that engulfed you was the same. You understood the complication of pressure and leadership; you understood needing to be the most prominent presence in the room, even if you weren't the loudest. You understood the pressure of wanting, no needing, to be the best for everyone else even if it tore you apart. 

It was all those things and more that drove you together, the ability to soothe the ache the buildup of burden had left sacred on the two of you. When you felt a crushing weight on you, the only thing that could alleviate it was being around the man who had quickly become your best friend. Immediately, he knew whether you needed to just sit and cry while he comforted you or go for a drive so you could yell out lyrics or if you needed him to just talk about mundane things.

And you do the same; you knew by the way he left the ice, by the way, he knocked on the door, by the way, he walked down the hallway toward your apartments. You knew when to go over to him so he could catch the recaps, and you knew when to invite him to yours to force him to ignore the criticism. You knew that even after a winning streak or after a goal, he needed comfort, understanding the overwhelming feeling of the slightest reprieve until the next game.

And the honest truth was that you had pushed back any romantic feelings because you knew without a doubt he was your person. You had never been one for friendship with men, and when your friends asked about what you could have in common with a professional hockey player, you never knew what to tell them. Because from every book, movie, series and scenario you knew, as cliche as it was, the only quote that could describe what the two of you shared was, 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' 

"Y/N, please." His voice was barely above a whisper, a plea to say anything. "It doesn't have to change anything. I just need to know; I didn't mean to hurt you; I tried to give you space. I've tried to respect your relationship." He had been ignoring you to avoid hurting your relationship, and in the process, the two of you were the only ones who were hurt. "Quinn." There was only one way you could describe it: "You consume me." Despite the tears that fell, you stared at him through the phone, wishing he was there with you, wishing your plane was going to Michigan. 

"Now boarding flight-" The announcement couldn't have come at a worse time; there was so much to say, and an airport right before boarding was not ideal. "That's my flight." You wiped your tears as you stared at the man on the screen. "Y/N, I'm sorry for bringing this up now; it's not my best moment." he was trying to cheer you up; he wanted you to know that everything would be okay. "Quinn, I don't know what to do," your voice was a quiet plea to understand what was to come.

"Given everything that was said and that we're in two different countries right now, I think we should take some time to digest. I know you're spending time with him, and I don't want you to feel overwhelmed. I think we should take the next week or two." your heart was breaking, but your mind knew that was the best option. And for the first time since the beginning of the conversation, you thought of Andrew, and the slight tinge of annoyance arose again. 

Quinn must have noticed because he was quick to interject his following comment with the most sincere look, "But before you go, I just need you to know that you consume me too." He had his signature half smile as he continued, "You are the most amazing woman I have ever met. I think about you constantly. I think about you when I look at the sky, when I'm practicing with my brothers, when I go out with friends and when I lie in bed. I watch for you in the crowd during warm-ups. You've become one of my favourite people so quickly, and I'm so glad of all the apartments in the city, or even just in the building; you moved into the one next to mine." 

You smiled as the tears fell; if there had ever been any doubt, you now knew for sure that Quinn was your person. "I'll be forever grateful that the universe brought me to you too." And with a quick goodbye and promise to reach out in two weeks, you were in your seat on the plane. 

Your mind racing with thoughts of Quinn and the revelations that had come to light and then again to Andrew. You didn't know why, but your annoyance was morphing into slight anger, the idea that he had called Quinn and accused him of sleeping with you. What annoyed you more was that he had done that and hadn't mentioned it to you. He hadn't mentioned the idea of your friendship with Quinn being something more since that one phone call a little over a month ago. 

You sat with that feeling for the rest of the flight. 

_________________________________

"Okay, fine, you are mad at me! But name one thing that I have done to deserve it!" Andrew was standing on the opposite side of the room. His breathing was heavy as he ran a hand through his hair. "You called Quinn." your voice was laced with a hint of sadness and betrayal. The statement was simple and direct but held a meaning that both of you knew would change everything. 

The argument had started with something so small: the two of you walking on eggshells the past few days and your passive-aggressive comments when he mentioned anything related to Vancouver. Over the past few days, you had tried to get Andrew to admit to calling Quinn; he wasn't stupid; he had connected the dots and was simply choosing to ignore it (which infuriated you even more). The days dragged on; waking up and getting ready in silence, spending the day exploring, trying to avoid long conversations at all costs, getting ready for bed with few words and getting into bed facing away from each other. 

Andrew's response had taken a second longer than it should have. His hesitation made it clear that he was surprised by the direct approach, almost as if he hadn't thought you would say anything.  "You're damn right I did, I've seen the messages, the glances, the pictures. What was I supposed to do? Pretend that nothing was going on?" His voice was slightly louder as his eyes narrowed on you. 

"Nothing was going on. He never touched me." you raised your voice, but the words weakened. Your hands were flailing around, trying to emphasize your point.  The tears behind your eyes aching to be let free. It was too much, and you knew the implications of your words. This time, however, Andrew didn't hesitate to answer; his reply, even louder than before, came out the second you were done talking. "And I wasn't gonna sit around and wait until he did."  

The two of you stood there staring at each other, chests heaving, eyes full of emotion. You sat on the counter stool beside you before looking away from Andrew and placing your head in your hands, elbows propped on the counter. You heard his footsteps getting closer, and soon, Andrew was pulling out the stool next to you. 

You glanced at him from your peripheral view; he was staring at the kitchen in front of him, a look of contemplation on his face. "Do you have feelings for him, Y/N?" you diverted your eyes back to the counter. The question caught you off guard, "Hmm?" you could feel his eyes on you again, but you couldn't gain the strength to look up. "Do you have feelings for Quinn?" Each word was emphasized by the slight pause he took between them. 

Although you couldn't meet his eyes, you mustered enough courage to look up from your hands towards the kitchen. "I would never cheat on you, you know that." you shook your head as you said it, knowing it wasn't the answer he sought. "That's not what I asked." you wanted to look at him, to tell him he was all you wanted, that there was nothing between you and Quinn, but that wasn't the truth, and all you could do was continue the slight head shake you had started. 

Andrew didn't say anything for a bit, but you could hear the sound of his movement as he repositioned himself on the stool and leaned closer to you. "Did you fall for him?" His voice was softer and more quiet, slightly above a whisper. You tried to speak, but the tears beat you. As the tears left your eyes, you looked towards Andrew. His eyes were glued on the fridge, his expression hurt, and his eyes held a slight gloss. "Oh god," he was avoiding eye contact with you now. 

You stared at him a moment longer, trying to calm down, "Nothing happened." your voice was shakier than it had been all night, and the tone held no conviction. He turned his head slightly, the two of you locking eyes. "Don't tell me nothing happened. We've been fighting over this all week." He turned away before he even finished his sentence. Your tears continued, "You miss him, don't you?" The look on his face had hardened, but his voice remained the same. He knew the answer; it had been evident every time he called you, and you were alone or when he would try to call, only to be met with a text saying you were on the phone but would call him back. 

You kept your eyes on him; the guilt weighed heavy on you. The implication of every choice you had made since the first interaction with Quinn ran through your mind. You couldn't put your thoughts into words or rationalize your feelings. "I'm sorry." It wasn't even a valid answer, but it was all you could think of. Your emotions were running too high, and you needed a breather. He leaned back on the stool and let out a breath, but a few tears trickled down as he did. "Damn" His voice was barely audible; if you hadn't been looking at him or if the room hadn't been so quiet, you would have missed it. 

_________________________________

It hadn't been your intention to end things with Andrew that way. Despite all the issues the two of you shared, you didn't want to hurt him. When you talked everything through the following morning you both knew the relationship had been over longer than either of you cared to admit.  It had been as civil as a breakup could be, and the guilt that had once overwhelmed you started to blur.

As you looked out the plane window and saw Vancouver, you felt the missing pieces of you start to come together. It was strange how life finds a way to bring you exactly where you need to be. Accepting your graduate program at The University of British Columbia led you to a weekend of exploring and apartment hunting in Vancouver. You had found your apartment complex by accident; you had been lost looking for another building when your eyes landed on it. The large winders on every floor practically shoved you into the lobby, and when you applied, only one unit was available for your expected move-in date. It had been a long shot, and somehow you ended up winning. 

You could recall the sound of a car pulling into the attached parking garage as you pulled a box out of your trunk, unintentionally knocking down a pillow in all the commotion. As you bent down to pick it up, you could hear the car door open and close before hearing a few footsteps. They stopped as you located your missing pillow; as you stood back up, you turned to find the stranger but found yourself searching for Andrew after hearing his voice. As you stood there waiting for him to grab another box, you looked towards the elevator and saw the stranger standing there. You couldn't see his face; he was just a blur of brunette hair and a gray outfit as the doors closed, and although you couldn't make out all his facial features, you could have sworn you saw him give you a smile before the doors closed completely. And before you even had a chance, Quinn captured your attention. And unbeknownst to you then, you had made a lasting impression on him, too. 

As you stared at the city, music in your ears, in the back of the Uber home, you could see every moment you and Quin shared. Every mundane moment, from knocking on his door in the morning with breakfast bagels and coffee to drunk conversations in the back of a car after a night out celebrating to sitting in either of your living rooms watching a movie with your commentary. It was like watching a montage scene, and it felt freeing because, for the first time, there was the possibility for something more. The feeling of longing had been hidden underneath your guilt, coming hand in hand, and now both were gone, instead replaced with something positive. 

"Miss, you have a package." The voice of your building's concierge brings you back to reality. It was a relatively wide rectangular box; you hadn't ordered anything that would come in a box of that size, which fueled your curiosity even more. "Thank you." You smiled and offered a kind goodbye before walking to the elevator. 

Without hesitation, another image of Quinn flew into your mind as the elevator doors closed. The first time you spoke was in the elevator up to your floor. He smiled, encouraged you to enter the elevator first, and asked if you needed help with your box despite carrying his bag. However,  after declining his offer, he made no other effort to continue the conversation. The two of you casually glanced at each other as the doors closed, waiting for the movement to begin, but when it didn't, you looked over to the right side of the door and laughed slightly. "What floor do you need?" he asked with a slight chuckle. "Sixteenth, please." You returned his chuckle and smiled. You watched as he clicked the sixteenth button but no other. "Are you on the same floor?" You could hear excitement in your voice, but you pushed it down. "Yeah, guess that means we're neighbour neighbours" Once again, that damn smile felt contagious; he felt contagious. 

When you reached your floor, you found yourself walking faster than usual to reach your door. It had only been a week; somehow, everything was completely different yet utterly the same. You walked into the apartment and set the package down on the counter, needing to know what was inside. Opening the lid, you are met with the most beautiful arrangement of your favourite flowers. There were different shades of your favourite colour, layering beautifully on each other, but what caught your eyes was the distinct blue rose in the middle, an envelope sitting directly on top. 

The envelope had your name written on it with the handwriting you had come to memorize. Inside was a postcard from Michigan, "Y/N, I can't get you out of my head. Only two more weeks left before I'm back in Van, and I can't wait to see you again. I found this while I was out, and it reminded me of you.   -Q" You held the card close to you for a second; it had the faintest mix of florals and Quinn's cologne. You looked at the fridge before deciding to keep the note in your room. It felt intimate, something you wanted to keep between you. Something caught your eye when you took the flowers out of the box and into a vase. Inside the envelope was a small plastic bag; you reached for it and found a necklace. 

A delicate chain with a small pendant with a sun and a moon, and when you turned it over, your breathing hitched; there was a small 43 engraved. When you read the note, you assumed the postcard was what he had seen, but it was the necklace. He had seen a necklace encompassing the sun and moon, something you were passionate about, and he had added something personal. The engraving must have been something he did; the probability that it had been done in manufacturing was slim to none, making it all the more special. You put it on and never wanted to take it off. 

You grabbed the postcard off the counter and lifted it closer to your chest before taking a close-up picture from your lips to showcase the necklace and postcard, "I'm thinking about you too. To the longest two weeks that will ever exist. To the sun and the moon and back." And as you hit the send button, you couldn't help but think about what was yet to come.  

_________________________________

[stompedchild]

after the past few days i have a lot of thoughts about tr!ros and her lack of kingdom-to-kingdom communication so i'm putting them all together.

all of the below is /rp

so, Ros Roscumber. should be in the running for the Realm SMP's "how many things can one person have wrong with them?" competition, and desperately needs to start seeing a therapist not named Pangi or BadBoyHalo. She is plagued by approximately 10001 issues and i love her. She deals with loneliness, i'd argue social anxiety to some extent, being a people pleaser to a detriment to herself, at least 2 different guilt complexes, nonexistant self-worth that borders on being suicidal, and communication.

Communication is SO important in a place like The Realm where things change on a dime and significant events can happen daily. It's especially important if you're the Royal Architect who is ALSO dealing with about 10000 problems at any given moment. Roscumber has stated that she is not particularly good with phrasing, words, or memory. This does her no favors in being a good communicator, so surely to make up for that she'd frequently express if something's wrong to her faction right? Right??????

Nope! Roscumber has a horrific guilt complex around receiving help from her faction members. She cannot handle the thought of burdening or bothering other people, so she would rather try to be independent and work on things herself to not feel that guilt. Sometimes she'll cave and ask for resources, such as recently when she asked Sneeg to make her new boots (but only after she gathered netherite with Aimsey and Pangi, her friends, not faction members). But other times, such as her training with Clown as an example, she had to be asked to not eat sweet berries and Clown had to insist that it was okay for her to take some of his food.

If the guilt complex was the only issue than maybe Ros would be doing better, but there's another major communication barrier imo. I hesitate to refer to this as anything along the lines of "lacking a backbone" because i don't think that's it. Ros can stand up for herself, though that's typically through killing people who are kinda asking for it (harry, owen, badlinu) and feeling guilty over it afterwards. I want to say that she's passive to a fault but I'm not sure if that fully capture my thoughts. Regularly passive but passive to a fault with the King in particular? I'll figure out how I want to describe this character trait of Ros' eventually :3

When Roscumber left the Kingdom and was confronted by Sneeg, she confessed that she wasn't going to say anything if she wasn't asked. Maybe this says something about how readily her trust/faith and therefore ability to communicate gets shaken, but I think this is an example of her being passive to a fault. More recently she had a chat with Aimsey where she expressed feeling tired over having to constantly defend herself, which I think is a super important line from Ros. Because Ros has been messed with in some shape or form, somewhat consistently, since around the Hostile Faction joining and Mocha deciding to be her number 1 hater. Mocha dying didn't really save her either considering the recent actions of The Jester. At the end of the day, having to be on the defending end from so much shit from so many people for about 3 months now is undeniably exhausting and draining. So what does Roscumber to in response for this? She takes an even more passive approach than normal and simply takes the blows, especially the verbal ones, as they come.

But how does this tie into Kingdom communication? Roscumber's biggest and most active ally, Sneegsnag, is typically off doing his own thing 90% of the time. He is generally speaking out of the loop with a good chunk of things that happen on the server, but it's been noticable with Ros recently. The Jester is after her once again, and she feels as though Foolish is not taking her concerns seriously, and perhaps never thought of it as a big issue in the first place. Not to mention being terrified that Owen is winning him over to kick her out of the Kingdom. Her newfound friend Pangi is having troubles with Ilip, she's dealing with having to process what Owen's said to her, and she's organizing a ball on top of all that! Now, more than ever, she wants to be listened to by someone who can hear about Kingdom secrets without getting in trouble. And yet, she does not reach out for that help.

It's a mix of her tremendous guilt around receiving help from her faction members and not wanting to bother them, see "I fear Sneegsnag has done too much for me," - paraphrased line from Roscumber, but also lacking the will to call out for help, that concerning passivity. Instead of reaching out to her faction member, her teammate, her friend(!!!), she cannot bring herself to take the initial leap of writing /msg Sneegsnag, and will instead wait for one of her friends who is around spawn more frequently to notice that something is wrong and ask her about it. She wants help, she wants comfort, she wants to be listened to by someone she wants to trust, but in order for all of that to occur she first needs to ASK for that. She is instead passive, and waits for her woes to be noticed by those who see her often. She wants her mind to be read yet there's not a single person capable of that on the server. It does not help that she tends to constantly question her loyalties, she is worried about her words misconstruing the situation, and is worried that Sneegsnag's reaction to information will be negative. So with no other active Kingdom members to turn to in confidence, she confides to Aimsey and the Honey Badgers.

It is so cool that this is a solvable issue though! All that needs to happen is for Roscumber to ask Sneeg to talk, and she then needs to open up about her recent problems. Except she has expressed struggling to do that in the first place because of all of her many issues. Sneeg has expressed wanting to support Roscumber and wanting to hang out more, but because of this lack of communication it doesn't happen, and both parties are sad because there's no talking going on. It feels as though Ros is only able to open up when pushed to a breaking point, which is not healthy in the slightest. (not that she is doing that great anyways) Otherwise she will just Not Talk about her problems in fear of being a bother or receiving an unwanted (negative) response. Despite all of this I would like to believe that when the time comes for either Ros to reach out to Sneeg, or for him to inquire about something being wrong, Ros will be given what she has been looking for this past week.

[judenostopwaitkeepgoing]

A Class Analysis of the Crown Villains

Analyzing all of the EN-released Villains from who would be the most to least wealthy in 1890s Victorian England.

A/N: This is just for fun! These characters/stories are not that deep, and I don’t want them to be! I just find it fun and silly to think through what this world would actually look like in history, and maybe you do too! 😊 Spoilers for pretty much every villain on the EN server, so read at your own risk! Also I am not a historian or economist, just a gal with a computer, so take all of this with a grain of salt.

Also, I’m assuming that Ikémen Villains takes place sometime in the 1890s in London, England—the tail end of Queen Victoria’s rule. This estimated time frame is based mostly on Harry’s love of Arthur Conan Doyle and passing mentions of when “he has a new novel coming out.” Doyle was a prolific writer and wrote for a long time, but I wanted to keep the time period specific enough to really think through what the economics would be like.

Wealthiest - Jude Jazza

Originally I was going to put the villains who belong to the gentry (Elbert and William and ... Victor??? Maybe?? haha) at the top of the list, but the more I thought it through, the more it became clear that in order for Jude to realistically carry out some of the actions in his route (which I haven’t finished!) or various story events/collection events, he would need to be so fucking rich. Like stupid wealthy. Like not quite at Jeff Bezos level of wealth, but pretty up there.

And baby started from the bottom now he’s here, okay! The fact that Jude grew up in abject poverty then became a successful CEO of a trading company originally struck me as one of the more unrealistic things in the game (which I do not care about, he’s still daddy), but the more I looked into it, the more I got on board with it. The writers were smart to add a rich benefactor to his backstory, because in 1890s London, that was probably the only way for a poor kid from the slums to receive an education. Wealth disparity was bad in the 1890s, and people were mad about it! Jude’s hatred of the rich and powerful is in keeping with working class (and even some middle class) attitudes at the time. And with the rapid development and expansion of the Port of London (from the completion of the Royal Victoria Dock in 1855 to the Port of Tilbury in 1886), trading was the business to be in at the time. So it’s not impossible that Jude could have just lucked out in a few key ways and worked extremely hard to get to where he is (although he would still probably be considered a unicorn in this time period).

As for Raven Co.’s annual profit: who knows. I’m guessing it’s in the billions in today’s money. I’m unsure what Jude’s salary would be, he is explicitly characterized in his route as a fair boss who pays his workers a living wage, but he’s also like randomly really generous with like Ellis or Kate (i.e. giving Ellis a blank check for Xmas, giving Kate more than enough money to get a dress, etc.) so he’s probably taking home plenty. And considering how smart Jude is, he’s probably pretty savvy about saving and investing his money. He also makes a lot of deals and has a lot of involvement overseas, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he has bank accounts in several countries. The man is committed to building his rocket, okay! I’d say his annual income is in the hundred millions of dollars (in today’s money). But his net worth is probably in the billions.

Lord Elbert Greetia

Okay, now on to our first landed-gentry boy: Lord Elbert. Lord Elbert is most likely the wealthiest member of Crown in terms of generational wealth, with William coming in a close second.

Elbert is a member of the landed gentry or “peerage” and uses the title of “Lord,” which he inherited from his father. Being in this class means that he not only has significant wealth (in literal pounds and assets), but it also means that he has a rock-solid social standing and owns land. Land ownership is a big deal here because it means that Lord Elbert has the power to control anyone who might be living/working on property that he owns. And I’m not just talking servants/staff at his estate, I’m talking residents of any townships or villages on the likely acres and acres of land that he's in control of. So he has a passive income via taxing residents and laborers on his land(s)... forever! Being in this class also makes his wealth a lot more stable and immutable than say, Jude, who is a great businessman but whose income and assets are at the mercy of the market/demand.

Elbert’s character in the game is very stoic (until Kate shows up!), and he has deep trauma from his childhood home, so he doesn’t seem to exercise a ton of the privileges that would be available to him in terms of controlling the people who live on his properties. But, if we’re talking the 1890s here, he would probably have entire villages or even small towns under his economic purview. I think of him as a Mr. Darcy type, probably bringing in about £10,000 a year, or a little over £1.5 million/$2 million in today’s money. This combined with the cost of all of his assets or “beautiful things” that he compulsively collects (artwork, fine furniture, jewels, real estate, etc.) means I’d estimate his net worth to be about $70-100 million in today’s money.

Lord William Rex

I’m only putting William after Elbert because I do think Elbert has more non-cash assets, simply from the nature of his curse which causes him to be greedy. But let’s be clear: Lord William is also loaded. He, like Elbert, is a member of the peerage of the time and owns lots of land/real estate. He probably receives a pretty substantial passive income from all of his properties like Elbert.

I do think there’s one key difference between them: I have a feeling that William would either redistribute some of the income that he gets from any taxed residents/workers on his properties or lower their taxes—he just seems like the type to be about that. So that’s another reason why I think Elbert might have a higher net worth. Still, we find out that William paid for the construction of a hospital in his route, and for a man to do that in the 1890s, he’d have to be pretty freaking rich. I’d say that his net worth is probably somewhere between $50-100 million in today’s money.

Victor???

Big question mark around Victor! I’m putting him here just because he is so connected to the Queen, and unless we learn something different from his route, I’m pretty sure that means he’s at least upper class, if not a (former) member of the gentry/peerage. Or perhaps comes from a wealthier family. He also receives a salary and lodging from the Queen (as do all the members of Crown I think) so he’s certainly getting all of his needs met. He’s also the oldest member of Crown, which just makes me assume he’s had more time to accrue savings. But couldn’t tell you what his net worth is even if you held a gun to my head, this is all just vibes haha.

Liam Evans

Liam grew up comfortably upper class, basically wealthy despite not being a member of the landed gentry. His father owns an estate, or at least did when Liam was a child, and had staff and servants. Because of his mental illness and disfigurement, Liam’s father probably relied entirely on family money after a certain point.

As an adult, and considering he is a successful and popular leading actor at a major theater in London at the time, Liam is doing well for himself! He is now much better off than his father! Good riddance! Actors at the major theaters at the time were typically paid anywhere between 2-25 pounds per week, and Liam was likely on the upper end of that spectrum. Let’s say he takes home 20 pounds a week, which in today’s money would be about 3,200 pounds, or about 4,000 dollars. That’s 208,000 dollars a year before tax! Not bad at all! But, it’s worth noting, that at the time actors were definitely not seen as contributing members to society (especially women/actresses—they were essentially thrown into the same category as sex workers), so Liam’s social standing in the grand scheme of things is definitely lower as an actor than it was probably growing up in an upper-middle class house.

Ellis Twilight + Alfons Sylvatica

I’m throwing these two in here together because they are probably doing well for themselves, but only because they are attached to a super-rich person haha. Who knows what their salaries/wages are or what kind of deal they have with their respective sugar daddies (hehe) but suffice to say they don’t have to worry about money. Alfons is probably more irresponsible with his money, only because of his lifestyle, but even so he’s nowhere near as big of a spender as Elbert so it probably all ends up a wash. And I’m assuming that Jude pays Ellis pretty well because he loves him lol.

Harrison Gray

Okay, this one took some digging! Harry’s dad was a police officer, which in today’s world would mean that his family was pretty well-off and Harry had a comfortable upbringing. Not a member of the upper classes/gentry, but probably solidly middle class. This is also implied in the game, or at least Harry isn’t one of the characters that we know grew up poor.

But, it turns out, police officers weren’t paid super well in mid/late 1800s London! Harry’s dad would probably be on the better-paid side of the spectrum because he was a chief/high-ranking, but the police were a relatively new-ish phenomenon and weren’t considered “high-value” professionals. Harry’s dad likely only took home about 10 guineas a week, which in today’s money is about £1,400 or $1,700, so he was making about $88,000 a year in today’s money (before taxes). Which would be relatively comfortable for a single person today, but for a family in the 1800s would be pretty much living paycheck to paycheck with maybe a couple splurge purchases a year (like for Christmas or birthdays). So Harry’s family wasn’t anywhere near as poor as Jude or Alfons were growing up, but they likely lived quite modestly!

As an adult, Harry probably makes a healthy salary as an editor/proofreader. Publishing was booming in the 1890s, and writers were most often serialized in weekly publications, which meant a steady income for both writers and publishers. I’d say Harry is probably taking home a couple hundred pounds at the least per week, so something in the thousands of dollars in today’s terms. It’s unclear to me what the rules of living in Crown castle are. Like do they pay rent? I don’t think so? Let’s say they don’t, which means Harry gets to save/keep all his wages and only spends on personal stuff. He doesn’t seem like the biggest spender, if anything he reads as very sensible with money to me, haha. So he’s likely got a cozy little net worth building up but nothing crazy. Since wealth stratification is so extreme in this time period (the rich were very rich and the poor were very poor), Harry would probably be making enough to still be looked down on by the upper classes and enough to still be the object of contempt for the lower classes.

Poorest ? - Roger Barel

Doctors today are very well paid, but this was not the case in the late 1800s! Growing up, Roger’s dad probably had an annual salary of about 300-500 pounds a year, or roughly $45k-$80k in today’s money. Not a lot to live on for a whole family now, but this probably went further in the 1870s/80s when Roger was growing up. It’s implied that his family lived relatively comfortably, so I’m guessing that his dad had a good reputation and was sought after for his surgical expertise. He may have even gotten paid to teach in surgery ‘theatres’ of the time. (I haven’t read or looked much into Roger’s route so this might be wrong!)

I’m only ranking him last because he seems to not be formally employed haha. Since Roger is not a publicly practicing surgeon, he is relying on his income (?) and lodging from Crown for his day-to-day expenses. This could be any amount it seems, haha, depending on what he asks Victor/the Queen for. He doesn’t seem like a crazy spender, so he’s probably not complaining. I have no idea what his salary would be, though. It doesn’t seem like Crown bothers with all that, haha.