#which is really bad when it's all there is

[nochepsicodelica]

♡ ʕ˶´• ᴥ •`˶ʔ ♡

"Toji, do you love me?" You ask, as if he isn't curled up with you, his head resting on your shoulder so that he can see the stupid videos that pop up on your feed.

"Why would you even ask me that?" He mutters, tilting his head up to look at you.

"You're taking forever to respond. Oh... my heart," you say, your voice forcefully strained while clutching your chest as if you're pained.

"Don't start--"

"It's crumblingggg," you cry out, dramatically. "Oh god, it hurts so much, Toji! How could you? Is this how it feels to have love taken away? I should go outside and tie myself to a pole and see if there are any takers. Maybe, someone will actually want me and give me a warm, safe, and loving home." You give him a hopeful smile. "Yeah... that sounds nice and peaceful."

"Uh-huh, sure. Too bad you're not going anywhere. You get me and our warm, safe, and loving home." You huff, childishly, at that, to which Toji grins. "You know I love your dramatic ass. You keep asking if we can get a dog, but you're basically like if a husky turned human."

You gasp at that, playfully offended, and stare at him in disbelief. "I'll be waiting for your apology," you say, putting your hood on and turning your back to him.

"Baby, come on," he pleads, chuckling. "Come on. You're not mad at me."

"I am. I'm furious," you say, monotonously. "You shouldn't even look at me right now. I'm ferocious," you add, trying not to laugh at your own word choice.

"Yeah? You're a scary thing, right now, 'cause I made you mad?"

"Mhm," you hum, in response, and continue to scroll and watch videos without him.

"Hmm..." He leans over and snatches your phone out of your hands, tossing it towards the end of the bed. You feel helpless as he smoothly pulls your hood off, flips you onto your back, and straddles you. Your arms are pinned beside your head, by his enormous paws. You've been somewhat manhandled into surrender and all you can do is laugh as you look up at him.

"This is your ferociousness?" Toji asks, with a dumb grin on his face when you simply nod and press your lips together, to do a horrible job of stifling your amusement. "I'm so strong and brave, huh?" Again, you nod, unable to contain the giggles that spill out. "What if I... I don't know..." he murmurs, leaning down, closer to you. "Just gave you a little..."

The distance between your lips is closed off by Toji's lips pressing against yours—a slow, savored kiss, that makes your hands go limp beside you. He is utterly disarming, even against your faux grumpiness.

He hums something low against your lips when your laughter begins to bubble up once again. "Mm... You were never mad at me, were you?" Toji asks.

"And if I was?" You say, a gleam of mischief in your eyes and a sly smirk on your face.

"I'll kiss you, again. Is that really what you want?" He says, as if it's a threat.

"You know it. Kiss me, sugar lips," you say, amusedly.

"Why are you like this?" He mutters, rolling off of you and positioning himself beside you on the bed.

"Fine, gravel lips. Rock salt lips, sandpaper lips—is that what you want me to call you instead?" You ask, turning over to face him.

He slings an arm over your waist and pulls you in close. The scent of his body wash smells warmer as it mingles with his body heat. It's relaxing, fitting for the lazy day you've both indulged in. "You don't mean it," he responds, smugly. "I was sugar lips before you decided you wanted to hurt my feelings."

"Whatever," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

"Love you, sassy baby," he says, teasingly. "Don't ever doubt it. Now, where were you going with that question?"

"Well, it was going to be built up to me asking you if you have a Valentine, but then you crapped all over it. Now, it's not cute and it stinks. My plan reeks of failure."

"There's my dramatic girl," Toji utters under his breath, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Why don't you try again?" He says, smiling with amusement. "I'll even play along, alright?"

You sigh, as if it's going to take forever to pick up from where you left off, but nonetheless prepare to retry.

"Okay, fine," you start off, a soft sigh leaving your lips. "You love me, Toji?" You ask once more, already trying not to laugh at the focus he holds on you, like he's answering a survey.

"You know I do," he responds.

"Okay. Are you busy on the fourteenth of February?"

"Not that I know of."

"Are you interested in doing something that day?"

"Yeah, you, but go on," he says, smoothly.

"Toji," you chide, with a giggle. "Be serious."

"Fine, fine. Uh, yeah. I am," he answers. "Gotta treat my baby real nice, don't I?" He says, with a smirk.

You press your lips together, and compose yourself before asking the next question. "Do you have a Valentine?"

He tilts his head and deadpans, as if you're playing some sort of joke on him. "Ma."

"Just answer the question, Toji," you whisper, like you're breaking out of the questionnaire you made for him. "Do you have a Valentine?" You repeat, in your normal voice.

"Yeah, I got a Valentine," Toji says, his eyes trailing down your face, to your lips and back up to meet your eyes, again. His hand slides under your sweater and grabs ahold of your bare waist. He loves the layer of goosebumps that rises on your skin when he touches you. You're just so reactive to him. "She's basically an actress with how dramatic she is. It cracks me up, 'cause it's like talking to one of those screaming huskies she's always showing me on her phone." He grins, ready for you to go off, again. "Look at her, look at her. She's about to do it, right now," he says, lowly, his eyes glued to your squinted ones.

"Hmph. If you want me gone, just say so. Here I am, trying to ask you out on a date for Valentine's Day. Trying to show you all my love and affection and... and ugh—you don't care about my effort. You don't care about how romantic I am. So, you know what you're getting instead of wined and dined?"

"What's that, mama?" Toji asks, attempting to stay serious through your little dramatic fit.

"A big pile of nothing. No chocolates, not even a rose. And then at night, i'm gonna make a pillow wall between us, so you can't touch me. I had a gooood surprise for you, too, but you won't get it, until... uhh... I haven't decided, but it won't be on Valentine's Day," you assure.

"Baby," Toji coos, smirking at the light grumpiness in your features.

"No," you grumble, with a huff.

"Pretty baby. My pretty, pretty Valentine," he murmurs, the corners of his lips curling when he sees your facade crumbling. "Oh," he utters, with a soft, barely audible gasp. "Look at that little smile. It's getting bigger... and bigger... and-"

"Stop!" You cry out, through a laugh. Toji takes that as an invitation to pull you in even closer. To see your sunshine-like smile up close and hear more of those uncontrollable giggles as he tries to kiss you.

"Don't turn away from my sugar lips. Kiss 'em," he instructs, reaching for your jaw. With ease, he makes you face him again, soft laughter still spilling past your lips. "Be nice," he says, his voice a low purr. "You're my good girl, right? You'll let me kiss you?"

You sigh, defeated, and stop resisting his affection. "Yeah," you mumble, a confirmation for both statements.

"You're an angel," he murmurs, before connecting your lips once again. You feel his thumb stroking your side, causing your heart to race and goosebumps to surface on your skin all over again. They spread even more when his hand travels towards your back, his fingertips running up and down your spine.

His kisses are soft and slow, yet, still manage to bring heat to your cheeks. You know that if breathing wasn't necessary, he would spend hours on just kissing you, nonstop. Kissing until your lips feel raw and miserably bruised—tender to the touch. Until just the act of him leaning in for a mere peck, has you putting your hands up to his chest to stop him before he gets to your lips, again.

With a soft, final smack of your brushing lips, Toji breaks the kiss. "Say," he drawls, a sly smirk forming on his lips, "do you have a Valentine, sweetness?"

You hum, like you're thinking thoroughly about the question. "No, unfortunately," you respond, wiping the smirk off his face in an instant.

"Baby, you have to answer the question honestly," he whispers, mimicking the way you did before. You crack a grin and nod, compliantly. "So... you got a Valentine, doll?" He repeats, in his normal voice.

"No, I haven't been asked," you respond.

Toji scoffs. "Really?"

"Yeah, you said to answer honestly. I asked you to be my Valentine, but you haven't asked me."

"You asked if I have a Valentine," he corrects. "See, you're not being entirely honest with me," he says, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in disbelief.

"Will you be my Valentine, Toji?" You ask, trying incredibly hard to stay serious, though your lips are quivering, giving away the laughter you're suppressing.

"Yeah, i'll be your Valentine, pretty. Will you be my Valentine?" He asks, in return.

"Yes, i'll be your Valentine," you answer.

"Great. And those plans you made for Valentine's Day... are we still on for that?"

You laugh. He looks like he's genuinely hoping you were joking about shutting it all down.

"Of course we are, baby. The plans were never cancelled. I didn't think you actually believed me."

"You're cold for that, ma. Ice cold," Toji grumbles, earning a chime of your laughter. His hand comes out from under your sweater and travels lower and lower until he's able to grab the back of your thigh and lift your leg over his hip. "Let me warm you up."

[crushedsweets]

CREEPED VISUAL NOVEL Link, tutorial, extra art, Q&A, some chatter

The CREEPED Prologue is completely free and browser-ready. Gameplay is about 10 minutes. Please read the "tutorial" and notes before playing!

Follow Y/N and their dog, Max, through their grandparents' farm and a mysterious forest filled with...less than fortunate people!

PLAY HERE; works best on PC

This visual novel is powered by GOOGLE SLIDES! It has 0 programming and was created by one person in a little over a month, so please bear with any "bugs" and clunkiness!

TUTORIAL

>Click using mouse/trackpad >Go slowly to not break game >Do not use arrow or space keys

EXTRA NOTES:

>Works best on PC/Browser, I haven't tested the full game on mobile yet >In general, clicking the PNGs on the textbox (Apple, Teddy Bear, Hatchet, etc) will lead you to the right page >If you land on a page that tells you to "go back," that's when you should click the back-arrow key. If your cursor disappears, it doesn't register the click correctly >I recommend moving your cursor periodically to avoid it disappearing and sending you to the wrong page

EXTRA ART

some WIPS and the original sprite-style i was gonna choose LOOOOOOOL

Q&A

Q: Is this an x reader? A: This is a reader-insert, but it's not romantic and I try to keep it as neutral and unidentifiable as possible! Q: What's the plot? A: GENERALLY AND WITHOUT SPOILERS, your dog gets you into trouble and you're just looking to help him!

Q: Who is in the prologue? A: Tim, Brian, Toby, and Kate! More will be added in future chapters.

Q: When will future chapters be posted? A: Not sure! This took me about a month to do, and half was spent over winter break. I will try to get chapter 1 posted before summer, but I am a full-time student, employed, have extracurriculars, etc etc

ok thats all i only remember 4 questions feel free to ask more LMAO

CHATTER(because you know i can talk forever)

ok i just wanted to be able to talk about how the process was with this and how i feel about the results and whatnot...

ive been wanting to make a google slides visual novel since i was like 13 LOL it hit the point where i was repeatedly told i should just learn to code but i was like NOOOOO ITS GOTTA BE GOOGLE SLIDESSSS which is totally stupid but hey. i think that gives it some sort of simple charm that reminds me of being 16 and doing little projects in my room LOL i like working with the easiest tools . my bad

anyway. im just very happy LOL. it's not perfect but i feel like i came full circle in a sense?!?! i've been into creepypasta since i was 9 and it comforted me when things were really hard, and when i was 18 i was going through a really hard time and got back into creepypasta as a way to distract myself. i've always had a habit of throwing myself into fiction for escapism when things suuucked.

i'm 20 now but i've met SO many amazing people, had so many fun awesome exciting projects with friends, created tons of stuff im proud of, felt more motivated to create since i was like 13, have been inspired by so many amazing artists/authors on here, etc. just so so so lucky to find community in such a tight-knit cute fandom that thrives off of creativity and playing around! i hope i can keep the momentum and make a couple more chapters this year, but im kinda busy with school and work...LOL . i'm just excited to have this posted so i can have more discussion about it T_T

anyway thank you if you read this far and thank you if you played etc etc yaahhhhhh omg ok BYE THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING im just so grateful to be in this fandom

[sunseed-fandump]

The Witch must have been crazy to have made such a Bad Batch of cookies...

(Sorry it's not any of my other AU content, but this was an idea I just really wanted to get out of my head.)

More Info under the cut!

The kids are EEEEEVIL!!!!

Wizard is in his Azure Flame costume from ovenbreak. Strawberry is Wild Strawberry from Twizzly Gummy’s Crew. Gingerbrave is emo a zombie, kinda.

In this timeline, Wizard’s need for power in order to survive quickly turned into a lust for it. He craves it, and is under the thrall of the Azure Flame Staff which whispers to him. He is convinced that only the strong will survive, and those without power are worthless. He is terrified of being powerless as a result. He remembers what it’s like to be helpless, and never wants to feel that way again. His prickly and reclusive attitude is a result of trying not to get attached (because attachments are a weakness) yet he can’t help but have a small fondness for Gingerbrave and Strawberry, as they’re one of the few cookies who understand what it’s like to hit rock bottom.

Strawberry was deeply traumatized when she saw her witch eat a cookie before her eyes. When she tried to warn others of what she had seen, she was dismissed. Too quiet, too soft, too shy. Eventually she found herself on Twizzly Gummy Cookie’s crew, and they were a pretty bad influence. She learned to be ruthless, because showing kindness will just result in others walking all over her. This version of her isn’t afraid of speaking her mind and being heard. Twizzly’s gang fell apart due to the TBD, and she felt abandoned as a result. After being spat out into a random timeline she decided to lay low and eventually met Wizard and Gingerbrave. She’s stuck with them ever since and silently appreciates their loyalty.

This timeline’s Gingerbrave didn’t survive his escape from the oven. The Witch caught him just as he had busted open the doors and she smashed him to pieces. However, with a few icing stitches and a bit of dark magic, he was brought back to life and swore vengeance on all witches. Not too long after escaping his Witch, he recruited Wizard and Strawberry to his cause to “fix” what he perceives to be a rotten world. He does truly care for his comrades and considers them his dearest friends, as they were the first to not mistake him for a mindless undead or recoil at his habit of falling apart. He’s retained a decent sense of humor, and is still a bit ignorant when it comes to the world due to being freshly baked, however he’s a lot more closed off when it comes to strangers and not quick to think that everyone has his best interest in mind like his Canon counterpart.

The trio have looked out for one another for a while, at first things were a bit rocky between them, a loose allyship to pursue a common goal; but it’s grown into a deep loyalty towards each other.

If Wizard Cookie is separated from the Azure Flame Staff for too long he starts to experience severe withdrawal symptoms. His fear of being powerless, alongside the Staff’s thrall over him, will cause him to act desperately and get it back by any means necessary.

Wild Strawberry Cookie has seen a lot in other timelines, and as a result recognizes quite a few faces that she otherwise wouldn’t have met. She also has a stash of Time Jumpers, which allows her to dominate a battlefield as she utilizes its abilities to fast-forward and rewind herself.

Gingerbrave frequently has to redo his stitches, as they have a habit of breaking or wearing down due to the icing’s low quality. The worst ones are around his neck, which will cause his head to go flying off and getting lost. Despite the major drawbacks this causes, he can also use it to his advantage, as his individual parts are still autonomous from one another. He can also swap parts out for new ones, meaning if he loses an arm, he can take one from a fallen enemy cookie or cake monster and use that instead. He has a supply of different parts that he swaps out depending on the mission. However, he feels most comfortable with his original pieces.

While it isn’t official, Gingerbrave is considered the leader, as he keeps the group focused on their goal: to steal the Soul Jam and use them to destroy the Witches and their influence.

They actually don’t like Dark Enchantress Cookie and don’t plan to join the Cookies of Darkness. While they both have similar plans of stealing the Soul Jam and wanting to reform the world, Dark Enchantress wants to make a world that is under her control, while Gingerbrave wants to create a world of absolute free will and lawlessness.

Basically, the kids are anarchists who view Dark Enchantress and the Ancient Heroes as Tyrants.

Idk if i'll do more with this concept, but I thought it would be fun/funny considering Strawberry and Wizard both already have "evil" designs.

[goldsbitch]

Home is where Dad's car is

One of Lando's twins dramatically announces she's running away from home. This turns his afternoon into a Monaco rescue mission.

this is inspired by a comment from @ynbutbetter on the Blink Once story and me completely misreading it

warning: none, domestic, light-hearted stand alone part of Norris Family Polaroids

Jumping back into work again has been a relief and burden at the same time. The ten-year-old twins are relentless and Y/N, with all the help she had due to Lando's comfortable financial situation, wanted to be part of both motherhood and career as much as she could.

She's received a lot of strange emails in her life. This one is about to rule them all.

From: Olivia Norris To: Mom & Dad CC: (no one, because traitors exist)

Subject: I Am Leaving. Do Not Try to Stop Me.

Dear Mother and Father,

by the time you read this, I will be gone. Away forevr. Please do not be sad (I know this will be difficult).

I have thought long and hard about this decision—at least ten whole minutes—and I have realized that I can no longer stay. I love you both (most of the time but Dad you really made me sad this time) but I have to follow my own path now

Do not try to find me.

Tell Maya that she is now the oldest child. This is a great responsibility. I hope she is ready.

Stay strong in my absence. -Olivia

Speed dial - Lando - and then two times more, since the Husband of the Year can't seem to pick up his phone. A text pops up after Lando reclines the call.

We're streaming, is it urgent?

Y/N knows this automatic message all too damn well. No matter how many years him and Max F. managed to pile up, streaming video games time stayed like a sacred constant. It's great when the husband has a hobby. It's not so great when it ends up in him losing one of the kids in the meantime.

She texts him back. Headache. That's what being a mother of two kids and married to an overgrown child is on a typical Wednesday afternoon is.

//

Lando is having a great time. Snack in front of him, controller in hand, headset on—he's in his zone. He's been carrying Max Fewtrell through a game for the past hour, and despite his teammate's absolute lack of skill, it's been a solid session. A nice off season afternoon.

"Bro, you're literally throwing," Max groans through the headset as his in-game character spectacularly fails to complete a simple task.

Lando snickers, eyes glued to the screen. "Nah, mate, you're just bad. Hold on, I gotta—oh, for f—" His phone vibrates on the table, lighting up with Y/N’s name.

He glances at it, sees the call, and immediately ignores it. Another call. Decline.

Third time. Decline again.

He hits the automatic reply. Y/N's reply is instant. CHECK YOUR EMAIL NOW

Lando frowns. What could possibly be so urgent that it requires an email check? His brain cycles through possibilities:

-Y/N booked them another family trip he forgot about. -She ordered something expensive and wants to justify it. -The school sent one of those "Just letting you know" emails about how the twins "express themselves too boldly" (which, in Lando’s opinion, is code for being just like him).

Still, an email? Seems excessive. Whatever. He'll check it.

"Oi, Max, gimme a sec," Lando muttera and opens his inbox app. He scrolls past junk mail, a McLaren PR update, some random sponsorship inquiry��ah, there.

Subject: I Am Leaving. Do Not Try to Stop Me.

Lando snorts. Classic Olivia. Then he reads the first line.

By the time you read this, I will be gone. Away forevr.

…Okay. He keeps reading. His eyebrows start to furrow.

I love you both (most of the time, but Dad, you really made me sad this time), but I have to follow my own path now

His stomach drops.

Wait. What?

Do not try to find me.

Lando launches forward in his chair, suddenly wide awake. Is this for real? He just saw her few minutes ago in their bedroom. Well, might have been like an hour at this point.

Panic is setting rent free in his brain. "Oi, Max—stream's over," he blurts out, shutting the game down.

"Huh? What? We're in the middle of a match!" is the last he hears of him. Lando kills the stream without another word. Email...His daughter has reached the point of sending him emails now. Parenting, it never stops surprising him. His hands fly over his phone as he immediately calls Y/N. She picks up before the first ring even finishes.

"Lando," she says, already exasperated.

"Remember when I said the girls are too young for emails?" he starts, trying to wrap his head around this.

"Lando, they need one for school, this is not up for discussion. But don't get sidetracked - any clue where she is right now?"

He's already on his way to the kids bedroom, wishing they'd bought a smaller apartment. "I'm checking now," he blurts out, trying to keep as much of his anxiety locked in. It's fine, probably nothing.

"I though you brought them home directly after school?" his wife asks and Lando is grateful that there is not a single drop of blame directed towards him. Team players. It was part of their vows and one of the most important aspects of their relationship.

"I did, we just made a quick stop at the mall to get some sweets and then we were off. No spoiling!" he retortes before Y/N has a chance to go on her usual don't-buy-them-things-just-because-they-ask rant. The fact that his wife does not laugh or comment suggests she's had enough time to bury herself in doubts about Olivia already.

Finally, he's at the girl's door, which eerily half-open. A rare instance since the time the twins managed to win over the right to owning a key to their own bedroom few months ago.

He steps in, carefully, phone still at his ear. "Maya?" The objectively calmer and less hot-headed daughter is sitting on her bed, unbothered and uninterested.

"What?" she replies without looking away from her game. It makes Lando bit infuriated, but he knows he's hardly the one to say anything about this topic.

"Maya, where is your sister?" he asks, loudly enough so that Y/N can also hear him.

Not even a glance. "Dunno."

Lando stares at her. "What do you mean, dunno?"

"She said she was running away." Tap, tap, swipe. Maya shrugs. "So I let her."

"You LET HER?!"

Maya finally looks up, confused and surprised by the change of tone. "Yeah? She was being dramatic. Again."

Lando runs fingers through his hair. "Maya, you’re supposed to STOP her from doing stuff like this!"

Maya shrugs. "She was really committed. Packed a bag and everything."

Lando’s brain short-circuits. His ten-year-old daughter ran away. And he didn’t even notice. He hears Y/N sigh heavily over the phone. "I’ll start calling around. You start looking for our child."

Lando, still in mild shock: "Right. Yes. Good plan."

First, he searches the whole apartment, every cabinet, every spot he remembers the kids using during their plays of hide and seek. He's not sure whether he's more mad at Liv, for bolting, or at Maya for being so chill about it. After few minutes, it's obvious, Olivia is not home. He calls the concierge. Nothing. How could they possibly miss a child strolling around with packed bag?

He retraces their steps back. Pick up at the school—short ride over to the small mall—they stopped at a bakery, looked in few shop windows, Lando had them give their opinions on few bracelet designs (The plan is to get everyone in the family one with a different stone color. It's a surprise for Y/N and the girls know it. A family gift, so technically not spoiling anyone.)—then they got home and Lando started streaming. What exactly made Liv run away? Flash of guilt washes him over. Did he say something mean? Maybe he should have called off the stream today. Is he being a bad father? Well, he is, he figures. His child ran away and sent an email specifically mentioning his name. Oh, god. Suddenly, he's regretting being the one to shut down the idea of having their kid's location on at all times. At the time, he argued since they're in Monaco, there wasn't a big probability of anything bad happening to them. Everyone knows everyone. He forgot to count in the fact his kids might one day have a mind of their own. He just wanted to give them some form of freedom.

Lando grabs his phone and starts scrolling through his contacts, heart pounding. Okay. Where would Olivia go? Who enables her nonsense? Who has snacks?

Who would let her rant dramatically without asking too many questions? He dials the first name that makes sense.

Max Verstappen pick up immediately. "Nope, she's not here, Y/N already called. Nice one though, how can you lose a child that loud?" Lando groans, this being the second time he's been beaten by one his family members today. "I didn't lose her, she left."

"Ah, so you’ve been out-parented by a ten-year-old?" he comments, like it's no big deal at all.

"Thanks Max, helpful as always. Let me know if you see her."

"Of course." Lando hangs up immediately.

He hopes he's the first one to call Oscar.

"Hey, Lando. What's up?" he's welcomed with moderately disinterested tone.

"Have you seen Olivia?" Lando blurts out, fighting the passage of time.

"Um. No? Not lately? Should I have?"

He figures that if she's been sitting on his couch right now, Oscar would probably not even notice. "Nah...She sort of ran away few minutes ago. She can't be far, but like..."

"Yeah, that's not good."

Lando thinks about finding new friends. "Excellent observation. Well, let me know if she shows up at your doorstep."

"Will do. Check the school? Maybe she went back?"

If Lando knows one thing, it's that wherever his daughter, his carbon copy, is, it's not back at school.

"Thanks. Once she shows up, I’m grounding her forever."

"Might not be the best way to convince her to come home, mate."

Lando hangs up after the unsolicited advice. He's getting desperate, so he starts dialing random people who are in Monaco. Carlos - does not pick up. His usual contacts end up being either completely useless or actively making the situation worse.

At this point, he's calling anyone in Monaco who might have even the slightest clue where Olivia could be.

And then - a message. Text from Carlos. Mate, drop everything and come by.

Eyes still glued to the text, his brain short-circuiting over Carlos’ cryptic message, and then the phone rings again. Y/N. He barely has time to process before he picks up.

"Tell me you found her." No greeting, no buildup—just straight to business. Lando rubs a hand down his face. "No. But Carlos just texted me. Told me to come over."

A pause. Then, suspicion. "Why?" "I don’t know." Lando waves a hand at the message like she can see it. "He just said ‘it's important.’"

There’s a beat of silence. He can practically hear Y/N narrowing her eyes. "That’s weird," she mutters. "I just called the school again—nothing. Also checked a few cafés, just in case."

Lando starts pacing the living room, running through possibilities. "And?"

"Guess twice." He hears her sigh. "She's not at her friends' houses either. At this point, unless she's living in the canals like some kind of feral child, I have no idea where she'd go."

Lando groans, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm going to Carlos'."

Another pause. Then, firmly: "Okay. But if Carlos doesn't have her, we're calling the police. What if...." She does not dare to finish the thought and it's just then when Lando starts properly getting worried. Many crazy people are obsessed with him and in extension, his family. He does not dare to even imagine what could happen.

Lando exhales. "Yeah. Agreed." They hang up.

He stares at his phone for half a second longer, then grabs his keys and rushes for the door.

//

He's putting his shoes on when Maya's voice cut through the hallways, her tone all shy and contrasting her previous sassy responses. "Is she going to be alright?" Lando turns around to see the image of pure innocence, worried little ten-year-old, who looks a little too small for this world. A smile forms on his face, even though it does not match his current mood at all.

"Come here, honey," he gestures and waits for Maya to run over to his embrace. She hugs his legs and in return, he pats her head. "Of course. We will find her and it will all be fine."

"I'm sorry I let her go..." she apologizes and Lando is surprised that there are no tears in her eyes, given the sorrow expressed in her voice.

"I'm happy you're saying that," he replies, grateful to be spared of one parent lecture today. "Do you have any idea where she might be?" He searches for any hint of a clue in her face, but it's all blank as she shakes he head.

"She said she's going home. And then left."

Even though this does not help him at all, he nods understandingly, slowly letting go of Maya and reaching for his jacket. "And do you know why?" Guilt must be written all over his face. He had been too reckless, too focused on other things and neglecting his kids.

Maya's soft voice provides an answer, that opens up more questions. "She was upset about the bracelet. Said it was too much."

This stops his actions. "What?" Lando frowns, trying to wrap his head around whether his daughter entering some sort of preteen leftist phase. Aren't kids suppose to like things? Maya simply shrugs her shoulders, her face mimicking her father's. "You know how she is sometimes..."

Yes, he knows. Stubborn, hot-headed and in a world of her own. Once again, like a sarcastic mirror he has to look at everyday, to get reminded of his own mishaps. Maya, the somewhat more innocent, less conniving one, stares at him, as if he has all the answers. He just grabs his keys, reassures her once more and orders her to protect the house. It's an old trick that still seems to be working on her. It's clear though his kids are growing up faster and faster. More complex tactics will be needed. In order to prevent future runaway moments.

//

He's making sure to scan every street he passes by on the way to his ex-teammate's house. It would make sense for Olivia to be at his place, since out of all their family friends, Carlos lives the closest. And, Maya mentioned she's going home. So, unless she's on her way all the way back to visit grandma in England, this seems like the next best thing.

Lando is on edge and the elevator is being annoyingly slow. His daughter is missing, his brain is on fire, and he has exactly zero leads.

And yet—Carlos Sainz opens the door like Lando just showed up for a casual chat session.

"Finally," Carlos says, grabbing Lando by the sleeve and pulling him inside without a single question. "I need your help with something."

Lando blinks. "Carlos, what—"

Carlos does not wait. He marches toward the kitchen, muttering to himself while swiping through something on his phone.

"This is serious. I've been trying to decide this all morning," Carlos continues, completely unaware of Lando's rapidly declining mental state. "I need an outside perspective."

Lando follows, confused, frustrated, and five seconds away from yelling. "Carlos, I don't have time—"

Carlos spins around dramatically. "Should I grow a beard?"

Lando stares. "What?" Carlos gestures at his own face. "A beard. Do I grow one? Or will it look stupid?"

Lando rubs a hand down his face. "Carlos, I do not have time for this right now—" "But it's an important decision!" Carlos argues, like his life depends on it. "A beard changes a man, Lando. I need to know before I commit! I've been craving some change lately and this seems like a good step.“

Lando lets out a deep, slow breath. "Carlos." He almost makes it sound like a threat.  Carlos finally notices something is off. His brow furrows. "What's wrong with you?" "My child ran away,“ Lando deadpans and crosses his arms. 

Carlos blinks. "Oh."

There’s a pause. Then, his eyes widen. "Oh!"

"Yes!" Lando gestures wildly. "That’s why I’m here! I thought maybe she came to you—" Carlos gasps, like he’s just uncovered a great conspiracy.

"She’s on a boat."

"...What?" Carlos nods, suddenly deep in thought. "Sí. It makes sense." Lando shakes his head. "No. It does not."

Carlos, ignoring him entirely: "When I was a small child, I often ran away when I was unhappy with my parents. I would go to the sea. The sea is mysterious. The sea is freedom. And Olivia knows that, I remember telling her.“ Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. Why, pray tell, would his friends instruct his children to ran away from home. "Well, thank you for that. Carlos, the sea is also full of very real dangers." Carlos waves him off. "Oh wait no - it was Maya," he says, like that solves the problem. "So, never mind."

"You do realize the girls talk to each other, constantly sharing bad ideas, right?" Lando snaps, unable to comprehend how quickly his calm afternoon had turned so sour. "Please, refrain from giving them bad ideas from now on, thank you." "Ay, cabron, come on. She’s just probably sitting on a yacht somewhere. You know how many boats there are in Monaco?"

Lando does, unfortunately, know. Too many. Way too many.

Carlos is nodding to himself now, fully convinced. "Come on. We go to the harbor, check a few docks. Maybe yell her name a few times—"

"I am not yelling my daughter’s name across Monaco like a lunatic—"

Carlos grins. "I will do it."

Lando groans. "We are not going to the harbor." Carlos tilts his head. "You sure? Because I think—" Lando’s phone buzzes, saving him from this tragedy of a conversation. He glances at the screen. His manager. Since he does not have a time for a lecture on not missing meetings just because they're on Zoom–just like he is missing one right now–he hits decline and puts this on future Lando to deal with.

Then—a text.

Lando. We found your daughter.

He freezes. Carlos immediately notices. "What? What happened?" Lando, staring at his phone in disbelief, exhales sharply. "They found her." Carlos claps his hands together, triumphant. "On a boat!" Lando glares. "Not on a boat!" Carlos snaps his fingers, looking genuinely disappointed. "Damn. That would’ve been so good."

Lando ignores him, already texting Y/N. Because wherever Olivia is, she’s about to get the lecture of a lifetime.

And if Carlos mentions boats one more time, Lando is never speaking to him again. One intrusive thought enters his brain before he gets to dialing his manager. A beard–there is probably nothing worse Carlos could do to destroy his look so quickly and efficiently. Lando turns towards him. "I think a beard is an excellent idea. You should do it," he says, pretending to take this seriously. A small revenge for his best friend feeding his kids ideas about running away from home. A wide smile grows on the Spaniard's face and he squeezes Lando's shoulder. "Knew it. Thanks, mate!" Lando nods a little too enthusiastically.

//

Home is where the heart is. Some say home is where your story begins. Others say it’s not a place, but a person. For Olivia Norris apparently, for her, it's a place where they sell luxury cars, keep a an endless stock of hoodies with her father's name and probably walk around her on eggshells. Because while most kids would run away to a friend’s house or a secret fort in the woods, Lando's child—his stubborn, dramatic, terrifyingly smart child—ran away to the McLaren showroom.

And honestly? He would have never seen that coming.

He's used to people rushing to take selfies with him whenever he's on the main streets of Monaco, so it's not much of a surprise that when he parks in front of the McLaren showroom, he's circled by enthusiastic fans immediately. Honestly, right now, when he's searching for his runaway child, having visual proof of this afternoon is the last thing he needs. Sadly, he understands that making a scene and refusing would bring even more attention online. Five photos later, he finally gets to enter inside.

It's not like Lando goes around to roam around McLaren stores on his free days, unless PR obligations order him too. His presence would raise eyebrows and freeze employees even on a regular day, without his daughter taking a refuge there. It's obvious from the moment he steps in - all the staff members are on edge, holding their phones like weapons to use to call supervisors and doing a bad job at pretending everything is fine. He walks in and awkwardly waits for the frontman to approach him.

"Mr. Norris," he speaks, barely hiding his nervousness. "I believe you'd want to speak to the manager?" Lando just nods and gives him one angry smile. If there is one thing he's not in the mood for, it's speaking in corporate codes.

"Sure," he says and swiftly walks away.

The front desk employee looks like he’s preparing for battle. Lando watches as the poor guy takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders, and puts on his best customer service smile before cautiously approaching. "Mr. Norris," the man greets, voice a little too high-pitched. Lando tilts his head. "Let me guess," he says, folding his arms. "You have a small, dramatic, ten-year-old hiding somewhere in here?" The employee lets out a nervous chuckle. "Well… we wouldn't say hiding, exactly."

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"She, uh…" The man glances at his coworkers for support, but they all pretend to be very busy. He clears his throat. "She told us she works here now. Said that Zak Brown himself approved it.“

Lando closes his eyes for a moment. Has this person never talked to a lying child before? 

Of course she did.

"And you… just let her?"

The employee start looking scared. "Um, well, we were not sure how to proceed. She was very convincing."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. "Where is she?"

The man gestures toward the back of the store, where the more exclusive merch is displayed. "She, uh… had us set up a 'desk.'" This is a new level, even for her. "She what?" The employee nods gravely. "Sir, she brought a clipboard." That actually stuns him into silence for a second. Then, before he can even process it, he hears it—

A tiny but authoritative voice from behind the display racks. "Excuse me, sir! Can I interest you in our new McLaren papaya collection?" Lando whips his head around. And there, seated behind a neatly arranged stack of McLaren hoodies, holding a clipboard and looking entirely unbothered…

Is Olivia.

His runaway daughter.

His child.

He watches her talking to a grown man, ignoring his minor confusion and doing what could be only described as skillfully pitching this specific line of merch. No shame or hesitance. Just as she almost has this man trying on a bright orange hoodie, Lando decides to step in and intervene. 

"This shade of papaya," she says smoothly, flipping a page on her clipboard for dramatic effect, "It is the best color, because it’s the brightest one. It will make you stand out like no one else."

The man, who clearly only came in for a casual browse, now looks deeply invested. He nods thoughtfully, holding the hoodie up to his chest. "You think it suits me?"

Olivia tilts her head, analyzing him like she’s Zak Brown finalizing a sponsorship deal. "Absolutely. You give off McLaren energy." The man looks genuinely touched. And that is when Lando decides enough is enough. "Olivia Norris," he calls out, voice firm, authoritative, and 100% Dad Mode. His daughter freezes mid-sale. Her eyes go wide. The poor customer looks between them, clearly confused. A second later, he’s got the star-struck face on, probably finally recognizing Lando, who steps forward, hands on his hips. Glances apologetically at the man and gives his full attention to his daughter. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Olivia plasters on a casual smile, like she wasn't just caught selling merch to a stranger in an attempt to start a new life.

"Uh, working?" she tries, tucking the clipboard against her chest like that makes it official.

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

She nods, fully committing. "Mhm. First day on the job. Big things happening for me." "Liv,“ he speaks a warning, the fact they’re out in public with interested witnesses working in her favor.  She holds up a finger, turning back to the man. "One second, sir, my old manager's here." Lando nearly chokes. "I'm your father." "Same thing," she shrugs. Lando blinks at her. Then, at the clipboard. Then, back at her. "Pack it up," he says, gesturing toward the exit. "Your shift is over." Olivia sighs dramatically. "Does this mean I don’t get paid?"

"Olivia."

"Fine," she huffs, setting the clipboard down like this is a tragic career-ending moment. Lando turns to the man, who still looks entirely too amused. "Sorry about that," he sighs. The man chuckles. "No worries. She’s good." He pauses, then holds up the hoodie. "I am gonna buy this, though." Lando groans. Of course she made a sale. As Olivia grins proudly, clearly aware she's the winner this afternoon, Lando grabs her by the shoulders and steers her toward the door, preparing for the conversation of a lifetime. He waves apologetically at the store employees, who are all trying very hard to pretend like they're not watching them.

They walk out from the store, calmly and collected. He's carrying the bag she must have packed and questions her planning skills, as the bag seems to be full of dresses and random selection of snacks. After all, even with the stunt he's just seen, ultimately. he is grateful that authorities didn't need to get involved in this. He guides Olivia to his car, opens the door and makes sure she’s locked in before he starts the car. 

He’s driving home smoothly, monitoring her face in all the mirrors available. Dark sunglasses she put on probably to prove a point hide her eyes, but the body language betrays her. She's upset and while he does share her emotion and has to fight his urge to start his lecture about safety, fans and most importantly, not running away from home, he decides to do the adult thing and sets his goal on figuring out the cause of this all. 

"So. Running away from home, huh?" he asks and tries to keep his tone as casual as possible. No reaction. Fine. "Your mom and I were really worried. Maya too, by the way," he tries to play it on the more emotional side. It's only when he mentions Maya, that Olivia shifts uncomfortably. Lando notices the slight movement immediately. A tiny shrug in her shoulders, like the weight of what she did is finally sinking in.

Good. She should feel a little guilty.

Still, she says nothing, arms crossed tightly over her chest, the ridiculous slightly oversized sunglasses making her look far too dramatic for a ten-year-old.

Lando sighs, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

"She thought you might be gone forever, you know," he adds, throwing a quick glance at Olivia through the rearview mirror. "She even got promoted to ‘oldest child.’ Big responsibility."

That gets him something—a twitch at the corner of her mouth. He presses on. "And I don't know if you realize this," he continues, keeping his voice light yet firm, "but your ‘home’ today was a McLaren store. Not even the factory, Liv. A store."

Olivia adjusts her sunglasses like a celebrity avoiding paparazzi. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

She shrugs. "Well. You always say that McLaren is your home. And if it's yours, why could it not be mine?“ 

Lando’s heart sinks and he’s not sure whether he's proud to know Olivia listens to what he says or if he's terrified of the strange, most likely unhealthy, relationship his kid is developing towards a global corporation. "I do say that, you're right. But there is a difference between a job and a home. It’s a...Different kind of home,"  he says it and wonders if anyone had ever told him that when he was young. 

Olivia seems to be deeply in her own thoughts. "I'm sure some of the employees would take me in."

Lando scoffs. "Oh, well, in that case—fantastic life decision."

A small huff. "Better than where I was gonna go."

Lando narrows his eyes. "And where exactly was that?"

Silence. If she says "a boat", Lando's going to convince Carlos to also shave his hair off. He waits, watching her in the mirror, not pushing—just letting the silence do the work. And after a few moments, Olivia finally caves, shifting in her seat.

Surprisingly, she ignores his question entirely. "You and Mom were gonna put braces on me so you could tell me and Maya apart."

Lando almost swerves into the wrong lane. "Wait, what?!" He glances at her, then back at the road. "Braces?"

Olivia nods solemnly. "I heard you. In the store. You said it will be easier," she says, sounding genuinely disturbed. Then, her childlike anger builds up. "But, I don’t even have all my adult teeth in! It sounds dangerous, dad! Also - why would you and mom need them too? Do you realize everyone is going to laugh at our family?"

Lando stares straight ahead, completely dumbfounded. For a second, his brain refuses to process this level of nonsense.

Braces. BRACES?!

Of all the things she could've misheard, this is what led to her dramatic escape?

"Olivia." He exhales, shaking his head. "I said bracelets. I was getting us bracelets. Matching ones, with different colors, so that other people won’t mix you and Maya up so much, I know how you hate it."

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Olivia slowly lowers her sunglasses. "...Bracelets?"

"Bracelets," Lando confirms, dead serious.

More silence.

Then—a quiet, barely-there mutter:

"...Oh."

Lando lets out the loudest, most exhausted sigh of his life. "Oh?" he repeats, glancing at her in disbelief. "OH?! You ran away because of a bracelet misunderstanding?!"

Olivia slouches further into her seat. "I was not going to let that happen to me."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. "Liv. If you just asked—"

"You said not to tell mom!“ she interrupts, as if this is somehow his fault.

Lando groans. "That's not the point!"

"I panicked!"

"You panicked? So instead of clarifying, you packed a bag full of dresses and snacks and started a career in retail?!"

Olivia crosses her arms again, defensive. "It was a solid plan."

Lando lets out a short, incredulous laugh. "Liv, it was the worst plan."

She pouts. "It worked for a while."

Lando tilts his head. "Did it?"

"...No."

"Exactly."

A long pause.

Then, softly: "Maya really thought I was leaving forever?"

Lando nods. "Yeah. She acted all chill about it, but I could tell she was worried."

Olivia twists the hem of her hoodie, suddenly looking much smaller than before. "...I didn't mean to scare her."

Lando softens.

"I know," he says, glancing at her in the mirror again. "And I know you like being independent, but Liv—" He sighs. "You don’t need to run away over stuff like this. Just talk to me, okay?"

She nods slowly, still fiddling with her hoodie. "...Okay."

"And maybe next time, instead of running away, just... go to your room dramatically like a normal ten-year-old?"

Olivia snorts. "No promises." Lando chuckles, shaking his head.

This kid.

They pull into the driveway, and Olivia takes off her sunglasses, letting out a deep breath.

"Hey, Dad?" Lando raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?" She smirks. "Did you bring my clipboard?" Lando laughs, unlocking the car. "You're grounded."

//

"So, you're telling me Liv ran away because of no reason?" Y/N asks for the third time, as she sits across from her husband and two suspiciously quiet children.

Lando's got his PR smile on, it's clear as a day. When and how he managed to teach both of the girls the same is the real mystery. Y/N cut her day at work short to rush home. Even with the news of Olivia being back at home, she found it hard to focus on anything else. She expected to walk into a battlefield, at least one of the girls crying and flustered Lando. But no—one would never have even guessed anything strange had happened that day. They're all sitting there, like some sort of picturesque scene from a school issued guidance book.

"Mom," Olivia speaks up slowly, accidentally looking at Y/N like she is stupid for repeating the question. "It was a bad decision on my part. I accept being grounded for a week. We will be able to explain everything in few weeks," Olivia says confidently at first, but still turns towards her father, as if for confirmation she said all the right words. It's hard to believe a single word she says. Still, he gives her a small, but proud, nod.

"We have a surprise for you and if we tell you everything, it will be ruined!" Maya's comment is cheerfully enthusiastic, like she's telling Y/N the best thing that has ever happened.

Without a clue on what to say, Y/N turns to Lando for any hint of answers. He looks at her like he's some divine angel. "It's a funny story, but we can't tell you now."

Y/N hands fly up at the weird logic of this all. "What?"

"Patience, love. It's a virtue," Lando says simply and it's clear none of them are going to spill anything about today.

Maya follows the lead with a comment dripping with excitement. "Yes, mom. Patience!"

Y/N exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. She stares at the three of them—her clearly rehearsed, suspiciously well-behaved family—then lets out a dry laugh.

"You know what?" she says, standing up. "Fine. But when this ‘surprise’ inevitably turns into another disaster, I am not the one handling it."

She grabs her bag and heads toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath.

Behind her, Lando leans closer to his kids and ruffles both their hair. "That went well. Good job, she's going to love the bracelets."

Olivia, smirking proudly, follow his lead. "Told you we could sell it. I have experience now."

[monopurple]

(i agree with op)

this might sound like i'm reaching but i feel like a lot of forcing a binary onto chara/kris/frisk reeks from micro aggressive enbyphobia. a lot of this enbyphobia is just very surface level of a much deeper product that is rooted in society.

cis people are unable to view things without forcing cisnormative gender norms on everything. this cisnormality results in non-binary not being seen as a genuine identity and just as a weird third, secret unnatural thing. all of this results in a lot of microaggressions and gender debates on heavily-implied non-binary characters (mangle for example). everything outside the binary is stigmatised and seen as unnatural, which leads to people pushing gender norms onto everything.

it is a product of cisnormality being forced onto society. if cisnormative gender norms ceased to exist, would you really still see people debating on identities of non-binary characters? people being unable to comprehend that characters can be non-binary is simply just a surface level product of this issue.

now obviously, are people debating identities on non-binary characters as bad as an issue of real life enbyphobia? obviously not. but it is still a surface level product of enbyphobia. it is a result of people looking at society and all media they consume from a cisnormative lense that when they see something that doesn't fit those lenses, it challenges their thought process that they were usually taught growing up.

the utdr fandom being able to accept that frisk, chara and kris can be their own people and have their interests, but are unable to even comprehend that they might not be either male or female, is surface level enbyphobia. you are able to accept whatever frisk, chara and kris do outside of our control is them being their own person, but gender is where you draw the line of something not being up for interpretation?

maybe back then, i can understand. a lot of people were pre-teens/young teens when they first got into undertale so gender out of the binary was a very new concept to them. so projecting their understanding of gender onto the human characters was their only way of identifying them. but if you are pulling this shit today?? you definitely need to check up on your beliefs.

also did you guys know that toby fox never said anything about the human character's genders being up for interpretation? that was a straight up lie made by undertale fans back in the olden days just to justify pushing frisk/chara into a binary.

there is no way all of this isn't a byproduct of enbyphobia and society being obsessed with forcing gendered roles onto everything. if you see a character, being their own person, strictly using gender neutral terms and you somehow find a way to force them into a binary? that is a product of your cisnormative beliefs. what other reason is there to force gender norms onto them?

i think just accepting that characters can be non-binary and may not fit into the lenses of what makes a person male or female, can be a small but right step towards stepping away from one part of cisnormative beliefs. it can make non-binary representation a lot easier to present in media, and it makes topics about non-binary people a lot easier to understand since there's less social stigmatism around it.

please stop pushing cisnormative gender norms onto everything. please.

Deltarune chapter 3 is gonna start by asking you what Kris’ pronouns are and if you choose anything other than they/them it deletes all your save files and uninstalls your game

[image description: a digital comic. In the first panel, Toby Fox (as represented by a small white dog) gestures towards Frisk and says, smiling “Name this character whatever you want!” In the next panel, he winks as he says “Sike! This character was actually their own person the whole time!” In the third panel, a vague person shape holds Frisk, saying “Oh, so their gender is open to interpretation!”

In the fourth panel. Toby looks to the side annoyed, saying “Maybe that was too subtle…” In the fifth panel, he gestures towards Kris and says “This is Kris. They are their own person who is just being controlled by you. Everyone uses they/them for them.” In the sixth panel the vague person shape holds Kris, saying “Oh, so their gender is open to interpretation!”

In the next panel, Toby Fox smiles blankly at the viewer, and the last panel is a close-up of his face with his dead, stressed out eyes. End ID]

[jamminvroomvroom]

let’s go ride.

LN x fem!reader

in which lando keeps getting frustrated and you wanna know why…

hiiiiii here u go! belated love day fic from me to you 💝 love u all, tysm for the love on my last few fics, i’ve had a lot going on lately so i’ve not had very much time to write but when the inspo hits….. shoutout to miss mcrae for dropping lando-coded bangers bc i literally cannot resist. might make a part 2 of all the times they get freaky in a car lmao, lemme know if you want that! likes, comments and reblogs are sooooo appreciated so lemme know what u think xoxox

proofed by my own personal goat @lavenderlando 💖

songs to set the vibes: sports car by tate mcrae, bad guy by billie eilish

warnings: 18+!! minors begone! smut, language, fluff, bit of angst bc lando’s in a mood, friends to lovers, p in v, porn without plot but there is a little bit of plot, bitchy lando

4.2k words

you sit in silence, opening spotify and preparing to fiddle with the bluetooth as he slips into the drivers seat beside you. the car door slams shut and he huffs, jawline taut with annoyance. the hood of his car is surrounded, a million and one cameras pointed at you both as he tries to relax into his chair. the engine roars to life and you side eye him.

“when are you gonna learn, hm?” you try and sound playful, teasing, but it comes out laced with a twang of scolding. lando tenses up even further, turning to glare at you.

“god forbid i go outside.” he snaps.

“give over.” you roll your eyes. “poor me, i’m famous! lando, you can’t get angry when you park in the most high profile spot on the fucking planet and your fans want to worship you.”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.” he sighs, white knuckles wrapping tighter around the steering wheel.

“don’t i? this has been happening a lot lately.” your voice softens, ever so slightly. “every time i’m seen with you, you lash out.”

“because i don’t want people harassing you, looking at you like some fucking commodity.” lando snarls, steely eyes locked on the supposed car enthusiasts that are slowly backing away from his parking space.

“lando, we’re friends. this has always been a thing. why is it bothering you so much now?”

you wonder if it bothers him for the same reason it bothers you.

he shuts his eyes, collecting himself for a moment. he puts the car in drive and smoothly pulls out of the space, ignores your question. you scowl at him, at this sudden childishness that has overtaken his easygoing manner in the last few months.

“fine. whatever.” you mutter, slumping defeatedly into your seat. you give up on playing music, leaving him to bask in the silence, something he loathed.

lando had switched from his usual self to this stony, irate version of him that you rarely had the displeasure of seeing, from the second you walked out of the restaurant where you’d had lunch. he was reluctant to pose for photos and sign hats, something he usually revelled in, grateful that people even wanted to see him. the swathes of fans that had gathered had irked him for once, but what really boiled his blood was the photographers that seemed to find him no matter where he chose to spend him time. so much for monaco’s privacy laws.

it wasn’t like he cared about himself, either. it was you. the way they leered, leaned close to you while he was distracted with pens being shoved in his face. it was the way their eyes dipped low, whether you were in a tank top or a baggy hoodie. it was the way they spread the false, painful narrative all over the internet that you and lando were together, which drove hoards of losers into your comment section and your DMs just to call you names.

you were not together. as much as it pained him, you were just friends.

he couldn’t exactly explain his overprotectiveness to you without getting himself into a big, tangled mess. you, being the resilient, cool as a cucumber stoic that you were didn’t care what fourteen year olds on the internet thought about you. you weren’t about to let faceless, jobless trolls ruin the friendship that you’d nurtured for years, through ups and downs, thick and thin, race wins and huge losses. but lando, god, it killed him, tore him up inside every time someone so much as looked at you wrong.

“you really don’t get it.” he says, hushed, like he’s telling a secret. you turn to look at him, tearing your eyes away from the glistening view of the marina.

“lando, tell me then. make it make sense because i’ve never seen you behave like this. they love you! least you can do is lose the attitude over some harmless pictures.”

“jesus christ, it’s not the fans! it’s not the ‘harmless pictures’! it’s these fucking creeps that follow us around just to make some money off of my own personal hell. you really don’t get it, because if you did, you’d know that it breaks my fucking heart to see the way people talk about you online, just for being seen with me. it’s my fault that you get harassed, that paps are basically stalking you now.”

he signs of his rant with a sharp inhale, one that seems to suck all of the life out of the car. you melt.

“but lando, it doesn’t bother me. i just wanna be here with you, i don’t care about the rest of it.” you coo softly, reaching over the centre console to grip his forearm.

“and i want you here. i want you with me every fucking second of the day, but i can’t cope. can’t help thinking that one day it’ll all just be too much and you’ll leave me.” he whispers.

“never. never ever ever.” you promise. your belly swirls with emotions, tickled from the inside out by butterflies that threaten to swarm.

lando breathes shakily, warmed through by the hand that rests on his arm as he manoeuvres through the twisty lanes. as he hits traffic and slows, he clocks another photographer looming on the pavement, lens aimed at his windshield. already too annoyed, he aggressively smacks his sun visor down, leaning over the console to reach yours too, pulling it down. he prays it’s enough.

“you need to relax, lan. i’m fine, we’re fine. i promise.” you reassure, but he’s breathing heavily now. “you don’t worry this much when it’s max.” you trail off.

he doesn’t know what comes over him. he spins the car into a sharp u-turn, positively speeding back in the direction you’d just come from. any mention of you and him as a ‘we’ makes him crazy, makes him utterly lose his mind, but something about your sweet, earnest voice bringing him back to reality has left him completely shaken. the sun is setting now, most people clearing out of the underground car park he pulls into to head back to their homes. he has other intentions. you don’t say another word until he pulls into a space at the back of the lot, tucked neatly into a corner.

“what are we doing?”

“need a minute.” lando rasps, forehead resting on his steering wheel, the matte leather pushing his sharp curls back. you trail your eyes over him, the way his chest rises and falls under the sweatshirt he’s wearing, the way his thick fingers curl as his grip continues to tighten.

“i’m jealous. and i’m selfish. and i’m a complete fucking idiot.” lando says, steadily, like he’s reading the news.

“you’re… you’re jealous? of what?” you’re like a deer in headlights.

“of any other person that gets to lay their fucking eyes on you.”

“what are you saying?” you whisper. the air in the car goes still, frozen. you can’t breathe.

“i’m saying… that you’re mine. and i should have made that a known fact a long time ago.” ever so slowly he looks up at you, and you gasp at the intensity of his stare. he’s gazing at you with complete conviction in his eyes, a whole lot of vulnerability mixed in with the sincerity of his words. “i don’t want anyone else anywhere near you. lose my fucking mind watching the way they look at you.”

“lando…” you trail off, eyes as wide as saucers. is he really saying what you think he’s saying?

“i know this is terrible of me, to do this now, here - to do this at all, to be honest. i know that i have no right to stake some kind of claim on you, and i know that you probably don’t feel the same, but god, i just needed you to know. if you want me to shut the fuck up or leave you alone forever then i totally get it but-“

“oh my god, are you stupid?” you shake your head, still stuck in your state of disbelief, but you muster the coherency to grip the collar of his crewneck, tug him close.

your lips meet hastily, urgently, and every ounce to tension seems to seep out of the car. he moans at the very sensation of you against him, breath caught in his throat when you lace your finger through his hair like you want to mould your faces together, never stop. his brain finally catches up, awestruck as he is, and you trade passion and saliva, bumping noses as you clash chaotically.

“i think we’re both stupid.” he mumbles into your lips. you shut him up with another kiss, fiery and needy, and his hands begin to wander. he smoothes over the back of your jumper until he finds your waist, awkward in the limited space of the front of the car, and skims his hands up until he’s made his way beneath the material and he’s gripping your bare skin.

“too forward of me to ask you to get in the back?” lando pants with a cheeky smile.

“you literally just marked your territory on me, and nearly bit a photographer. i think we’re past ‘forward’.” you deadpan.

“then get in the fucking back.” he grins, devilish and commanding. you do as you’re told, wriggling between the leather until you’re propped up against the backseat. lando follows, sitting beside you, tugs you into his lap like you’re weightless.

you can feel him beneath you, hard and wanting, and you mewl, keen into him. your breaths mingle in the nonexistent space, lips brushing gently.

“this okay?” lando’s lips ghost over yours and you lean forward, just enough to reach him. he pulls back, eyes hooded, teasing, and tuts. “use your words.”

“who knew you were such a bossy boots.” you smirk. “more than okay.”

his eyes glaze over once he has your permission, and he kisses you like you’re the last supply of oxygen on earth. he licks into your mouth, wet and desperate and you whimper as he grazes over the crease of your thigh, toying with the hem of your skirt where it’s ridden up.

“can feel you.” lando groans, pulling away to look between your bodies. “so warm for me, you like seeing me all riled up?”

you nod coyly, lip caught between your teeth, and you swear you see his eyelashes flutter.

“what did i say about words?” lando composes himself enough to tease. you roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the way heat rolls through your body.

“like when you get all bitchy.” you reply, rolling your hips once.

“bitchy?”

“mhm. always been so easy to toy with.” you whisper, leaning in to nose along the thickness of his neck. you drag your tongue up the vein there, feeling it pulse under your tongue. he smells like his cologne, so him, and it makes you even hotter.

“oh, so you’ve been playing with me?” he chokes out, eyes rolling back in his head at the marks you’re leaving.

“maybe a little.” you hum.

“you liked watching me get angry? pretending to be all sweet and clueless?” lando whispers, the words hanging heavy in the space between you. all you can manage in response is a mischievous smile that twists his tummy.

your hands trail under his sweatshirt, skating over the muscled ripples of his belly, ever so slightly dipping into the band of his sweats. his head lulls back, blindly holding you close while you worship him. he lets you, lets himself have this moment, thinking for so long that it would never come.

“waited so long,” your lips brush over the shell of his ear, tongue grazing the lobe. he descends into a mess of shivers. “needed you to break first. i knew you would.” you croon.

“you’ve been loving this, haven’t you?” lando starts, low and calculating. “bet you’ve been getting off on dressing like a whore for the cameras, watching me suffer.” he pieces together. your resolve cracks. “bad girl.”

the sense of control you’d briefly maintained shatters, a hand around your neck forcing you away from him, preventing your sweet torture. his fingers flex, just above your collarbone, and you swallow at the smirk that seems to engulf his entire face. he looks animalistic, crazed with a feral adoration that leaves you certain that you’re dripping all over his lap.

“i think you’ve had your fun, baby, it’s my turn.”

you whine when he drags you across his lap, back and forth until you’re squirming. his hips rut up into yours, fuelling your desire for every single inch of him.

“please, lando.” you breathe, reaching out to lace your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“let me look at you.” he demands, shutting down your intentions for more. “i’ve waited long enough for this, don’t you think?”

“so have i.” you beg him with your eyes, but give in to him nonetheless. you’re staining his lap, grey sweats darkening as your wetness pools there and he can’t help but buck up into your warmth.

“wanna play with you, baby, see how you like it.” he taunts, bringing two fingers between your legs.

he brushes his knuckles over the obvious damp patch at the crotch of your panties, lip caught between his teeth at what he finds. your soaked through, and he pinches your bundle of nerves just to watch you thrash in his grip.

“i hate you right now.” you spit through gritted teeth, but your hips can’t help but chase his hand.

“doesn’t feel like it.” he kisses you quick, loving the way you lean in for more, but he relaxes against the seat and dips slowly beneath your underwear. “fuck.”

he doesn’t have to work too hard to spread your wetness around, you’re already lathered in it, but he continues to tease, fingers gliding over your clit and through your folds.

“please.” you beg, leaning back to give him as much access as possible.

“what do you want, baby? tell me.” he urges, drawing circles on the swollen bundle of nerves.

“your fingers.”

“you have them.” he barks out a condescending laugh, applying more pressure just to prove his point.

“need them inside of me.” you pant, eyes squeezing shut at his sadistic game between your thighs.

“that’s my girl.” he praises, and you curse, clamping down around him before he even gets the first knuckle inside of you.

“how are you doing this to me?” you think aloud, tears in your waterline already. it all feels far too good for a first time.

“because i know you better than you think i do.” he coos.

lando pulls you flush against him, grinding his fingers deep so that they curl deliciously against your sweet spot. his palm bumps your clit with every twist of digits and he nips over your collarbone. his tongue laves over your skin, tasting the perspiration that gathers as the car steams up around you. you’re suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings, huddled together in the back of his urus in a dimly lit car park. thank god you’d lost the photographers.

“can’t believe we’re doing this.” you gasp, feeling your tummy tighten at the thrill of it all, of feeling your best friend work to please you.

“i knew it would happen. knew that someday i’d get to see you like this, all for me.”

“all for you.” you repeat, drunk on him as you rode his fingers. “feels so good.”

“want you to come for me like this.” lando orders, replacing the heel of his hand with his thumb against your clit. his ministrations are more controlled like this, precise, and you throw your head back in pleasure. his teeth sink in to the base of your neck, sucking softly over the bruising skin, lapping at the mark to soothe it.

“i’m so close, lan.”* you choke, riding his fingers as you near your release.

“c’mon baby, make a mess for me.” he urges, eyes locked intensely on yours. you’re enticed by the sea green storm that swirls in his irises, shrinking as his pupils blow with lust. you can’t help it, can’t delay the inevitable, and you thrash in his arms, wildly bucking your hips against his as you fall apart.

you gush all over his lap, further ruining his sweatpants but he doesn’t bat an eyelid, working you through your orgasm until you’re spent. he’s transfixed by the way your thighs glisten, by the way your release seeps through the material covering his crotch and it makes him throb.

“that’s it baby.” he murmurs, voice low and smooth. you pant, collapsing forwards onto him.

“thank you.” you whisper into his neck, and he laughs softly.

“don’t thank me, silly girl.” he coos into your ear. you pull back just enough to kiss him, taking it slow, giving you a moment to come down from your devastatingly intense high. you’re exhausted, eyes fluttering shut from the exertion, and he tucks sweaty strands of your hair behind your ears. his fingers graze your warmed cheeks, noses bumping and you take him in, carefully studying the lines of his face, the sharp slope of his nose, the flutter of his eyelashes against those ridiculously high cheekbones.

“you’re so pretty.” your voice floats over him like a delicate caress, makes him shiver. he grins at you, enamoured.

“didn’t think our first time would be in the back of my car but i don’t think i can’t wait to get you home.”

“you’ve thought about this?” you ask, bashful. he gazes up at you sheepishly.

“every night before bed.” he jokes, and you shift your hips.

you’re overstimulated, but it does the trick, the playful haze shattering, replaced by thick, charged tension.

“you gonna make that fantasy a reality?”

“yeah. yeah, i am.” he mumbles.

his hands skim your waist, pushing your jumper up as he goes higher and higher, until it’s off, chucked into the footwell. you tear at his sweatshirt until it joins your discarded clothing and explore the bronzed planes of his chest, extra sun-kissed by the trip you’d taken to dubai just a few weeks before. if only you’d known then…

“hurry.” you plead, and he scoffs, adjusting you on his lap just enough to free himself from his sweatpants and boxers, and you gawk down at what’s revealed to you.

it’s big, thick, and you sigh in relief that he’d so thoroughly stretched you out, got you nice and slick for him already.

“gonna take it all for me?” lando taunts, catching your hanging jaw between two firm fingers, forcing you to look at him.

“gonna try.” you reason, breathing shakily as you rise up on your knees. you feel the head of his cock prodding your clit, the sodden tip running along your folds until it catches on your entrance. you both hiss as the contact, his hands steadying your hips.

“you can do it, baby.” lando promises, helps you begin your descent.

“oh my god.” you gasp, sinking down slowly. “dunno if i can take it, lan, you’re so- so…” you trail off, head thrown back far enough that you miss the way he’s smirking up at you.

“c’mon baby, being such a good girl for me, i know you can take it. just a little more.” he goads, pressing each button of your apparent praise kink, and you whine, soft moans tumbling from your lips. a sense of determination becomes you, and you’re aching to take him all the way.

you cry out his name when you’re pressed flush against him, and he soothes circles into your hips, holding you close against his chest. one hand smoothes through your hair, the lace of your bra scratching against his chest as you breathe rapidly.

“well done, baby, knew you could do it.” lando praises, trailing kisses over your face. you quiver in his hold, hips wiggling ever so slightly, and he takes that as a sign. “want me to do the work, hmm? make you feel so good?”

you nod lazily, looking up at him from where your face is smushed against his shoulder, and he lets you break his rule of “words”, softened by how beautiful you look, vulnerable in his strong arms. he starts to move, fucking up into you slowly, feeling you out. you can feel him twitch inside of you, his breath catching in his throat at the feeling of you, tight and warm, enveloped all around him. you roll your hips languidly, meeting his thrusts and you both moan out as the explosion of sensations unfolds between you.

“harder, lando. can take it.” you mumble, glazed over doe eyes looking into his. he tenses up, shaken to the very core by the emotional tether between you, feeling the way it grows even stronger. the one woman he’d wanted since he’d laid eyes on you, the one women he never thought he could have; his heart pounds violently in his chest.

he readjusts your hips, pushing you back so that you’re upright once more, eyes raking hungrily over your flushed body. your skirt is bunched around your waist, panties tugged to the side, cups of your bra barely covering anything anymore. he tweaks a nipple through the lace, paws at your tits until you’re fluttering around him. the cups of your bra are tugged down, resting below your breasts and he swallows hard.

“fuck me, you’re so beautiful.” lando rasps, leaning you back further to perfect the angle.

once he’s satisfied, he bounces you against him, meeting your hips with harsh thrusts, his pace unrelenting. he can see the way you pool around his base, dampening the thatching of hair that decorates his pelvic bone. you seem to chase the friction there, rutting your clit against him. sweet puffs of breath fill his ears, melodic combined with a symphony of your needy whines, continuously intensifying as he fucks you deeper and deeper.

“it’s so good.” you slur, mouth hanging open, totally unhinged from the raw pleasure that he courses through your veins.

“you’re doing so good for me, baby.” he wants to say more, but then he sees it, the way your lower belly seems to protrude with every roll of his hips. “oh, fuck.” he cries out.

“do you see that, baby? see how deep i am?” lando growls, voice rippling through your connected bodies. you glance down, and the first tears start to fall.

“oh my god.” you repeat, nothing else to say, totally braindead at the sight. your cheeks are wet with tear tracks, utterly overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you, so blissful that it hurts.

“you crying for me, baby? do i feel that good?” lando mocks, reinvigorated by the way your tears gather at your collarbone. his hand swipes messily against your throat, swiping them away, but you catch his hand, keeping it there. your eyes lock as your hand squeezes around his, a silent plea. he rocks up into you even harder, hand clamping around you neck slowly, leaving your breathless, liquid heat shooting down your spine. you can’t stop it from hitting you like a ton of bricks, can’t hold back, not when he’s making it hurt so fucking good.

“lando, i can’t- i’m gonna- fuck.” you bellow, falling to pieces around him. he keeps you propped up through your orgasm, plowing into your limp body until you’re so tight around him that he quite literally can’t keep going. he shudders, repeating your name like a godforsaken prayer as his abs flex beneath your shaky hands. you feel him filling you up, shots of warmth painting your insides.

lando lets you collapse into his arms, holding you tight as you both tremble in the silence of the car. condensation rolls down the windows, giving away your frenzied desires. if anyone caught sight of his car, it wouldn’t be hard to do the math.

“gonna let me take you home so we can do that again?” lando laughs, breathing you in. he can feel the way your chest rumbles softly in response, hears your angelic, raspy laugh.

“gimme a sec, don’t think i can move ever again.” you groan, sighing into his chest.

you stay there for a while, basking in it, coming down. he traces shapes into the bare skin of your back; you absentmindedly trace a heart into the window fog.

when you finally manage to redress, it’s dark outside, bright lights casting patterns into the calm midnight of the marina. he holds your hand as he drives up into the heights of monaco, and you stare at the way yours fits so perfectly with his, just like how your head tucked so perfectly into the crook of his neck. you smile out the window and lando smiles at you.

by the time bedtime rolls around, you’re both well and truly exhausted. when you try and wriggle out of his grip, ready to retreat back to the guest room like a wounded animal, lando pouts - pouts! - and holds you even tighter.

“silly girl.” he kisses the words into your hairline, and drifts off to sleep.

-

hehe

-

taglist

lemme know if you wanna be added or removed! any tags that don’t work will be removed xo

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @formulaal

taglist cont. in reblogs. smooches

[sincerelyneo]

so high school | l.hc

“no one’s ever had me. not like you…”

📀now playing: so high school by taylor swift

❯ summary: Hyuck doesn’t care that high school was years ago; after learning his girlfriend’s experience was shitty, he’s determined to rewrite it for you. After all, he’s nothing if not smitten.

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, fluff, eventual smut

❯ words: 6.4k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni, swearing, fingering, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, exhibitionism, reader uses she/her pronouns, lots of gendered female terms, slight begging, brief possessiveness and jealousy bc it’s me, a brief cheating accusation but it’s stupid, hyuck being a cute boyfriend for 6k words.

an: did someone say haechan lover boy smut for valentine’s day? (they didn’t, lol. i wrote this for me, i love men in love)

“I fucking loved high school,” Hyuck says, placing down his yearbook on the coffee table.

It had to be a few years old by now, stuffed at the back of one of your bookshelves. You’d found it while doing an annual declutter and handed it to him on a whim. Knowing your boyfriend, you figured he’d find it nostalgic, or funny, or both.

You glance at him from your spot on the couch, eyebrow arched. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He shifts, sitting up straighter.

“You were on the football team, babe. Voted prom king, had good grades, and probably never had to eat lunch alone,” you list off, counting on your fingers for dramatic effect. “I’d be shocked if you did hate high school.”

He laughs with a shake of his head, sinking back further into the sofa. “Okay, fine, maybe I was a little... popular.”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips out before you can help it. “A little? I bet you walked through the hallways like you were the lead in a drama or something stupid like that.”

He nods. “Damn right. I was the shit.”

You scoff, tossing a pillow in his direction. He’s such a cocky bastard—but you love that about him.

“Jealous?” he shoots back, smirking.

You try to playfully roll your eyes, but instead, a small frown pulls at your lips. You know he’s just teasing, messing around, but memories of junior and senior year creep into your mind uninvited. You’d never been outright bullied, but high school wasn’t exactly a highlight reel for you. 

It was a blur of sitting in the back row, trying to make yourself small enough to avoid attention. Lunches alone in the library. No group of friends. No teenage dream. Dances you skipped, pretending you didn’t care when your chest ached from watching your classmates gush over photos the Monday after.

So yeah, you were a little jealous.

“Yes, actually,” you say finally, voice quieter. “High school sucked for me.”

His grin falters, posture straightening. “What?”

“I mean, it wasn’t all bad,” you rush to explain, suddenly self-conscious. “I got through it, you know? I just wasn’t... you.”

Hyuck leans back, studying you with a look you don’t see often on him—concern, worry. “What do you mean you weren’t me?”

“I wasn’t popular or cool or good at sports. I didn’t have a big friend group, and I definitely didn’t win prom queen…not that I even went.”

Hyuck doesn’t respond right away, and when you finally glance up, you find him staring at you with an expression you can’t quite place. There’s no teasing glint in his eyes, no cocky smile playing at his lips. He just looks... sad.

“Wait,” he says, his voice softer now. “You didn’t go to prom?”

You shrug. “Didn’t really have anyone to go with.”

He blinks at you like you just told him you spent your teenage years stranded on a deserted island, which for the likes of Hyuck, not attending prom was the justified equivalent. 

“Are you serious?”

“Hyuck, it’s not a big deal,” you say quickly, waving him off. “High school just wasn’t my thing.”

“Not a big deal?” he repeats. “Babe, prom is like... the peak of high school. It’s the one night everyone remembers forever. How did no one ask you? I can’t wrap my head around that.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the tightness in your chest. “Not everyone peaked in high school, Hyuck. Some of us just... took it for what it was: school.”

His expression softens even more, guilt creeping into his features as he scoots closer, his thigh brushing yours. “You know you deserved better than that, right?”

“Hyuck—”

“I mean it,” he says firmly, cupping your face in his hands. “If I’d been there, you would’ve been my prom queen. Hell, I’d have skipped the whole damn thing just to hang out with you if you didn’t wanna go.”

The honeyed warmth in his voice makes your throat tighten, and you hate how easily he can do this—take the ache of old memories and replace it with something softer, lighter. Something you almost want to believe.

“Too bad we didn’t meet until after high school,” you say, forcing a smile.

Hyuck falters—but only for a moment. His gaze lingers on you as if a thought is forming behind his dark eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “Too bad.”

You don’t think anything of it when he pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on your head as the conversation drifts elsewhere. But later, when he’s holding you close and you’re half-asleep, Hyuck is still thinking. Planning.

Because Lee Donghyuck might not be able to rewrite your past, but he’s damn sure going to be the best part of your future—trust. 

Hyuck just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The coolest person he’d ever met—his girlfriend, his soulmate—hadn’t gotten to live the high school teenage dream. No prom, no stupid corsages, no dancing barefoot at the end of the night because the heels were too much. Nothing.

It didn’t make sense. You were too fucking beautiful to be treated as background noise by those losers. Hyuck remembers the day he met you—a fully grown man—and you made him a stuttering mess. He’s never asked Mark for flirting advice ever in his life, but fuck, he wasn’t about to miss his chance with you. 

How could they just disregard you?

He raked a hand through his hair, frustrated. How did no one ask you out? Were they blind? Or just stupid? What kind of idiot couldn’t see what he saw every day?

The thought of you sitting at home on prom night, like it didn’t matter, made his chest ache. He couldn’t picture it—because you were you, the type of person every cheesy teen movie was written about: beautiful, funny, and so damn perfect. And yet... those assholes in high school had somehow missed it.

And even though the sick, selfish, possessive side of him is so fucking grateful that he’s the only one that’s ever had you, and those assholes missed out, he still can’t help but obsess over it. He couldn’t change the past, no matter how much he wanted to, and that realization burned. 

Hyuck groans, tipping his head back. “I’m losing it,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

But he couldn’t let it go. And because he was Lee fucking Donghyuck, when something got under his skin, he acted on it. Which is why, two days later, he finds himself standing in the middle of a small-town gymnasium, arms crossed over his chest as he surveys the scene in front of him.

“Is this the best you can do?” he asks, unimpressed.

Mark, balancing precariously on a ladder while stringing up fairy lights, glares down at him. “Dude, shut the fuck up,” he snaps. “You gave us two days to put this together. Do you even know how hard it was to convince the principal? I had to name-drop you!” 

Hyuck ignores him, his eyes sweeping over the room again. Mark wasn’t wrong—he had given his friends next to no time to work with. But that didn’t stop him from wanting it to be perfect. You deserved perfect.

A cheap speaker sits on the ground, currently blasting some old prom playlist Mark had found online. The string lights slowly started taking shape, casting a soft glow across the gym. There is a table in the corner with a bowl of something pink and suspicious-looking, and a few chairs scattered around. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either.

Mark climbs down from the ladder, dusting his hands on his jeans. “I think it looks fine.”

“Fine?” Hyuck repeats, scoffing. “Mark, this is a high school prom. It’s supposed to be magical or whatever. This just looks like... a school event.”

“Because it is a school event,” Mark shoots back, rolling his eyes. “Look, man, if you wanted a five-star gala, maybe you shouldn’t have sprung this on me last minute.”

Hyuck sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t trying to be an ass, but he wanted, needed, to do this for you. You’d brushed off your high school experience like it was no big deal, but he could tell it meant something to you. Maybe not in a way you wanted to admit, but it was there.

And now it was his job—no, his mission—to fix it.

“Just... add more lights,” Hyuck says finally. “And maybe some balloons? Chenle, do we have balloons?”

Chenle, who was sweeping the floors, looked back with a shake of his head, scurrying off before he got caught in the crossfire. 

Mark groans. “Hyuck, if we add any more lights, the entire gym’s gonna blow a fuse. And no, we don’t have balloons. You’re lucky I even managed to get lights.”

Hyuck sighs again, running a hand through his hair. He had money, sure—that was the only reason he’d managed to rent out the gym on such short notice—but even he couldn’t buy time.

Still, as he looked around the gym, he felt a flicker of pride. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He’d move mountains for you if he had to. And if this half-assed prom was the closest he could get, then so be it.

Mark claps a hand on his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Hey,” he says, softer now. “She’s gonna love it, dude. Stop stressing out.”

Hyuck nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Your boyfriend’s acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.

Hyuck’s always been a little odd—but that’s one of the things you love about him. The endless hobbies he picks up and abandons in a week like juggling, the random facts he collects from late-night YouTube rabbit holes, and his never-ending need to one-up his friends in bets and challenges. But this? This feels different. Like it’s more than some dumb dare or fleeting obsession.

For the past two days, he’s been unusually secretive. You’ve caught him whispering with Mark on the phone more than once, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush whenever you’d walk into the room. And then there was yesterday—when you brought coffee to his rehearsal. You barely stepped inside before the entire group went awkwardly silent, and Hyuck practically herded you back out the door. Hyuck, who usually couldn’t keep his hands off you in public and loved showing you off, suddenly turning shy…suspicious doesn’t even begin to cover it.

And let’s not forget the disappearing act last night. He came home late, shrugging off your questions with a grin and the vague excuse of “guy stuff.” Guy stuff. That was the moment you knew something was up.

And so, you’ve been sitting on the couch, stewing, waiting for him to get home from rehearsal. The seconds drag, and with each passing minute, your frustration builds. By the time you hear the jingle of his keys in the door, you’re ready to burst.

Hyuck stumbles in, his hair slightly mussed, a garment bag slung over his shoulder. He looks exhausted but excited, strange. He barely gets a foot inside before you’re on him.

“Are you cheating on me?”

His jaw drops, the grin on his face disappearing instantly, eyes blinking at you like you’ve just accused him of arson. You’d honestly prefer it if he had. “What?! No! Why would you even—what the fuck?”

“You’ve been acting so weird!” you snap, crossing your arms. “The sneaky phone calls, the late nights, the whispering, the weird excuses—guy stuff? Do you think I was born yesterday?”

That makes him laugh and you swear you see red. He thinks this is funny? You’ll show him funny. 

“If you wanted to break up with me, Hyuck, don’t insult me by sneaking around! Just—just tell me to my face!” Your voice wavers, hurt bubbling in your throat as you glare at him.

Hyuck’s expression softens instantly, his eyebrows furrowing. “Hey, hey, wait—babe, no. That’s not what’s happening here, I swear.”

You narrow your eyes, pointing at the garment bag. “Oh yeah? What’s that, then? Some outfit for your other girlfriend?”

His mouth drops open, and then he barks out a laugh, though he quickly smothers it when he sees your glare. “No! Oh my God, no. Look, just… this isn’t how I wanted to do this,” he pinches his temples “Could you just go upstairs and put this on, okay?” He holds the bag out to you, practically shoving it into your hands.

“Excuse me?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“Just—trust me, babe. Please. Go upstairs, put this on, and come back down when you’re ready.”

You stand there, staring at him like he’s lost his mind. Because he must have. “Hyuck, I am not—”

“Please,” he interrupts, his voice softer now. “Just this once. Do this for me. It’ll all make sense.”

His eyes meet yours, and for all the frustration boiling under your skin, you can’t ignore the quiet sincerity in his voice. Because even though his recent actions have been enough to make your paranoia spike, he’s still your Hyuck—and you trust your Hyuck.

With a sharp huff, you snatch the garment bag from his hands and stomp upstairs, slamming the bedroom door behind you before he can say another word. Your pulse is racing, irritation curling hot in your chest as you yank the zipper down and pull the dress out with more force than necessary.

It’s beautiful. And that pisses you off even more.

Who does he think he is? Sneaking around all week, ignoring you for days, then showing up with a pretty dress and expecting you to put it on without question?

Annoying. He’s so annoying.

Still scowling, you step into the dress, the silky fabric gliding over your skin like it was made for you, and knowing Hyuck he’d probably ask someone to do that for him. It fits perfectly, hugging every curve, and when you catch your reflection in the mirror, your anger stutters—just for a second. It’s beautiful. You look beautiful.

Damn it.

You swipe at your eyes before anything ridiculous like tears can form and square your shoulders. Fine. You’ll wear the dress. But you’re not going to let him off the hook so easily. Throwing the door open, you march downstairs, irritation simmering beneath the surface of your foundation. “Lee Donghyuck, you better—”

But you freeze.

Because he’s standing at the bottom of the steps in an equally beautiful suit, rocking on his heels, with a small, nervous smile playing on his lips. He’s holding a corsage in his hands—delicate flowers wrapped in silk, matching your dress perfectly.

And then, all at once, it clicks.

That fucking yearbook you found. The conversation that came after it. The sneaking around. The secrecy. 

Your breath catches in your throat, warmth creeping up your neck as a blush dusts his skin. He chews his lip, eyes flickering up to meet yours, and if you didn’t know him any better, you’d swear he was nervous.

Hyuck never gets nervous.

“Do you wanna rewrite prom with me?”

And just like that, you break.

Tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them, and Hyuck’s smile falters just slightly as he steps forward, hand reaching out to you, as if he’s ready to catch you, to hold you close, if you were to fall. But you don’t fall. You just nod, because it feels impossible to do anything else.

How could you say no to him? How could you possibly deny the one person in the world who would do something like this for you—not because he had to, but because he wanted to, because he loves you to a point you never thought possible because he needs you to be happy.

“I love you,” you choke out through your happy tears, the words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them.

Hyuck’s worry shifts into something warmer, something softer. He steps closer, brushing his thumb gently against your cheek to wipe away the tear.

“Does that mean we’re not breaking up, then?” His voice is teasing, but there’s a tenderness underneath, a soft hope in his eyes that mirrors the love you just confessed.

Your heart skips a beat, and you nod through blurry eyes, a small smile breaking through. “Not even close.”

His face splits into the brightest grin you’ve ever seen, and before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you into his arms, rocking you side to side like he’s never going to let go. It’s overwhelming—the warmth of him, the scent of his cologne, the steady beat of his heart against your ear. And for once, you let yourself lean into it, let yourself feel just how much he loves you, because God, does he know how to show it.

“I love you too, you know,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, meant just for you. “Like, stupidly. Like, I’m gonna remind you every day until you’re sick of me, because I never want you to think I’m cheating on you ever again.”

You huff a laugh, sniffling. “I don’t think I could ever be sick of you.”

“Mm, we’ll see about that.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, taking in the glassiness in your eyes, the heat in your cheeks. Then, with a smirk, he presses the corsage into your hands. “Your favourite colour.”

“Now,” he says, stepping back and offering his arm, “if we don’t leave soon, Mark might actually rip my balls off.”

It takes you a second to register what he means, and when you glance past him, you see Mark leaning against his car, arms crossed, exuding pure suffering. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, but you know your Hyuck can be very convincing. 

“Are you two done?” Mark calls, exasperated. “Because I have better things to do than play chauffeur for your little rom-com tonight.”

“Liar!” Hyuck yells, dragging you toward the car. “If you weren’t here, you’d be playing video games with Chenle or something. Your life is boring and bitchless!”

Mark groans but doesn’t deny it.

“Wait! One more thing,” Hyuck gasps, stopping you just as you’re about to step into the car. Before you can question it, he’s already sprinting back inside. A few seconds later, he bursts through the door, holding up a letterman jacket that doesn’t match your old school’s colours, but his. 

And when he drapes it over your shoulders, his fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, his gaze catches on his surname stitched across your back. His cheeks flush that familiar shade of pink, and for once, he’s the one left speechless.

You clutch your hands to the jacket, making sure it doesn’t fall off and you can’t stop smiling. Because even though he was just being a fouled-mouthed menace to his friend. He’s clearly only ever sweet and soft with you. Hyuck opens the car door for you and he slides in beside you, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s second nature, like they belong. You look down at your joined hands, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin, and warmth blooms in your chest.

The corsage, the letterman, the chauffeur to prom. It’s silly. It’s cheesy. It’s the kind of thing you used to roll your eyes at in movies as a teenager. But right now, with him, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. Because he’s rewriting how you feel about the cheesy stuff, giving you the giddy, reckless kind of love you never got to have. 

Letting his hand rest on your thigh, making you stifle your sighs as it slowly crept up your flesh. His touch is heedless and uncaring as if Mark wasn’t inches away in the front seat. It’s compulsive, carless, and so ridiculously juvenile—it’s so high school.

Which feels very on-brand as you pull up to an old brick building. Mark cuts the engine, allowing Hyuck to round the car and open your car door before holding your hand tight and walking you towards the football field.

So many memories flooded back to you as soon as he opened the gate that led to the field. Heels on the grass, on the sacred sanctuary you never had the chance to belong on. Suddenly you’re sixteen again and Hyuck leds you over to the bleachers, climbing up several rows before taking a seat and pulling you down next to him. 

"Are we trespassing right now?" you ask, slipping your arms into his letterman to ward off the winter chill. "I know you love me, but you don’t have to commit a crime for me."

Hyuck scoffs, a playful smirk on his lips. "Please, you know I wouldn’t think twice about committing a crime for you if you asked me to." He pauses, then adds, "But no, we’re not trespassing. This is my old high school, and since I'm such an outstanding alumni, I had some strings pulled. They left me the key for tonight."

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile. "So they did all this just for you, huh?"

“Don’t look at me like that, this is for us.”

"Uh-huh," you tease. "I must say, knowing how to ball in high school seems to have its perks. I was in the wrong clubs clearly. You’re basically the only person I know who managed to continue peaking after high school."

Hyuck’s smile falters, a flicker of something sad crossing his face. His eyes drift downward, and you catch that same troubled look he had when you found his yearbook—when he learned how different your high school experiences were. You don’t want him to feel like that, not when he’s trying so hard to fix it. But you don’t want him to fix it either, because as messed up as your teenage years were, they led you to him. No one’s ever had you. Not like him anyway. 

You slide your hand over his, squeezing gently as you move closer. “You didn’t have to do all this for me, you know?”

Hyuck chuckles, that flicker of sadness vanishing as quickly as it came. “Don’t say that. You haven’t even seen what I’ve got planned inside yet. I had all the boys stressed over fairy lights and balloons all week.”

Knowing how much effort he’s put in makes you smile, your fingers drifting up to trace the curve of his cheek. He’s so beautiful. So in love. So undeniably yours.

“I’m excited to see it,” you say. “But right now, I just want to be here. Is that okay? I never really got to hang out on the bleachers.”

“Will you yell at me if I say that a sick part of me loves that you never cheered for other guys playing football?”

You shake your head with a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, undeterred. “Yeah, I wanna kill those assholes for never inviting you to a game, for not taking you to prom. But I also love that I get to be the one to do it with you. Even if we’re adults.”

You bite your lip, feigning hesitation. “Well, I have some information I think you might like.”

Hyuck raises a brow. “Oh?”

“I always wanted to make out under the bleachers,” you admit, heat creeping up your neck. “Call me cliché, but when I was a freshman, I imagined having my first kiss with Lee Felix under there.”

His nose crinkles instantly. “I don’t know who that is, but I hate him.” Hyuck scoffs, but his hands are already sliding around your waist, pulling you closer. “Still… this night is about me making your fantasies come true. So fuck that guy and let me kiss you, baby.”

And you do—let his lips capture yours, kissing you until they’re swollen and puffy, until they mould perfectly to his, like they were always meant to. Until there’s no doubt that they, and you, belong to him.

Hyuck wastes no time, scooping you into his arms with ease, carrying you into the shadows beneath the rickety metal frame. And then his lips are on yours again—hungry, unrelenting. It’s everything you ever imagined. No—better. Because it’s him and you. 

His hand trails up your body as he presses you against one of the cold metal pillars, calloused fingers graze your thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Years of football have roughened his touch, but it’s the way he holds you—like he can’t get enough, like he never will—that really makes your breath hitch. And you almost want to laugh, because you’re pretty sure most people fuck after prom, not before it. But this is you and Hyuck. You’ve never played by the rules, never followed the scripted path. You never wanted to.

And that’s exactly why a soft, desperate “Please,” slips from your lips as his fingers venture higher, until they’re brushing against the hem of your panties.

“Cute,” he smiles and murmurs against your lips, grinning as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, his cool touch grazing your clit. You shiver, and it only makes him that more pleased—more proud. His other hand glides up your stomach, sneaking beneath your dress until he’s palming your breast, his thumb teasing over your nipple.

“You know…” he muses, voice dripping with amusement, “I paid good money for this dress. It’d be a shame to ruin it.”

“Please. You’d never buy me a dress you didn’t plan on ruining.”

Hyuck giggles, shaking his head, but before you can run that smart mouth of yours again, his finger slips so easily into your pussy, and you gasp, clinging to his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your ear, voice thick with need. “I love that you know me so well.”

His fingers keep working you, desperate and wild—because if you know Hyuck so well, he knows you even better. Knows your body like it’s his to worship. And when he adds a second finger, stretching you open, pleasure floods through you so intensely your eyes flutter shut, your head tipping back as a moan catches in your throat.

But that won’t do.

Hyuck likes to watch you. Likes to see the way your lips part, the way your brows knit together, the way your pupils blow wide with nothing but him. He wants you to know—no, needs you to know—that he’s the one making you feel this good. That it’s his touch unravelling you, his name you should be thinking about, whimpering, crying out.

So the second your lashes flicker, his fingers slow, teasing, withholding. You whimper, forced to open your eyes again, hazy and weak—just the way he likes them—just the way he needs them to be before he picks up his pace.

He’s meticulous, careful—determined to make you cum right here, right now. If your fantasy was just to make out under the bleachers, Hyuck is going to take it further, push it past anything you ever imagined. He’s going to make you cum here, again and again, until this moment is burned into your memory. Until you can never think about high school, about this field, about these bleachers, without thinking about him. About the way he touched you. About the way he made it perfect. He always makes everything perfect. 

“Need you to cum all over my fingers, pretty girl. Come on,” he murmurs, pinching your clit as he tries to coax an orgasm out of you. And it doesn’t take long. The honeyed rasp of his voice, the relentless rhythm of his fingers, the way his eyes stay locked on yours—it’s all too much. You shatter around him with a high-pitched moan.

“Atta girl,” he breathes, watching you with nothing but admiration. “So fucking pretty when you cum for me.”

Your mind is fuzzy, his words melting into white noise as you come down from your high on shaky legs. If it weren’t for the pillar at your back, you’re certain you’d be a puddle on the floor. Hyuck holds you close, his hand stroking your hair as he murmurs soft praises against your ear—something about being so pretty, so good, so his. But all you can focus on is the growing bulge in his pants, the evidence of just how much he wants you. A bulge you put there. One you’re aching to take care of.

You start to drop to your knees, and he sucks in a breath, his eyes locked on yours.

“Stop,” he commands harshly, stepping back as if something’s shifted. It forces you to stand up straight again, confusion crossing your face.

“Don’t you want me to—”

“Oh, I fucking want you to, and you’re going to,” he growls. Then, he peels off his suit jacket and drapes it on the concrete floor between you two. “Now, you can get on your knees for me, Y/N,” he orders, his voice rough and commanding, but then it cracks, desperately. “Please.”

You lower yourself onto his suit jacket, kneeling before him, palms pressing firmly against his thighs. His erection is hard, straining through his suit pants, but he’s waited—waited until he knew you’d be most comfortable because that’s just who he is. 

“Look at you,” he says, running his thumb over your mouth. “Puffy lips parted and ready for me. Big fucking eyes, so innocent, so needy.”

“Only for you, Hyuck,” you breathe softly as you start undoing his belt and his jaw visibly ticks.

You’ve sucked his cock before—of course you have, and you love it. And still, he looks at you like it’s the first time, nostrils flaring, pupils dilated, as he drinks in every detail of your eagerness. He’s so hungry to feel you, to get lost in you—so feral.

Using his forefinger, he lifts your chin, forcing your chin and attention on him. “I know, baby. Only me. Always me.”

You run your tongue over your lower lip, and he tracks the entire thing, looking like some kind of predator.

“Take it out.”

You comply, dropping his pants to his ankles and tugging his boxer briefs down with them. His cock springs free, angry veins visible and the tip glistening. The sight of his straining cock right in front of you pulls this desperate sound from deep in his throat. He traces every inch of your face as if he plans to paint it soon, and you’d let him.

His palm glides over your head again, fingers weaving through your hair, cupping the back of your skull to keep you anchored in place. Rough and dominant—just how he likes it, and just how you crave it.

“I need to fuck your mouth, baby. Seeing you cum in my letterman has got me so damn hard. I need this pretty mouth,” he whimpers as his palm rests on your scalp. “You’re gonna let me do that aren’t you? Because you’re such a good fucking girl.”

You nod and squirm in anticipation, using the tip of your tongue to lick a path over his slit, savouring the salty taste from the bead of precum. His eyes instantly roll back and you grip his shaft with one hand and lick a path from root to tip.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Just like that,” he hisses between his teeth as his entire body vibrates.

You look up at him, fluttering your lashes over heavy eyes. Because the only thing Hyuck craves more than his own pleasure is the sight of yours. You round your lips, sucking him in slowly. Your head bobs as you work your tongue in sync with your lips, but he’s so big, a fact you’ll never get used to. He hits the back of your throat and you hold him there, swallowing around his tip, tears welling at the corners of your eyes as your throat tightens with a gentle choke.

"Fuck—" He lurches forward, one hand gripping the pillar for support while the other tugs at your hair, pulling you off him just long enough to catch your breath—because he's nothing if not considerate.

Hyuck runs his thumb by the corner of your eye, gathering the moisture that pooled there.

“I’m ruining your makeup,” he muses, lips curling into a smirk. “I had prom pictures planned.”

A blush creeps on your cheeks, “We don’t have to take them.”

“We’re taking them.” There’s no question in his tone. It’s simply a statement. A demand. “Then I’m keeping a copy in my wallet, so next time I’m on tour, fisting my cock, I can think about you. About this."

You nod, breath hitching. "O-okay."

"Okay." His thumb drags over your lip again, teasing until you part for him, wrapping around it. He presses down, tugging lightly. "So agreeable. So obedient. Aren’t you?"

"Yes," you breathe.

His smirk deepens. "Good. So you'll keep sucking my cock, won't you?"

You don’t even bother with words—too eager to please, too determined to finish what you started. Your fingers wrap around him, stroking once before you take him back into your mouth, sucking deep before pulling off with a lewd pop. Then you do it again, following his cues, giving him exactly what you know he loves. A slow flick of your tongue along the underside of his head, a firm squeeze as you cup his balls, and then you’re taking him to the back of your throat. His entire abdomen tenses. His breathing turns ragged.

"Fuck." His curse is sharp as he pulls back, just enough to look at you. "I’m gonna cum. You gonna let me cum in your mouth, baby?"

You nod eagerly, mascara streaking your cheeks, spit glistening at the corner of your lips. "Please, Hyuck."

His smirk is wicked. "Are you gonna be a good little girlfriend and swallow it all for me?"

You nod—far too enthusiastically.

"Good. Now, take a deep breath, baby—'cause it’s the last one you’re getting for a while."

He runs a gentle thumb over your cheekbone before guiding your head forward. Your lips part instinctively, wrapping around him as he sets the pace, fucking your mouth with a steady rhythm. His palms cover your ears, his hips roll with precision—nothing but pure pleasure as he chases his high. And you let him. You take it, let him use you because he’s done all of this for you tonight. Because he deserves his reward.

Truthfully, watching Hyuck unravel beneath you—knowing you’re the one making him this needy, this desperate to cum—is your own reward. Because seeing him lost in pure bliss is the hottest thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Your fingernails dig into his skin, leaving faint crescents as he keeps his pace—steady, deliberate—but always mindful, always making sure you can breathe. He checks in with his eyes, just like you said—considerate.

You moan around his length, hips shifting instinctively, searching for friction. And of course, Hyuck notices. He always notices.

"Are you getting turned on from sucking me off, Y/N?" he taunts, through a tight restraint breath. "So wet, even after I already made you cum." He pulls out of your mouth, gaze dark. "Show me. Show me how wet sucking my cock has made you.”

Heat prickles your skin as you reach under your dress, the one he bought, and gather your arousal on two fingers. You bring them up, letting him see the proof, the evidence of just how much you want him.

“Fuck,” he growls, as deep brown eyes turn black as they lock on your fingers. “So fucking obedient.” 

Hyuck leans in, grasping your wrist before guiding your fingers into his mouth. His tongue flicks over the tips, slow and careful, savouring the taste—the proof of how badly he’s wrecked you. Of how much you like him, love him. 

He nods toward his cock, covered in your saliva, hard and twitching, ready to cum. "Make me cum, baby. Please."

You hold his eye contact, grip his cock, and bring your mouth back to cover him. He moans, head falling back, and you work his length with your mouth and hand, doing your best to take what you can’t handle. It doesn’t take long until his hips jerk in short, sloppy movements. His breath comes out in ragged gasps, moans soft but pitched, the sound of him unravelling.

“Y/N,” he cries out your name in a whimper of desperation. One hand finds yours, holding it tenderly, while the other braces on the pillar behind you. Then, he cums—hard.

He tries to keep his eyes locked on yours, because that’s his favourite part, but the sensation overwhelms him, and he has to shut them. Every muscle in his body tightens as hot, forceful pulses hit the back of your throat.

“So pretty like this,” he pants breathlessly. “Mouth full of my cum.” The pad of his thumb traces down the line of your throat. “You’re gonna swallow it, aren’t you?”

It’s not a question, and you don’t hesitate. You swallow all of him, but it’s not enough. You need more—need him inside of you.

“Fuck me, please, Hyuck.”

He shakes his head, a teasing smile tugging at his lips and then he laughs. He uses the hand he’s had entangled with yours to pull you up to your feet, steadying you gently. “I can’t. Not here.”

You pout, disappointed, your body aching for him. “Why not?”

His smile widens as he adjusts your dress, pulling the fabric down to cover you properly, the moment feeling suddenly too sweet considering he was just fucking your throat.

“Because,” he draws out playfully, “I planned a prom, and like all cheesy teenagers, I don’t plan to fuck you here.”

You quirk a brow, crossing your arms across your body. But before you can say anything, Hyuck fumbles with his suit jacket, dropping to the floor to search the pockets. His hands hover for a second before he pulls out a room key, holding it up like some kind of trophy.

You scoff with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Very cliché.”

He grins at you. “I think we have pictures to take.”

[magical-reid]

The Bucky Barnes Cake Conspiracy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (implied) Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 800

Summary: When Wanda convinces you and Natasha to do the “Hear Me Out” cake trend, you think it’s just harmless fun. That is, until every single one of your picks is a different version of Bucky Barnes, the entire Tower gets involved, and Bucky himself finds out in the most humiliating way possible—via Wanda’s viral video.

It started as a joke.

A harmless, ridiculous joke.

And then it spiraled into something much, much worse.

“I’m just saying,” Wanda said, shoving her phone in your face as the three of you wandered through the grocery store, “we should do it.”

Natasha glanced at the screen. “Oh, the ‘Hear Me Out’ cake trend? That’s dumb.”

“Exactly!” Wanda grinned. “Which makes it perfect for us.”

You furrowed your brows, watching the TikTok she’d pulled up. The trend was simple: buy a plain cake, decorate it with pictures of celebrities or characters you found attractive, and then justify your crush by sticking ‘Hear Me Out’ in the middle.

It was stupid. But also hilarious.

“I’m in,” you said.

Natasha groaned. “Fine. But I’m not helping if this turns into another Tower-wide disaster.”

Wanda hummed, already making a beeline for the bakery aisle. “Oh, it definitely will.”

Back at the Tower, you sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter as Wanda set up her phone. The cake—a plain white-frosted one you’d grabbed from the store—sat in the center of the table, looking all innocent. It had no idea it was about to be used for nonsense.

“Okay,” Wanda said, grinning. “Time to put down our picks.”

Natasha went first. She taped a photo of Keanu Reeves onto a skewer and stuck it into the cake. Classic. No one would question it.

Then Wanda went. Pedro Pascal. Another solid choice.

And then you—

“Y/N,” Natasha deadpanned. “Are you serious?”

You hesitated, mid-skewer placement. “…What?”

Wanda started cackling.

Because instead of picking three different people like a normal person, you had, without realizing it, picked three different versions of Bucky Barnes.

One was a picture of him in his tactical gear, scowling like he was about to murder someone (hot). Another was of him in a hoodie and jeans, looking all soft and domestic (also hot). And the third? The one that really sealed your fate?

It was a close-up of his metal arm.

You winced. “Okay. I see how this looks—”

“This looks like a confession,” Wanda said gleefully, already zooming in on your picks.

“Oh my God,” Natasha muttered, running a hand down her face.

“I panicked!” you hissed. “I wasn’t thinking—I just grabbed the first ones that looked good!”

Wanda was shaking with laughter. “Oh, babe. This isn’t panic. This is obsession.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto the counter. “I hate you both.”

The video went up on Wanda’s account that night.

By the next morning, it had one million views.

And the Tower was in absolute chaos.

Clint greeted you at breakfast with a slow, knowing grin. “So,” he said, spreading cream cheese onto his bagel, “should we start calling you Mrs. Barnes, or—?”

You threw a banana at his head.

Sam nearly fell off the couch laughing when he saw the video. “You put the metal arm?” he wheezed. “Oh, you’re down bad.”

Steve, who had clearly been dragged into this nonsense against his will, just gave you a long, unimpressed look over his coffee. “You could’ve just told him, you know.”

Tony, of course, had the most Tony reaction possible. “This is the most effort I’ve ever seen someone put into a crush. If I had known Bucky was your type, I would’ve set up an HR department just to make this more scandalous.”

You wanted the Earth to swallow you whole.

But the worst part?

Bucky.

Because by some miracle, he hadn’t seen the video yet.

Which meant you were living on borrowed time.

It happened later that night.

You were curled up on the couch, pretending to read a book but mostly trying to avoid eye contact with the entire human population, when Bucky strolled into the common room.

“Hey, doll.”

Your stomach flipped. “Hey.”

He sat next to you, arms stretched out over the back of the couch, his face unreadable. For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought—maybe he doesn’t know.

And then—

“So,” he said, far too casually. “You like my arm that much, huh?”

Your entire body locked up.

Your soul left your body.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I—what—who—?”

Bucky chuckled. “I saw the video.”

You shut your eyes. “Kill me.”

He hummed, like he was thinking about it. “Nah. ‘Cause then who’s gonna take me on that date you clearly want?”

You choked. “What—”

Bucky turned to face you fully, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “If you wanted me so bad, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked.”

Your entire brain short-circuited. “I—That’s—You—”

Bucky leaned in, voice low. “Next time, maybe write my number on the cake instead.”

You exhaled sharply, heart hammering. “Are you—Are you flirting with me?”

His grin widened. “You tell me.”

You stared at him. Then at the door. Then back at him.

Finally, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “Fine. But if we go on a date, I’m making Wanda pay for it.”

Bucky laughed, eyes warm. “Deal.”

[bbyg4rl]

caught ya' maybank

cw: bsf!jj x reader, smut, getting caught, oral (m. & f.) !

summary: bsf!jj gets caught by you. MDNI

< getting caught, premature ejaculation (he makes up for it!), subby!jj, dom!reader, creampie >

a/n: happy valentine's day!! inspired by this request !

It was so wrong, So nasty, Even borderline perverted, the way jj saw you. He isn't supposed to want to drench his bestfriend in his cum every time he saw her. It wasn't right- but it wasn't his fault, he couldnt help himself near you. He'd been crushing on you since he could walk. But the small innocent crush soon turned into wet dreams and boners as you grew up, And it didn't help that you were always in a bikini either.

And thats how he ended up here. His hand wrapped around his dick and your name on his lips. You had been parading around him all day in the skimpiest bikini he'd ever seen. He was trying not to pounce on you the whole day and he couldnt help himself anymore, He had to do something about how turned on he was by you or he would explode.

You guys were having a movie night at your house. Your idea. Thankfully for him, you forgot popcorn- which meant you had to make a quick run to the grocery store. This was his moment. He was so desperate. He just had to fuck himself.

As soon as he heard your car leave the driveway- his hands beelined to his crotch. Palming himself as he opened instagram. He opened on your profile, clicking mainly on the posts of you in bikinis.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander as his hand pushed his shorts down and tightened around his dick. Up-down, up-down, he stroked himself hoping it was your hand that was doing so. He wanted to fuck all of you. From your mouth, to your tits, to your hands, to your pussy, to your thighs and your ass. All of it.

Unbeknownst to him, the phone he was clutching in his other hand, had accidentally called you.

You answered the call, assuming he probably wanted something from the store but shock hit you like a whip when you heard him moan out your name on the other side. Desperation leaking out of his voice. Your name in his mouth like a chant.

You couldn't say a word. It was hypnotising to hear him moan your name. You were still only halfway to the grocery store. Fuck the popcorn- You decided and turned back. You'd wanted JJ for so long you weren't gonna let a moment like this slip. Every skimpy bikini, every too tight tank top, too short skirt, it was all to get his attention. And turns out your plan had worked.

You were quickly back at your house, You'd made the 15 minute drive into 5 minutes. JJ who was too busy chasing his high had missed the sound of your car pulling into the driveway.

"Caught ya' Maybank" You say as you walk into the room. His eyes shoot open a pathetic whimper leaving his mouth as you walked toward him.

"In my house? Really? Without me?" You questioned, leaving him no chance to answer your questions before the next one rolled out.

Getting caught was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him, he couldn't lie about it and neither could his cock. He had got even harder, if that was even possible.

He stared at you speechless as you kneeled in front of him, pushing his knees open as you settled in between, his dick straight in your face.

He couldn't believe his eyes—was he dreaming? You were always beautiful, he knew that, but nothing could compare to the sight before him now. He was utterly spellbound by you. Your innocent doe eyes starkly contrasted your sinful actions.

You wrapped your mouth around him and moved your head, He hit the back of your throat with every bob of your head, his quiet mewls turning into loud moans.

Your name fell out of his mouth like it was his mantra.

You let him slip out when u feel him nearing his climax. Pleading whines leave his mouth as climb on top of him, his sensitive dick was now wedged between himself and your denim shorts.

"You wanted me so bad you could've just told me baby" You hum to him as you push strands of hair off his forehead, feeling the sheer layer of sweat that had claimed his forehead.

"w-want you s-so bad" he whines, his hands helplessly rub at your side. Pulling and tugging softly at your clothes. His mind was so hazy he could barely form a sentence.

A relieved sigh leaves his mouth as you rise from your seat on his lap and undress in front of him. He reaches a hand to fondle you but you swat it away, You were in charge here. Not him. And now that he knew that, He would let you do anything to him.

You straddle him again, slipping off the last piece of your clothing. A smile tugs at your lips as you take in his disheveled state—his shorts bunched up at his ankles, restricting his movement; his shirt rucked up to his collarbones; strands of hair clinging to his face and his hand now resting on your hips. He put light pressure on your hips, a quiet plead for you to give him the pleasure he so badly craved.

You can't help but give in to him, You reach down and align his dick with your entrance.

"Is this what you want darling?" you whisper in his ear, a chuckle leaving your mouth as he nods rapidly. You slowly lower yourself onto him. His bubblegum tip nudged at your cervix as you sink fully on top of his dick.

JJ's fantasies were bring fulfilled right in front of his eyes as you fucked yourself on him. He was entranced at the sight of your tits bouncing in front of his eyes. The way your pussy fluttered around his dick, The way your eyes rolled back into your head, the pain of your nails digging into his shoulders- It was just all too much. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he shot sticky ropes of cum into you without warning.

"Oh fuck-" he whimpered as you slowed down. He quickly lifted you off his dick, placing you beside him on the couch as countless im sorry's left his mouth.

"It's ok Jay-" You reassure him, a smirk tugging at your lips, amused that he couldn't handle you. But you're quickly cut off by his lips.

"Let me make it up to you" He says, maneuvering himself so his head is now in between your thighs.

He takes a sharp breath as he sees his cum seeping out of your hole. "Let me make it up to you" He mutters again as his fingers push his cum back into your cunt and his mouth latches onto your clit.

He sucks on your clit as his fingers curl up inside you, small im sorry's that were still leaving his mouth sent vibrations and waves of pleasure through your body. Your loud moans and pants only egged him on more as he ate you out like his life depended on it.

He used his free hand to take his place on your clit as he rose up to suck on your tit, moaning into you as he engulfed your hard nipple in his mouth and sucked.

His actions quickly pushed you over the edge, You finish on his fingers with a loud moan. His fingers stuttered inside you as your walls clenched around him tight.

He smiled up at you from his place as you catch your breath and tap the space beside you on the couch, gesturing him to sit beside you. He takes your signal and slouches beside you on the couch, his head rests on your shoulder. Smiles claim both your faces as you calm yourselves.

"I think we're still on call" You say breathlessly, a giggle leaves you as you see the confused look on his face.

check out my other works ! masterlist

[rebelssvy]

babeeeeee you have me addicted to your roommates ushi x reader fic 😭 please make more with links 😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 maybe a tsukki x reader 👀 okie but also love the size difference kink showing in your fic too 😭😘👌 absolutely delish girl thank you for blessing us

FUCK yes. god YES i can.

cruel ✧.*

tsukishima x reader ₊˚ෆ

★ twt links included!!!!

⋆·˚ ༘ *

summary: you and tsuki are roomates, you go out to a party and he is just mean to you. so when you get home you embarrass him by going through his porn. smut, making out, twt links, squirting dirty talk all, male receiving head

twt links scattered in here. loved making this!!! request more babes.

of course you were overstepping. of course you had had a little to much to drink. but to be honest you were still fully aware of every move you had made tonight. it was all calculated.

you and your roommate tsukishima kei had found yourselfs at a party earlier that night. it was a friendly get together that turned into more of a party the longer it went on. sure you took some shots. but all of that was hours ago.

during the party you had been flirting with some of kei’s teammates. it was nothing bad of course. it was all far play. the music was bumping and the lights were flashing. truly it had turned into a house party. it wasn’t until tsuki had pulled you aside that your mood really flipped.

he could be cruel sometimes. a sharp mind and a sharper tongue, but he was also caring. in this moment all the lines were blurred.

whispering in your ear he spoke the words. “stop putting yourself out there your just going to embarrass yourself..” you gasped, pushed him back and left. like any sane person would. you ordered and uber walking out of the apartment complex and arrived at your shared apartment within minutes.

instead of wallowing in your pain, you created a master plan. one that was going to embarrass him so much that he would have no choice then apologize to you. you were quick to your room, changing into skimpy pjs and lacey under garments.

sure his comment hurt. but it hurt more coming from him. you liked him. after sharing an apartment with him for so long you two would laugh after his snarky comments. hitting him and telling him to treat you better in which he would reply, ‘yes y/n…’. so why did he pull you away tonight and degrade you? did he have a problem with you flirting? maybe..

shortly after you changed the locks to your home unlocked and he walked in. with his timing it seems like right after you left, he said goodbye to everyone and followed you shortly after.

“how did you get home?” he asked, taking off his hoodie and hanging it up. then proceeding to take his belongings out of his pant pockets.

then and there is struck you. your master plan.

you walked over to him, making sure you didn’t rush to fast, but just quick enough to close in on him. “took an uber..” you spoke quietly. almost to a whisper.

“huh? you what? why are you being so quiet..?” he asked tone slightly annoyed. hook, line, sinker. you had riled him up just enough.

“oh i don’t know…” you said now right next to him, back against the counter top. he stood above you. eyes linked with yours. he was obviously looking at all of you. all of you. he tilted his head to the side waiting for you to finish your sentence.

“maybe.. it’s because..” you had to sly about this. reaching behind you in a very smooth motion, you grabbed his phone into your hand. praying he didn’t notice until you had it firmly in your grasp.

“-because you made me feel stupid..!” you said sharp and bluntly pushing him on the chest with your open hand before taking quick strides back to your room. it was too late for him to realize what you had.

you were already at your door when he started “y/n! give me my phone back!” stumbling after you, you shut the door in his face. locking it quickly. he was right on the other side of the door. his knocks turned into pounds. then shortly he gave in.

“what did i do y/n… fuck- please i’m sorry just open the door.” he said pleading to you.

“no tsuki. you embarrassed me. you said i was trying to hard and i was going to embarrass myself. so now… im gonna embarrass you.” you said while a smile on your face. your mission was simple, find somthing so embarrassing that he wanted to cry, give his phone back. and he would apologize. simple.

you knew his password. of course you knew his password, when unlocking his phone he spoke again on the other side of the door. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said that. i didn’t know what i was thinking…” he said softly. it was sincere, but you were going to let this end that quickly.

you searched through his phone, going to his camera roll you looked for embarrassing photos of him in his pre-teens or maybe even as a kid. but the only thing you could find were younger pictures of him and he was adorable. this wasn’t going to work, you needed somthing better.

and there is was, your knight in shining armor. an app with a big white X on it. you knew you could find somthing on twitter right? ever guy had somthing on there… so he should right..?

before opening the app you decided to toy with him. just to make this whole thing more painful for him. “whatcha got on twitter kei? anything you want to tell me before i go through it?” you spoke with a joyful voice.

“god. y/n please don’t oh my god. i’m sorry. just don’t go into that app.” he pleaded more miserable then ever. that was your goal anyways.

“sorry i’m gonna do it anyways!” you laughed. and just like that you clicked into it. it had to be here somewhere… you thought.

like a beacon in the night, the likes tab revealed all. scrolling through countless videos of porn. something inside you shifted. maybe it was the way you heard him whisper “fuckk..” behind the door. or maybe it was that you had a full visual gallery of all his kinks. but you were growing needy, and it was clear to you.

you paused on certain videos, watching them longer than others. like the way this girl took her bfs cock down her throat and the way she was all tied up. it made you think about kei doing that to you. god! what were you thinking!

mindlessly you rubbed your legs together. the sound of him behind the door made your brain go fuzzy. “y/n just stop.. please..” he whispered. you couldn’t stop. you scrolled to the next one.

the next video was of a girl get railed right next to a pc monotor. her hands scrambled over the key board as she took rough back shots. your mind flashed to the set up kei had in his room. your mind flashed to him pounding into your cunt infront of his game. you having to be al’ quiet because the mic is still on. fuck. why were you thinking this. you forced yourself to remember you were still mad at him.

the next one a girl spread her legs in a public bathroom, forced to be quiet as her partner finger fucked her. spitting on her cunt. kei would be good with his fingers, is he seriously into the whole public thing? god seriously what is wrong with you! the need for him to do stuff to you was too much. your lust was replacing every emotion you had in you.

the last one really sent you over the edge. a video of a girl getting pounded, it is only about 30 seconds. and the entire 30 seconds is of her getting fucked through her orgasm. she soaks the camera with her liquid and is moaning through the whole thing. it was too much for you.

opening the door you met face to face with a deranged tsukishima. blushed and flushed his hair was a mess and his eyebrows furrowed with anxiety. there was something else though, the way his eyes were halfly litted and the way he looked down at you were your gaze met his. you needed him. and maybe, just maybe… he needed you too.

“tsuki…” you called his name out, bringing the phone up to his chest before taking it back into your hands and unlocking it. he didn’t say a word the whole time. “i’ve never squirted before…” you admitted before showing him the video. he recognized it. it was one he watched often.

“fuck.. y/n… what do you want. i’m sorry seriously. but… is this just a game to you? to get back at me?” he asked while taking his phone back. through it into his pant pocket.

“no.. it’s just… fuck tsuki-“ you cut yourself off. to afraid to cross that line. your gaze dropped to the ground. but somthing else caught your eye. his cock was prominent in his pants. it was big from the looks of it.

“tell me what you want.” his voice rang iut in the silence. confidence surged through your body. lust was overcoming every other emotion you had. any clear thought was gone.

“i want you to fuck me kei..!” it was music to his ears. before you knew it his body crashed into yours. he grabbed your face and pulled you in for a deep kiss. you moaned into his mouth. your noises made you embarrassed.

“fuck i love that… keep moaning for me please” he begged, almost reading your mind.

your back crashed into the wall next to your door frame. his hands traveled up and down your figure. your lips worked against each other. both of you needing more.

without second thought you broke the kiss and dropped to your knees. you really weren’t one for giving head, but for him…. you would do anything.

“y/n.. you don’t have to..” he said sincerely. you shook your head no, before freeing his cock from his pants and underwear. pulling them all down at once. it was beautiful. on the longer side, with a little girth. his balls were smaller. his tip was a nude pink. and fuck- your mouth drooled.

licking the tip, but a little. he groaned, hands flying to your hair, pulling it out of the way. you then licked all of it. before taking it into your mouth. back and fourth you bobbed your head. saliva slipping out of your mouth.

you gaged once or twice but it was short lived before he was pulling you to your feet and into his arms. lifting you up off the ground he mumbled the words “need more..” before making his way to his room.

gently resting you on the bed he stripped you of your clothing. making fast work of anything you had on, which already wasn’t much. your legs were closed before he pried them open. back flat on his bed, legs spread for him to see. you leaked on to his sheets. your wetness already overwhelming. his mind went silly.

“let me…” he said bringing his hand to your cunt. he sat infront of you on the bed, slightly angled but only to see your sopping pussy at full view. you moaned when he touched your folds. curling your clit your back arched off the bed.

it wasn’t until you lifted your hips into the air that he plunged one of his slender fingers into you. “fuck~ kei-!” you moaned out. your words were his motivation. he finger fucked you with grace. until he added a second one and you were squirming all around the place.

“fuck that too much for you baby?” he toyed. you clenched down on his fingers, enticed by is words. “you like that? you like when i fuck with you huh?” butterflies filled your stomach. he was too much.

“i need… you kei please please gimmie your cock..!” you moaned out, reaching for his length. only to grab his thigh and claw at it. searching for more.

“i’ll give you more baby…” he said while flipping you around. moving both your bodies in harmony while he kissed you with heat. you moaned into his mouth until you two broke for the position change.

it was in no time that he had you all stretched out around his long length. you were al spread for him. him underneath you, your back against his chest. his words rang out in your ears.

“knew you would like this position. been thinking about doing this to you al night. can’t fucking run away from his cock baby…” he fucked his dick into you. you were lacking of control. the only thing you could do was bounce on it.

“fucking been thinking of fuckin you like this for ages. getting to whisper in your ear and play with your clit….” his hand came in contact with your sensitive little bud. you started seeing stars.

“didn’t know you would be such a slut for my dirty words.. huh baby you like that?” he slaped your cunt. your back spasmed and you moaned out. you were going to cum. it was too late to even say anything your overwhelming sensation approaching too fast.

“cum on it.” he spat out. he knew you were gonna cum. and yet he kept fucking you. his long hard cock in and out of your sopping wet pussy. his balls smacking against your skin. his groans behind your ear. fuck.

white liquid rushed out of you. tsukishima quickly rushed to rub harshly into your clit.

“fuck! ah-! kei fuck! ah~ i can’t-! stop!” your words were rushed, staggered and stuttering you grabbed onto his wrist to stop.

finally when no more seemed to come out of you he stopped his motion and set you down. laying you beside him. all your energy you once had was gone.

“see, now you can say you have squirted.” he laughed from beside you.

he was right.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

yum.

[kodzucloud]

No because the shoto and cat behavior venn diagram is damn near a circle

-whe sho wakes up in the morning, he does the cat stretches, which i think he totally picked up on from hanging out with the strays when he was REALLY little and never shook off

-head butts his friends ALL the time

-love bites just cuz he feels like it

-will get random cases of the zoomies and channels it into dorm deep cleaning, this man will be vacuuming at 4 in the morning, i hope youre a heavy sleeper

-naps hate to see this one coming because he can and will sleep anywhere and everywhere, preferably in some small dark place like the closet or under a bed

-will comb through his closet friends’ hair (aka grooming them the way a cat would but humanized) not only because this is a form of physical touch he’s okay with, but also because his sister used to do it to him and he’d go, “my turn my turn” and do it to her back. He likes showing affection like this

-shoto stares alot, like “is there something on me? Advert your eyes you owl” type stare. Funnily enough, this is the reason why most cant lie to him, he’ll stare till they cave and tell the truth. Brother isn’t even aware he has this cheat code, he’s always confused when people are like “okay fine i lied”

-you know how cats will aggressively meow when they cant find you, but will suddenly become soft spoken once they see you? Shoto does that a lot with whoever he’s dating

-will knock things off surfaces if theyre not fragile but then feel bad after a couple minutes staring at it on the floor and put it back.

-will poke his partner with his tongue on the cheek and then run away

i think shoto does the thing cat do when you hover your hand above their head

[anghraine]

There's something percolating in my head about how sometimes the scenarios and characters we relate to the most are the ones that don't explicitly identify what they're doing in the terms of how we relate to them. Sometimes there are even specific indications that it's not that thing and yet we can still find it there and find it powerful. Sometimes that can feel more affecting and intense than the better representation out there (and not necessarily just better in a purity culture sense).

And I do think it's important not to give credit where it's not actually due, and not to insist on this kind of stuff as a replacement for actual representation. But I also think it's important to ... idk, allow space for the fuzzier depictions that speak really powerfully to some of us.

(I know this is vague! As I said, it's percolating.)

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Look what we've become.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[emptymanuscript]

I admit I'm on the fence about AI in general... well, on the I have never used it and am not sure if I ever should but I've got the deep fear of missing out side.

But in the context of learning, it strikes me as falling in the same landscape as a calculator or Excel. I use a calculator or (actually more commonly) Excel to do any math because I'm not particularly good at math and never really have been.

BUT

When I was growing up, you did NOT get to use a calculator until you knew how to calculate. This was not a thing to make us suffer or just make life more difficult.

I also had stupid tests where I had to solve 100 math problems in 3 minutes, and I'm not about to argue that was good for me, helped me, or should be inflicted on subsequent generations.

I had to learn how to calculate BECAUSE of the above. If YOU don't know how to calculate, then it is impossible to tell if the calculator gave you the correct answer or not.

Back when I used to post to r/excel, I used to get flack for not showing the "EFFICIENT" way to solve problems but instead would show things step by step. But this is the same thing. If you do things in a big complicated group, you either get the right answer or the wrong answer. If you do things step by step you can CHECK your answer step by step and see if they make sense.

Do I need to know how to do 87^2 in my head in 30 seconds or less? No. I really don't. But I do need to know what is going on and why it is happening.

87^2 = 7,569 is great for a calculator to do. The calculator absolutely can do it faster than most people can. But if I just plug in 87^2 and get 689, how do I verify it? How do I check? Can I even realize, hmmm, that doesn't look quite right. Are my functions all right?

Knowing what is going on is the insurance for that. I can probably catch that, oh, I was trying to use a clever trick and forgot some steps.

The answer isn't all that is important.

And yes, it absolutely can make you dumber. Like I got to hear a discussion between two lecturers I really liked. And one just went off on a tangent and the other was clearly wondering why the hell she was there, this isn't science. BUT because I knew the details of how they were both dealing with the basic problem they were talking about - current science not being able to successfully predict certain phenomenon without numbers to fudge the situation that represent things that can't be proven independently of the need to fudge the numbers - I was able to follow the miscommunication while they, themselves, could not. His tangent made perfect sense in the context of his field of interest and made zero sense in hers. And if all you have the answers with no information of how you got to them, there's zero way to connect "I think the Sun might be conscious" and "I think half of the standard model is based on incorrect assumptions." They were in fact talking about the same things and differing solutions but there's no way to align that without talking about the assumptions, which needs to be laid out in order to UNDERSTAND the answer.

And struggling with my FOMO on writing, there's the basic truth that the reason I fear like I'm missing out is in part because I AM an expert. I have a graduate degree in TEACHING creative writing. I know my shit. So if I ask ChatGPT or whatever to spit out a scene for me, I not only can tell if it is good or bad, I can explain WHY it is good or bad and what needs to be done to improve it. I have zero fear of amateurs asking ChatGPT to spit out a novel for them and getting a novel of quality that I will be competing with. I am scared of people with enough knowledge of how writing works and knowledge of how ChatGPT creating the equivalent situation of me doing long division on paper while they're plugging the equations into a calculator.

A calculator, used as a tool, by someone who understands what they're doing, can do calculations faster and with less errors than someone who also understands what they're doing but isn't using a calculator. But it's not the difference of one being able to do it and another not. It's a difference of speed and accuracy.

It's an entirely different set up when it's someone who understands what they're doing versus someone who doesn't. You can give someone who doesn't know what they're doing all the tools in the world and it will still take them longer and produce an inferior product because they can't understand what they're doing.

And that's the basic problem with using ChatGPT for education. Yes, it can give you an answer. But because you don't know how, you simply have to trust that it is the correct answer. With no way to double check, no way to gauge, and no way to adjust the workflow to better suit your needs.

It absolutely is shooting themselves in the foot. Because school is the point where access to help with process and WHY things work the way to do is easiest to get. It does simply get harder to find the farther away from educational opportunities you get. And when you need it to work isn't the best time to be trying to figure out what you're really doing instead of already having that education and skill under your belt.

It's also relying on the fatal assumption that tomorrow is going to look like yesterday. My earliest datable memory is June 1st 1982. The world is so profoundly different in February 13th 2025, that I am very comfortable promising you that the idea that you can depend on the world looking the same for your entire life WILL get you into trouble because that's simply not the way the world works. Certainly not now. The assumption that it is safe to use ChatGPT now because you will always be able to use ChatGPT is a set up for failure. Will there always be tools? Yes. Will you know how to get future tools to work the same way as ChatGPT? Probably not. I grew up using Dos and then Window's machines. These days, the programs are so different, I find it easier to use a Mac instead of learning the new way that Windows does things.

If you rely on a particular tool solving a problem for you in a way you don't understand beyond that tool giving you the answer, you will be relearning the tool every large iteration. And eventually it will be different enough that it will set you back. That you will essentially be starting from nearly scratch. And then what? If you don't know what kind of answer you should get, how are you going to know if you're using that new tool correctly because some engineer decided that it is more efficient to move in a different direction?

Even novels have changed over the course of my life. Every book I've read that was published in the last 15 years breaks fundamental rules I was taught back in the early 90's. The conventions that I would have insisted that ChatGPT follow have changed. But if I didn't know WHY those conventions existed how would I even know? How would I adjust? Why would it even occur to me that I needed to adjust? ChatGPT sure doesn't know.

That's probably fine if it's just something you're doing for fun.

But if it is your job? Getting things wrong can be the difference between keeping that job and going hungry. It is not a good idea to be utterly dependent on your tools. Tools are to make what you're doing easier, not to do the task for you all together.

Yeah, just don't. The grades are not as important as what you will be able to do (or not be able to do) later in life. And sometimes that later can be a LOT sooner than you anticipate. I watched a LOT of people wash out or nearly wash out of college because they didn't know the whys and hows of what they were doing academically. I saw straight A students flunk out because they just learned the cheat or because their schools were crap and only taught one way to do things or taught nothing at all and just let the cards fall. I had a good friend who came in with a 4.2 GPA and nearly flunk out because she wasn't taught basic skills I had gotten in middle school.

Which was intentional.

Because she was black and poor and I wasn't.

Her schooling was designed to fail her because the best way to make sure someone as smart as her STAYED black and poor was to let her fly without ever teaching her the skills to do better when she needed to. And she was damned smart. And she worked damned hard. And she pulled through and got a master's before I did. But she was in the extreme minority and had a lot of help and still slid through by the skin of her teeth. Most people in her position crashed and burned and ended up WORSE off than they started. Which is great for the powers that be because it makes them a demonstration of why you shouldn't even try. It shows that society is stacked against you. Because it is. Because it is designed to fail.

Understand that ChatGPT is the same set up. It will make things easier. For now. It will give you the answers. It will work. Until it hits the level it can't anymore. And that WILL happen. It is inevitable. And then you have no supports and you ARE going to crash and burn.

There is a reason that ChatGPT is cheap and being forced on everyone. It is controlled by the people who are being served by the current societal structure.

Are you being served? Are you sure? Because if there is ANYTHING about you they can benefit by crushing, washing you out, setting you out to sacrifice, they're going to do it. Anything that is free in our society is a tool to make YOU the product. And they're damn good at doing it. So think long and hard about using that tool when they have so much history and investment in making you crap out for their benefit. Don't rely on them to save you.

I just started grad school this fall after a few years away from school and man I did not realize how dire the AI/LLM situation is in universities now. In the past few weeks:

I chatted with a classmate about how it was going to be a tight timeline on a project for a programming class. He responded "Yeah, at least if we run short on time, we can just ask chatGPT to finish it for us"

One of my professors pulled up chatGPT on the screen to show us how it can sometimes do our homework problems for us and showed how she thanks it after asking it questions "in case it takes over some day."

I asked one of my TAs in a math class to explain how a piece of code he had written worked in an assignment. He looked at it for about 15 seconds then went "I don't know, ask chatGPT"

A student in my math group insisted he was right on an answer to a problem. When I asked where he got that info, he sent me a screenshot of Google gemini giving just blatantly wrong info. He still insisted he was right when I pointed this out and refused to click into any of the actual web pages.

A different student in my math class told me he pays $20 per month for the "computational" version of chatGPT, which he uses for all of his classes and PhD research. The computational version is worth it, he says, because it is wrong "less often". He uses chatGPT for all his homework and can't figure out why he's struggling on exams.

There's a lot more, but it's really making me feel crazy. Even if it was right 100% of the time, why are you paying thousands of dollars to go to school and learn if you're just going to plug everything into a computer whenever you're asked to think??

[shaykai]

Still thinking about Gortash’s coronation and how smoothly he cuts a Durge off from their companions (and wishing we had a follow up with that)

The first words out of his mouth are that he cares about them- anybody else who remembers Durge has only distain for them, but not him- he’s happy to see them, he missed them, they’re his favorite assassin and he’s only glad to see them alive

And then he takes it a step further by providing insight into their past, something Ketheric refused to do for them- and Gortash isn’t dumb. He knows exactly how Durge’s companions will react, knows that he’s effectively outing Durge when he so easily could have pulled them to the side instead

And when their companions snap at them and refuse to look at them, Gortash is still smiling. Suddenly, he’s the nicest person in the room. Suddenly, everything is unstable and dangerous- but he likes you. He’s sitting there with open arms while the companions are rightfully so mad with Durge, but Gortash is more than happy to resume their alliance

He’s more than happy to be their sole source of comfort again, and isn’t he just so sweet for that?