#i need a fucking break from this year of total shit

[lisenberry]

Fluffy fluff.

CW: Pregnancy and child birth, language

You knew this day would come. Your due date wasn’t until the following week, but as of your last check-up, the midwife didn’t think you would make it that long.

But you were still surprised, and fought a rising panic, when you woke up around dawn to your first set of contractions. They weren’t terrible, at first, and you tried to remain calm as you showered, dressed in the comfortable outfit you’d set aside and checked your hospital bag for the thousandth time since you’d packed it weeks ago.

You’d read all of the books and watched all of the videos. It was a long process, and there was no rush to get to the hospital at this stage. It could be hours, days even before anything happened.

You were completely prepared and in control.

Until you stepped out into your hallway and straight into the wall of heat and muscle that was your neighbor.

“Oh, hi, John. I didn’t know you were back.” It’d been over a year since he’d left.

Why on earth he kept such an expensive apartment when he hardly ever lived in it, you couldn’t understand. He’d lived across the hall for five years, and had spent less than six months total sleeping in his bed.

And every so often, when it worked out, in yours.

“I got in late last night.” He paused, brows drawn together as he took in your obvious condition. “I was just heading to the gym.”

Jesus, he looked so good. Even in track shorts and a hooded sweatshirt. It pulled tightly across his chest as he rocked back on his heels. No doubt doing the quick math as to whether or not he could be responsible.

“I’m headed to have a baby,” you huffed out, as a sudden rush of spasming pain in your back nearly keeled you over.

That was a new feeling. It felt urgent. Shit, maybe you should’ve left sooner.

“Right now?” He lunged to grab your bags from your arms as you leaned against the wall for support.

“Not yours, don’t worry.” You laughed up at him, in an attempt to lighten the awkwardness of the exchange.

“Can I call someone for you?”

“I called a cab. It’s on its way.” The pressure started to ebb as you chanced a few steps towards the stairs.

“A cab? Absolutely not, I’ll drive you.”

“No, please. It’s fine. I have a plan. It’s all going to plan.”

But he’d taken possession of your hospital bag and your diaper bag, and had them loaded into the boot of his truck before you could protest.

“Is your boy—the father meeting you there?” Once he’d hoisted you into the passenger seat, and started the engine, he finally asked the question that had been left hanging between you.

“He’s not in the picture.”

Never was, you didn’t add. After you’d convinced yourself it would never work out between you and John, you'd had a brief fling with a visiting colleague from Berlin.

Imagine your surprise when you found out you were pregnant a month after he’d finished the project and gone home. To his wife, you found out later.

“You’re doing this alone?”

“It’s going to be fine. I told you, I have a plan.”

**********

“You don’t have to stay, really. I can do this on my own.” The contractions had become so intense, you couldn't control your voice enough to sound convincing.

His sympathetic smile as he finished filling out your intake paperwork was purely to placate. He had no intention of leaving. And you were grateful for his help.

The fact that he knew so much about you to only need to ask a few questions when completing the never-ending forms should’ve been alarming, not comforting.

Your blood type? Had you ever told him that?

“Aren’t you preregistered? How many times have you had to give them the same information?” He drew his eyebrows together in frustration as he realized the next packet was double sided.

“A fucking thousand.” You focused on your breathing and fought the waves of nausea that seemed to get worse along with the pain.

Weren’t there supposed to be breaks? You were told there would be breaks. You barely got a second to unclench your fists before another one started again.

You stood too quickly and steadied yourself with a hand to his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Concerned, he stood with you.

“I’m going to be sick.” You rushed, or rather waddled at your fastest pace, to the nearby family restroom and he trailed along close behind.

He stopped momentarily at the triage desk to slap the clipboard down and boom something about needing a room immediately, before following you in and holding your hair back as you wretched into the toilet.

“Shhh, I’ve got you.” He soothed, as he rubbed your back and passed you a wad of tissue.

“Please don’t leave me,” you croaked out, tears flowing at your helplessness and the sudden realization that this was only the beginning. That your life would never be the same.

“Careful what you wish for, darling.”

Once you were admitted to a room and set up with effective pain management, you finally relaxed enough to get your wits about you. And that involved, in no small part, frequently reminding the staff that, no, John was not your husband. He wasn’t even the father.

He wasn’t nearly as dedicated to correcting them as you were.

Things seemed to happen quickly, although you’d find out later that you labored well into the night, with a tireless, supporting hand held firmly in yours.

“You did so good, love.” When it was all over, he wiped a sweaty, wayward lock of hair from your cheek and planted a kiss on the top of your head. Seemingly as relieved as you were. As if he’d been holding his breath along side you.

You missed the look the nurse gave you as she placed the squirming infant on your chest, nor did you hear her mutter under her breath, “Not the father, my ass.”

“Welcome to the world, sweetheart,” you cooed, the pain quickly forgotten as you felt a tremendous sense of peace. Clarity.

“And welcome home, John.”

#price x reader #john price #captain price #call of duty

[thezombieprostitute]

Sparks Fly - Epilogue

Summary: After working as an engineer for Wilford & Gilliam Trust for several years you find evidence of seedy dealings and burned books. After turning in the evidence you find yourself in danger and seek help. You're taken into the protection of a mob family where you run into your high school best friend, Mace.

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: Puns, Smut, Workplace stress

Part 6

Series Masterlist

The next couple of weeks are a complete blur. You and Mace end up moving into an apartment close to the free clinic where you’ll be working. It’s more of a drive for him but he insists it’s worth it for the days he can’t drive you to or from work. You don’t mind the extra time together and it is a lot safer considering the intel on Franco the Elder’s latest work for Wilford & Gilliam. Mace doesn’t tell you much other than “it’s bad” and you’re pretty sure you don’t want to know more.

Work at the free clinic is just as stressful as your last job but in different ways. Plus, it’s a lot more rewarding. A lot of the equipment needs serious upgrades and you find yourself helping with the grant requests by providing specs for what they need. Every penny at this place has to be accounted for and you’re having to adjust to a lack of near unlimited budgeting. You’re gonna have to talk to Mace, maybe Teach, about getting more funding from the Family for this place. It’s clearly needed in the community. 

You’re so focused on working on an ultrasound machine you don’t notice Mace is there until he taps your shoulder. You jump, surprised and he’s quick to apologize. “It’s time to clock out,” he comments. You stand up and stretch, not realizing how long you’d been hunkered over this machine. Mace caresses your cheek and you lean into his touch. 

“You gonna be okay, DC?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you assure him. “There’s just been so much changing so quickly. I was never as good at adapting as you. But I’ll find my rhythm again.”

“So long as you tell me what I can do to help you,” he soothes. 

“Of course, AC. And thank you. I know we haven’t been able to spend much time together lately but once I find my routine it’ll be better.”

“Just promise me you’re not stressing about it,” Mace pulls you closer. “The past month has been a lot, especially for you. Please don’t feel like you have to rush into a routine. Anytime you need a break, you ask, okay?”

“I promise,” you confirm as you kiss him. “How about some food and rest?”

“It’s my turn to cook, right?”

“Yes! And I’m really looking forward to tasting what you’ve got to offer,” you give him a suggestive wink, making him blush.

“Oh shit, DC,” Mace rasps as you ride him. “Feels so good.” His hands are fondling your breasts and he brings you in for a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean into his lips. You keep rolling your hips, helping his dick reach all the right places. 

“I needed this so bad, AC,” you whisper before kissing down his jaw line. You need to make sure he knows you appreciate everything he’s done, still doing, for you. Even small things like letting you take control in the bedroom, giving you something you have total say over in your life. “Squeeze my ass,” you moan, kissing appreciatively when he moves his hands where you want them. 

“Feels so good,” he groans. “Taste so good. Smell so good.” You grin and increase your pace, making him squeeze you harder. “Gonna come soon if you don’t stop.”

You move one of your hands to your clit, playing with it how you like. “Go ahead, AC. I’m almost there.” Mace starts fucking up into you and you gasp at the change in pace, but don’t stop your hips. He sucks on one of your nipples and you’re finally able to let go with a small yell, letting out a moan as you feel him coming inside you. 

He holds you as you both catch your breath, gently rubbing your back. You whisper “thank you” several times between gentle kisses. You chuckle and he gives you a curious look.

“My life has been so chaotic these past couple of months,” you tell him. “You’ve been the one steady, reliable thing. For an Alternating Current, you’re pretty grounding.” He blushes and chuckles with you. 

“I’m sure once you get you back to your Direct Current I’ll be back to my ways. Just with a rectifier to keep me focused while I rectify the mistake I made in high school.”

“You’re so damn sexy when you talk engineering,” you coo. 

He smiles at the sincerity in your eyes. “There’s more where that came from,” he promises. “You’re my amplidyne, keeping me on task.” He moves you so you’re on your back and he starts kissing you. 

You laugh, “just never refer to sex as a diode bridge, please.”

“No promises,” he smirks. 

Part 6

Series Masterlist

Tagging:

@alicedopey

@chibijusstuff

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@jamneuromain

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@rebekahdawkins

@texmexdarling

#mafia!james mace #mob!james mace #james mace x reader #mace x reader #mafia au #mafia!mace #mob!mace

[emo-batboy]

Things Battinson Totally Did During His First Year of University

Using Unhinged or Odd Things I Also Did as a College Freshman :D

Note: for this list, let’s believe Bruce was living in an (admittedly expensive and swanky) dorm because it is required for first-years, especially those entering at a young age, and Alfred told him he needed to make friends. Also yes I did every single thing on this list. I never claimed to be a role model

Bruce, to his TA: I’m so sorry I’m late to class. I gave blood a few hours ago and almost fainted on the way here, but it won’t happen again.

Signs up for a class called “Age of Dinosaurs” despite it not being required whatsoever and proceeds to work his entire schedule around it

Bruce: Your mental health is super important. If you think you should see the on-campus therapist, go see them. Friend: Fine. I’ll sign up for therapy if you sign up for therapy too. Bruce: Hold on-

Finds a loophole in his housing contract that allows him to get a pet frog, calls him kermit :)

Gets a second frog because Kermit was lonely, names it Constantine after Muppets Most Wanted, then realizes that they’re gay for each other. Wonders if the rainbow-colored rocks he got them triggered anything

Swings dramatically between calling Alfred every single day and ghosting him for weeks, cries when he realizes what he did

“Accidentally” joins the student body council, doesn’t know what he’s doing, gets re-elected anyway

Molds a dragon out of Laffy Taffy instead of doing his work

Bruce: *joins Honors, gets all A’s, takes the max amount of classes, has several minors, overachieves* Also Bruce: I’m a failure.

Breaks into a building after hours to study because NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AT THE LIBRARY

Bruce: I will not get seasonal depression this year. Bruce: *gets real and seasonal depression that year*

Meticulously schedules his day with a color-coded planner because if he sits down for too long, the thoughts will consume him

Gives a presentation to his rhetoric class on how much he likes Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (it is 20 minutes long)

Successfully allocates funding from the student body council to pay for free feminine products in the dorms OUT OF SPITE because someone said it couldn't be done. fuck you, Andrew

Bruce: It is not an all-nighter if I go to sleep before my first class. Friend: It is 7:30am, the sun is in the sky, and your first class is at 12:30. Bruce: But I am getting sleep.

Refuses to go anywhere without his backpack because what if he needs three notebooks at once

Loses over 20 pounds because ✨stress✨ and scares the shit out of Alfred when he comes home for Thanksgiving

Argues with his TA over the one (1) question he got wrong on his Dinosaur exam

Bruce, calling Alfred: Hello father figure. How do I do taxes? Do I have to do them myself? Also, I think I’m having a panic attack.

Joins in on a charity arts-and-crafts project that gives kids books with matching activities made by volunteers, proceeds to commandeer the project because “it’s not color-blind friendly” and rewrites the instructions for everyone

Makes a murder wall

Goes to one (1) sports game and proceeds to leave in the first ten minutes because it’s way too loud wtf is wrong with people

Professor, addressing the lecture hall: I dare you to write an essay about these two sentences. Bruce: *writes an essay about six words, gets a 100, never even read the book*

Crawls into the ceiling for some alone time

Ghosts someone after a date because he’s too scared to tell them he didn’t know it was a date in the first place and now he feels bad

Classmate: How tf does he walk across campus that fast? I go in the same direction he does on my bike, and he’s always ahead of me. Bruce: *is gay sprinting to Dinosaur class*

Refuses to let others use his Favorite Pen TM

Constantly gets mistaken for a Grad Student because he is “so wise and mature” (bestie, that’s the autism)

Alfred: *casually mentions he got into a car accident through text* Bruce: *replies with a meme while hyperventilating because he doesn’t know what to do with that information??!*

Wears a suit to one of his finals

Regularly eats non-organic food for the first time in his life, proceeds to learn about several allergies Alfred forgot to mention he has

Writes “What is a Hot Pocket?” in calligraphy and proceeds to laugh his ass off alone in his dorm because he is so exhausted he’s reached the point of delusion

Locks himself out of his dorm right before class, frantically asks the floor group chat if someone can help, proceeds to tell the nice gay man on the floor who saved him “I love you” because his social skills have hit rock bottom

Makes a little music album display next to his desk for his favorite band (Nirvana) His friends call it a shrine, and they are technically correct

Has a blacklist of people he refuses to interact with because Reasons

Counselor: What do you want to do when you graduate? Bruce: *gestures vaguely*

Refuses to take the bus because there are people in there and he doesn’t like those

Loses one of his frogs, how tf did he do that, they’re fully aquatic, oh fuck, this is probably why they got rid of that loophole a year later because unbeknownst to Bruce, he accidentally started a frog revolution in the dorms, btw he SWEARS he did not mean to do that

Has two trash cans in his room: one for the Good Garbage, and one for the Bad Garbage. Only Bruce knows which is which

Bruce: *writes a creative piece about a ship’s final thoughts as it sinks, bringing its passengers down with it* TA: Absolutely lovely, Bruce, but are you okay?

Goes on Night Walks, keeps himself safe by maintaining a level 12 resting bitch face at all times

Earns the nickname “8th floor cryptid” after pacing the halls at 3am when it’s too cold for Night Walks (honestly tho how tf didn’t he get the nickname earlier?)

Bruce: Do you think a depressed person could do this? Bruce: *has a manic episode*

Okay that's all love you BYE

#cryptid Bruce Wayne #college au #does this count if op is the au #fully nocturnal unhinged madman Bruce but make him like 17 and full of crippling separation anxiety and autism #bruce would rather die than inconvenience a professor but hE KNOWS HIS DINOSAURS #Dino class was my fav one in uni hands down #yes i am insane thank you for asking #originally this was just going to be a normal list but I kept taking from my own experience then said “fuck it I'm the captain now” #one of these was a lie tho...the murder wall was third year :/ #battinson #bruce wayne #batman #the batman 2022 #batman 2022 #the batman #battinson needs a hug #dc universe #gotham #autistic bruce wayne

[taexoxosgf]

THIS DECEMBER

PAIRING park jisung x fem!reader | ft. friendgroup!nct dream

WORDS 5k

SYNOPSIS Your horny friends try to pull a little prank on you in the days leading up to Christmas. One thing Park Jisung likes to remind them is: he totally doesn’t want any part in it. Except, he totally does.

WARNINGS smut, ANGST, fluff, lots of dialogue, vag fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, vanilla vanilla vanilla, they're in love basically

NOTES I have to admit, this isn’t my best work lolllllll. though this was supposed to be posted on christmas, this can be my new years gift! 2024 here we come babyyy

★ Part of A Dreamy Christmas Collab!

“Why don’t we all be her secret Santa?” 

“What are you talking about?” Jaemin chuckles, eyes dancing as he seems intrigued by the idea.  But what pervades his mind was nothing like what Donghyuck was about to propose. 

“Think about it…” he trails.  “She used to say, if it’s an SOS, and we need help in that department,” he points to his crotch– “She would help us out.” 

“You’re fucking crazy,” Jisung rolls his eyes when he catches on to Hyuck’s sudden idea.  

“So you’re saying we all get her a present?” Chenle asks.

“Yes… But we all have to give her the same… present,” he walks between each of the men like a devil hovering over their shoulders.   

“Hyuck, just get to the point,” Jeno huffs. 

“Okay, bu–”

“No ‘buts!’ Get to your point,” Renjun groans.  

“The gift we’re giving her can’t be put into a shitty little box.”

“Oh my god, NO!” Mark whines.  

“What’s so wrong with a little fun?” 

“Are you seriously suggesting an… orgy?” 

“No, you idiot,” Hyuck pinches his nose bridge.  “Let’s all give her our present one by one leading up to Christmas… Like an advent calendar,” he shrugs, unable to hide the pride beaming off of him from the simile.  

“So you’re suggesting we all have sex with her in the days leading up to Christmas?  Am I hearing this right?” Jaemin intervenes once more, orbs gleaming with interest. 

“Ding Ding! We have a winner!”

“Jisung’s right. You’ve gone insane,” Renjun fully laughs.

“You know I’m insane, and that’s why we have fun.  But you know what? Let’s make this more interesting… When we tell her after Christmas, the person who she says is her best fuck, get’s her secret Santa present,” Hyuck smirks. “You know she goes all out.” 

“I’m in, but it might be hard for Mark because he’s actually in love with her,” Jaemin turns his body towards his friend who avoids eye contact before offering a retort. 

“Why just me? You guys are all in love with her!” His claim is met with a group of huffs and groans.

“How do you know she’ll even agree to this?” Jeno points out, earning a nod from the others. 

“She doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to.  If she does, then great! Amazing even! But if she doesn’t, then man, I feel kinda bad because we all got a thing for her.” Hyuck accepts the facts of the predicament. “Hopefully we can laugh about this on New Years.”

“I don’t.  I guess I’m the only one,” the youngest of the group speaks out but it’s not taken seriously by his older friends as a fit of laughter echoes within the small space.  

Hyuck’s the first one to speak– placing a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, “You’re the worst out of all of us.”  

“What are you talking about?”

“You guys always bicker and talk shit but I know all you want to do is rip each other’s clothes off,” Jeno jumps in. “Nice try though.  I almost believed it.”

“I’m not! She’s annoying as hell!”

“So annoying you want to fuck it out of her, right?” Jaemin joins. 

“You guys are jumping me right now, I’m leaving,” Jisung excuses himself earning a look of victory from his friends.

“Wait!  So you agree to it, right? Jisung?!  Hello?”  Chenle and Renjun yell out in unison, but the only reply heard is the slam of a door.  

“You’re serious about this Hyuck?” Mark asks one last time. 

“No, but this is just so those two kids will finally admit they’re down bad for each other.  I think this will be their breaking point.” 

“Damn,” all the other boys yell in unison. 

“I know right? Someone needs to hire me for something!  I don’t know for what, but something!” he crosses his arms to bask in his actions. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark laughs at his friend.  “You’re so dumb.” 

“Just wait and see.  He won’t make it to Christmas…”

Everyone is being… weird. 

On the very first day of December, you and all your friends come together to pick a name out of a jar.  The game of Secret Santa is an annual tradition you love partaking in. But once the weather dropped thirty degrees, all the boys started acting shady.  They were canceling plans with you on purpose, avoiding eye contact when you spoke to any one of them, and just running away the first chance they got.  It was easy to get mad, even call them out for it, but the replies would always be the same– that there was nothing wrong or they were just tired.  

And you’re not going to lie, it was starting to make your skin crawl.  The sudden shift in dynamic between you and the boys has you wondering if you did something wrong. But if they were trying to pull something, then they had another thing coming. It was frustrating, trying to shake it out of them in every way possible, but no one would budge.

December eighth rolls around and you know everyone is free today because you all collectively promised Sunghoon that every year until the day you die, this day will always be open for him.  It’s always an annual trip to the snowy mountains– a secluded cabin and powdery snow that’s fit for snowboarding. Surprisingly, but not so surprisingly, everyone’s busy up until the car ride to the cabin. 

Their persistent avoidance, even for an event like this, just pulls on the strings even harder. 

You’re leaning against the island of the kitchen, glaring into their souls from across the room as the music's bass reverberates throughout the warm cabin; and the bitter liquid in your plastic cup disappears like water down a drain.  

“Why are you standing here all by yourself?” 

You turn to the voice, sporting a grin once you realize who it is. “Hey, birthday boy. Just glaring at the boys.  Don’t know if they notice though,” you squint a little harder, hoping they’ll finally notice. 

Sunghoon’s orbs follow the seven of them scattered around the living room. “They notice alright. I’m sure they’ll come crawling back when they realize you don’t play.” 

“Oh, they know I don’t.  But they’re still gonna try anyway,” you let out a heavy sigh.  “I just wish I knew what they’re up to.  It’s killing me.” 

“Just ask Jisung.” 

“Why Jisung?” The mention of your friend’s name causes the subject of your orbs to shift to him, but he’s already looking your way.  When you make eye contact, he hurriedly glances away, confirming the suspicion that something’s up. 

“I feel like whatever they’re planning, he’s telling them he doesn’t want to do it.” 

“Why is that so detailed? Do you know what they’re up to? Spill right now!”

Sunghoon shakes his head in denial, raising the cup to his lips before responding. “Nah, you guys are always going at it. That’s all. It’s just a hunch.” 

“Fine, maybe I will. But I was gonna do it anyway.” 

You’re already making your way towards Jisung when Sunghoon blurbs out.  “If it doesn’t work, I’m always available.”

“You wish, Park.”  But you stop in your tracks.  “Wait, what?” 

Sunghoon walks off in a hurry, “Nothing! Had to try at least once!” 

Rolling your eyes at the birthday boy, you finally make your way to your destination but all seven of your friends go completely mute once you reach it.  There’s not a sound emitting from them, and it practically forces smoke out of your ears. 

“Okay, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Jeno murmurs.

“You guys have been ignoring me ever since December started! Spill your evil plans right now!” 

“Nothing’s going on,” Chenle adds, but it’s met with a crack of his voice at the final word, and you know one hundred percent they're lying. 

“Haechan! I know you’re the mastermind,” you turn to your friend, but all he does is shrug, eyes still looking everywhere but yours as he nonchalantly sips from his drink. 

“Nothing whatsoever. We’ve just been busy that’s all,” Jisung speaks out, but you chuckle, knowing he’ll eventually give in if you press him hard enough. 

“Of course, you’re a part of this! Sunghoon told me you weren’t, but I doubted him as soon as those words left his mouth!” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jisung’s tone changes, as if he’s warning you.

“That little shithead!” Jaemin groans.

“I knew it!” you exclaim.

“What did he tell you?” Renjun interrupts.

“Nothing, just what I said before.”

“Nothing is going on. You don’t believe us?” Jisung is still firm on his decision to make you believe otherwise. With that stupid smirk he’s trying to hide and how his form influences you to shift back. 

“Of course, you’re still on that even though Jaemin just admitted you guys are planning something! You’re the worst!” 

“And you’re a dumbass,” Jisung mumbles once you turn away.

“Look who’s fucking talking,” you don’t realize you’re stepping closer at every syllable exchanged and you don’t know why your friend loves to push your buttons so much.

“You always say I’m the worst and then you come right back.  I don’t think you hate me as much as you say you do,” Jisung’s eyes glimmer with a playfulness to them, closing the space between the two of you as the bickering reaches its climax.  But his words only fuel your rage.

At this point, you can only see red.  

All you do with Jisung is bicker or fight about stupid shit. Your friendship with the other boys is the glue that holds you and Jisung together.  No one could guess that you met all the boys through him. You both had been friends with benefits long ago— practically another lifetime. But you’d jump off a cliff before admitting that the shards of glass remain. And that it still cuts. 

It’s impossible to act like everything is fine and you both can get along.  So instead, you fight and fight until no more words can be said.  

“Ooooo,” you hear Jeno say, reminding you you’re still in a place full of swarming bodies. 

“What about you? You either hate me or you love me. It can’t be both,” you mutter, condemning yourself as you catch a glimpse of his lips hovering above yours.  You're both staring one another down, and you notice the same vein on the side of his temple, and his jaw clenches with each phrase that escapes your lips. 

“Watch it,” Jisung seethes.

“What? If you wanna play this game, let’s pla—“

“Okay! Enough of this,” Hyuck groans before dragging the both of you by the wrist and out of the main room.

“What are you doing Hyuck?” you urgently inquire, but he doesn’t reply.  He only hurriedly rushes along, throwing you both into a bedroom you don’t recognize.  And as you rush to escape the enclosed space, your friend shuts the door in front of your face– leaving you with your hands practically clawing at the door.  

“Lee Donghyuck! Open the fucking door right now!” you yell out, unable to comprehend how your friend could think this was a solution.  “Open the door before I beat your ass!” 

“He’s not going to open the door,” Jisung reminds you of his presence amidst the chaos.  “Not until the morning.”  

“What?! No. No. No. This is not happening right now.”  

“Let’s just sleep.  So when we wake up, we can just get outta here.”  

You scan the room, realizing there’s nothing for you to rest on except the bed in the center– the one Jisung is currently sitting on.  “You think I can fall asleep with everything that’s going on?  And I don’t even know what’s going on,” you’re shifting awkwardly, habitually rocking yourself on the heel of your feet following the eye of the storm.  

“Just sleep.  It’ll be over soon,” Jisung already makes himself comfy, placing his legs under the covers and rearranging the pillow to his liking.  He’s too calm.  Way too calm for what just occurred. 

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” 

“I don’t know, figure it out,” he mumbles, lids already fluttering shut.  You hate how you admire how long his eyelashes are.  

His eagerness to ignore the dilemma influences you to the bed to pry his lids open.  As Jisung opens his eyes willingly, you finally take notice of how close you both are.  His eyes widen at the proximity and he shifts back to the edge of the bed in surprise. You’re caught off guard because there seems to be something lingering in the air between the two of you.  And you brush it off because you know it’s annoyance. 

“Just sleep,” he softly lets out before returning to his original position.  “Next to me.” 

His softness in these last words has you admitting some defeat– realizing fighting won’t solve anything.  “Fine.”  

There are still zero answers that will satisfy your scrambled mind.  

And you’re trapped in a room with someone you can’t stand for more than five minutes.

It’ll be over soon.  Right? 

You’re fucking drenched. 

As the daze of sleep washes over, you notice the stickiness between your thighs. And not the good kind. 

It felt as if you just entered the fiery pits of hell. 

“What the fuck?” you whine. The air was so humid, you were practically suffocating.  And as you turn to the side, you see an irritated Jisung.  If you thought you looked gross, Jisung didn’t have a dry spot on his clothing.   

You try your hardest not to stare at the clothing sticking to his abs.  This is not the time.

“Don’t,” he warns, thinking you’re about to poke fun at him.

You chuckle at the sight of his discomfort, offering a half-assed apology.  “Sorry.”  

“Lee Donghyuck! Turn off the fucking heater!” he yells out, but there’s no answer.  

“Fuck.  We’re going to die.” 

“I’m not dying here with you.  That’s not how I’m going out.”  

“Is that so bad?  Chill the fuck out,” you roll your eyes. 

“Yes it is! I’m gonna kick the door down and beat Donghyuck’s ass.”

You don’t know if it’s the unbearable heat, or the constant fucking attitude from Jisung all night.  Maybe it was the pent-up frustration from all the other times you both didn’t get along.  But you’ve decided enough is enough. 

“What’s your fucking problem?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You’re always so fucking mad at me.  I do nothing and you’re mad.  I breathe and you’re mad.  It pisses me off!  At this point, I should be the one giving you the attitude you give me!”  

“And you know what?  I always cared what you thought.  But not anymore. I’m done caring so pretend I don’t even exist,” your heart is beating out of your chest as the words spill out like vomit.  

“That’s no–” Jisung’s unable to finish his sentence when suddenly his orbs follow your fingertips gripping the hem of your top to bring over your head– leaving you in a bra.  “Wha-”

“It’s hot as shit and I’m not going to suffer.  Do what you want,” you huff, continuing with the removal of your jeans. You notice Jisung's stare lingering on your contours as you eventually pull them off, and it appears as if a million different things are running through his mind when he suddenly glances away and shakes his head.  

You’re not going to lie, it’s amusing seeing Jisung’s usual persona falter. Your boldness and the situation it creates masks the uncomfortable predicament the two of you are in.  “It’s not like you haven’t seen me like this before.”  

“What did you mean by ‘you used to care about what I thought?’” He swallows nervously.

His words have you stopping in your tracks, not realizing your words were true candor. “Nothing, I was just saying nonsense,” is all you can render as you make your way to the bed, but Jisung beats you to it, grabbing your wrist to prevent you from escaping.  

“Tell me. Please.  I know it wasn’t nonsense,” his voice is like syrup, the usual bite to it completely gone.  

You turn to face him, though you regret it the moment you notice how his eyes match his voice. “Well, I cared what you thought because of what we did before we all became friends.  And us… Or whatever we are.  I don’t know what we are now but I cared about you and what you thought about me.”

“Cared?”

“I still do…”  

“Then why do we fight?” 

“I don’t know.  I guess you hate me so I just returned that energy.” 

“I don’t hate you,” he sounds hurt, the similar bite of his voice attempting to escape.  “You annoy the hell out of me, but I could never hate you.”

“Oh…” 

“You really act like you hate me though,” Jisung offers a small smile.  

“I don’t hate you. You’re annoying as hell. And I just don’t know what to do with everything lingering in the air when I’m around you,” you bite your lip at the confession, realizing it wasn’t a very good one. And you see him watch you do so. 

“You mean the tension?” 

“Yeah… The tension… The tension causes us to fight. Right?” The air becomes more suffocating than it already is. Maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s Jisung so close to you, or how you’re basically naked in front of him.  

“What else would we do?” his eyes are still trained on your lips.  

“I don’t know,” you murmur not above a whisper. “You tell me.”

“Let me try something,” he takes a step forward, shortening the small space between the two of you. “Promise you won’t get mad.” 

“No promises,” you urge, because you’re unsure of what Jisung planned to do after the indirect confessions made in the room today.  One things for sure. This territory hadn’t been visited in ages and it scares the shit out of you.  

“What are you go–” You’re cut off the lips that make its way onto yours. 

When you see Jisung dipping his head down to capture your lips onto his, you're taken aback.  However, the minute he makes contact, your legs almost buckle.  It's a familiar sensation, and you melt into him as he tests the waters with increasing devotion.  

When you reciprocate the kiss, it gets feverish, and your trembling lips work together haphazardly, interwoven with airy sighs.  His arms reach for your waist, pulling you into him harder than ever before.  He knows your body like no one else, and it drives parts of your brain haywire.  It feels like only yesterday that you both would rendezvous.

He groans into your mouth and squeezes your ass as you tug on his hair the way he likes it.  It makes you whimper since the combination of the sloppy kiss and the rush of pleasure is far too satisfying. 

 It feels good.  Way too good.  

That's why when Jisung pulls away, you chase his lips and he emits a small chuckle at the action. “Tell me you missed me.  Tell me you don’t hate me and never did,” his shoulders rise and fall at a rapid pace as he catches his breath. 

“I don’t,” you look up at him, and you want nothing more to kiss him again.  It feels like all the frustration aimed at him was sexual.  It’s honestly his fault for always looking so tempting while offering some smartass retort.  “I never did.” 

"God, I missed you," he smashes his lips against yours again, this time much more aggressive, and the back of your knees reach the edge of the bed, briefly disconnecting your lips.  You laugh, and he smirks before diving back into you as soon as your back comes into contact the mattress.  

Something possesses him at that moment, makes his hands glide up the back of your thighs, to kiss down your neck, sucking and biting to leave small bites that he later licks over to soothe the sting.  “Know how much you love to be marked.” 

“And I know how much you love me choking on your dick,” you giggle, licking a long stripe along his neck up to his jaw.  

“You’re dangerous,” Jisung hooks your thong aside, unsurprised when he notices the sticky arousal coating his fingers.  “Fuck, I forgot how wet you get.” 

“It’s from the heat.”  Your words contradict themselves as noises of pleasure leave your lips when he runs his fingers along your folds.  Jisung, on the other hand, knows the meaning behind your words like no other.  “All this stickiness is from the heat? I don’t think so baby,” he offers some stimulation to your clit and your back arches once he comes in contact with your bud.  

You shake your head and he dips his head down onto your neck offering a small kiss against the side of your neck.  God, he looks so hot, with the sweat dripping down the side of his temple and his puffy lips from kissing.  

The lewd sounds from his fingers running along your folds sends you into a frenzy.  You’re attempting to gain more friction, bucking your hips to feel more.  You’re so needy for his touch.   You've been longing for this touch.  "I'll be nice, baby," he says, inserting one finger inside your hole, your walls engulfing him up to the knuckle.  Jisung experiments with twisting and curling his fingers, enjoying the way you gasp and pulse around his fingertips. 

The wet glide is so satisfying and you moan, basically fucking yourself onto his fingers. “Sung–” is all you can choke out as he begins thrusting with a rhythm you both can’t forget.  “Wai–”

But Jisung can’t withhold any longer, not with you looking so pretty underneath him.  Not with the sounds that he remembers all too well.  His cock practically throbs at these thoughts, begging to be free from its confines when you’re already a mess.  He’s pressing against your clit along with the constant thrust of his fingers.  “Shit, Sung!” you wail, already foreseeing your high from the short time.  

Your nails dig into his forearm, body twitching from the overwhelming pleasure only he can give you.  “Oh, fuck,” the words are combined with a moan as your orgasm takes you by surprise, coating his fingers in a creamy pearl substance.  It drips down your folds as he pulls away, and the wash of the aftermath runs from your toes to the crown of your head.  It’s blissful, but your hunger for him doesn’t stay satiated.  “Good girl,” he says as he revels in your figure. 

“I need you,” you pant.  “Now.”  

“Whatever you say, Mom,” he jokes as he pulls his shirt over his head before discarding the rest of his clothing.  

“Ewww. Never say that again,” you say, earning a laugh from Jisung.  

“Like words ever stopped me before pretty girl.”

He's tugging the side of your panties, dragging them down the side of your legs while practically gaping. He continues with your bra and he gazes, unable to believe everything taking place currently.  You're like a dream, sprawled out beneath him. The pretty girl he could never get close to after being so close with.  

“Ready?” he asks after he shakes himself out of the trance you have him in.  

“Mhm,” you nod.  

He pushes inside, sighing into your ear at the creaminess of your cunt.  Your arms are wrapped around his neck as he bottoms out, fingers burrowing further into his scalp.  Jisung, rather than staying against your neck, takes advantage of the chance to peer at you.  When his nose brushes up against yours, all he sees are your lips caught between your teeth.  

At the feeling of his big cock inside of you, you clench around him.  He groans against your mouth, habitually bucking his hips forward.  “Fuck,” you moan out, back arching at the feel of his cock dragging against your walls. Your brain is already a mess and it has been since the moment he kissed you.  But Jisung loves how you’re a mess around him.  He takes pride in how he makes you feel, and that turns him on beyond belief. 

“Move Sungie, please,”  you plead and Jisung groans at the nickname you know he loves so much.  It’s enough for him to grab your wrists to pin them above your head before he begins moving.  

“Sung,” you call out again when he begins to move.  His calculated movements have you squirming beneath him, but you’re still perfectly fit against him and it’s as if you both never stopped this routine.  

“You’re mine.  I’m not letting anyone touch you,” he coos, and you’re quick to agree.  “Yours.” 

The constant rhythm he keeps has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and you're shivering when he picks up the pace--giving him a look that seems to make Jisung's cock practically explode.  He snaps his hips forward, so close to the edge that you shudder at the perspective. 

He's fucking you so well that your eyesight is fuzzy, and the brush of his dick against the spot that drives you insane only adds to the sensation. "I-I'm so close," you warn, your irregular breathing hitting his face.  

“Wait S-sung-g no.” Just as you’re about to hit your peak, Jisung flips you over so that you’re sitting on his thighs.  Though you’re disappointed in the delay of your orgasm, the angle has his cock pushing deeper than before, tip nudging against your velvety walls harshly.  “Fuck, I can’t,” you beg as your back arches at the smallest movements.  

As fast as words leave his throat, Jisung dips down to suck on your nipple, occasionally leaving purple blossoms.  “Wait I’ll–” 

“You’ll what?” he says, chuckling when he sees you instinctively grinding forward against his member. “Cream my cock?” He watches your fucked out expressions, loving how your eyes are lined with tears.  

“I’m planning on it, “ he smirks before thrusting up into you.  

“J-jisung!” you’re a sobbing mess above him as his harsh thrusts sends pure pleasure up your spine.  His name falls off your lips like a mantra, and the gibberish he can’t make out only urges him to move furiously into you.  Though your brain is a puddle of mush, the band in your lower abdomen is about to snap, so you grind your hips against him with newly found fervor, stimulating your clit in the best way possible. 

Jisung watches you above him as his fingers dig into your waist.  You’re so beautiful, he thinks.  Everything about you, every part of your mind and body he worships, and he swears he’s not going to let go of you this time. 

“S-sung,” you moan again and again, and Jisung continues to abuse your boob, kissing up your throat as you inch closer to your high. “So perfect.” 

You let out a high-pitched moan at a specific thrust, and your thighs tremble against his.  "I got you," he says as he places a gentle kiss on your lips.  And after a few thrusts, you're collapsing against him, again repeating his name.  You're just a lick away from teetering off the edge.  

“I want it so bad,” you blabber against his neck.  “S-so close.  Don’t stop.” 

“Give it to me,” he dips underneath to circle your bundle of nerves with the perfect pressure and you come undone, high-pitched moans and whimpers against his ear.  

 The mix of cum and the slick from prior allows the glide to be that much easier for Jisung to glide against as he tips over the edge as well.  You’re still pulsing and gripping his cock like a vice and it’s a done deal for Jisung.  “Inside?” 

“Inside me,” you kiss the side of his neck.  He feels euphoric as your noises against his ear urges him on and his arms hold you tightly.  And after a few more thrusts and desperate hips, his cum shoots inside you.  “Fuck.” 

It's so much energy that when the sensation of your high washes over you, you collapse against Jisung, who also collapses against the mattress. 

“You’re sticky,” you look at his face and admire how good the afterglow of sex looks on him.  

 Jisung massages little circles across the small of your back in comforting stillness.  

“I’m going to murder Hyuck,” he realizes how much the humidity encases the room. 

“Maybe not too brutal, because his plan to lock us in here so we can finally make up worked,” you notify him and his eyes light up.

“I think everyone’s asleep.  How about we torture them some more?” he smirks at you.  

“I say Hyuck isn’t going to get a wink of sleep tonight,” you mischievously grin and it’s enough for Jisung to dive down and continue drowning in your lips. 

DECEMBER 31  11:59 PM

“Damn, I can’t believe my plan worked! You guys are attached to the fucking hip,” Hyuck comes over to you and Jisung hand-in-hand.  

10

“Your plan worked for once dumbass,” Jeno butts in abruptly, almost spilling the alcohol in his cup. 

9

“We have no more arguing but I don’t know if it’s worth it,” Jaemin points.  

8

“You guys are like rabbits!” Mark yells out.

7

“Gross! Not the fucking time! I need to find someone to kiss,” Renjun groans. 

6

“Yeah but everything Hyuck does to end our suffering, it just reappears as something else!” Chenle laughs, earning a middle-finger from the subject of his words. 

5

“Guess you were right.  We can laugh about this on New Year's,” Jeno turns to Hyuck.  

4

“Happy new year motherfuckers,” Chenle says before clinking all the cups together.  

3

You turn to Jisung as the clock counts down, his arm around your waist. “Happy New Year, boyfriend.” 

2

“Happy New Year, Girlfriend,” he smiles the hardest you’ve seen him in a while.  

1

“Happy fucking new year,” he says before smashing his lips onto yours. 

Happy fucking new year indeed. 

#nct #nct dream #nct smut #nct u #nct hard thoughts #nct x reader #nct u smut #nct scenarios #nct jisung #nct dream jisung #park jisung #park jisung smut #park jisung nct #park jisung x you #park jisung x reader #park jisung fic #jisung park #nct jisung smut #nct jisung x reader #nct jisung fluff #jisung smut #park jisung fluff #park jisung imagines #park jisung scenarios #nct hard hours #park jisung x y/n #nct dream park jisung #nct park jisung #nct fluff #nct angst

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 5 - Meet The Adams Family

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The first thing you’d done when you woke up, still somehow in the Wayne manor, was pull out not-your phone and check the date. When it tells you that you are not, in fact, in some weird version of a time loop, you feel some measure of relief. The second thing you do is look your own damn name up on Google. There were over 3 million results. You have a Wikipedia page. If that hadn’t made you want to gag, the press from last night had you bumbling your way into the ensuite bathroom and puking into the toilet.

It’s still sitting on the bathroom floor, nauseous and achy and sweaty, your mouth washed out but still tasting foul, that you continue your research.

It’s just as you had suspected, your family was dead. Still dead. Well, shit. In the light of day, you supposed that made more sense. That there was no real reason to assume otherwise. You hadn’t for most of yesterday, but as soon as you’d thought that maybe there was a chance, your hopes had been dashed. Which was good, rip the bandaid off and all.

It was good. Things were good. They were fine, you were fine. You really wish you were a better liar.

Again you wash your mouth out. Root around the cabinets for some medical-grade mouthwash, do it again, and then you throw yourself into the shower. Again. You notice the soap smells like whoever’s clothes you stole. Refreshing and awakening, that mint and earth again. You think you can detect something floral in it too. It’s still masculine, but…

Wow, you are such a freak! You put down the fucking soap and manage to resist the urge to slam your head into the tiles. Your headache was bad enough already.

When you leave the bathroom, you glance at the door, and then down at your towel. Guess you’re stealing some more apparel. You find a Superman shirt, give it a judging glance, and then pick out a black T-shirt with ‘The Beatles’ across the front, and some sweatpants. You have to roll up the pant legs so you don’t trip and fall flat on your face.

One hand scrolling through Twitter and TikTok and Reddit and every single piece of social media you could find, getting the people’s source of news and you get the high overlords’ one when you turn on the huge TV attached to the wall. The remote kind of confuses you at first, but you manage to find the good ol’ Gotham news channel.

Immediately, you’re greeted by your miserable mascara-streaked face. You turn the TV off. You take a deep breath. Turn it back on. Luckily it’s not just you getting your private moment of trauma blasted open in the media. Your party had been filled with Gotham’s elite, after all. You weren’t the only rich idiot left crying by the side of the road.

You weren’t the only one who had to suffer. There had been twenty-eight casualties, in total. A small amount, considering the man behind the deaths. The Joker wasn’t known for his cleanliness. You tell yourself that, and yet still, you can’t make them just numbers. They’d been standing right next to you, after all. All in the same boat, all waiting for the axe to swing, secretly hoping you’re the one who lives to the next day. Only one of the party guests had been shot, and that’s because you think they’d personally pissed off the Joker. That’s what Twitter says, anyway. There were multiple video recordings of the altercation, and it didn’t look like he’d been the smartest banana in the bunch. The TV is a lot sweeter on the dead soul.

You feel sorry for all the dead. You still don’t think this rich heir should be the face you see, though. When you check his name, you find several forgotten assault cases. Assault, rape, just like that disappearing bastard had tried to do to you. That female janitor you’d seen shot had done more for this city than that guy ever had.

Did her family know? Did she have a family? Someone to mourn her? You’d never thought about that before. How many people out there wouldn’t have anyone to even remember them?

It’s none of your business, in the end.

After a whiles more research, you switch the TV off and tuck your cracked phone into the sweatpants. You know where your mother’s grave is, on the west side of the estate. Wikipedia knew all, which was now kind of creepy to you as it knew all about you as well. Really, you couldn’t believe it. Your mother, buried with the Waynes? You’d always thought she should find someone new, someone who’d appreciate her, unlike your father who had dipped as soon as Sam was born.

You couldn’t even remember the guy. Still, you remembered that he’d smelled bad and made your Mum do everything, and was just generally all around the worst choice for a husband.

But, Jesus Christ, Bruce Wayne? Absolute insanity. You had no idea how the two of them would’ve even met. Let alone fall in love and get married. Your mother was one of the loveliest women on earth but… they had absolutely nothing in common, other than having troublesome kids. And you hadn’t seen her getting lovey-dovey with the other PTA mums.

You walk out of the room you’ve borrowed and into the hallway. In the light of day, the Wayne manor is much less creepy, and you can find it in yourself to appreciate the antique space. Warm sunlight falls over dark oak furniture, illuminating your bare feet as you walk along the Persian rug. Your fingers trail along all the tiny little decorations, some annoying part of you demanding you leave traces of yourself behind. Your fingerprints dirty an old clock, a golden candelabra, a lamp and a tiny spinning globe.

You might’ve gotten lost in a place this huge if you couldn’t hear people’s voices floating down the halls. They were too far away for you to be able to tell what they were saying, but you could still hear them. They’re to the west, so you’re definitely going to have to go past them.

You follow the voices and eventually come to a stop in a hallway. You can smell food. Good, real food. The type that makes your instant-ramen-powered body salivate. The people are in the kitchen, right around the corner. You duck your head and quickly sneak past the mostly closed doorway. On the other side, you pause, your curious self unable to leave just yet.

“She needs help,” Bruce says, and you mentally curse. Balls. You didn’t want to hear this. You guess this was instant karma for snooping. Maybe they weren’t talking about you?

Why did that sound very unlikely…

“She went through a lot last night,” he continues, which, well, yes, you did go through a lot, “And he said that she saw a woman get shot right in front of her. It makes sense if she doesn’t want to talk yet.”

He? Who’s he? Who ratted you out? Wait, dumb question, the four other witnesses who saw the janitor get shot. You were still pretty sure the Waynes weren’t supposed to know that, but everybody knew those GCPD pigs were always just a dollar away from whatever you wanted them to do. It’s not surprising that the Waynes know details only the police should know at the moment.

…It is a bit disappointing, though. You chose to have hope in them, that they’d gotten that information legally. Your fatal obsession with the Waynes wasn’t going to disappear after one miserable party. You wished it would.

“She was acting strange before that,” Timothy Jackson Drake’s smooth voice drifts from the kitchen. You were still a little starry-eyed over him, which was… bad, you think. It’d definitely make whatever relationship the two of you had been forced into a whole lot more difficult. It did not need to be any more difficult.

“Are you accusing her of something?” Bruce Thomas Wayne’s voice is gravelly in comparison, angry, maybe. Also, ‘accusing’? What could he even be accusing you of? It was pretty obvious you weren’t capable of anything nefarious, you were far too stupid for that. You were a plastic bag drifting along the Gotham river, barely able to affect which direction you flowed in.

“God no. And I definitely wouldn’t do it with her listening, that’d be rude.”

Your breath hitches, and you push off from the wall. Busted, damn. Your face feels unbelievably hot. As you leave, you can hear Mr Wayne scolding his adopted son. You walk until you can’t hear their voices anymore, and then a little further, finding an exit door.

You stumble out onto a stone staircase, probably a servants’ one in the olden days. You move down it, hand gripping the railing. You’re barely conscious of where you’re going. There’s a path that leads away from the stone manor and further into the estate, and you follow it. When you spot a small gated area, with stone obelisks and angel statues, you veer off the path and onto the grass.

Hissing out a breath, it’s only now you realise you went outside without any shoes on. Your toes curl in the cold, wet grass. It’s a miserable feeling, and you want to walk right back inside. And then you think about the awkward conversation waiting for you, take a breath and keep going. The gates swing open easily under your hand, the golden embossed ‘W’ glinting in the light.

A guardian angel stands before you. Its stone face is disapproving, glaring down at you from above. ‘Interloper,’ it calls you, but you move past it without pausing. It’s pretty obvious which graves are the new ones and which are the old ones. They’re all clean and well-kept, but the ones to the left have dates going back hundreds of years, and the ones to the right only decades. Your eyes follow the rows of graves. Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne…

Your breath whistles out of you, nearly muffled by the grey morning wind.

And your mother. She has a different last name, now another Wayne. Your siblings don’t, which makes sense. You’re surprised to find many of your extended family also in this graveyard. Your grandmother. Your uncle and aunt. A few of your cousins.

It’s cold this morning, and you’re out here with only a thin T-shirt on. Shivering, you rub your palms against your bare arms. It doesn’t do much. Still, you don’t want to go inside yet. Instead, you crouch in front of Sam’s grave, eyes reading the tiny epitaph. It’s not the one you wrote.

‘Beloved Son and Brother.’

Simple, clean-cut, formal… unfamiliar, you suppose. Yours had been much more flowery, ‘All the colour in the world is gone without you’. It was a bit silly, but you’d never said you were a poet. You’d just known you’d wanted something that represented them, if poorly.

Sam was a beloved son and brother. But that wasn’t who he chose to be. He liked colours. He’d change his favourite every other day, so he liked everything rainbow. It made it easier to choose which one he’d like next, he said. You were always buying him more and more coloured pencils because he’d wear them all down to the tips, he dyed the cat a bright red headache, much to your mother’s horror, and considered it his personal job to make every single birthday, christmas, and easter card. He’d paint on the walls in washable markers, and you’d often been the one to volunteer to help him get it all down. In school, he always had the best art project out of the entire class, even if you were slightly biased.

He was a colourful kid. He wasn’t… a plain grey tombstone. Nothing to help remember him, because you were always losing more and more of their precious memories.

The others had similarly impersonal graves. Just what they were, not who. Mother, sister. Nothing that spoke of how they’d lived their lives, what the world had lost when they’d died. It was… you didn’t think it was right. It was a disaster, really. Even when you’d had to rely on the Wanye Foundation donations, you’d managed a better resting place than this.

You suppose you’d never gotten them into the Wayne family’s personal graveyard, though. That was a bit of an upgrade, you guess.

“You need to come back inside. You’re worrying my father.”

“Jesus Christ!” you shriek, leaping backward. Your foot catches on one of the cobblestones, and you end up tipping back farther than you mean to, your ass bruising against the ground. You bump another gravestone, and there’s a horrible moment where it gives a little and you think it’s going to knock over.

It doesn’t. A shining miracle on your day.

From your slightly wet seat on the ground, you look up, finding one such Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. His towering height is the first thing you notice, second his stunning emerald green eyes. Both were incredibly shocking in their own ways, but his height really was almost dizzying. Perfect brown skin and a stylish 'long on the top, short on the sides’ black haircut, paired with the sort of face some European model might have, all come together to make sure you feel as pathetic as possible. His posh-looking outfit doesn’t help.

Neither does the fact he just watches you. He doesn’t even pretend to bend over to help you up. Which you’re sort of grateful for, honestly. It’d just make you more embarrassed. You didn’t know if you could hold the hand of your celebrity crush and… well, be normal. Pretend to be normal. You weren’t doing a very good job of it anyway.

You have to wonder, which was the worst introduction? The drunk, the bloody, or the one where you fell on your ass? God, you really are screwing this all the way up. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to make it even worse. There’s a part of you that desperately doesn’t want to meet any of the other Waynes, even as another part of you is screaming that it needs to.

If they knew they had a fangirl in their graveyard, you’re sure they’d kick you out. That was why you were lying about everything, not because you had intimacy issues.

Stop thinking, you idiot! You’re only making things more difficult for yourself with all your worrying and fretting. And maybe you should get off the ground, you looked stupid. You push to your feet, wiping your dirtied hands on the sweats.

He still doesn’t say anything when you stand, still just staring at you. His open staring is far too intimidating, so you scrounge for something to say.

“Your father? You- Is he alright?” you stammer over your words, giving Damian Wayne an awkward smile. He doesn’t return it, instead canting his head towards one of the windows.

You look toward where Damian Wayne gestured to, find nothing but an empty window frame, and then back to the ridiculously tall man. You swear, the guy had grown like a bean pole. He had to be something ridiculous, like 6’5, or maybe more. You were fairly certain you’d been taller than him at twelve, or thirteen, whenever it was he was first introduced to the world as Damian Wayne. Now, now… not so much.

“There’s nobody in there?” you ask, like you’re questioning your sanity. You are.

“My father’s shy,” He says, coolly shrugging one shoulder.

What. Bruce Wayne? Shy? Was he joking or something?

Damian Wayne stares down at you with narrowed green eyes, and dark brows in a harsh frown. His arms are crossed over his rich kid sweater, shiny black shoes tapping against the cobbles. That’s not the face of someone who makes jokes, you think.

You swallow, mind whirring as you try desperately to fix this conversation, “Right. Okay. I’ll… I’ll come back inside, then. Sorry for bothering you guys.”

He keeps staring at you. He doesn’t seem bothered.

“Sorry for bothering him?” you correct.

Damian gives one slow, cat-like blink of his eyes, and then turns with a tsk and walks away. It takes you a moment to realise you’re meant to follow him. It takes you even longer to actually catch up with him because he’s so fucking tall.

On TV he didn’t look this tall. You feel kind of betrayed, which is weird.

As you’re walking along, getting closer back to the manor, a stick or something pokes you in the foot. You curse, grabbing your foot. Thankfully you don’t start bleeding or something. You’d already be tracking dirt all over the inside of the impeccable space, you didn’t want to bring blood in as well. It takes a moment for you to realise the sound of Damian’s footsteps crunching in the grass has stopped, and you glance up.

He’s staring right at you again. He looks even less impressed with you, raising an eyebrow and mouth ticking downward. You put your foot down and tuck your hands behind your back in a very obvious anxious display.

“You went outside not wearing any shoes?” Damian Wayne asks, incredulous.

“I was… yeah, I forgot to,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Not your best moment, but you weren’t really having any of those today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Maybe you should stop thinking about that, actually.

“That’s disgusting,” The young Wayne sneers, and then turns and gives you his shoulder.

You think your heart maybe cracks a little. Well, they do say to never meet your idols. Maybe whoever wrote that quote had you in mind specifically, because now you were in… this situation. Ex-step-sister. If that was a thing. Your Wikipedia page said that you said that a lot, very insistent that you had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes.

…It didn’t really look like you had nothing to do with the Waynes, from an outsider's perspective. Which obviously didn’t make any sense, since you were… you. You were not an outsider, not anymore.

This was too complicated. You needed a coffee. With like, so much sugar it’ll make you bounce from the walls.

Damian strides up the side entrance’s staircase and through the door, leaving it open for you to follow through. You hesitate at the doorway, looking over your shoulder to the graveyard. The statue calls you names in the distance, and although you feel like a stranger who doesn’t belong here, you manage to step back into the house.

You force yourself to walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, fists clenched tight at your side and your shoulders bunched up to your ears. Bruce Thomas Wayne, Timothy Jackson Drake, and the butler from earlier. Damian Al Ghul Wayne steps around the trio, picking some drink from the counter and moving to sit at the dining table at the edge of the room. There’s an open book on the table that he starts flicking through, and well, apparently that’s the end of your first conversation with the youngest Wayne.

You did… well, alright might be pushing it. You're still going to say you did alright.

Tim Drake gives you a sweet smile, catching your attention. The silky raven hair of his heart-shaped fringe falls over his beautiful, pale face, and for a moment there you totally forget that he’d called you out earlier like that. Which was just, such an odd thing to do. His hand lifts to scratch at the buzz cut under the floppy strands of hair. The movement mesmerises you. You look away from his sky blue eyes, very quickly realising they’re robbing you of the few remaining brain cells you have. And you need those, damn it. Especially because you’d already made the decision to hide from all your problems like a baby. Negative, negative…

“How’re you doing today?” Tim asks you, giving you a friendly greeting. It’s a welcome olive branch.

“I’m good,” you lie like you breathe, eyes glancing around the space. Bruce Wayne has his phone out and a mug of coffee in his hands. He sips from the cup, his focus swallowed by the tiny screen. You glance back over to Damian Wayne. Huh, it really does run in the family.

Your neck prickles, and you glance back at Tim again. You get a brief vision of his tired, unsmiling expression, and then it’s back to the angelic and gentle smile. You smile back at him, a wretched, awful twisting of the lips that you hope doesn’t look like a grimace.

Tim’s smile turns into a grin. It’s really too pretty and makes you shift in your seat uncomfortably. Damn it all, look away!

“Would you like some breakfast, young miss? I’m afraid we’ve run out of pancakes, but I’d be happy to make some more for you,” the butler says in an awfully familiar British accent. You think you know this person, but you can not remember from where. Shit. Your memory was bad on the best of days, much less after… after an event like last night.

Anyway, the food from earlier had been pancakes. Despite the delicious scent, you really didn’t want to make him make any more food for you. You felt like you were intruding as it was.

“Do you have any toast, or… cereal?” you suggest instead, wondering if rich people even bother with cereal. The butler chuckles, and you think, ‘Oh, yeah, probably not’.

“We have both, miss. Master Grayson has a particular fondness for cereal, in fact,” he informs you, which, oh, cool. You did in fact know that, you stalker you. You’d totally forgotten about that weird fact or the weird fact that you knew that weird fact. Dick Grayson has an Instagram where he posts reviews of different cereals, which of course you have notifications on for.

“It’s more of an obsession,” Tim says, resting his palm in his hand as he… continues to stare at you. Nobody else thinks his ogling is strange, so you try to ignore it as well. Try is the choice word.

“I like cereal too. It’s normal,” you say in defence of Dick, a natural and instinctual urge.

And apparently, the fact that you like cereal is fucking shocking, judging from the open-mouth looks the group gives you. Oh no, you’re supposed to hate him, right? You’re supposed to hate them all, actually. What had you called him on your phone? Something about being annoying and a dickhead?

Swallowing your inner scream, you move around the counter and towards the cupboards. Whatever, they’ll have to deal with this new and improved version of you, which didn’t despise everyone in the room. Along with being a terrible liar, you were also pretty bad at keeping secrets.

You don’t want to think about that, so instead you turn to Alfred.

“So,” you start, “Can I see your cereal collection?” you ask, like a totally normal person. Man, this cupboard’s looking pretty head-smashable right now.

This family has more tact than yours did, because they all manage to put their eyes back to what they were doing and pretend you weren’t acting really, really out of character. Rich people. They’re good at overlooking the crazy.

“Of course,” the butler clears his throat, “In here, you’ll find Master Dick’s collection-” score! Not another fan can claim this right, “-and in the fridge a carton of milk. Are you sure I couldn’t serve it for you, miss? I understand you might still be a little…”

His voice trails off. Little what?

He glances at the others and then leans in close like he’s going to tell you a secret. Behind a hand, he whispers, “Hungover.”

Ah. Well, yes, but you were a big girl who could make her cereal, even on hangover days. Kind of embarrassing it was that obvious, though. You were usually better at hiding how much of a mess you were.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” you say, and the butler nods and backs off. You’re pretty sure at this point that he was the one who called you yesterday morning, but you still couldn’t quite recall his name. When you were out of sight, you’d check your phone for his contact information.

See? You could do this. Stealthy.

As you start perusing through the cereal options, Tim gets up from his spot by the counter and comes to stand next to you at the breakfast bar. He heads straight to the coffee machine, and you glance at it longingly.

It’s one of those cafe-quality fancy espresso makers, with an Italian name embossed in silver on the top. Tim manipulates the machine like a master, which you’re very jealous of because it might as well be alien technology to you. You miss your shitty drip coffee, at least that dingy little machine was loyal to you. Better than George.

“Coffee?” Tim Drake offers, glancing at you. Ah, the starry eyes are back. While Damian Wayne had been a mildly disappointing introduction, Mr. Drake was just reinforcing your celebrity worship. And of course, because your brain works against you, his offer reminds you of the daydreams you’d had on your first twenty-first birthday. Coffee shop au real person fiction- a new low, even for you.

Flustered, you look up at the ceiling. The old mansion is decorated in every single available corner, the plaster above spreading across the entire surface with delicate filigree and pretty curling patterns. It’s gorgeous, absolutely entrancing. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

“Please,” you say, your voice just the slightest bit too quiet. He hears you anyway.

It’s surprisingly domestic. Of course, you don’t know any of these people past face value and Wired YouTube interviews, but… it’s quite indulgent. This is sort of your dream, isn’t it? A full house of people enjoying their morning together. Peaceful bird song drifting in through open windows. The comfort of being around people you trust, not having to perform or put on a show. Well, you are very much putting on a show right now. It’s the thought that counts, or whatever.

“What would you like in it? We have sugar, milk, oat milk, and I like having a few syrups on hand,” Tim chatters excitedly, listing off the different ingredients he has on offer. Your poor ass stares at his rich one, and you are very rudely reminded these people live in different tax brackets than you.

Who the fuck had coffee syrups in their house? You could barely afford the little treats of caramel syrup you get every couple of months. The disappearance of the middle class was one you had witnessed personally.

You rattle off a very basic, bland order. Tim looks sort of disappointed in you which… well, you could be a coffee snob. You just didn’t have the time, usually. A flat white kept you going through the day, you didn’t need anything else. And so, Tim hands you a very bland coffee, and it is god sent. You can’t imagine how good it would be if you had mustered up your courage and asked for some caramel syrup.

Huh, you could be a coffee snob. You could be anything you wanted, really. And your first thought is being a coffee snob. Good God.

“Are you going to be staying?“ Bruce Wayne asks, immediately putting you on the spot. You weren’t ready for this, you were thinking about the coffees you could buy. Oh no, you really aren’t ready for this.

“At least for now, right?” Tim Drake says, just making it all the more stressful. You let out an awkward chuckle, fingers tight around your drink.

“Oh, I don’t want to be an inconvenience-”

Damian Wayne slams his mug down on the table, so hard a crack splinters up its side. He picks the cup up, strides across the kitchen, narrowed green eyes meeting yours for a second, and then he dumps the cup in a secret rubbish can. He murmurs an apology to the butler and then is out of the room.

Okay, well, you certainly feel like an inconvenience.

The butler clears his throat, and says, “Please forgive young master Damian. He’s been having a difficult time recently, I hope you can understand.”

And you think, ‘bitch, a difficult time?! He’s not the one who almost died last night!’ but what you say is, “Of course, I completely understand. I don’t want to bother him anymore so I’d really like to leave today.”

Mr. Wayne laces his fingers together, blue eyes giving you an assessing look.

“Stay for the day, and you can leave tonight. I want to make sure you’re truly alright,” he eventually says, and the mere presence of the man has you yielding to his commands. Didn’t really matter you were an adult who’d managed to survive this long on your own, you were listening to the big scary guy when he told you what to do.

Well, that’s that! You make your cereal and have a very quiet breakfast. You can’t tell if they’re being quiet because you’re here, or if mornings are usually like this. You hope they’re usually like this. Once you’ve finished your very nice cereal (one of the highest rated on Dick’s Instagram) you place the bowl by the sink. You want to wash it, but when you ask Alfred he gives you a look like you kicked his dog. Okay, you’ll just go then.

You’re about to sneak away, when you realise Tim’s staring at you… again…? But this time he seems quite focused on your clothing. His eyes follow the double lines on the side of your sweatpants, before settling on the Beatles logo on your shirt. He hums at it. Raises his brows.

“I’m sorry, I borrowed this because I didn’t have any other clothes. Is there something wrong with me wearing this?” you ask, and then experience a moment of horror, “This doesn’t belong to you, does it?”

“Hmm?” Tim chirps, “Oh, no, don’t worry. It’s not mine.”

And then he turns away from you in a very clear dismissal. Nice, you really wanted to go hide for an hour or two. With one last awkward wave to Bruce Thomas Wayne, you scurry out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom you’d started thinking of as yours. You need to figure out how you're going to handle all this, and you're going to do it alone. Maybe with some dessert, if you can find it. You wouldn't say you think better with sugar running in your veins, but it definitely makes you more willing to deal with the bullshit that is your life. Hopefully it'd work in your new one, too.

-

Tim listens to your retreating footsteps, waiting till you’re far enough away to begin talking to Bruce. Humans were creatures of habit, so you’d probably be going back to the same room you slept in last night. He thinks Damian and him were the only ones who noticed whose shirt you were wearing, B’s off his game today. You’ve really managed to mess him up, to Tim’s delight.

“See? Dames was totally fine with her being here,” Tim says, cheerily enjoying his youngest sibling’s suffering. Bruce sighs, witheringly, lifting his hand to rub against the headache he always has. He’s probably noticed the excited, slightly fanatic gleam that’s entered into Tim’s eyes.

It was sort of obvious. This was all so exciting! You’d come back, sporting absolutely none of the defensive vitriol you usually have, and ate breakfast together. You took a coffee out of Tim’s hands. You’d willingly spoken to the devil, who everybody in the family knew hated you as much as you hated him, and even more than that-

You’d spoken to Bruce. Tim was sporting the idea that you’d gotten head trauma, at this point in time.

“Okay, fine. You get the mission, but-” Tim has to resist the urge to clap his hands together like a gleeful child “-but no extra cameras. I’m serious, Tim, if I find out you’ve invaded her privacy just after she’s starting to warm up to us again-”

“She wouldn’t know,” Tim complains, cutting the Bat off with a roll of his eyes.

“She’s smarter than you’d think,” Bruce shakes his head. Tim has to disagree, after the catastrophe that was last night. Unless of course, you were just playing with them all. So many options, it’s dizzying.

“We’ll shelve that argument for later. So, I want full control of the case, and in turn, I’ll do another two weeks as CEO,” Tim waves off Bruce’s complaints, going straight into haggling. The CEO position was tossed between the two of them like a hot potato, and it was one of Tim’s favourite bargaining tools.

“I am absolutely not agreeing to that, a month and nothing less.”

“This is why half your children don’t talk to you, but sure, whatever. Chase away your last, loyal loving son-”

“My God, Tim. Three fucking weeks, and if I hear another word I will hand this matter over to Grayson,” Bruce sighs, sounding a bit defeated.

Tim gives an offended gasp, placing his hand against his chest. And then he realises Bruce might actually be serious, and freaks out a bit.

“He’d be bad for it. Far too personally involved. You definitely don’t want to do that,” he says, leg bouncing under the table. Of course, the Bat notices, but he doesn’t mention it. He wouldn’t take this from Tim, they both knew he was getting too frazzled around the edges. He needed something to focus on, to ground him.

You were the perfect project. He loved his projects.

“I am aware. But the girls are out of town, and uncontactable. And I think if I gave Damian this assignment the two of them would kill each other.”

“No Jason option, sir?” Tim says because he’s a shit-stirrer and wants to get to work.

Tim succeeds in chasing Bruce away. He’s left to have his coffee in peace as the old man quickly flees the room at the mention of the son he's on the worst terms with. For the next few hours, Tim taps away on his computer, enjoying his time.

And when the front doors open, his ears prick, and a decidedly evil grin spreads on his face.

“I’m home!” Dick calls out, words travelling through the grand manor.

Tim gets up from his seat and wanders leisurely to the main hall, where Dick stands. He’s got a suitcase by his side, filled with all the things he’s brought up from the Blud. When he spots Tim, Dick’s face spreads in a familiar sunny smile. He quickly rushes to Tim’s side, swallowing the younger brother in a hug. Tim groans at the tight squeezing.

Despite his clinginess, it was good to see him. His tanned skin glowed healthily, and his curly black hair was messy over his brow. Sapphire blue eyes sparkled. He was happy to be home, despite everything that was going on. Dick always looked like he’d just gotten back from a run because he usually had. It was hard to get the guy to sit still for even a minute, much less stop parkouring over every imaginable surface.

“Tim! How’s it been? Ah, it’s so good to be home,” Dick starts, and again, Tim groans. When Dick starts yammering he never stops.

“I’m good, man. We can talk later, you should go put your things away before Alfred does,” Tim reminds Dick, and Dick pouts. It was a general rule that unless it was cooking, the family wasn’t supposed to rely on Alfred for everything.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be down in a minute! I have so much to tell you,” Dick relents, hand lifting to mess with his hair. Tim pushes him off, glaring at the man, and Dick laughs.

Tim gives Dick a tired wave as the gymnast bounds up the stairs to his bedroom. Tim watches him disappear down the hallways, and thinks, ‘I wish I could see this happen.’ He sighs, guess he’ll just have to hear Dick retell the story later. The distant sound of your shrieking voice has him chuckling. Yeah, he’ll hear about it later, he’s sure.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

[iznsfw]

Senior Year Isn’t the Only Thing That’s Hard

Momoland's Nancy McDonie x Jeon Somi x Male Reader Smut

20,859 words

Categories | popular!Nancy and Somi, threesome, blowjob, titjob, anal, spanking, fluff, also if you get the reference(s) I love you

Thank you for commissioning! Was tough to find time to write during exam season but fuck it we ball.

Stars in the sky, stars in their eyes—they’re truly something else. Shouldn’t they be up there themselves? They glimmer too bright to be left here on earth, with a guy like you who can’t hold a flame to them.

But maybe you’re one yourself. Stars only ever mingle with their own kind. So there's the possibility that the three of you are stardust, simmered onto this world to shine in other places where they need it. It’s a laughable way to put it, almost cliche. But when you look at them, you realize you’re not far off.

See here: you're young. It's too early to worry about reputation—(oh, what a word, by the way, with its promise of faint or fail)—but a great, great place to start. 

You didn't know about that second part until you met Somi and Nancy.

First, picture this: your story is a movie, the rare one where the male character is the lead of the story although—let's face it—it's them everyone's reading this for. Not you, not your style, not nada and zip. Everyone is and always will be here for them:

Jeon Somi and Nancy McDonie. They're teen royalty. Only a few students ever get to say they held that title. Not that it's of any importance later in life but what matters more than the present? The juniors look at them green with envy, and with the seniors, the ones who are all proud in their recent age of adulthood, either like them but hate to say it and "hate" them but like them too much to say it. It's that simple. It’s that complicated, too, at the same time. 

And, admittedly, it’s… a lot to take in.

Strangely, you're not in either of those categories despite being a senior yourself. The difference is that you like them, and aren't afraid to say it. After all, you owe them a lot for helping you get out of your shell.

-

Well, not at first. But that’s how it works, right? You, Somi, and Nancy don’t immediately become friends right from the get-go. There has to be some kind of story behind it, and you’re willing to tell yours.

-

It all started… well, like this:

You enrolled into a new school sometime after your eighteenth or nineteenth birthday. Yep, you really couldn’t remember. It’s all been in a flash with them, makes you feel a little dumb. All you know was it was the worst present to have: being required to join an institution that was as unfamiliar as it was unwanted. Like, fucking hell—this early? You were just a kid! Well, not anymore, but there had to be some kind of consideration for this, right? An exception that could be made?

Unfortunately, signing up for a new school was not a subject up for debate. It wasn’t something you could bargain yourself out of. No promises to be good, no extra chores, nothing. Your parents were firm on deciding that you were in need of a fresh new start.

And it just sort of happened that this clean slate you had? You ruined it completely.

Oh, it was classic teenage rebellion. You did almost everything you could to buy your way out of circumstances that didn't go how you wanted them to. You wouldn't say it was totally uncalled for. You had friends at your old school you thought you'd forever be with—the way you saw it, no one could just pull that away from you.

Alas, here you were. You'd been in this classroom more times than you could remember. Neither you nor the presidents spoke. No one was willing to break the ice.

Finally, sun melted the cold and replaced the winter with a fiery, hot summer. "You again?" Nancy McDonie leaned on the edge of the teacher's desk. Her expression was that of someone who's going through a cruel cycle of same-shit-different-day. You knew what that's all about. "I swear, we see you here every Tuesday."

And what a privilege that was. Sarcasm? A little. 

"Oh?" you said. You did your own leaning on the backrest of the chair and put your arms behind your head. "Well, it's not like I enjoy it here."

Maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t. To be truthful, you didn’t know either at the time, so… well—you’re left involved in another banter with the two leaders of the student government. You didn’t see why you had to be sent to them every time you did something even just the littlest bit of wrong, but here you were. This was routine already. As everyday and usual as brushing your teeth and showering.

Nancy squinted her eyes at you, and you stared right back unnervingly. Neither of you were going to give up a silent fight like that.

"If you did," Jeon Somi quipped, beside her best friend with her hands on her own hips, "we'd understand. I mean, look at us."

She didn't have to remind you. Both girls were prettier than they should be. ‘Cause look here for a minute: Nancy's got this long caramel hair going on for her, and it extends long beyond her shoulder blades, framing her amazing curves and slim arms. She's the push to Somi's pull—Nancy is the calmer one, the girl who takes things more seriously. 

To be fair, Somi does her own taking, too. Just not in the same way. She's blonder, bustier, more extroverted. She walks life with an unrestrained laugh unfit for such a gorgeous girl and feet clad with platform school shoes that always carry her in paces around the classroom. She's kind enough to cast a blind eye on some of your offenses, but too princess-y to keep her words about herself humble.

You say these in present tense because later on, when the circumstances change and so do the seasons, you'd find out that's truly who they are. Your relationship would change but they wouldn't. They're still the same Somi and Nancy who are always glued to each other, always giggling, always the it girls, always the most popular girls in school.

One day, the punishment for your routine offenses would be death caused by them, and even that you'd welcome. Oh, just imagine…

"Let me guess." The brunette girl tapped her finger on the desk surface. Lucky piece of wood. "You didn't pay the treasurer again?"

You sighed and fiddled with your pencil. Scratches from the pointed led were imprinted on the olden table attached to the seat. You bit back a remark about how the class treasurer was as corrupt as a politician withering away with the hope the graft charges would, too. "Wrong," you said, steadily. "I accidentally spray-painted miss Seo during arts.”

Your truth was met with silence.

“She looked like she came out of a unicorn's asshole," you helpfully added.

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Ah, well, of course you did—it was impossible to forget when it happened fifty fucking minutes ago. Yes, you counted down, because the surprise that took over you when you squeezed the nozzle of the can on a teacher you didn’t even know was behind you was everything to remember. Every color of the rainbow was soaking her dress pants and blouse, making her become the personification of a lively Pride parade.

(You didn’t leave that detail out for your poor victim not to hear, when you said: “Gay rights, anybody?”

Looking back, that was prooobably what got you into another meeting with the girls. The teachers had some real strange beliefs.)

Somi snorted, then started to laugh boisterously, so much that her body rocked downwards. To be fair, it started out as a small chuckle. Things went from this to that and suddenly it worked itself into a full cackle. 

She slapped Nancy on the shoulder and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she apologized; (it was useless), “but that shit’s so… fffucking—”

"It's not funny, Somi," Nancy said with a more solid voice than that of her friend’s. "Hey. Hey, it's not funny!"

“Just think about it, babe.” Somi, still snickering, tried to put some sense in her, tried to make her see what made it so funny. “Think of the gay flag. Now—listen—imagine it as mean old miss Seo. You see where I’m going?”

“Still not funny.”

"C'mon, prez," you told the unconvinced girl. You flung your hands in the air nonchalantly. "Live a little."

"Yeah, Nance," echoed Somi cheerfully, poking her best friend’s cheek. She was the only one who could ever do that to her. Any other person and they’d be found dead in a ditch alongside their reputation. And god, did it matter a lot to young’uns like you. "Live a little."

"Don't call me that.”

Somi shut her mouth. From what you noticed, she was the lesser contained of the two of them. She spoke with a sailor’s mouth that had the accent and vocabulary of a valley girl. Kind of true—she was filthy rich. You saw her parents during the senior acquaintance party and it wasn’t that hard to figure out she was wealthy when you saw her father slip her her allowance. Also, her mother was dressed in the best and latest trends, looking younger than she really was with how she held herself. Only rich people and really exemplary actresses could pull that off.

"And what was your offense the previous week?" Nancy went on. She was leaning forward now, unintentionally offering you the best view a horny senior could wish for: her bust struggling to be held inside her uniform blouse. 

A distraction, that's what it was. Oh, fuck, now Somi was doing it, too. Both girls are busty, full breasts begging to be freed from fabric. You should have really requested undressing them as your punishment, but it was clear that it was probably what they wanted and this was simply to coerce answers from you, unintentional or not. 

They still held their dynamics, even when they’re forcing words out of you. They went hand in hand, pairing up together like they were born to be friends: the angel that was Nancy, and the little devil Somi was; good cop (in a way) Somi, and bad cop Nancy.

You weren’t gonna say their methods didn’t work. You gulped. Since when did you sound like a shitty literotica author with two sales? "I started a food fight in the cafeteria."

"And the previous week?"

"I tripped mister Brown in the hallway because he failed me."

"And the week before that?"

"I started a campaign that Photoshopped Shrek onto teachers' faces."

Silence, as if all the world were a show that liked to take several beats.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” asked Nancy finally.

“You do,” you said. “You don’t think I can see you smiling?” There was something in her face that told you that hatred for you was not all there was to it. Something about the uplifted motion at the left end of her lips. Somi was barely hiding it with the giggles she was making.

“Don’t flatter yourself, dickhead.”

“Oooh, nice one for a first swear word.” You threw the pencil away and folded your hands together. Leaned forward, too, because if they were showing off their cleavages like that, you might as well do the same. “Got anything else for me?”

You promised you weren’t always this petty. These weekly meetings with the presidents just tired you out. It wasn’t your fault you were like this. It could all be traced back to your parents’ nth mistake: sending you off to this shithole of a school. For fuck’s sake, this wasn’t even where you envisioned yourself to be five years ago, when your teachers made you draw a visionary of yourself on white bond paper. Far from it, if you looked past your shitty skills at sketching.

“Detention, maybe,” Somi said helpfully after swallowing the last pieces of her laughs. “And a suspension.”

“Oh god.” You rolled your eyes. “Please, not you, too.”

“Yep. Real scary stuff, huh?” She smiled, raising her hands in claws before firing you a wink. Your breath shortened just for a while. Only just. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to go through all that if you behave.”

You smiled back. “Like a good boy?”

But there was your heart slipping into a knot as you said it. Joke-filled lines you exchanged with the girls were difficult not to stay upon when your hormonal brain kept each one dirty.

The two girls looked at each other for a moment. Then, they smiled. That was a rare one from Nancy. Somi, however, boasted her shining simper as she took a few steps forward to pat you on the shoulder.

"You're alright, newbie," was all she said. "You're alright."

-

A few months—

(Well, you could say it took fewer than that. Within a timespan of what seemed like seconds, Somi had you wrapped around the long hem of her ballroom gown. But she didn’t drag you around for long; she treated you like a fellow royal, helping you out with math though she had little time and greeting you in the hallways and therefore drawing looks, because why was the Jeon Somi talking to some random new kid? But attention was what came with being Somi and slash or being part of her life. It’s time you got used to it.)

—and a lot of bickering later—

(“You are the biggest dumbass I’ve ever met,” said Somi, fingers massaging her temple. “Who in goddess’ name doesn’t know dodos are extinct?”

You flipped the teacher’s copy shut. “Normal people,” was your answer to her, as you brooded over social studies homework at the library. 

“Shhhh!” the librarian, with her stereotypical glasses and graying hair, hissed at you from her desk. After a hateful glare, she was returning to her telenovela, which you argued was louder than your hushed conversation with your new friend.

Friend? What could you call this thing you had with Somi? She liked you, but that didn’t mean she was your friend or you were hers. You could like a modern abstract painting at the gallery and still not buy it. Maybe that was how she looked at you.

“The dodo is dead-o,” Somi said seriously. She looked at you with an equally resolute glare. 

“The dodo is dead-o,” you repeated. You could remember that.

“You’re so lying, did they never teach you that at your old school? Like at all?”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t spend time thinking if a stupid bird is alive or not.”

“See?” She raised her voice so that the poor juniors in the cluster behind you had to hear. “This, my friends, is what’s wrong in our society! Eighteen-year-olds in this prominent day and age are all like ‘I dunno what a dodo is!’!”

“For fuck’s sake, they’re all dead!” you yelled before the librarian could scold you again. “They won’t fucking care!”)

—things began to change.

-

She did say you were alright. You still had discourse over birds but in her eyes, you convinced yourself eventually you were alright. 

-

It wasn’t the case for Nancy. That smile she made back in that classroom apparently meant nothing. You were amusing to her, but that’s everything to it. Nothing more, nothing less. You were entertaining in a way a clown at a children’s party was: no one particularly cared about it days after.

“He’s tagging along?” she said. She looked you up and down suspiciously, as a guard would at an airport, then turned to Somi. “Somi, I thought we agreed on no boys on trips.”

And it—

… hurt you?

Not only that made you feel out of place, but the visible fact that both girls were dressed like they were about to go to a gala. They were both in skirts, wearing layers that vested upon expensive blouses and coats that even from miles away would look good. You, of course, were excluded in your simple tee and shorts. It was as if you didn’t even try to look presentable.

“Consider me one of the girls,” you said. You hoped that quick reply was witty enough, because if not, you were doomed. You already had a bad enough poor position to deal with. See? You weren’t lying when you said you didn’t want it.

And it wasn’t like going to the mall with them was something you wanted either. Somi texted you one day, having found your number through means that were probably illegal but were given a blind eye because oh look she’s Jeon Somi, and asked, hey, wanna come to the mall w me? 

Looking back, that message had a lot of undertones. 

You didn’t know Nancy was coming along, but you should have known that when the two girls were always together. Hoping that she would come along was what you did, and perhaps one of the reasons why you wanted to go (wait, you wanted to go? But didn’t you— never mind). Now that she had expressed clear distaste for your presence, you felt like an outcast again.

You didn’t want to go back to those days.

Somi nodded enthusiastically. Well, at least someone was happy to have you around. She was the first one to warm up to you, and you could say that you were friends with her now. Something told you she was okay with that. “Yeah, Nance! I promise he’s gonna be good, like super duper good. Just think that he’s Mina.”

“Don’t call me that. Oh, and remember what we did to Mina?” 

Everybody knew Kang Mina although she graduated a long time ago. She was a loner at first, but pretty. She didn’t know that she was beautiful, of course, not until she became friends with Somi and Nancy and suddenly—

“Oh no,” you said. You put up your hands. “No, no, no, no, no. You are not—”

“Giving you a makeover?” Nancy smirked, that being the first time of the day that she gave signs of a living smile. “Yeah, we are.”

The salon was right up ahead after the pavilion. You took a single look at it and saw its pink, glamoring state along with the hairdos it advertised, and knew that you were wholly, indefinitely, and irreparably fucked.

“God, what’re you gonna do to me?” you groaned as you were shoved into a disgustingly pink seat, accompanied by strange looks from strangers whose strangeness in their colored hairs and phrases shouldn’t give them any right to look at you like that. Masculinity this, masculinity that—but come on. It was… what year was it again?

“Hey, Jessa!” Somi called out loudly. Jessa was a plump, sweet woman with bayonetta glasses that made her slits for eyes look even smaller. “Make him look like everything.”

“Yeah!” Nancy actually looked enthusiastic. You tried not to curl up into a snail-like position when she brushed her fingers through your hair. “Like a dreamboat, that kind.”

Jessa smiled. “You two are always in some sort of BS, aren’t you?” Fondness graced her elderly tone. It was clear the two girls were frequent visitors.

She swiftly curled the chair into the vanity table’s direction. Your reflection in the star-studded mirror made you wince. You had cysts in all the inconvenient places, a bread crumb at the side of your mouth from the breakfast you had at that niche cafe, everything. Even Jessa looked like royalty compared to you. What more next to Somi and Nancy, whose skirted long legs towered over you and reminded you that they always held the better deck, the better position? 

“Call us the Bullshitter Bitches, then!” Somi began to tap dance on her heels. It was her hidden talent. Well, it wasn’t really hard to tap dance when she had those long legs. “‘We’re the Bullshitter Bitches / We shit on snitch—”

“Somi, that’s disgusting,” Nancy snapped sourly. She clicked a haircut apron around your neck. Great. Now you looked like a goddamned infant who’s growing up with a princess complex.

“Sorry.”

“Just so you know,” you said, as Jessa snipped away at your head, “I’m not paying for this. I don’t need a makeover.”

“‘Course you aren’t. It’s all on the house.”

Brushes swished on your face, hiding the beginning foundations of new hormonal pimples and blackheads. They hid away your imperfections with just one slide. You never saw them as such, not until you got into senior high and therefore compared yourself to the bigger guys, the cooler guys. The ones whose sweat wrung from their hair but still looked attractive enough to get the girls. Maybe this was what you needed. You were gonna have to think twice about the whole operation.

“Makeup?” you asked warily. Not that you were against it. but you never really tried it on before.

Somi’s hand made an L-shaped gesture and branded itself in front of her forehead. “Boo, come on, it’s the big year of”—redacted, with an exclamation at the end. Nobody needed to know when this happened. The time will come when everything will reveal itself. She painted powder that almost matched the shade of your skin and hued it on your cheeks and neck. “Who said guys can’t wear makeup?”

“Makeup is for everybody,” chirped Jessa in agreement. “And that’s right, sweetie, you don’t need a makeover. Just a touch up. And everyone gets them, even handsome guys like you.”

Nobody had ever called you handsome. The last time it ever happened was when your mother buttoned your polo for preschool. It’s flattery, you knew, but your chest still felt as if it were knotted.

“Ain’t that right,” Nancy stooped to your level and brushed your nose with the tip of her finger—her soft smile was gripping, “new boy.”

Another one, and a roundness at the edge(?) of your throat you couldn’t swallow. Your Adam’s apple bobbed yet it was useless at downing it. 

You had to look away. Did she just agree that you were good-looking? You knew Somi thought that, too, but this was Nancy. Nancy McDonie, the girl who didn’t care for you much and didn’t want you here.

She still didn’t like you. But maybe that would change.

(Spoiler alert: it did. That’s how the story went.)

You wondered how rich they actually were to pay Jessa to be so committed to making you look your best. Your hair was purple for a few minutes (“Fuck no!” you shouted) and was easily returned to the black with a quick dye. Then she gelled it in so many directions that you’d think your blunt mane was a car being controlled by an overexcited student driver. That was already thousands of won by itself. But it went on without stopping, and Somi and Nancy still weren’t satisfied.

“I’m telling you, Somi,” said the brunette girl, twirling your chair to the mirror again, “he looks good with that slicked back do!”

“Be serious with me.” Somi blew-dried your hair and ran her hand along your whiffed locks. “Grody as hell. Doesn’t he look like 90s’ Brendan Fraser?”

“He does,” Jessa said. She returned with tools that looked so unfamiliar to you that they might as well be surgeon’s supplies. Fuck, were they gonna take out your liver after all that trouble?

“Ha! See?”

“He has some nice eyebrows. Just needs a little trimming and he’s good to go.”

“Thank god,” you said. They all looked at you as if surprised to remember you weren’t a doll to practice hairstyling on. Your scalp already ached royally. “I need to get out of here.”

Nancy shook her head. “Nuh-uh. You’re not going anywhere, new boy. You’re ours for today.”

You gulped. God, okay. You were good with that. 

A light edged metal ran along the ends of your brows. You were afraid they were going to make you look like Megan Fox in Jennifer’s Body, but it actually turned out alright. 

After all the ruckus, you were there, staring at your reflection.You could pass for a guy richer than you actually were, cooler than you actually were. Your eyebrows were cleanly trimmed, in a steady and one-way direction, and your hair was cut yet splayed in a way that made you actually look flattering. Then you had your cheeks to look at, which were clear of any of your open pores and pimples. You looked like what they told you would: everything.

“I… I’m one of the girls now,” you said out of the blue. It was like a moment of truth for you.

“Yes you are,” Somi said proudly. “Now can we go get some ice cream?”

Nancy glanced at the clothing shop a few blocks down the tiled path and shook her head. Nope. Not a chance in any galaxy.

-

It was also later on, when you saw yourself in clothes from brands you never dreamed of buying, you knew that this thing you had with the presidents would go on forever, an eternity that would last long after—

-

Senior year, your golden age.

"Hey, hotshot," a clear voice says into your ear. She's on the phone with you yet her voice is loud enough for it to be easily assumed that she's physically present. "Up to see me after class?"

That's Somi, by the way. Yep, the leader of the student body who sanctioned you years ago. She's a real life Korean-Canadian doll. She'd be the stereotypical one, the face and brand—she's tall and slender, owning the hallways like she was the first step to ever be made in them. Blonde, too. You've met her years before and not once have you seen her natural color replace her dyed yellow.

The thing about her is that she's always just that shameless and energetic. She has one default personality and that is extroverted. 

She's also naturally flirtatious, and you know it doesn't mean anything else when she calls you derogatory names in sweet tones but you remain attached to her. We’ll just keep it at that.

"Aren't we meeting in social studies?" you chuckle. This girl can't get enough of being around people. Around you, to be more specific. But that's what friends do.

"Not enough, obvi.” 

“Right.”

“Is Nancy coming, too?"

"I think so."

"Darn it. I was hoping to…." 

You raise your brows in suspicion. "What?"

"Nothing. I said we're meeting up."

Let out a soft chuckle. "I didn't say yes," you inform her, just in case she forgot.

"And I didn't say that what you think about it matters, butthead. You know you want to see me. Tata!"

And it ends off with that. Click. 

Your smile is wide. That's Somi for you: a brat at heart, always getting what she wants one way or another, with a vocabulary that matches that of a spoiled heiress. Maybe she is one? You don't know but the branded clothes she often wears to school are getting a little suspicious. Among other things.

The locker space is packed with students, both juniors and seniors, male and female. They see you and start whispering among themselves. Some even make way. That wouldn't have been possible in your first year, but then Somi and Nancy happened. They made you the way you were. They made you a centerpiece. Do you like it? Admittedly, it strokes your ego well on some days.

Where's your locker key again? There it is. Click it into the padlock and swing the door open. Notes and trinkets from your two best friends are stuck to its walls. They said it was "for motivation." You let them believe that because it's true. Seeing Somi's wild happy calligraphy on the sticky note “Yep :) totally got it - Jeon <3”, compared to Nancy's more contained handwriting “Let’s get going!!!” always brightens your day.

Collect your social studies book as well as the mathematics one for the next period. Shut it, and a figure suddenly appears next to you.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Nancy!"

Oh yeah, that's how the scene opens to introduce the present Nancy McDonie. She's the brunette and calmer duplicate of Somi, but with an equally amazing body—

You won't go there. 

She has one arm pinned to the neighboring locker door and a small smile. "Language, handsome," she chides, patting your shoulder. "It's just me."

Oh, and the less sarcastic counterpart as well. Nancy calls you sweet pet names and means them. 

She’s grown fonder of you over the years. Nancy hates hard, but when she loves, she loves just as much. You’ve become so much better as a person and a newfound friend that she’s got no other choice but to keep you under her wing. 

So, it could be argued that she loves you.

Never the same way you do, like you started to right from the very beginning, when unfamiliarity stepped between you and kept your hearts away from each other.

"Hey there," you say, clutching your chest. It’s just Nancy, your other half. You've been friends with her a little after your makeover. Quite a long time, if you do say so yourself; it seems to have happened so long ago. Long enough to have you become one of the girls.

It's not derogatory, like other boys would think. Being friends with the girls is more fun than hanging out with the vulgar rebels from your old school. For what it's worth, being one of Somi's and Nancy's is a huge compliment. Not everybody could say they were friends with the popular kids.

Gulp. It’s so hard to act normal in front of her when she’s naturally charming, and her uniform’s made to hug every bit of her curves, including her exceptional ass. You’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re strongly and sexually attracted to her a long time ago, but it still proves to be a challenge not to stare. 

Besides, she trusts you. You’re her best friend. If you make a move on her, everybody would know and ruin your life for it, even if you’re fairly popular yourself. You’d be surprised by how quick people turn against others.

You’re not going to lie: she’s gorgeous, and the last thing that would be able to scare you is her beautiful face, but she can’t just show up like that out of the blue. That little pet name gets your gears going though. Your spirits are already afloat.

"Hey." She pats you on the head and peeks at the schedule taped to your locker. "Oh, you got social studies, too?"

"Y-you got that right."

"With Somi?"

"Yeah, sure. So?" 

Nancy, sweet as a lollipop, shakes her head cheerfully. "Nothing," she says. "I guess I'll see you there."

"See ya there." 

Offer her a two-finger salute and walk as quickly as you could although you're leaving with her. It's strange how she has your heart all bunched up when she shows up. She's pretty, yeah, but there's a certain aura about her calm demeanor that captures your stomach and keeps it tight. You hope no one gets you wrong—you like Somi, too, but Nancy has you wrapped around her little finger. She could tell you to jump off a cliff and you’d rush to buy out parachute stores.

And you’re staring at her as you switch classrooms. Your eyes are locked to her smile, her every move, her charm. Nancy was the last person you thought you’d ever be in love with—after all, she was the one who gave you sanction after sanction whenever you showed up at her classroom. Somi’s the one who went gentle with you, right?

But things happen. Plus, in a way, she’s changed you for the better. 

Your style wasn’t the only thing they made over. They helped you with your studies, your personal problems, and everything they could. Your grades went up, much to the surprise of your teachers, and you stopped your troublemaking. That was also to the surprise of your educators, but also relief. You couldn’t be more grateful. It was comforting to find new friends in a place so new. And from the girls you least expected, too.

Nancy looks at you twice, then laughs. “Why are you looking at me like you’re in love with me or something?” she says, slapping the back of your head.

Well, what do you know? She’s not far off. You could say that you’re in love.

Just the tiniest, most speckling bit in love.

“Maybe I am.”

“Stud,” Nancy says under her breath. 

She wouldn’t have dared say that in a nicer tone years ago.

The roll of her gorgeous eyes has you thinking of a scenario where it’s caused by something other than your flirtatious remarks. It would start with a flirtatious remark, then evolve into something more. Something beyond that.

Abstain from that thought. Instead, you gasp as if you belonged to the theater club with Jiwoo. “Did you just call me a slut?” you ask her. Raise your voice higher. You really hang out with Somi too much. “Everyone! Nancy McDonie just slutshamed me! I repeat, president Nancy McDonie just slut—”

A rough shove to your shoulder that neither you or Nancy expected blocks your words before they create controversy. Blonde fills your eyes as its Rapunzel owner says, “Get out of my way, creep.”

It’s such a low snarl that it alarms you. What made you a creep? Do you have to fight?

When you look up, you see that it’s no other girl than Somi. Despite what she said, she wears a cheeky, large smile. Return the grin and make it as Somi-like as possible; right, how could you forget the thing you and she have going on? 

“Maybe you should watch where you’re going,” you say, crossing your arms in faux annoyance. Yeah, you really should have tried out for that play. You could make it big as an actor.

“Oh yeah?” Somi looks you up and down. Is that bite on her lip also part of the act? “Why should I? I don’t even know your name.”

“I don’t know yours either. Is it ‘bottle blonde’?”

“Shut the fuck up. 2008 called and said they wanted their My Chemical Romance hairdo back.”

Nancy covers her face embarrassedly. She’s too proud to join the joke you and Somi have, so she’s left having to deal with the unnecessary attention your fake fights warrant. It happens almost twice every other day and people still look on to find out what’s happening. It’s what amuses you and her blonde counterpart. She and Somi are alike in many ways, all except the latter’s thirst for childish fun.

“Madams. Sir,” the teacher says. She’s miss Kim Sejeong, your social studies teacher whom you swear has been here before you were even born. The university students and graduates who’ve found their tune visit often and talk about her fondly, yet despite their ages ranging, she looks like she isn’t more than twenty-three years old. Her gaze is stern yet amused. “Do you plan on getting in? The air-conditioner’s expensive.”

While Nancy blushes in humiliation, the class erupts into giggles, and you and Somi can’t help but do the same. Each repetition of your rivalry routine is funnier than the previous one. It might be corny, especially to the other students who despise you for no reason, but it keeps your friendship solid. And what’s a better friendship than one with a few inside jokes? A strange routine?

It’s an unspoken and universal law in every classroom that even if there isn’t any official seating arrangement as to who’s sitting next to who, you still choose the ones you first sat at the beginning of the year. You’re a proud follower of that rule, and that’s why you’ve been sitting here in the front of the class with Somi and Nancy for ages. You have a secret stenciled artwork under this specific chair with an equation of your trio’s initials. It would mark long after you’ve graduated and went to pass on that you three were once best friends, and nothing could change that.

Somi leans against your arm before turning her head to glare at you. “‘Bottle Blonde,’ huh?” she says spitefully.

“Not as bad as ‘My Chemical Romance,’” you reply. That one stung a little. Does your hair really need a cut?

“Fuck you. I don’t fucking care what you say, I’ll be a blondie as much as I want.”

“And I suppose I’m emo now.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Her brows curl together at the sight of Nancy looking sour in the seat to your left. “You aight, Nancy?”

The girl nods. There’s red coloring her cheeks and ears. Kind of cute, actually. “Still alive,” she says, “after the shit you pulled there. Surprisingly.”

You and Somi bump fists. This is how it is with her. Opposed to you and Nancy acting like best friends just two steps away from being a couple, you’re more of a teasing older friend to her. You act like brother and sister, though your bond is much deeper than that. There’s something lingering in the air between you, and Somi seems to have caught it. What could it be?

You don’t have to think about that for now, not when your arms are around your two best friends in the world and now keenly listening to Kim Sejeong. That wouldn’t have been possible in your first year of high school, when things were completely different.

But, like you said, things happen. Things change. It’s just how they work, and it’s about time you get used to it being like that. You wouldn’t have had it any other way with your two friends, though. 

Sejeong waits for the three of you to get settled, then smiles welcomingly. “Now that we all have ourselves safely in our seats,” a stress there as she looks at you pointedly, “I suppose we should get on with your missed activities.”

Wince. You’re crossing your fingers, praying and begging that one particular girl doesn’t—

“What about the declamation?” Nancy asks innocently. “I thought it was due a month ago.”

A collective groan. You’ve gathered the class before to develop a plan to stall the feared exercise. Popularity, you believe, ought to be used correctly and for the common good. Keeping that declamation away is for the benefit of all. Not only is it an individual performance, but it makes up forty percent of your grade. It takes a hell of an effort to do it instantly.

No effort, so it seems, to Nancy McDonie. She’s the gooder girl of the duo, the perfect angel in all the right ways. She’s still right for this one—a lot of you just don’t like that truth.

“I thought we all agreed—”

“Somi!” you cut in, but she goes on shamelessly.

Somi stands up and looks at the class with genuine disappointment in her eyes. “—not to remind miss Kim about it. My god, you guys are, like, absolutely two-faced.”

It doesn’t take a while for the realization to set in with your teacher. Her stare is, as always, something that cuts straight to the soul. It sheds your dignity and leaves you bare for the eagle to eat of you. To be clear, there’s a reason why she was one of the teachers you never dared mess with. She was quiet but stern—a deadly combination.

"Oh. You kids are too smart for me, huh?" Sejeong laughs sarcastically. Her smile strips you of any attempt to wash her scolding off with a laugh. Can’t resort to that. Again, Kim Sejeong isn’t one to mess with. “That was more disappointing than anything the other classes have done. Do you think that just because you’re popular you can suddenly hold it against me?”

She uses the same lines you’ve heard back in your troublemaker days. Each word untaps a memory. 

You all stay silent. Somi doesn’t for long, when she’s called up to go first with the declamation since “you thought of the plan, miss Jeon,” according to Sejeong.

“But, but, but it wasn’t even—” the girl protests. Her pupils are wide with rage. She’s so used to saying anything and getting away with it. She can’t believe it won’t work out like that for her today.

“Now.”

She groans dramatically, and rises with slumped shoulders so odd to be seen on such a duchess-like, pampered girl like her. After all, she’s the stereotypical rich, blonde teen with impeccable fashion and manners that range from the sweetest to the meanest. Right now, she’s veering in the middle of the scale as she gets to the front center.

You mouth her a deserved, and she says I’m sooo gonna punch you in the balls later.

“Now, miss Jeon,” says Sejeong, arms furled in front of her chest. Yep, she isn’t backing down. “What is your solution to poverty here in this country?”

Nancy raises her hand. “May I go first instead?” she offers in hopes to save her friend. 

“You may not. Miss Jeon, please be brief. Start.”

Somi pouts, but faces the class with steady eyes. She’s ready for this. Mostly. Wringing out a pink bubble gum from her pink lips with pink-polished nails, she begins.

“So, you know how there are a lot of poor people. A lot. I know because I see a whole bunch outside the clubhouse and middle classers are always like, ‘Oh nooo, don’t give money to them, they’re gonna use it for drugs!’. And I’m just there going, ‘Gag me with a friggin’ spoon, Becky. Where the hell can you find drugs for a dime? Where?’.” She pauses for dramatic effect, then nods smugly. “Yep, that’s what I thought.”

Nancy brings her palm to her face. You’re giggling in your seat, muffling it with a few fingers. Sejeong’s eyes are wide and appalled.

“Okay,” the confident Somi continues, “for example, there’re a lot of poor people somewhere. Let’s say fifty. Oh, maybe ninety! That's super many, right?”

You and your classmates look at each other. You’re not certain where she’s going with this.

“You can’t have too many people at the same place, like that time I had all of my geometrics class for my nineteenth and it was a total flop. You have to keep them fed, y’know. So I had to walk my pretty self to the bakers which is like ten minutes away then ask them for more chocolate cake. My daddy was super mad at me for maxing out his credit card, but by the end of the day, we had more cake! More cake equals less hunger equals more dessert equals less poor people.”

The jocks at the back nod in agreement, cheering her on. She acknowledges their reassurances with a flirty wave.

"So, if the government just maxed out their credit cards and let poor people eat cake,” she says, with real conviction for someone who’s dragging her chewed gum out of her mouth coyly, “I believe with all my heart that there will be no poverty in America. Who’s with me?”

The modern Marie Antoinette. You raise your hand proudly. Try to get Nancy to raise hers as well but she’s red in the face again. 

“And to conclude,” Somi adds finally, “it should be everyone’s knowledge that there's no law in this beautiful country that says ‘Republic Act Anti-Poor People and Rich People Eating Cake Together Bunch of Numbers.’ I offer dessert for all to help eradicate poor people– I mean, poverty, led by our government and me, Jeon Somi. That will be all, thank you.”

The whole class gets up on their feet and applauds her. Like the princess she is, your blonde friend waves and bows, even blowing kisses. Meanwhile, Sejeong contemplates retirement and realizes she’s actually considering it, salary and all.

-

"You killed it, Somi. You fucking killed it." 

That's what you say to your friend after leaving the classroom with her and Nancy. You mean it—you've never had a belly laugh that rocked your body that hard before. She deserved an A instead of that disappointing C-.

Sejeong’s sitting at her desk with her head in her hands. Somi’s speech was impactful, it seems. So impactful that it has her fingers jotting down a lengthy text message to… the principal? What’s that for? The speech was great!

Your classmates have filed out to go to computer shops or study. They tell Somi she did great with her declamation, which you’re pretty sure is intended to humiliate her, but Jeon Somi only ever thinks of anything said to her as a compliment. That’s why she blows them kisses and flirtatiously cocks her brows. Yep, that’s her. Nancy’s a different story—always quiet and reserved, but daring enough to hold Somi back before she causes more chaos. But the lid of Pandora’s box has already been lifted.

You three are already far behind your classmates when they go out, but you don’t mind. You like it when it’s just you. No computer shop or mall could compare to being in the hallways with your best friends, trading jokes and stories.

"Killed what? Poverty?" Nancy asks, still in a dilemma over the drama in the social studies classroom. "Somi, you really have to start minding your words."

Somi blows a satiric raspberry. She raises her hands in dismissal as she walks faster then turns around anyway to face her. "Blah blah, who cares? It was an awesome declamation."

Chuckle. "I feel like that's up for debate," you say. "Did you see miss Kim's face?"

It was a look of judgment and disappointment. While everyone cheered and whistled for the other half of the McDonie-Jeon duo, your teacher had a look on her face that could be likened to the one you make after smelling something bad. Laughs were passed around the classroom but her eyebrows and squinted eyes etched an expression of real concern. 

"What if someone recorded that?" Nancy says. She has a hand on her shoulder to try and make her see the darker but truthful side. "You could ruin your chances of getting to a good college forever."

In these four walls of the corridor, your heart twists. Right—you only have a few months until you’re done with senior year. That means having to choose a course and college to go to. You didn’t think time would pass by that fast. By then, would you still be friends with Somi and Nancy?

You hope so. You look at their pretty faces and their hands in yours and wish high school would just last forever. You’d choose them over your standing, your popularity, everything. Sure, being friends with them brings inescapable attention, but you’d be fine without it if it means you could still be with them.

You sit down at the bottom step of the staircase. They follow, too. Open your textbook to skim through it, hoping that your stock knowledge for science would suffice.

“Ugh, college schmollege,” Somi says, crossing her legs and throwing her head back. When her pretty face comes back to view it’s mocking your other friend already. "Have you seen student debt? College just makes people poor. How’ll that help with poverty?”

You wonder how Jeon Somi could sound so knowledgeable yet so insensitive at the same time. It’s a feat that couldn’t be done by others. It’s like it’s her trademark: to be the wealthy girl who always says the wrong and right things that therefore blends into one, confusing mixture. Should you be offended? Happy? Anything?

Nancy leans on your shoulder with a sigh that blows the runaway strands on her face back with their kind. Sometimes Somi could be too much for her. It’s like she trades places with you and realizes how a beautiful girl could be a handful. That’s why you two are particularly close: you understand each other. You’re close with Somi, too, but you just have a deeper bond with the calmer girl. You still don’t know how it happened when she hated you at the start for filling her schedule because of your troubles. Some things just change as time goes on. 

“You just can’t be fixed, Somi,” you tell her. “You’re always going to be insane.”

You know you’re right. She knows it, too. It would take years and years of maturity for Somi to grow out of her flirtatious personality. She’d be the girl in college whose laughable questions somehow also awaken strange inquiries of your own. She’s a little weird, to be honest, but she’s pretty and confident. Smart, too—she just has her own way of showing it.

“I’m a simple gal, what can I say?” She stops before she could go on, as if she’s just caught a memory in the slip of her hands. “Oh, and I forgot to do something.”

“And that is?”

Somi lifts a fist and heavily plows it into your crotch. You yowl in pain as opposed to her grin that could reach the ends of the earth. Where did she learn that? That hurt like hell!

Nancy’s jaw drops to the floor. “Somi!” she says, genuinely shocked.

“What the fuck was that for!” you screech in the midst of your laughs, clutching your core and glaring at the convict of the crime which is assaulting your balls.

The fact that the criminal’s too pretty is an unfair advantage. “I did say I was gonna punch your balls earlier.”

“You owe me one, Jeon Somi!” 

“Hey, I wouldn’t have had to do it if McDonie here wasn’t a grody teacher’s pet.”

Nancy blushes. She's forgotten she's involved in the mess, too. “I’m sorry,” she says in a small voice. 

“I bet you are.” Somi shoves her shoulder playfully. “Cause and effect, Nance. C’mon, if you didn’t want to be a good girl so bad, I wouldn’t have declaimed or anything. Not that it wasn’t amazing.”

What a ridiculous conversation to have. You place your arms around both girls and pull them close. “Alright,” you declare, still wincing, “fuck, you’re both at fault. Nancy made a butterfly effect that ended up getting my balls aching. I’m the poor girls’ guy that got pulled into everything. What’re you gonna do about it?”

Somi floats her fingers on her cheek, thinking a little. It’s like a bulb lit above her head when her eyes suddenly brighten. You hope that it’s a good idea this time because when she makes that look, it isn’t for any good at all. 

“Nancy and I will discuss this, if you don’t mind,” she says, rising to her feet and tugging Nancy up, too.

“Me?” 

“Yep!”

She pauses. “Jeon Somi,” the latter sighs halfheartedly, “what are you planning now?”

Yeah, what is she planning? You have no idea and honestly, it scares you. Somi can be unpredictable with her quick wit and schemes, but with Nancy’s added ideas? Whatever she’s dreaming up, it can’t be anything you’d expect.

“The perfect apology. Meet us at my house after school. See you later, cutie.”

-

Your classes are filled with sprites of anxiety that are unusual when compared to your daily jokes and butt-ins. Your head’s filled with plenty of questions, and you try to answer them as you go about the rest of the school day:

First of all, why did the apology have to take place at Somi’s house?

Maybe they’ll buy a cake for you from the bakery she cited in her speech. She has plenty of money to go around so a cake might actually be possible. If it weren’t a cake, maybe an apology combined with balloons and confetti that you’d laugh about years from now. All these possibilities you sift through and yet they don’t seem to be what’s in store for you.

Second, why did the planning that had to occur without you?

They might be planning a big surprise. Perhaps that’s it. But then—

Why such a big surprise for an apology that could’ve been done simply?

That’s where your mind goes blank. You don’t know. You have no idea, not even the tiniest bit. You’ve been friends with Nancy and Somi for years but they still have that mystery around them. You know everything about them, from their interests to what makes the three of you click, but never what they plan to do. That always remains shrouded.

So, when Nancy texts your group chat the plan’s done!!! ♥ ️ be ready & meet us where youre supposed to :), you move like a snail. You take your time playing and talking to other students, buying food from the cafeteria, everything. When you get on the bus to commute from your school to Somi’s home, you’re wrecked by hesitation. All this anxiety and nervousness for a damned apology. 

Maybe it’s because you’ve never had friends like them before, especially that pretty. 

You would never intend to act on your feelings for them if they don’t want you to, even if you’re hormonal as fuck, but what if that’s what they’re planning? To have an intimate night with them, just like in the movies? 

Or, hopefully, finally let you have something deeper: a love that fits three?

Nope, two wishes that’ll never come true, whatever star you make them upon.

Drag your heavy feet down the road. Sounds like Somi’s rich-ass neighbors are partying again. Take your precious time leering at them, noticing the manner they hold their wine glasses and the music only being stolen off Spotify’s Most Popular Songs playlist. It’s all a headache, honestly. You’ve never connected well with rich people, not until you met the girls. That’s where it all starts and ends, right? Them: Somi and Nancy, the yin and yang?

“You’re here!” shouts Somi gleefully, throwing her arms around you. She’s dressed in this tiny shirt that looks cute and simple but you’re sure costs more than a few thousand won. It also shouldn’t be worth that much when it’s too little for her anyway. “Why did you take so long?”

Nancy goes in for the kill. She comes in with only a camisole and the undershorts of her uniform plaid skirt, and it hugs right where it maims and shoots you. No, keep your mind holy. She’s your best friend. Also your crush but that doesn't matter here. “Bet he was scared to come.”

“Was not,” you reply too quickly. Tighten your jaw. “I—I got held up by traffic.”

“It’s a Wednesday.”

“Yes, but—” Pause. You realize you don’t have a proper justification. “Just get to it, will you? The apology?”

“‘Kay ‘kay,” says Somi, wrapping an arm around your waist, literally keeping you at arm’s length just in case you try to scamper away, “the apology is a girls and boy’s night. Here. Just to get away from everything. We all need it.”

“Who’s ordering the soju?”

“Soju?” Nancy asks indignantly, eyes all round and wide like she was a deer caught in headlights. You and Somi are like that to her: flashing lights, crashing into an unsuspecting her with a brightness a notch too much. No apologies when you don’t plan to change. This is what makes you young.

“What’re you, a nun? We’re adults, Nance!” Somi says. Her thumbs tap away at her phone screen, the familiar pink lights flashing back at her indicating she’s already ordering. “It’s on me.”

Of course. Who other than Jeon Somi? Of course, you can’t let that moment slip away without a snarky remark from your end.

“Must be nice having access to your billionaire dad’s bank account.”

Somi twirls her fingers in her hair and squints her eyes at you spitefully. “I’m using my mom’s, poophead.”

“Oh wow,” you reply, your statement blank of any emotion.

“Guys,” cuts in Nancy. Her voice is strained. She feels like a mother trying to contain two kids who just know how to push her buttons. “We can’t have soju delivery. Or beer. Or whatever alcoholic drinks there are. We can get in trouble. Think about our grades. The suspensions!”

Ah, sweet Nancy, always the one to pull you back down to sense. But when has that ever worked?

“Alright.” Somi clicks her device shut and throws it on the sofa space you’ve left empty beside her. “Fine.”

Wait—what?

Her best friend twists her head in shock. “Really?” 

Nancy simply can’t believe that this girl, whose whole trademark is being a spoiled brat, actually follows sensible orders. You're surprised yourself; you can’t believe it more than she does. Is it finally time for Somi to perform her arc of being the mature, behaved girl she simply isn’t?

“Yep. You won.” Somi rises and waltzes her way to the exit of her mansion. “I’m just gonna buy some myself from the convenience store.” 

“Somi!”

“Hey, you only said no delivery! You didn’t say I can’t buy some face-to-face!”

“Well, now I’m making it official. No—”

“See you later, alligators!” 

The door slams shut. 

Nancy groans loudly. Of course, the little brat. 

She lets herself fall to the floor in defeat. The massaging of her fingers on the sides of her head doesn’t do enough to cast away the stress. How in the world is she going to control Somi? She knows the two of you are practically twins, the same in every way when planning schemes to make her freak out. She has to play babysitter again. How many nights has it been since the start of her unpaid duty?

On your end, you're thinking. You’ve been friends with her for longer than you think yet you don’t know how to say the right thing in situations like these. Maybe with Somi it would have been easier to say the comforting words. After all, she’s the most extroverted and blunt person you know. But with Nancy, it’s different. Nancy McDonie is never blue. At least, not to the point where she’s on the floor and moping.

It’s always different between the two of them and you still remain unable to pick who you love more.

It takes a while to get the words out, but better late than never. God, you’re such a bad friend. Do you even deserve her? “It’s fine, Nancy,” you say, sitting down beside her. You rub her knee. “Like she said, we’re adults.”

“I know, but…” Her voice trails off, and she lets out another groan that twists as it reaches your eardrums. “It’s just so scary.”

“Tell me.”

“What if someone posted photos of us drinking? You know the school handbook, right? All that talk about maintaining a good and clean self inside and outside the school. If someone finds out—”

"Yeah? Well, nobody will."

"Yeah, but there's always the possibility…"

You sometimes pray that Nancy's allowed a day without worry, that she doesn't stress over things for once. She's precious—you don't want her to feel bad about anything. This strange protectiveness always takes you when you're with her. 

“Hey.” You massage her shoulder. She whines, and it’s so cute hearing her unusual sulking that you just want to wrap a blanket around her and kiss her on the forehead. Again, urges. Simply urges. Don’t mind those. “There’s only three of us here. As long as we don’t post pics online or boast about it, we’re safe. So don’t worry about it.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Not when you’re with a dreamboat like me.”

You just humiliated yourself with that. Hell, you probably gave everyone who knows and will know this story of yours secondhand embarrassment. It’s worth it all, however, when Nancy smiles. And oh, could you get lost in it. Her eyes curl up at the corners and emit all this gorgeous, positive brightness that you think everyone should get a chance to see. She’s so serious and reserved in school that a smile from her is closer to impossible than thunder coming before lightning.

“God, you’re such a gigantic ass sometimes,” she mutters, bumping your shoulder with hers.

“Did you just say I had a huge ass?”

“Keep your mouth shut.” She pushes you, joining you in your laughs, then opens her arms invitingly anyway. “Oh, forget it. Come here, you.”

You can’t even pretend to not want a hug when it’s all you’ve ever fantasized about: being in the warm, filled embrace of Nancy McDonie. You’ve fantasized about things that extend deeper than that, but you could settle for this. There’s Nancy burying her head in your neck and her hold being a little too tight for it to be a casual touch between friends. You’re delusional, but who wouldn’t be when you had a best friend this pretty? This… curvaceous?

God, you don’t know how to say that you like this girl without sounding like another one of the weirdos who stalk her at school. Are you just like them? No, you can’t be. You’ve liked Nancy and known her more than they could. It’s what you tell yourself to keep your sanity. 

“You know,” she says, still rocking the two of you side to side, “they did say not to trust first impressions. ‘You better take advice. Never trust first impressions.’”

“Didn’t Michael Jordan say that?” 

“Did he?” She looks up curiously. 

“Never mind,” you say, waving it off. You pull away. Lean against the curve of Somi’s sofa so that your ass doesn’t slide like a mop on her floor. "What’s with first impressions? What was your first impression of me?”

“You really want to know?”

“Why not?”

“Well, for the first reason…” Nancy hugs her knees and looks at you pointedly. “Not a lot of people would love to know that they were a real fucking pain in the ass.”

You burst out laughing. There’s chances as slim as a ballerina that Nancy curses, but when she does, she sounds hilarious. She doesn’t even say them a certain way; it’s just the instance by itself of her daring to use words deemed as bad that gets your tears of laughter flowing. 

To add to that, there’s that matter-of-fact statement she made that’s as honest as Somi’s everyday talk that makes you think they switched souls for a second. You laugh harder with that in mind. The next thing you know, you’re curled up on the floor busting out cackles that reach pitches you can’t even shout in.

“Seriously!” she says. She’s laughing as well as she shakes her head in disbelief. “I was always trying to keep the seniors in place, you know, being president and everything. And then I found out this new kid just spammed middle finger emojis to sir Fernandez in the Zoom chat after he made him answer a question. And I was like, ‘Hooo boy.’”

“Well, he shouldn’t have called on me while I was playing a game!”

“You’re so immature, he’s a teacher and you’re in class! He’s supposed to do that!” Nancy squeals, a hand on her mouth to muffle her rambunctious cackles.

“Fine, fair point.” You somehow manage to make a successful attempt to halt your laughs. “And then what happened?”

There's a lot of secret lore between you and her. You want to uncover all of them, especially knowing that Somi's gonna tease you to hell about if she heard. Her getting soju was a blessing underneath another blessing—you got alone time with your crush and some nice alcohol to ignite your system.

Nancy looks around at her friend's house. She admires every perfect painting bought for millions, every chandelier that mistletoes whoever stands beneath all its glory. They help her form her next statement.

"To be honest," she says, choosing her words carefully, "I thought you were in it to blackmail money out of Somi. To manipulate her. I love the girl, you know. She acts like she's all that, and she is, but she's… fragile. So I never let her be alone with you."

"Damn.” You admit that your heart sank a little, like a ship doomed by the ocean. “Am I really an ugly creep?" 

"No, it wasn't that. I was just afraid you were a player. Like one of the jocks who bully Somi but don't ever get to her because she's too naïve to see that they're doing it. And you're not ugly, you know. You're…"

She's looking at you strangely, in that strategic little way she locks on artwork flashed in a Powerpoint from a projector in school. She's looking at you as if you were a complex, layered painting she couldn't wrap her head around. But being unable to pick you apart thrills her; there's a smile on her face.

"I'm what?" you ask, ever the dumbass. Or poophead—you take whatever.

"Don't make me say it. You're so full of yourself already."

"Respectfully, Nancy,” you declare, “I have no idea what you're saying. How can I when I didn't even know what a dodo was before eleventh grade?"

"You're handsome, okay?" Her cheeks get into this furious red color that she tries miserably to hide with her palms, hide with a dismissive laugh. "Good-looking. Attractive. Whatever."

Chew at the end of your lip to fight back a giddy grin. Did she really say that? A star out there in the looming night just granted your wish. "Well, you gave me the makeover back at Jessa's."

"Look at you being the patron saint of humility."

"I'm serious. I looked like a loser before you came in like a storm and rained that magic in my life."

“And now you’re Shakespeare.”

“When a girl like you comes into a guy’s life,” you say, leaning forward, “who wouldn’t be?”

"Well." Nancy huddles her chin into her palm. Her voice is as soft as cotton. "With a guy like you, you could say I never looked back."

But her voice dips, and there's a hidden subliminal message in it that causes you to look up. You could read it clear off her face there, off Nancy, off her soul that's never looked more clear.

Nancy, with her chestnut brown hair, ever the princess of autumn.

Nancy, with her comforting eyes full of resoluteness, as if she's wanted this to happen.

Nancy, with her lips barely a breath away from—

“Who the freak locked the door?” shrieks a familiar voice from outside. Well, not too outside when its volume closes in on the interior vicinity of the large mansion. “This is my house! Let me in or else I’ll call the cops—”

Sigh. Fucking cockblocker brat. You rise from the floor and approach the doorway. This time, you spare no time—you don’t want to look back and identify the look in Nancy’s eyes as you walk away.

“Calm down, the neighbors could hear you,” you laugh as you let the blonde girl in. You’re a little disappointed that she interrupted what was beginning to happen, but there’s time for that later. Can’t spare her an annoyed look, though. It melts when you see the cans of beer in plastic bags.

Nancy takes a bag from her sullenly. “No drinking past twelve.”

“No promises.” Empty a can into your open mouth. Somi claps her hands happily and almost drops all the alcohol she bought.

You help the girls stock the cans and bottles into the fridge. It’s the large, two-door one that could fit an entire person. Wait, it can contain all of you three? You’ve been to Somi’s so many times and only noticed it now. 

But that’s the last thing you take note of, for here's what's new: ice cream overflows Somi’s freezer, yet a lot of them haven’t even had a crumb consumed from them. Somi says it’s because she keeps them for cheat days. 

“Is today considered a cheat day?” you wonder out loud.

“Go crazy.” Indifferent, Somi gives you a tub each. Chocolate. Vanilla. Double dutch for her. “It’s not like Walmart’s gonna disappear unless the aliens come to Earth and have the bright idea to go wacka over there. Nope, Walmart’s always gonna have some more.”

“Aren’t you the best, Somi.” Ruffle her hair fondly while you scoop a humongous chunk of ice cream into your mouth. Alcohol and ice cream are delicious together, but your stomach turns around. It strangely stays intact, as if preparing for what might happen later tonight.

“Of course I am, are you buggin' or what?” 

Somi licks the spoon of its sweetness, staring right at you. You don’t know how to react—her tongue’s gliding all over the utensil perfectly, collecting the studded white with nothing but clean performance. Her eyes don’t let up in their strong, connected gaze. Your breath gets lost somewhere in your airway.

Nancy watches amusedly. Okay, so maybe she does smile more than you think—it’s unlike any other one though. This one of hers is lined to the edges with smugness. “There’s our princess,” she remarks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The spoon catches somewhere sandwiched between Somi’s words. 

Nancy shrugs with a serene calmness. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

She walks away without another word or gesture. Suddenly tense in the bones, you and Somi close up together for reasons unknown.

“Is that just me being majorly freaky,” says Somi, eyes following her best friend with a new, imminent gaze, “or was that kinda hot?”

You don’t answer, but you think she knows. The two of you bond over shared experiences, and this one is about finding out how hot Nancy McDonie truly is. It’s not an unknown fact, but it’s the way her pupils settle over someone and linger just long enough to have them wondering; the way she commands a classroom; the way she rarely is vulnerable—it’s all that which leads to the very moment she leaned against the fridge door and watched silently, attracting the two of you even without the need for many words.

You’re droning again. Drowning, too, in her. In both of them—as you walk behind Somi, you can see that there isn’t a bra strap lining an imprint on her shirt and her ass is sticking out under her shorts. You barely could get yourself out of the waves as you wade your way to the stairs. 

At least that’s a familiar high place you could seek refuge from: the loft. It’s kind of like an attic, but you don’t really care. It’s where you hang out and watch all the movies with them from a crappy projector. You don’t care about the films due to your conversations with them eventually proving to be more interesting.

“Roof?” Somi asks. She peeks out of the triangular window pane. “The stars are pretty tonight.”

Never been there before. Not that you aren’t willing to try. “Just don’t fall off,” you warn, though you’re nervous yourself to get there. 

She slides a chair to you and then you’re climbing through a square-shaped gap at the low ceiling. You help the girls up onto the roof and become literally starstruck because—

Whoa.

Feels like a different world. The night is as vast as it is beautiful. Shining lights are embedded into the sky, the gray clouds barely visible with how they blend in with the color of the atmosphere. Each star has their own glimmer, but all of which share a common brightness—when partnered up with that large, pot-bellied moon, they become more perfect. The soft yet distinct sounds of the cicadas echo in your ears.

“Will anyone see us up here?” asks Nancy. Her vision is filled with shining galaxies, and her tone sounds dreamy. She says it in a way that isn’t out of concern for possible consequent trouble, but an appreciative one, as if she were wondering if anybody else could see how pretty it is up here.

“No one.” You shut the trapdoor and sit upon the curved edges of the roof. “It’s just us.”

“It’s just us,” she repeats this thoughtfully. You think that she’s smiling again, but you can’t be too sure.

Yes, it’s just you three. This intimate moment includes only you and the girls who turned your life around. Nobody else could get to bask in the simple happiness of hanging out all the way up here. This is for you, and no one else. Nobody could ever be friends with the girls the way you are.

You three take in the beauty of the night. All the way up here, the hills look higher than they already are. The sound of partying neighbors becomes static in the background. It becomes like foreign words in an uninteresting song—it’s nothing in comparison to the view of sloping roads, tall homes, and the trees swaying to the beat of the night wind. It can try its best to break your immersion and every attempt would be fruitless.

“Care for some double dutch?” Somi asks you. She juts out her tub of half-eaten chunks of ice cream. Appealing.

“As long as you don’t use the spoon you gave a blowjob to.”

Nancy snickers. She shoves your knee in reprimand, taking care not to put in so much force so you don’t topple down the roof and onto the main road. 

“I’ll give BJs to any spoon I want, thank you very much, but alright. Do what you want. No ice cream for you, more for me.”

“I could go for some.” Nancy parts her lips.

“Glad to see we still have someone with a brain around here.” Somi shakes her head at you disapprovingly.

You squint your eyes while she feeds Nancy some double dutch. Note dutifully that she uses the same spoon she violated. Well, that’s one thing you didn’t expect. But they’re best friends—they’ve been there for each other through thick and thin, bad and good. Sometimes simple gestures like that show that there’s something in the midst of them that beats mere friendship.

But then you see the way they look at you, and you’re briefly toying with the idea that whatever they have, they got it with you, too.

“I still remember the first time we brought you here,” Somi says, leaning in front of you so she can get to wiping some cream from Nancy’s lips. “You tried to act cool, but you were really starstruck. Like the house was Zendaya’s or something.”

“I guess so.” You freeze up when she holds your hand. “I mean, I’m not exactly the richest.”

You think of your own house—sweet little place with a tall tree and a low gate, nothing special—then compare it to hers: a mansion with six floors and rooms that could substitute for hotel clients. Nancy’s is amazing, too. But you don’t really care about that. It’s a whole other thing that bothers you about it.

Nancy shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re our friend. We’ll share it with you as much as you want.”

You’re finally able to name the thing. For months you’ve thought about it, but you never realized until this moment that it’s exactly what keeps you insecure about your friendship with them. That’s another thing they make you find out, besides style and bond.  

“Yeah, I get it. But, but I’m a loser. I was a punk who made school life hell for you. I’m broke. Stupid. I don’t get what made you want to be friends with me.”

Maybe you're like Somi, too. You act like a king in school with a red carpet draped down on the floor for you, but you fear that your crown is undeserved. Sometimes you feel like you're a peasant deluded by dreams of status and strength.

“Besides you being stupidly hot,” Somi says, albeit sincerely—there’s no sarcasm or flirtatiousness in her pitch, “you’re not in it for the cash. You’re not in it just to say you’re besties with us.”

“And trust me,” adds Nancy, “that makes you a prodigy among others.”

They're right. You aren't in it for the popularity, the fame, not even the everyday free treats and outings you get. You just… like them. Somi's bright confidence inspires you; you've never seen a girl more self-aware than her. And Nancy's someone who takes her studies seriously, an example you should follow, while still maintaining a social life. 

"What makes you so sure?" you say teasingly. They might've had some doubts along the way. 

"I dunno," Somi says with a shrug. Her eyes curve north. "We just are."

They just are. Short and simple, but it somehow explains everything.

Stars in the sky, stars in their eyes—they’re truly something else. Shouldn’t they be up there themselves? They glimmer too bright to be left here on earth, with a guy like you who can’t hold a flame to them.

But maybe you’re one yourself. Stars only ever mingle with their own kind. So there's the possibility that the three of you are stardust, simmered onto this world to shine in other places where they need it. It’s a laughable way to put it, almost cliche. But when you look at them, you realize you’re not far off.

"And I guess we know a lot more about you than we think." Nancy twirls her fingertips along your thigh. "Because we want to show we're grateful. And, y'know, sorry for the ruckus we caused back there."

"You already have. The soju, the ice cream… I'm already good."

She smiles. "You really don't get it, do you?"

Your mind can't keep up. What don't you get here? 

Somi leans forward and flashes you a smile that raises your suspicions. "You're completely clueless. Like, if it danced in front of you in a housewife apron, you would still order your dumb poophead ass some chicken wings."

"What? Why the hell would a hint be wearing an apro—"

You don't know why or how, but she's kissing you like you got the point she's been pushing across.

Now you do.

-

"Call this… a friend's sincere apology."

Somi's pushed you down on the old mattress of the loft, with a new look on her face that tells you tonight would be everything you expected and didn't.

"Two friends' sincere apology," adds Nancy. Her shorts are off? You didn't notice in the dark, but you can make out the supple shape of her hips and thighs, full and meaty in all the right ways. "Question is: would you let us do it?"

Your answer is locked and loaded in your throat. Can't pull the trigger when her ass muffles your face.

Alright, perhaps—just perhaps, you aren't saying it's real—you've devoted a few seconds of your time appreciating when the wind picks up her skirt at school. You tried not to be perverted because, of course, she's your friend. Your best friend.

A best friend doesn't push hers down a mattress with the weight of her core on his face. She doesn't let him feel her full cheeks suffocate him, or start to move like she would please a lover.

So what are you and Nancy when she's doing each of those things? 

Definitely not just friends.

"Fuck." The word leaves Nancy's mouth like a prayer. She doesn't pray often, but she religiously grinds her hips to and fro on top of you. The flat of your tongue massages her labia and tickles her prone clit. She's so wet that your lips quickly become coated. She looks back and moves her ass with stressed slides. "Your mouth is so good. So fucking good."

"Already?" Somi chuckles. She's not just your best friend either; her thighs hug one of yours and, like the girl she's always seen giggling and whispering with, she's grinding. Her movements are admittedly more fluid, but who's keeping note? "You talk real dirty for a prude."

Your pants slide off your legs as she finds the bare skin more appealing than denim. You flex and send a moan from her so carnal it might have literally clawed its way out of her throat. It's sharp. Needy. Wanton. Somi doesn’t speak like the rich princess she is when she moans for cock.

"I'm not a prude," Nancy says. Her breath is tinged to the tone with air. She's gasping as you tongue her and lick at her lips. "I just like being chaste."

"Please, sweetheart, you're aaanything but chaste."

"S-says the one who's sucking him off."

Both girls have mouths on them. Somi in particular. It's word-for-word how her lips trap your cock and start off with a strong suction. You moan right into Nancy's pussy. Said girl cries out when your lips strengthen their merciless suction on her pearl.

If you were to consider everything like a butterfly effect, you'd say Somi started it all: the sucking and moans. She's the one who's massaging your cock with those pink lips, effectively causing you to lose control and take it all out on Nancy. Poor Nancy, always the one to take it all. Now it's for good; she's squeezing her breasts and riding your mouth like a saddle. 

"Blowjobs don't count!" Somi quips. You moan again; the tip of her tongue toys with your balls. It's like she lit a fire there no wetness can put out. (Well, you still have to see about that.) "We'll show him how real good girls say sorry later. You know what I mean, right, babe?"

That fucked nickname does things to you, even if it's not meant for you, because it foretells the sight you have to fight to see with Nancy's back blocking it: Somi placing her hands on her best friend's hips and guiding her movements on your mouth. 

"Y-yes." You're surprised at how submissive Nancy sounds. So different from the commanding tone she assumes in morning assemblies. 

You didn’t expect you’d be in this position. Another thing you didn’t expect was how wet Nancy is, and how she tastes. She’s tangy yet sweet, filling your mouth like a new favorite flavor. She also moans a lot, which is strange when she doesn’t really talk much outside of this setting. You’ve changed her, too. Just not in the way like she did taking you to Jessa’s. No, this is your way: keeping her drenched little pussy filled with a soft muscle that’s hard enough to have her legs shaking. 

"That's right. Move that fat ass for him." Somi sits on the side with one hand on one side of Nancy's waist and another on your cock. She jerks you off hard, with a grip that's both too tight and too good. "Your nipples are sooo hard, Nancy. Just a hunch of mine, but I think you want me to suck on them. Make you cum on his handsome face."

Precum dribbles from your cockhead. How could Somi, the girl who speaks in coy accents, talk so filthy? She knows the time and place for that mouth, and it's right now and on Nancy's waiting breast.

Your length goes through bouts of impossible tightness induced by Somi's fist while your mouth (gladly) suffers another burden, which is Nancy's pussy and ass gyrating down on you. Your tongue doesn't know where to go so it goes everywhere: licking a wet line on her slit, diving into her drenched hole, teasing her clit. Nancy's thighs slam with your head in between. 

"Fuck!" Her moans are straight up pornographic. "Oh, oh, it feels so good, don't stop!"

Somi runs a teasing finger on your slit, keeping the heat in one place before resuming having her palm wrap your dick. "Who says we're stopping? Yep, nobody. Just keep moving those hips, lovie. We still got so much to give him."

You didn't think it was possible, but yes. Nancy does sprawl out more, her outed pussy lips all puffy and sore from your doings. You’re ruining her with how you lick and let her push down. Her core must be strong for her to keep a good stance in the midst of it all.

It’s not like you’re left out. Somi’s to thank for that, with her hand not stopping as it pumps and pumps and pumps. The pace is dangerous like a feared waterfall that’s got signs telling travelers to be wary around it. She pulled you into it. It isn’t that you wanted to suffer under the rapidity when you feel comfortable with the descent and rise.

"Ah. Ahhh, please!" 

Nancy never begs. She's above that, just like she is with everything else. But listen to her pleas and begs for more, for you to keep licking and sucking at the right places, for your hands not to pause in their journeys roaming the land of her perfect, curvy body. 

Somi spanks her, and you quite literally feel her cheeks bounce in your face. You'd actually be okay with going out this way. Heaven could be found in Nancy's full ass.

Oh, right, and Somi’s hand. You’ve never taken Somi as the kind to get around a lot even when she acts overly sexual sometimes, but she must have learned those skills somewhere. Her hand is neither too tight nor too loose—it’s just the perfect grip for you to almost cum into her fingers. She’s determined to wring a climax out of you, too, with how harsh she slams her hand down on your core.

It’s a cycle of pleasure that has no means of ending. With Somi fingering herself, you getting the best handjob you’ve ever had, and Nancy having her pussy eaten out, none of you are left to waste away. It’s sin, that’s what it is. It’s an act that, if anyone had caught sight of, would have guaranteed a swift suspension—maybe even the chance of getting expelled.

But in this warm moment, all of you forget about that. Even Nancy has that off her mind when all she’s thinking about is your tongue delightfully fucking her wet hole. 

“I’m… I’m cumming!” she wails. Her riding on your face spirals out of control, and again and again you’re blessed with her ass suffocating you. 

It’s too much for one girl to take: a mouth going crazy on her pussy and another doing the same, if not crazier, on her tit. Your sucks and Somi’s own increasing when she announces her imminent bliss doesn’t help her case either. But maybe it does—she’s never felt this good. Whenever she secretly, scandalously toyed with her pussy under the covers at night, none of those porn videos and literotica made her cum as hard as you and Somi have. It feels like a large bubble has burst inside her when she finally releases, tensing up and freezing similar to if a frostbitten cold finally took its last toll on her.

She sighs heavily while she comes down. Her thighs shake and you have to pin them down the creaky mattress to keep eating of her. She shudders and pushes you down. You stop, like she hinted.

“You alright, Nancy?” You remember Somi asking a similar question earlier, in a situation that’s nothing compared to this. Yep, far from it. A continent away. You weren’t eating her out like a last meal in the classroom, were you?

Well, you would have wanted to if you’d discovered prior that her ass is really as nice as it looks.

“Yes,” she replies weakly. 

You’re glad.

“I might have to try and get you to eat me out, too,” Somi says to you. She helps Nancy to get off your face after you got her off. “She was screaming, did you hear? You’d think somebody was like getting killed and– oh, wait, of course you couldn’t hear. Her thighs are just the perfect things to have wrapped around your head, right?”

Nancy blushes and looks away..

“But I think we should take the lead." Somi stops jerking you off. What quickly washes away your disappointment is when she takes her shirt off. "We’re the ones giving back.” 

The recoil of her large chest is amazing; it rises as it’s hindered by the tight hem of her clothing, and settles back into its natural position after she rids herself of the fabric. Her rosy nipples are things work gawking at; they’re as stiff and hard as diamonds, telling you of how much she wants this. And you think you’ve seen a few of Somi’s diamonds she could purchase a whole mine of, but you’d still have a desire similar to the blonde’s: you want her more.

“I’ve seen you looking at them. Don’t pretend and go all ‘oh nooo, that’s not true.’” She gives her own gifted bosom a firm grope. Her head throws back due to the pleasure. “You stare all the time. It makes me kinda assume that you want me to do something with them.”

“And what could that be?” you ask in a futile attempt to match her cockiness. Should’ve known that it’s a losing game trying to beat Jeon Somi in being a brat. It’s a god-given gift, a skill that needs no honing. She’s just like that.

“Duh. Like I said, I’ll show, not tell. This isn’t primary school.”

She shows a hefty amount, you’ll tell her that. Your mouth falls out at what happens. She takes her tits into her hands and leans down to envelope your cock in them. She seals it tight around your girth. 

Fuck.

She then starts to move. Up and down she goes, toying with her nipples on the way. It makes her core more drenched than it already is.

She’s the master of eye contact. She picked it up with her natural confidence. Why do you think she walks the hallways with a gaze that’s only directed straight ahead? Talks to new kids like she already knows them? She’s never seen weak, and tonight is no exception. Her fierce eyes speak of lust and strength of knowing she’s having her way. 

Jeon Somi always gets what she wants.

Again, this time is no exception. 

“Fuck, Somi…” you say in quiet groans. 

Someone needs to pinch you. This can’t be real. Never did you think what you’ve been dreaming would actually come true. The nights you touch yourself to the frequent sight of her tits practically bursting out of her uniform, you think of this same exact thing. You think of using her breasts like a toy, and now you’re experiencing it for real.

Perhaps one of the stars out there really took one for the team and granted two of your wishes at the same time.

Are you in wonderland? The movement of her tits provide a solid pace that’s hard to keep up with. Its warm, slick embrace has you on the edge of the mattress. You don’t ever want to run away from this feeling. It’s slick and tight yet rough, giving you a pleasure that’s confusing just as it is enjoyable.

“How’re you doing there?”

“I like it. More than like,” you breathe. Swallow what’s already been said.

Somi’s tits are a dream. They might as well have been made out of clouds with how soft they are, even when hugging your dick. You see yourself disappear between them and moan. Look up at Somi and see her seductively bite her lip; moan harder. Who knew all that barky flirtatiousness had a bite to them?

“Really?” she asks. She stops for a regretful moment to slap your cock against the side of her boob. The curve of your length heats up. “Couldn’t have guessed.”

She resumes, and you couldn’t be more thankful. The friction is everything to live for, and you’re a man who’s had no wish to die. Somi’s pale chest, guided by her hands trapping your cock between the massiveness in front of you, propels you to a close orgasm.

You switch your focus briefly to Nancy. She hums from afar. You notice that her fingers are in between her legs. She’s enjoying it as much as you are. “Could you stop being a brat for like, one second?” she chuckles, though it twists between her moans.

She’s sitting on the floor with her well-eaten pussy splayed to welcome her digits, and they definitely are welcome visitors. Her mouth is open though no more words come out.

“What? He likes it.” Somi jumps the pace to a rapidity you cry out for, and smiles that smile. The smile she only does when she’s doing or will be doing something she shouldn’t be. Explains a lot—if you two were just best friends, she wouldn’t be titfucking you. “And this is an apology, right? I’m saying sorry for punching him in the balls.”

“God,” you laugh out loud in spite of it all. “If this is the way you apologize, I’d have you punch my balls everyday.”

“I could do that. Say your apologies, too, Nancy. The way you’ll know he likes it.”

It’s as if she made your wet dream and worst nightmare come true. Can you even take more? It’s a question that apparently is disregarded of its answer; Nancy crawls over to the edge of the old, discarded mattress to suck on your swollen balls whenever Somi’s tits rise. 

They’re arsonists, and your whole body is the unfortunate victim. Although they attend only to your crotch except for the here-and-there brushes on your stomach and legs, your toes and arms burn. Somi and Nancy are sending heat waves everywhere. You twist and turn and propel and cry—none of those banish it. And it’s for the better because you’ve never felt closer to paradise.

You have to groan loudly. It can’t be muffled when the sensations are coming at you all at the same time. You can feel Nancy’s tongue dragging its edge along your sensitive flesh and her friend’s tits bouncing around you; see the two students’ sultry looks never breaking; hear one girl’s grunts as she fucks you with her bosom and the other’s moans; touch the mane of Nancy’s autumn hair to pull her deeper into your crotch; taste an orgasm that couldn’t really just come now when it’s this close—

“Oh shit, fuck!” The most senseless of curses come out of you after Somi’s titjob provokes a messy, violent orgasm. You’d be more coherent than that if she were letting up. Not possible when she doesn’t; she keeps bouncing up and down to jerk your cock off with her deep cleavage.

Somi hums delightfully at the never ending spray of cum on her tits. Nancy stops suckling harshly at your left testicle in order for her to be able to do it instead to the rod beside it. 

“Nancy, fuck, so good—” you say, hissing as your hips rise up.

You’re inadvertently facefucking her like this. Your hips move with their own will. They push up hard into Nancy’s beautiful lips. She in turn reacts with spontaneous downward drives of her head, welcoming you into her tight throat and letting you savor her mouth.

Somi fixes the girl’s hair into a ponytail of brown. She could see the bulge you’re making on her throat. She nods her on whenever Nancy looks at her with hesitation, and rubs your thigh to get your sensitivity levels to an all-time peak. She certainly got what she wanted and expected, as per usual, for you’re moaning with the tone of someone who gets paid to do it; shivering though it’s anything but cold here in this loft that’s gotten warm for other reasons besides the fireplace.

Nancy gags as she pulls away. Now she’s poured on by the white rain, too; some get into her hair while the others find a landing place on her shirt. God, that must have been expensive. You’re not here to make reparations, just to remind yourself; this is for you. They gave you this opportunity.

However, your heart pumps with anxiety hearing Nancy hack and cough. You quickly get to the floor, knees shaking on the way. “Hey,” you start, with a thumb on her chin, “you want to keep going?”

It doesn’t look like it for a second, but then those beautiful dark eyes connect with yours and suddenly all the discomfort is away. She smiles.“Y-yeah!” she says with a half-giggle. “All okay here.”

“Awesome.” Somi pats her back repeatedly and strokes her hair. “I was beginning to think I wouldn’t get you to suck on my tits.”

You look at said tits and gulp. Yeah, that beautiful chest covered with your release is tempting to be gawked at. But still, time and place even for jokes. Nancy’s about to have a goddamned asthma attack.

“You are so out of line sometimes,” you say to Somi disapprovingly. 

“It’s alright.” Nancy grins. Wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Nobody said apologies weren’t hard to do.”

The look of defiance and mischief softens on Somi’s face. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I’m sure he won’t mind, right, oppa?”

“Yeah,” you butt in, something you would have done even without Somi’s jab at your shin. Dear god, is the girl a bodybuilder in disguise or something? That hurt almost as much as the punch to your balls. “Nancy, I appreciate it and everything, but if you want to back out—”

Look, this is everything you wished for. You wanted to have intimate moments with them probably since  just a few months before the friendship was sealed. They’re beautiful girls, and you love Nancy especially closely. However, if they want to stop, you have to. Not to become a white knight or anything, but that’s natural law. You don’t force anybody into it.

“It’s okay, seriously.” Nancy’s relieving words now pass more smoothly through her lips. “Are you liking it so far?”

Alright, another thing to analyze. What else is there to answer? “Yes” is a painfully obvious reply to her question. You’ve had her ass on your face and Somi’s tits screwing an orgasm out of you. This is what wet dreams are made of, except that the white leak doesn’t end up on the fabric of your sheets anymore. 

It ends up on Somi’s amazing chest. Any man would die to catch sight of them. They’re round and full, settling at the perfect position whenever she breathes while covered from areola to nipple with your sticky load. Your semen even slides down to her midriff. You’re more convinced that she’s a bodybuilder—for this, it’s more obvious: her abs are hard and firm. You’ve worked out a lot and have not once gotten to that point of solidness.

Your cock can’t say the same.

“I loved it. You?”

“I liked it, and, and I—” 

“You want to answer him, brunette-ie?” Somi asks mockingly, swirling white on her collarbone. Yet another wonder to gawk at.

“That doesn’t work for other hair colors,” points out Nancy with a giggle.

“It does when I say so.”

Nancy tilts her head. Her smile suddenly doesn’t look too playful anymore. “Not everything’s gonna go your way tonight, blondie.”

“Is that so?” Somi curls her hair from her shoulders and tilts that pretty little head they hold. “Because if I have to say it again, McDonie, it’s—”

Nancy knows there’s no point arguing with her. It’s not the right occasion today. Fortunately, she has better ways of making Somi shut up.

It’s not completely shutting her up when all it does is make her create more noises. These are more pleasant to the ears in comparison. When Nancy attaches her pretty lips to her best friend’s tit, Somi’s words freeze in midair. You could see all her brattiness melt drop by drop. Her eyes are wide and she lets out a whimper. 

If your cock was flaccid already from the raunchy sex (because you started it all off with a bang, literally,) it isn’t now. It perks up hard upon seeing the most beautiful girls you know engaging in such obscene acts. Nancy’s already shown you how talented her mouth is, but she’s only hanging the knowledge out for everyone to see with how she cleans Somi’s right breast of your cum. The nipple she performs on is stiff, and she takes special care in gently guiding her teeth along it. 

“Fuck,” Somi says, voice breathy. All those little signs—her breathing shortening whenever Nancy dares to suckle a little bit harsher, bite a little harder; her legs suddenly shaking and weakening—lead you to a conclusion: they’ve done this before. Whether for rehearsal for this moment or for just mere curiosity, it’s hot nevertheless.

“Now will you shut that dirty mouth up?” Nancy uses that exact voice in the classroom, and hearing her use it in this moment makes her sound so much sexier. Gone is the passive prude that she is (or is pretending to be? That voice can’t be birthed from just leadership skills)—she knows how to put a brat in her place.

“If you think,” says Somi, with a laugh that’s too pitchy to be genuine in its sarcasm, “that sucking my boobs’ll make me a good little bitch, then you’re wrong.”

Is Nancy wrong? Probably. Somi’s the most defiant, outspoken girl you know. Nothing has stopped her from getting her way. You bet if Armageddon came into reality and all the world went to shit, Somi would be commanding the demons to get her a pumpkin spice latte and the angels to call her a limo.

“So you don’t want to be good and get on his cock?” 

Nancy stands up. You’re once again reminded of the eternally truthful fact that her ass is amazing. She shimmies it on your cock, slipping it between her cheeks but never really allowing penetration, and afterwards starts to bounce her butt beautifully for you. 

You can’t help but run your hands all over the perfect fat thing. You  lift the cheeks to let them ripple photogenically as they settle down, going as far as well to give her a few spanks. You’re lost in this sex-filled dream. You’re in a coma seeing the too-good-to-be-true ass of Nancy McDonie.

Somi twitches her mouth to one side. “I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t want to feel his big fat cock inside you,” and Nancy’s more dangerous than you think—she takes your cock and starts to tease its head on her lips and asshole, “and really get a taste of how he stretches you out?”

You bite your lip, enjoying what she’s doing to you and Somi. Your other friend has never looked more needy—large, rabbit eyes peer jealously at Nancy getting to have you for herself. Or is it the other way around? The looks she gives Nancy’s drenched pussy and your solid cock are equally full of hunger. 

“You want to answer, blondie?” An echoed statement, but it doesn’t lose its effect on Somi.

Nancy smirks. She’s a natural-born leader, often managing to fight her way to be in charge. It isn’t the same for the other, who’s been raised to have everything her heart desires. Right now, seeing you hint to fucking her best friend is making her needy. Really needy. She wants you for herself, too.

Nancy shrugs at Somi’s continued refusal to answer. “Suit yourself,” she says. She twists around to face you and commands, in a loud whisper, “I want it in my ass, oppa.”

“No!” Somi finally breaks. Her cheeks are pink. “I mean, like, not yet. Fine. Whatever, f-fine, I’ll be good. Just let me have him, too.”

“That’s more like it.” Nancy kisses her, a feat that has you blushing regardless of you not being the recipient of that gesture. “He and I can do that later.”

Somi scrambles to her feet the second Nancy leaves your lap. With no hesitation whatsoever, she plops herself down on you, filling herself to the hilt all at once. Her toned back is turned, but you can paint a picture of her face as she moans. Her mouth parts widely to cry out, and you could imagine her staring at the black insides of her eyelids as the wonderful filling results in getting her to see stars.

“Ohhh my god,” she drawls out. Her legs shake. “You were gonna fill your ass with something this big?”

You reach up from behind her to squeeze her tits. You can’t believe your dick had the chance to feel them before you did—they could do a role as stress balls; they’re soft, large, and you’d love to squeeze them any time of the day. Yep, also on the times you aren’t stressed in the first place. That’s how perfect Somi’s alluring breasts are.

Her pussy is the main attraction to all of this, however. She’s obviously so turned on—her wetness is like an avalanche of need on your cock for it floods your shaft without the need for an orgasm. Not that you aren’t gonna give it to her. When her pussy’s this snug and warm, this wet and tight, how are you going to do anything but make her cum?

You start to hump her rabidly. Your hips send her bouncing up and down on your lap, making it so that whatever happens, her starting point and ending point is always your cock. Somi’s moans cut and break into emphasized cries. In your hands, her tits make gravity look so appealing; they bob high in the air and rest heavily into your palms. There’s always a sharp rebound, a sharp cry from her. Her moans just make fucking your school’s signature brat a five-star experience.

“What did I tell you? I’m not a prude,” Nancy replies smugly. She spreads Somi’s legs to the point that she’s technically doing a split on your dick. “I also know how to suck on this little nub right here. Like I did to your big tits, remember?”

At first, Somi doesn’t get what she means. But then Nancy licks quickly at her vulnerable clit, and she understands it fully. “F-fuck, Nancy unnie!” she cries out.

She tenses up in your lap. As an effect, she gets impossibly tighter. You fight it with sharp thrusts, but she always ends up closing around you. You pierce her tightening walls and find that no amount of wetness and slick could get her to part her walls. 

“‘Unnie’?” Nancy licks up and down. In the face of it all the run of her voice remains gentle. You splay Somi’s pussy lips to help her out. “You never call me that. Do I have to suck your clit everyday to get you to have some manners?”

Oh, but Somi can’t be taught manners. Just a few licks around and on her bundle of nerves has her forgetting to use a proper inside voice. It’s hopeless when she’s screaming and writhing all over the place. That’s what the combination of your thrusts and her fellow council president’s tongue does to her: it turns her into this crazed nympho just begging to be touched and used.

She’s lucky to have friends like you and Nancy who are willing to be patient in teaching her. Your methods aren’t the most orthodox, you’ll admit—what kind of friend would team up with another in ruining her cunt?

“The princess here needs to learn a lesson, after all,” you whisper in her ear. Your hands on Somi’s wide hips, your fire pumps harshly into her without daring to slip out. Nope, you’re staying inside her forever. “You’re gonna be a good girl, aren’t you, Somi? You’re gonna let us fuck you into being a good girl?”

“You sound so stupid, you know that? Like you came from friggin’ Fifty Shades of Gray or something.” Somi sticks her tongue out at you, then it idly hangs from her lips after you reprimand her with a few scolding thrusts. She begins to whimper, eyes filling with tears of need. 

“Tell us to stop then.” You aren’t fazed. You know what that face she makes means too well. 

You propel up into her with the force of one who almost hates her to be fucking her like that. You spread her legs wider. Bury your face into her hair because she’s your blondie.

She says nothing.

You toy with her nipples, flicking and pinching them.

She utters not a single word.

Nancy slips her tongue inside for a brief moment, joining you, then places kisses on her inner thighs. 

She finally makes a noise, and it’s a couple sounds stringed into whines. 

It’s not the childish one she makes whenever she’s refused something as miniscule as a bite of a doughnut, but one of real weakness. She just showed the two of you where her Achilles spots lay. She’s a sucker for this, and all the same, you’re a sucker for her neck and shoulders that always smell of lilies. Take it all in before leaving love bites all over the pale, prone skin.

She takes deep breaths.

Nancy asks her if she’s cumming, and she screams—

“Yes yes yes! Just keep eating me out, Nancy unnie, keep fucking me, oppa! I’m gonna cum so hard!”

Nancy makes a show of licking the underside of your entering and exiting cock all the way up to Somi’s pussy lips. The two of you groan ecstatically. This she repeats until your precum starts to wet Somi’s walls and Somi’s clit is practically quivering from the abuse. It doesn’t stop there. She grabs Somi’s tiny waist and pushes the girl’s core into her mouth. 

“Shit, Nancy!” Somi gasps lewdly. The new position gives you ample space to take time in withdrawing then slamming every inch into her aching body. “I’m gonna cum, gonna c-c-cum, please—fuck!”

There she goes. She falters heavily into you as her orgasm takes over. 

You caress her rising and falling midriff, suddenly wrapped into the need to help her come down. You kiss the back of her ear and her neck. Whisper sweet everythings there (because you mean each one: you’ll take care of her all the way). Nancy stops eating her and rubs her thigh comfortingly. 

Through it all, Somi’s still your baby. The girl you tend to because you know she loses herself sometimes.

This is the calm after the storm. For a moment, it’s all soft. Somi may remain with her pussy filled with your length, but it doesn’t change the tenderness you have for her. For Nancy. For the relationship the three of you have.

“Are you all bright and happy there?” 

“Fuck you, of course I am.” That tells you she’s not tapering off lust-induced insanity that much. If she were, though, she’d still maintain that feistiness. “I can’t believe we did that. And I can’t believe you didn’t cum inside me.”

“Safe sex, princess.” Nancy’s back to her serious yet half-joking self. She brushes Somi’s nose playfully. “Didn’t you listen to sir Lars?”

“I’m safe today, though…” 

“Hmm. Next time?”

“Next time,” replies Somi with a bit more satisfaction. “For now, I want to see you get your ass fucked.”

Maybe it’s going too fast, like an amateur author’s prodded pacing with a debut novel, but in the flash of the moment you find that you don’t care. You and Nancy share one look and just know tonight is going to be different than all the other ones with hookups, exes, everything. This one runs deeper—it’ll define who you are for the rest of the evening.

Somi sits down at what used to be the headboard of the mattress. She’s good with just watching after the violent orgasm she had. Nancy really went all-out. Must have still been thinking about that speech she made.

Your mind stalls on Nancy right now. She’s on her hands and knees, and she’s looking back at you with this nervous yet crazed desire. It’s written clear on her face. Then there’s the rest of her beautiful body—that back, her full thighs, that ass. You knew she was beautiful with a great body to go with it, but you didn’t really figure it was an unfiltered truth until now.

“I—I brought lube,” she says timidly. She looks away, and it’s so unlike her to be this meek that your instinctive reply is a laugh.

“You came prepared.” 

Somi throws you the bottle, and while you lather some of its content on Nancy’s asshole, you’re faced with millions of questions. “I assume you planned this? Or do you just bring lube whenever I’m around?”

Nancy rolls her eyes. God, do you love to make them do that. You were born to. You were made to make her roll her eyes at you between her laughs. “Stud,” she whispers.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She still hasn’t figured out it isn’t derogatory with you. Or with any guy for that matter. You chuckle softly. Love how her hole closes tighter the second you wipe some of the handy liquid on it. “Ready?”

She nods. There’s hesitation, but the upward perk of her ass can’t mean anything else than transparent want. 

“Boooring!” Somi yells out, arms in an “X”-sign in front of her. You’re the actors, and she’s the disapproving film critic. And god knows how insufferable film critics are. “Ever heard of porn without plot, you absolute doodooheads?”

“Porn without plot? You read way too much fanfiction, Somi. Like, way too much.”

“Hello? Peepee in the poopoo hole now, if you please.”

You give her a tired look in spite of your small laughs. “Can you make it sound any less sexy?”

“She’s right,” Nancy says in a tiny voice. “I want you now.”

There’s the (with a trademark after that) look again, somber and wide. She needs you. You need her. So why are you stalling? Idiot. You need to put yourself together.

Slip past the defiance of Nancy’s asshole, and curse immediately. It isn’t even halfway in and you’re already close. She’s too tight that it almost beats the tightness of Somi’s pussy. You’re not sure you’re ready for this. Run your hand along Nancy's back and feel the sweat stick to your hand. She’s nervous. In pain. At least, you assume so.

“Need to breathe?”

Nancy winces and nods. “A few seconds.”

It’s hell itself trying not to give in to your instincts and pound away into her ass. It’s just so perfect, the way it trembles and shakes and unintentionally sends vibrations your way. Sends those full cheeks bouncing.

Even in a state of need-to-get-it-together, Nancy still looks her prime. Her hair, all those chestnut locks, sticks to her back as she pants. Her face has never looked prettier. She’s gorgeous as could be, and you realize that it’s these moments—not her beauty pageants where she’s all dolled up by attending stylists, not when she manages a glow-up (when she already is the most beautiful woman you know) weeks before class pictures are taken—that take your breath away. She’s just there, just existing, and you maintain your preposition: down bad.

“Tell me if you lovebirds need to stop,” says Somi. “Because what I’m seeing here is– oh my.”

Nancy starts to fuck herself on you. She wants to do this—Somi’s words are her motivation. Her ass constricts tighter and tighter as you penetrate her, but you make it work. Make it fit. She’s so stretched out but she doesn’t stop. It makes you temporarily heed the idea that a glitching robot is controlling her. The recoil and push of her ass are too rough.

“Fuck,” she whispers, eyes squeezed shut firmly. “Feels so fucking good.”

If you’re making Nancy curse, it’s either really good or really bad. You’re betting on the former. Her ass rotates and circles before you, welcoming her into its depths, and you can’t find your breath again. You must have lost it, lost it somewhere in the atmosphere that smells of sex and sweat.

There isn’t even any foreplay to go by. She simply pushes back and takes every inch of your dick. While you lost hold of your breath, Nancy’s found hers, and puts it to good use with her moans. 

“You’re… opening me up so much,” gasps Nancy. She looks back to see that you’re forming a steady reciprocal rhythm that’s starting to gape her hole. 

“Should I go slower?” you ask hesitantly. You slip a hand to her mound then settle a thumb over her clit. It throbs, still sensitive from the sucking.

“No, god, no. Go faster. Please.” Her words are broken off like blunt phrases, but you catch on to her meaning. She wants it fast even for the first time.

It’s lucky you took your time rubbing lube on your shaft and her hole. As time goes by, Nancy’s ass only grows tighter. It clings to you, afraid to let go. Her legs shake yet they’re strong enough to push and pull, receiving you into her backside.

The mattress starts to creak. Its old springs are resurrected and the first thing they do is make squeaking sounds. It’s drowned out by the sound of Somi touching herself. Her wet pussy is slick as her finger rubs firmly on her own clit and her mind runs with the idea of her being in Nancy’s place. Her toes are already curled tightly.

Nancy’s words don’t lose their eccentric tone even if she’s being plowed from behind. The broken mirror discarded to the corner reflects her expressions. One minute she’s smiling drunkenly, and the second minute her eyes are dazed, as if she were taken straight out of an 18+ anime magazine. The next minute she’s suddenly gasping for air. No, air isn’t what she needs. Everything that’s essential is hidden right inside your cock, and she’s going to get it.

“Need it, need it, need it.” 

She squeezes tighter, and you wince. It feels good. Too good, in fact, that you chase after the feeling with quick pumps. 

“H-hah, I know you want to do it,” she says, turning to you. She kisses you and smiles weakly. “So cum in me. Cum in my ass, I need it so fucking bad—”

She interrupts herself with a sharp draw of breath. Your fingers have entered her and are frantically moving, filling her over and over and jabbing at her walls. You take advantage of her sensitivity more than you should, and she loves it. 

Nancy cries out. She folds herself over the mattress more, muffling her face in its olden softness. She feels so full. With your cock stuffing her sweaty ass and your fingers wiggling around inside her, there’s only one path this is destined for. But she wants to make the journey last. She doesn’t want it to end too soon.

“P-please, I can’t take it,” she whines.  She muffles a scream. It doesn’t help; her next words are shouty. They don’t sound so intimidating when they come out pitchy and needy. “I’m going to cum all over you, for you, just please do the same. Please. Please, oh—”

Perhaps it’s your natural way of catering to whatever Nancy requires, which is to mean what you do everyday, but you end up exploding inside her. She moans happily, and you feel her drip a little as she comes to her climax as well. The little leak grows stronger as you firmly rub her clit. Your thighs soon suffer the damages of her flood.

Whimpering and overstimulated, Nancy’s screams almost make the windows shatter. Through all this, she pounds herself back into you, and you do the same. None of you want this to end.

Be that as it may, nothing lasts forever. It could be that it’s a gift, for when you pull out of your crush and spray the remaining shots of cum onto her beautiful back, you realize you’re stark exhausted.

-

“Cinnamon rolls, anybody?”

Here’s how it goes after that: the three of you showered and are ready to go rest. You couldn’t try for shower sex, not when all of you are spent. You’ve sprayed and fucked and came too many times to count that it’s for the common good that you take a break. 

Bruises litter your jaw but it’s alright. Nothing a little makeover can’t fix. Nancy still worriedly brushes it with a tender finger.

“I swear, Nancy,” you laugh, “I’m fine. You should be worried about yourself.”

Nancy nods obediently, but her eyes still linger on the purple spot.

“God, get a room,” says Somi with a groan, handing you your dessert. Is this her way of aftercare? “Oops, you already did. Silly me.”

You’re all wrapped in comfortable bathrobes. They’re the ones with the really silky fabric, the kind that feels like clouds dropped from heaven and onto you. They settle comfortably on your sore bodies. You go to the roof even with only those “clothes” on. Not one of you cares for decency; considering what you did earlier, it’d be hypocritical to try and salvage some self-respect.

Oh, who minds anyway? Not you three. All you want is some rest.

“Not funny,” Nancy says. She takes a careful bite of her roll, licking her lips with a glare.

“My bad. Should try again the next time we stop fucking.”

You stop chewing. “Wait… so you’re saying we’re doing that again?” you ask, suddenly flustered. 

You’re not complaining. It only took a few minutes for you to discover that sex with the duo is the perfect mix of soft and rough. Exactly your kind. Okay, so maybe the rough part outweighs the other, but you aren’t turning back. Your concern is your friendship—would you still see each other as reliable people, or would that be warped by lust?

You’re young. Nothing is permanent—that’s what you’re taught. What if that counts for the relationship you have, too?

“You don’t want to do it?” Somi asks in a voice so small you barely could make out the words.

“No, no, I do.” Scratch the back of your neck. How do you say this without sounding super attached? (You are.) “But… are we still friends? Are we still good with each other?”

Nancy gives you an amused look. “Why wouldn’t we be?” she inquires, genuinely curious.

“I—I thought—”

“Look, we all know what we feel.” Somi takes your hand and presses it to her thigh. Her face portrays a solemn yet caring look. It feels foreign seeing such a serious face on such a spunky girl. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends along the way. You’re still our Frankenstein. We made you.”

“Is the alcohol plus hot choco combo doing something to you or what? Frankenstein is the name of the crea—”

Somi groans and mashes you in the face with her cinnamon roll. “Get outta here with your nerd BS,” she says. She’s smiling, though. 

“Get out of here with your own dodo BS, bottle blonde.”

“Dodos are essential knowledge, not some facts about a stupid ass mon—”

“If you two don’t stop,” says Nancy, knowing when a playful fight starts and how to stop it before it does, “you’re both getting out.”

Are these the girls you fucked in that small loft just a few hours prior? They don’t ever change, do they? They might be hot as hell, but they’re still Jeon and McDonie, the girls you’re friends with. Your hearts remain in the places they were before.

But maybe deeper, delving into the core of your chests.

Somi directs her eyes up at the moon floating in the night sky and smiles. You’ve always loved it when she smiles, menacing as it could be sometimes. She looks like a giddy girl who was just taken to a candy store. There’s this pure, sweet grace to it that infectiously makes you grin, too.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” she says dreamily.

“It is,” Nancy agrees. She’s looking cute herself; her cheeks are stuffed with cinnamon rolls. 

You look up as well. They’re right. The moon does look prettier tonight. You’re no selenophile, but you swear the large spots of gray and black on its rounded curves make it look more serene. It feels like a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

“Well,” you say, smiling, “I can die happy.”

It was supposed to end like that. You all know what you meant. This was supposed to be a memory you’d keep stowed in the drawers of your minds to look fondly at later in life. But you just had to ruin the moment by suddenly sitting up straight and staring with wide eyes at your hands. What have you done? You can’t believe you could do such a thing.

“H-hey, Nancy…”

“What’s wrong?” Nancy asks.

“You know that quote you said earlier about first impressions?”

“Yeah?”

“And how I said Michael Jordan was smart for saying it?”

“What are you getting at here?”

“I remembered it wrong.” You gulp. “Michael Jackson said it, not Michael Jordan.”

“Are you in your right mind? How could you even think that?” asks Somi, cackling. She almost topples down the roof. “Like, seriously, oppa, are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay, opp—”

“For fuck’s sake—”

#smut #kpop smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #idol smut #momoland smut #nancy mcdonie smut #nancy smut #momoland nancy smut #ioi smut #soloist smut #jeon somi smut #somi smut #ioi somi smut #male reader #x reader #reader insert #idol x reader #idol x male reader #pov smut #kofimission #commission

[beaversatemygrandma]

I’m one of those people who has literally everything you may need on me at anytime. Now. A lighter. That’s a thing i totally forgot i had in my bag. I don’t smoke. I hardly even remember why there’s been a lighter in my bag for like four years now. My candle lighter dies and now, i have the forgotten lighter to use. So hell yeah. Free forgotten lighter.

Turns out it was to go on smoke breaks with people when i was at work. I had a lighter. All the time. A lot of people would forget them, want a smoke, and no lighter means asking around. So there i am. Non-smoking. Has a lighter. I got free smoke breaks to just sit outside for a bit with coworkers. Worked out pretty damn well if you ask me.

#taks speaks #its good to have shit you dont even need #hell i have a lighter cover too that doubles as a bottle opener #it was a random gift bc it had a dragon on it. which was totally valid. #another thing is hair ties even tho i cut all my hair off a few years ago and never went back #tho that may have been for my long haired ex bf. boy loses one damn scrunchy i swear. #and the coworkers i had. i could get anything to help those girls but yet i never went further and tried to be friends. o well #i have bandaids in this thing. like. when i say everything i mean everything #except a pen. #this is a mistake and i need a pen to leave in there #tho i need to now restock things bc my sister murdered/lost all the hairties bc she somehow breaks two trying to tie her hair #and a new lighter #and A FUCKING PEN #the smoke break method worked nicely until one coworker asked me to smoke a blunt with her before the lunch rush hit #which was a kind offer ngl #but my social skills and speed wouldve gone from a 6/10 to like a 3 #it was awkward turning her down bc she was a fun one #that stoner mom who tried to take care of me when there was this whole pregnancy scare i had before i realized i cant get pregnant #and she was offering to both smoke me out and take me home and cook me dinner #too bad those offers left when i realized it wasn't a 2-month in pregnancy and just gluten weight bc we were at a panera #and the free pastries at the end of the night are impossible to ignore #the lesson there is to not fuck your coworkers and get in on the 35ish yo mom gossip. shit gets weird. #esp at like. 19. #tho. the one benefit was getting protection from them from the one 35ish yo man who was constantly flirting with me #he got jealous. it was hilarious. i hugged the baker in front of him and he didn't talk to me the rest of the day #jokes on him tho. the baker was only 27 and my best goddamn friend #even if they were the alleged father of my nonexistent child #good times. good times. #this all started with a fucking lighter #and me hitting on the baker but thats a different story entirely

[pinkswaet]

Oscar and reader during winter break?

Vacation Or Honeymoon? | O.P81

Summary: After being terribly busy, you and Oscar finally get some time to spend with each other by going on a vacation. But is it really a vacation or a honeymoon?

“Ugh this winter is sucking ass!” you complain as you get comfortable in your bed, trying to warm yourself up. Oscar chuckles at your words as he actually imagined winter sucking someone’s ass. “Why?” he asks. “You know why” you say, sounding grumpy. You were looking up at the ceiling with furrowed brows as you decided to not look at Oscar, at all. “I do?” he asks as he puts his phone down and turns to your side. His face resting on his palm as he looked at you with loving eyes.

“Of course you do. Oscar we’ve been dating for three years now and this is the first time where we’re not going anywhere. We’ve both been so busy lately and we finally got some time together. I don’t wanna waste it just by staying home. Let’s go somewhere this winter” you say, starting to get a bit emotional. “Come here” he says as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him. “But it’s fine if you don’t want to” you say, playing with his soft curls.

You don’t know how but you actually fell asleep after that. Somehow his touch never failed to comfort you. He always makes you feel alive. Every time.

“Oh God!” you scream out as you did your eyeliner the wrong way again. “Baby, you look good anyway. Stop stressing yourself out” Oscar says as he looks at you in the mirror from behind. “You don’t get it Osc, I’ve been trying for like an hour now” you say wiping it off and taking a deep breath. You grab your eyeliner again and Oscar takes it away from you and puts it in his pocket. “I know, I’ve been standing here for an hour now. Look at me, baby you look absolutely perfect. With or without eyeliner. So let’s skip this tonight, okay?” he asks softly as he cups your cheeks with his hand. “Okay” you agree nodding lightly. “Good because we’re getting late now” he says as he kisses your forehead. “Wait, did you just compliment me because we’re getting late and we need to be there on time?” you ask Oscar as he starts to giggle. You just roll your eyes and lightly slap his chest.

“So how’s your winter going?” Lando asks you as he places the wine bottle down on the table. “Like shit” you complain resting your head on Oscar’s shoulder. “Like shit? Why?” Lando asks as he starts to snicker at you two. “Thank you” Oscar says as Lando hands him and you a glass of wine. “Because this winter sucks” you complain again and Lando nods, agreeing with you.

“Why don’t you two go on a vacation then? That’s so simple” Lando suggests as you nod. “I already told Osc about it” you say as Lando looks at Oscar for a response and he just nods mouthing a ‘she did’ to him.

You then sit up straight and hold Oscar’s hand, turning to his side. “Let’s go to Switzerland, please. It’ll be so fun” you plead, looking at him with pleading eyes. “Switzerland is just-” before he could finish Lando interrupts him. “Y/n, you’re not going on your honeymoon, come on. Go to Bali instead” he says as you just get annoyed by his interruption. “Switzerland is a honeymoon place but Bali is not?!” You shout at Lando. “How can I know? I’ve never been on my honeymoon” he says, totally unbothered as he takes a sip of his wine. You roll your eyes and just try your best to control your anger, “Lando stop it, for fucks sake”

“Baby listen to me. I know you want to go to Switzerland but let’s not this time. For me, yeah?” Oscar asks you, looking at you in the eye. “Fine” you say looking down at your lap. “Okay, I’ll go and pack my stuffs then” Lando says as he starts to get up. “W-what wait, where are you going?” you question, sounding confused. Lando stops mid way and turns around, “With you two? Bali?” he clarified. “Lando, no. You’re staying here. No Bali for you. Stop inviting yourself” you stated coldly. “Alright fine” he said as he sat down again.

Oscar knew that you’re upset and probably mad at him. But he had to choose Bali instead of Switzerland.

Why? Because it was planned already.

-1 week ago-

“Just don’t take her anywhere for a while” Lando says as Oscar starts to shook his head. “But why? This doesn’t have anything to do with my proposal” he argues but Lando just gets pissed by it. “You just have to show her that you don’t want to go anywhere for a while or just ignore her for a while. This will work, I swear” he says, assuring him that it’ll be fine. “But I can’t ignore her” Oscar says softly. “Then don’t! But just do it according to the plan” Lando states as Oscar just nods. “Bali is going be the best destination for your proposal I’m telling you. You bring her to my place and I’ll do the rest for you” he advised Oscar.

-Present-

“You do know that I’m going to Bali just because of you, right?” You ask him, sounding a bit annoyed. Oscar closes the luggage zipper and looks at you. Letting out a sigh. Probably mixed with a bit of guilt. He comes closer to you and caresses your cheeks. “I know baby, I know” he says as he makes you look up at him. You just lightly nod and don’t say anything. “Ready to go?” He asks and you just nod, nothing else.

You don’t know why you were giving him this silent treatment but you did.

“Welcome to Bali, sir! Welcome to Bali, ma’am!” A guy right outside the airport greets you two. He opens his car door and you assume he’s a driver. “The weather seems nice here” you say, looking out of the car. Oscar smiles at you and brushes his hand on your thigh. “It’s good?” he asks softly. You look at him and smile, “It’s good”

“Ready for our vacation?” he asks, holding his hand out for you to hold on to. “Mhm” you say, smiling at him and getting out of the car. Your mouth fell open when you saw a lavishing welcome waiting for you. The whole Kaba Kaba Estate dressed up with golden lights for you. “Oh my God, when did you do this?” you ask him, still stunned by it’s beauty. “Do you like it?” He asks, hoping for a positive response. “Osc baby, I love it!” You practically scream and hug him tightly. “Well, then good for me because we have it all to ourselves for a month” he says, smirking a little at you. “For a month?! All to ourselves?! No you did not” you say, doubting his words but he just shook his head and you knew that he wasn’t really kidding with you.

Right after freshening up you both went out for dinner. Everything seemed so dreamy to you. You never knew you would enjoy your trip to Bali. Sometimes you don’t even know how you ended up with him. And you don’t even know how you ended up cuddling with him right now after getting back from dinner.

“Thank you” you say, as you let out a tired sigh. Your eyes started to uncontrollably close from all the tiredness. Oscar’s arm holds you more tightly “Why baby?” he questions you. “For this lovely trip and I’m sorry I was complaining like a baby” Oscar giggles at your words. “But you are a baby” he says as you get annoyed again.

“Ah stop it Osc!”

“Never!”

-3 days later-

“Where do we go now?” you ask him, sounding excited. Oscar smiles at you and kisses your cheek lightly, “Lempuyang Temple” he says and you give him a questioning look, not knowing what exactly that temple is. After arriving there, Oscar tells you he will be back in a minute and just vanished somewhere. Meanwhile you took some pictures for your Instagram stories and posts. But, you start to get worried as he takes much more time and you’re there standing there all alone.

“Baby?” Oscar calls out as you turn around to find him. You start to laugh like a kid when you see him wearing a traditional dress called Sarong. “Oh my God! Oscar, you look so adorable!” you compliment him as he starts to get a little shy. “Come on, now it’s your turn” he says as he pulls you close to him. “What? No, Osc I’m not wearing that. You look good but I won’t” you say and Oscar just ignores you. “Shh, baby you have to” he says, more like he orders you.

Well it wasn’t a bad idea at all. You both had a good time at the temple wearing sarongs and taking a bit of rest in the shade area.

-Oscar’s POV-

“God, she’s so beautiful” he thinks in his mind as he watches Y/N roaming around the La Brisa beach club. Her hair looks so beautifully brown in the golden light. Her white top looking perfect with her beige skirt. She looks so beautiful.

I can’t wait to call her my wife.

“Osc, where’s my phone? I need to take a picture of the sky, it looks so pretty” she says standing in front of me. “Here” I say handing her the phone. “Thank you baby” she says smiling at you and starting to walk away but I grab her wrist, pulling her close to me. “What’s wrong?” she asks, getting a little shy. “You’re so beautiful” I say, meaning every little word I spilled. She could tell that I meant it just by looking at my eyes. Somehow my eyes could never hide the love I have for her.

-1 week later-

“Osc where’s my char-” your words stops when you see the room you and Oscar share filled with roses. Candles lit everywhere. But what shocked you the most is seeing Oscar on his knees looking up at you with fond eyes. He then got a little blue box out of his pocket and opens it. The box carried an Aquamarine ring in platinum from Tiffany And Co. Your mouth fell open, not being able to process the whole situation. “Oscar…” you honestly don’t know what you can say after that. “No wait, I got this” he says as he clears his throat a little which makes you crack up a little.

“Y/n, we both know that all these three years wasn’t all just happy and healthy. We had our bad times as well Every argument, every fights every little inconvenience happened because of me and somehow you always forgave me for it. You always excepted my mistakes. I mean, I even missed your birthday because I had to race. But you didn’t complain at all. I also didn’t even take you to Switzerland. Because I planned everything here. For you. I know I can never ever be the perfect one for you, but till the day I die I’m gonna try heart and soul to be the perfect one for you.” You start to tear up. Not being able to think straight.

Is this really happening? Is he really proposing to me?

“I know that you don’t like crowded spaces so here we are. Right in our room. Talking about our little things.”You just nod, not being able to get a word out. “Let’s grow old together. Let’s argue with each other for the rest of our lives.” You wipe your tears and let out a small laugh.

“Y/n, sweetheart will you marry me?”

It really is happening. He really is proposing to me

“Yes, yes, yes!” You screamed out. Oscar then took the ring out and wrapped it around your finger. “I love you so much” he says as he pulls you closer and kisses you. Filling the whole room with love and passion. “I love you too” you say as you kiss him back.

A/N: Okay wow, this was a long journey and thank you @piastrification for staying with me the whole time. Also, thank you @f1driverszona for helping me as well. Hope yall like it. Anyway, requests are open as always. So, feel free to ask what you want me to write. I love you. ❤️

#oscar piastri 81 #oscar piastri #op81 #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #op81 fic #op81 fluff #op81 x you #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri f1 #formula one x you #f1 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #mclaren formula one #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #op #op81 smau #oscar piastri imagine

[f1byjessie]

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part three.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 314,691 others

tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris

yourusername is it time for bahrain yet?! can’t wait to see these two back in action again soon! 🧡

view all 4,981 comments

mclaren We keep asking ourselves the same thing! Our engines are ready and we’re raring to go! 🧡

↳ yourusername you truly understand me mclaren admin

↳ mclaren we think you’re the one who truly understands us y/n

↳ user y/n x mclaren admin?? 🤯 the plot twist none of us saw coming

user missing these lads so much lately

user THE RADIO SILENCE ON OSCAR’S SOCIALS WAS KILLING ME I DEPEND ON THESE MEN TOO MUCH THEY KEEP ME ALIVE 😭😭

user the f1 drought is real rn

user MCLAREN SUPREMACY 2024

↳ user i’m trying to be delulu but we all know it’s just gonna be the mv33 and redbull show again this year 🫤

user soooo are we all just gonna pretend like we didn’t see the pics of her with garrett ward orrrrr?

↳ user no bc i was just thinking the same thing 👀

↳ user wait that was actually her??? cuz you can like barely see her face so i thought it was just a joke???

user what a fake ass bitch

user she only posts other ppl on her acc cuz she knows her ugly ass face would scare everyone else away

user homegirl needs to stay tf away from my man fr 😤😤

user god what a hoe 😒 she already has these two that she could fuck with idk why she needed to go after garrett

user SLUT SLUT SLUT

user if she tries anything with anyone else on the city team i’m gonna lose my shit fr

↳ user same omg

↳ user honestly i’m just glad she didn’t go after grealish or haaland 🙌

↳ user she probably would’ve tried if they weren’t taken already 🙄

↳ user nah i bet she’s totally a homewrecker garrett’s probably just the first on her list

user oh… these comments… 😰

↳ user right???

INSTAGRAM.

liked by mancity, mclaren, and 198,131 others

tagged: mancity

yourusername the city boys know how it’s done! and looking pretty good in orange too 😉

view all 3,971 comments

mancity The lads are looking good indeed! This weekend’s match against Newcastle should be an exciting one! ⚽️🩵

mclaren ✍️ Jeremy ✍️ Doku ✍️ and ✍️ Ruben ✍️ Dias ✍️ McLaren ✍️ 2025

↳ mancity Do you think Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri would look good in sky blue? 🤔

user funny how she posts every city man BUT garrett

user god when does she go back to f1??

↳ user march iirc

↳ user well it can’t get here soon enough jfc

user FUCK OFF WE DON’T WANT YOU

user you’re a slag and should accept the fact that any guy would only want you bc of how easy you are

user i’ll bet my left leg that the only reason the f1 boys haven’t shacked up with her yet is cuz they know she’s probably riddled with disease since she drools over every guy that comes near her 😒 like girl needs to bffr and realize that throwing herself at every male in her vicinity isn’t gonna land her a husband and it just making her even more of a slut

↳ user nah i’ll bet they’ve all already done her over in f1 but nobody will touch her now that they’ve passed her round so she had to come over to football just to try and get someone to touch her again 🙄🙄🙄

user i hope garrett realizes how much of a slut she is and breaks up with her

user sick and tired of bitches like this getting with footballers and being all controlling. like i’ll bet she’s gonna tell garrett he can’t go out and party with his mates anymore bc he has to spend time in with her and then she’ll get all pissy about him having female fans bc she’s insecure and knows that if garrett got to meet a REAL fan he’d jump ship immediately. those of us who ACTUALLY care about footballers know their fans are super important to them and we wouldn’t hinder their relationship with them just bc we’re jealous or insecure. garrett needs to be with someone who actually supports him and is willing to let him do what he wants instead of controlling him like he’s a dog on a leash.

user kys like genuinely

user god i can’t wait for this skank to die 😒

“Hey Lando, it’s me. Your best friend. Again,” you give a humorless chuckle. “I could seriously use some of your wizened advice right about now, so, uh, please just give me a call back when you can. Thanks.”

It seems poetic in a cruel sort of way that less than a week ago you were walking Etihad Campus and feeling like you were on top of the world━ working a new albeit temporary gig, adding the Manchester City name to your list of clients, having photos of world-renowned footballers in your portfolio━ and now you’ve resigned yourself to hiding away in the women’s restroom, locked in a stall because it’s the only place you could think of where nobody would be able to find you.

You’re on the verge of tears and feeling rather stupid for it.

It’s the third time today alone that your call has gone straight to voicemail, and with the dozens of unread texts you’ve sent in the last week added to the mix, it’s starting to paint a picture you’re not very happy with. Lando is ignoring you. Or he’s blocked you. Or he’s blocked you because he’s ignoring you━

You bite down on your lip, hard, to keep back the sob crawling its way up your throat.

You’re not a PR officer, you hadn’t been lying when you told Garrett that, but you’ve spent enough time around the McLaren PR teams that you’ve picked up enough tips and tricks to know, at the very least, that the best thing you can do is just ignore the comments.

That’s what they tell all the athletes.

What they don’t tell the athletes is that ignoring the comments is much easier said than done, especially when your career requires you to have such a significant online presence. And the thing is, despite all of these strangers hounding you with every name under the sun and criticizing your capabilities, qualifications, and very existence, the thing that hurts the most is the radio silence from the only person you know could make it all better.

Now, more than ever, you need your best friend. But he isn’t here.

You tuck your phone into your jacket pocket and unlock the stall with great reluctance. You know better than to be hiding away, shirking your responsibilities while crying over a few missed phone calls. You have a job to do, and a real professional wouldn’t let something as simple as a handful of tasteless comments get in the way of that.

You should be used to them. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.

Your first month at McLaren wasn’t entirely different.

When you were first hired on, Carlos had been in Formula One for a handful of years already and had built up a devotedly loyal fanbase with a decently large percentage of possessive fangirls who had come for your head the moment your existence had been announced.

The McLaren Instagram account had posted a picture of you standing between their two grinning drivers, your camera strung around your neck, with a very nice caption welcoming you to the team, and despite no indication that you were by any means involved with either of them in a way that went beyond professional, the comments had been taken over by feral teenage girls who saw the act of you simply standing near Carlos to be a direct threat against their “chances.”

Though it had been frustrating being met with childish threats and petty insults in your comments, you hadn’t really held it against any of them. You remember being a teenage girl and crushing on a celebrity. Deep down you knew you never had a chance with them, but that hadn’t stopped you from hanging posters in your bedroom and doodling their name beneath yours inside of scribbled hearts in your diary.

Regardless, it had taken close to a month for the negativity to die down, and you hadn’t had Lando then, either, so now shouldn’t be much different.

In fact, everyone on the Manchester City team━ trainers, physios, media coordinatiors, and anyone inbetween━ has been very polite about everything between you and Garrett. A lot of them have just avoided saying anything about it, which you’re very grateful for because you don’t think you’d be able to hold back your grimace while thanking them for their well wishes, and the few who have mentioned it typically only say something vague like a wishing you the best of luck or hoping you’re happy.

An intern gave you a sympathetic smile the other day, and you’d nearly burst into tears in the middle of the office of the Director of Communications, so you know you aren’t truly alone in this.

You just feel alone.

Exiting the bathroom is a simple affair. There’s no one standing post outside ready to give you any shit for being hidden away, and nobody comes sprinting around the corner as you make your way down the hall to the press conference room that’s been temporarily turned into your base of operations.

You think you’ll probably be able to go the rest of the afternoon without running into anyone, when you open your door and find━ sitting in the front row of the seats typically saved for journalists and the press, scrolling across his phone with a disinterested look painted across his face━ Jack Grealish.

“Jack,” you greet, a bit shocked. You close the door to the room gently behind you, and cross the distance to your desk. “Did we have a meeting scheduled? It must’ve completely slipped my mind, I sincerely apologize.”

He offers you a polite smile. “No, we didn’t, so no need to be sorry. I actually just wanted to check in. See how things are going with everything.”

You blink at him in surprise. Apart from Garrett, you haven’t really had much time to speak with the other players. They wish you good morning and good afternoon when they see you, and if a ball goes astray they always call out for you to watch your head, but between their morning training and their afternoon training, their strategy reviews at lunch, and the frequent in between meetings with physios, nutritionists, and trainers, they don’t get much time to chit chat with a simple photographer.

You clear your throat, “Erm, it’s going well. I’ve gotten some really good shots these past few days. There’s one with Rodrigo that I’m particularly proud of. It should do well with the fans.”

“And things with Ward?”

You purse your lips.

“Figured.” Jack sighs. “Look, nearly everyone you run into here knows or has at least some inkling into what he’s like. He’s a prick. None of the lads on the team like him, it’s why the managers are trying to get him out of here.”

You lower yourself down into your chair. “He told me they were planning to trade him off because of his reputation.”

Jack scoffs, “Yeah, ‘cause that’s the ‘official’ reason. They can’t cut his contract early for legal reasons, so they’re waiting for it to expire and coming up with an excuse for why they ain’t re-signing him. It’s really just ‘cause the rest of us can’t keep dealing with his massive ego and the fact that he’s a misogynistic fuck who doesn’t know the first thing about respect.”

“Fucking tell me about it,” you mutter with a sigh.

If he expected you to defend Garrett and is surprised by the fact that you haven’t, Jack doesn’t show it. He looks relaxed sitting across from you, like you’re having a casual conversation and not actively shit talking a member of his team. It gives you the impression that he knows significantly more about Garrett than you do, and that because of what he knows he probably figured out that one party in the relationship is not the most willing of participants.

“How’d you get all wrapped up it in then? Didn’t figure you to be the type to go after pricks like Ward.”

You debate over whether you should tell him or not. There isn’t much Jack can do about the situation regardless, but it would at least get things off your chest and if someone else knew then maybe you wouldn’t feel so alone anymore.

There’s only so many days you can spend hiding out in the women’s restroom trying not to bawl your eyes out, and you’ve already reached your limit.

You heave a sigh, “It’s kind of fucked up really.” A pen on your desk catches your attention and you start to fiddle with it, avoiding Jack’s eyes which have focused directly onto you. “He asked if I would help him fix up his reputation by pretending to be his girlfriend so he could show everyone that he’s matured and can hold down a steady relationship. When I told him no, he threatened to make up a lie about inappropriate conduct to get me fired and blacklisted from the industry, so for the sake of preserving my career I agreed.”

“Bloody fucking hell,” Jack murmurs, shaking his head. “I’m real sorry he did that, Y/N.”

You shrug. “It’s happened, so, there’s nothing I can really do except wait it out at this point.”

When you look up and meet his gaze, Jack looks murderous. His hands are clenched into fists on the armrests, knuckles white with the strength of his grip. His brows are furrowed, and his lips are twisted downward in a scowl.

“If you need anything,” he starts, “let me know. And I mean it. We all know how Ward can be. He’s a knobhead. So if you need anything━” his emphasis on the word and what that implies makes you feel more comforted than anything has since the whole fiasco started, “━then you let me know, or you tell one of the other boys and they’ll find me, alright?”

All you can do is nod.

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━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry

━━ a/n: no lando yet, but we've got a cutesy little grealish scene to make up for it because i couldn't have a story with manchester city and not include him! lowkey writing this part made me wanna write for a footballer too... anyways! hope you all enjoy!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 #oscar piastri

[harmonictechnicality]

Steve wakes up around three or four in the morning almost every night. He’s always careful getting out of bed. Small movements, slow footsteps. Minimal bones cracking. Doesn’t want to wake Eddie. Not that he needs to be this careful because his boyfriend could sleep through several natural disasters (and if someone bothered to wake him in this scenario, he’d put an impotency curse on them or some equally fucked-up shit). 

But that’s one of the reasons why they work. Not because of the sad-dick curse thing. They just exist on different sides of the scale. The raging insomniac and the deepest sleeper known to mankind. It balances out in the weirdest possible way.

Still… he’s always careful. Can never be too careful.

Steve doesn’t really do much when he wakes up at this ungodly hour. He sort of walks around their duplex, drinks a glass of water, opens a window to breathe in that pre-sunrise air. It fills his lungs up differently than normal air. At least, it feels like it does.

Like less people are breathing it in. Like he can take up space without feeling selfish. The logic doesn’t really add up but whatever. Concepts like logic and science are overrated at four in the morning.

After another lap around the place, he slides back into the covers, drapes an arm over Eddie’s waist. His t-shirt is rumpled up to his chest, so Steve is met with linen-warm skin. His fingers curve into Eddie’s sides, pulling himself closer. 

Steve yawns, breathing out all of his pre-sunrise air. Inhales the scent of his boyfriend instead. Smiles like an idiot into the pillow because it’s totally a fair trade.

And Eddie… well, he doesn’t even budge - doesn’t even stir when Steve settles in next to him. He just continues to wheeze through his nose, mouth slightly open. Not quite a snore, but Steve will probably tease him about it in the morning regardless. 

This right here. This makes Steve’s shitty sleep cycle worth it.

The sun pokes through the window blinds. Eddie pokes Steve’s cheek. Too much poking going on for Steve who definitely didn’t get enough sleep, per usual.

“You got up last night.” Eddie mumbles, still lazily poking him. 

“How’d you know?”

“Bed felt different.”

Oh. The way Eddie says it. A crash of honesty. His voice sounds weathered, unused from sleeping. Barely awake. It sort of hits Steve’s heart like a crime he didn’t even know he was capable of committing. 

Honestly, he doesn’t get why last night would be any different. Steve gets up most nights, not just last night. But Eddie looks particularly wounded by this (new) realization, so Steve probably shouldn’t point that out right now. Maybe in the afternoon when Eddie is more alert. Less… offended.

“Well, I’m back now.” Steve grabs Eddie’s index finger, the one poking him, and places it over his own lips. Bites at it gently till Eddie pulls away in protest. He’s smiling as he swears. Lets out a string of half-hearted threats about how he’s gonna pour Steve’s hair supplies down the sink for such a vicious attack. 

It’s a little irresistible when Eddie gets like this. When he’s the pouty one instead of Steve. All he can think to do is reach out, curl his hand underneath Eddie’s chin and pull him in. Eddie moves so easily, gives up his one-sided fight long enough to kiss Steve. Hands running up his back, legs hooking around Steve’s thighs.

Drowsy, morning kisses are so good. So, so good. Their lips feel heavier, their motions feel thicker. Every touch is guided by pure need. Steve fucking needs this, to feel Eddie curving into him, arms framing his own, groaning every damn time they break away. It all makes Steve feel needed too. Needed by the guy who changed the trajectory of his life by asking Steve to ‘hang out or something’ two years ago. 

Or Something turned out to be absolutely everything.

“New rule.” Eddie huffs, drags his lips down Steve’s jaw. “For every hour you spend awake during the night, you owe me.”

Steve laughs. “I owe you, huh?”

“Mhmm. You owe me an extra hour of wallowing in bed together in the morning.”

“What about work?”

“The hours will have to rollover, I guess. Accrue interest.” Eddie lifts up from Steve’s neck, eyebrows raised. Clearly having too much fun with this. “We can hash out the details over coffee and burnt toast.”

Typically, Steve would play along, continue the little comedy routine that Eddie starts up. But he’s so damn tired from the lack of sleep and early fucking wake-up call. So instead, he tugs Eddie back down by his collar and whispers, “Whatever you say, baby.”

Because that’s what it boils down to. He’d do anything for Eddie to kiss him this deep, till their lips blister and their jaws ache. Steve would give every fragment of lovesick happiness in his heart, just to hear the way Eddie says his name all breathy and raw. 

He can’t say that out loud, dear god no. Eddie would mock his ass into next century. So Steve just hums into Eddie’s mouth, twists the collar of his shirt enough to permanently wrinkle it. They’re verging into that gray area between cable-approved makeout sessions and dry humping till the alarm goes off. If there wasn’t an alarm to worry about, Steve would already have Eddie’s boxers already his ankles and moaning his name the way he likes it best.

Whoever invented alarm clocks are the ultimate boner-killer.

Steve ducks his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck, lays a few quick kisses on top of his shoulder. Hopes that translates to, ‘I wanna suck you off till there’s nothing left, but I’m a boring fucking adult with a boring fucking job.’ 

The translation must be clear enough because Eddie rolls off of him and heads to the bathroom. Seems just as grumpy about it as Steve. Good. They can be cranky together.

When he comes back out, they get ready for their respective work shifts. Steve looks over, watches Eddie struggle with a tangled portion of his hair, before giving up.  Accepting defeat way faster than Steve ever would. “Uh, Eddie?” He tries his best to hide his snickering through the question.

“Yeah?”

“Why does it matter if I wake up sometimes?” Okay. Most times.

“You’re gone.” Eddie shrugs. “Simple as that.”

The reaction is too mellow for Eddie though. Shrugging and dismissiveness? Nah. He’s downplaying the shit out of whatever he’s feeling, and Steve’s not having it.

“What do you mean it’s simple?”

“It’s just… I don’t know. Doesn’t seem fair.” Eddie checks the clock, then sighs. “I want more time.”

More time? More time with Steve or more time in general? Either way, it doesn’t add up. They’re young - they have all the fucking time they could ever want. Also, they live together and have all the same friends. It’s not exactly a logical theory.

Then again, neither is Steve’s ‘pre-sunrise air supply’ theory. None of it makes sense. But at least they’re here. Wanting fresh air and each other. That’s enough logic for a lifetime.

“Hey.” Steve walks over and takes Eddie’s hand. He taps over his ring finger, the one that symbolizes something they can’t have. Not now, not in this society. Still. It means something. So he stares intently at it, rubs over the place where a ring might sit. Thinks that Eddie would pick out something bold. Something gaudy and perfectly him.

More time. Steve gets it, he does. He releases Eddie’s hand and nods. Smiles.

“I’ll steal us as much time as I can, Eddie Munson.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #this is the first little thing I've written since submitting my Big Bang draft #it’s a lot softer than my normal stuff but hey #insomnia writing do be like that sometimes #(so yeah - I projected my sleep problems onto Steve) #(and yeah - I projected my tangly hair onto Eddie) #let me liveeeeeeee

[mayolive-writes]

The Love Plaza | Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x AFAB Reader

Summary: Needing to take a break from the long trip to college, you and Jungkook are forced to stay at the only lodging available within 70 miles, a love motel. And much to Jungkook’s dismay, there’s only one bed.

Wordcount: 4102

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Smut, Best Friends to lovers, Oneshot(?)

Warnings: Dry humping, mild awkwardness (these poor virgins), no penetration (this time), They’re so cute and down bad

Minors DNI

A/N: thought this would be a fun writing prompt to exercise my humor muscle. I often feel that my writing lacks comedic relief, so this was good practice! I wanted this to be goofy as shit, because friends to lovers is just that much sweeter when it’s goofy. I do have a couple other WIPs with this couple though!! One that’s fluffy and another that is significantly spicier.

Enjoy!!

The Love Plaza | Moonlight Trampoline Adventure | Labret

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

You must be shitting me.

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. Jungkook reads the sign in disbelief. The only lodging in 70 miles was a damned love motel. The bright red neon “18+” sign mocks him.

Unbelievable.

"Hell no, I can keep driving," Jungkook turns to you, there's no way you'd be okay with this.

"Jeon Jungkook, we've been driving on and off for 14 hours in a cramped truck with enough leg room for a toddler. We're both exhausted." You flash him a stern look, "we were honked at five times because we were going off the road!" With a light smack of his chest, you giggle, "besides, maybe they have a room with separate beds!" Your voice drips with sarcasm, calm about the entire situation.

Except you weren't.  Inside, you were screaming. A fucking love hotel in the middle of nowhere? This is a sick joke. But despite your inner turmoil, you keep a humored face.

"You're sure?" Jungkook asks again, just to make sure.

Cocking your eyebrow, you give him an incredulous look, "the other option is getting into a crash. I don’t think coffee and 5-hour-energy can't help us now, bun."

He sighs. With every passing second, he can feel his heart losing years of life. This definitely isn’t healthy.

A bell sounds as you and Jungkook enter, catching the eye of a desk clerk. The shabby motel is surprisingly chic inside, with modern hardwood tile, and wallpaper patterned with soft wisteria, giving the space a fresh feeling.

"Hey there! Do you have a reservation?" The smile on the clerk's face is practiced, but falters when he sees the both of you in sweatpants and t-shirts. 

He concludes on his own, no, you don't have a reservation.

As you both walk awkwardly up to the desk, the clerk continues, "just the two of you?"

Jungkook answers, "uh--yeah." You spot a basket on the counter and tap Jungkook on the shoulder, pointing.

It's full of different sized condoms in every bright color imaginable. Pink, blue, orange, yellow, purple, green.

You both hold back silly smiles, doing your utmost to keep cool. 

"And do you perhaps--" you pick up a condom out of the basket and Jungkook chokes. He takes a moment before looking at the smiley clerk again, "have a room with separate beds?"

The clerk simply stares at Jungkook. Separate beds? In a love motel?

There's been very few moments in Jungkook's life when he was truly Flustered.

1. Confessing to Sandy Morrison in second grade. 

2. His first kiss in 11th grade.

3. Figuring out that maybe he wasn’t totally straight.

4. Seeing you, his best friend and crush of at least 6 years,  pick up a large condom, neatly packed in bright neon orange wrapping, and pocketing it for some ungodly reason.

Shit.

What are you doing?

You yourself don't know what the hell you're doing. There’s zero intention in your mind of using the condom, of course--not that you wouldn't like to. But you're just trying to have fun. What else do you do in a love hotel? With this thought, you promptly lose your shit when you sight a shelf near the clerk desk that displays a variety of items.

Lube, lace garters (neatly packed in plastic packaging, fancy!), satin blindfolds, fuzzy handcuffs (red, pink, blue, black, and orange!), and the cherry on top--a brochure of "The Best Positions For A Night of Passion!"

The cackle you hold in makes you shake. You hop over to the shelf and ask the clerk, "how much for these?" Pointing to the handcuffs.

The clerk is now thoroughly confused at the contrasting interests in both you and Jungkook, who is flushed in the face--both from embarrassment and holding his laughter in. "Um... They're all a dollar, the pamphlet is free."

The clerk looks back to Jungkook, "and, sir, I'm sorry, but we don't have rooms with separate beds," leaning forward to whisper, he continues, "if you guys are fighting, take the couch." 

Well, it was worth a shot.

Once you're both checked in, Jungkook is about to walk away. That is, before he sees you go up to the desk clerk with one of each item that was displayed on the shelf. 

Oh. 

My.

God.

The clerk looks at Jungkook, his expression screaming, "dude, I can't believe you wanted separate beds!"

You happily stride beside Jungkook through the motel hallway, kinky bag in hand while he carries the luggage. You must be insane. Having finally reached room 40, you both realize that Jungkook’s hands are full of your bags. Awkwardly, you dig into his front pocket, feeling for the card.

"Um..." you look up when he speaks up, "it's in the other pocket.”

Oh. Oops.

You dig through his other pocket. 

why are these damn things so dee--

What. Was. That.

Jungkook gasps.

You gasp.

Realizing what you’ve just done, you flinch away, “Oh my god! I’m so fucking sorry--" Jungkook is utterly speechless. This night just keeps getting more and more inconceivable. He says nothing as you dig more cautiously and finally yank out the godforsaken key.

One minute later you're finally in the room, with yours and Jungkook’s cheeks throbbing red.

Nice one, y/n.

As you both walk further in, you gasp. All other thoughts vanish at the sight.

Jesus Christ, what a night.

"Oh my god, Koo!" You drag him in faster and he sees you fall into a burst of laughter, and once he sees it too, promptly loses his composure at the ridiculous sight.

The bed is obviously heart-shaped, the sheets are red satin, and the blankets are pink velvet. The mattress is adorned with frilly heart pillows and lacy detailing, with a black headboard screwed into the wall (which is probably for the best).

You both share gazes of utter astonishment, only to fall over yourselves once more. The sheer ridiculousness of it all hitting you full force. Jungkook’s laughter only falters when he notices that there isn't a couch.

This leaves him with two options. Share the bed with you and sacrifice a sleepless night resulting in another 10 hours of hell tomorrow, or sleep on the plush black carpeted floor and spend the next week with achy muscles and a crick in the neck.

He's gonna have to sleep on the fucking floor.

Quietly, Jungkook goes into the bathroom, leaving you to your own devices.

One bed. God, what a cliché. Jeon Jungkook will not be brought down by some fanfic writer’s wet dream.

Despite the inconvenience of the motel, Jungkook is relieved as the hot water spews from the showerhead. He’s needed this all day. Each muscle becomes looser, and Jungkook finds himself relaxing as the sound of water hitting the floor puddles in his mind.

6 long years.

Jungkook was twelve when he realized he had a big, fat, disgusting crush on you. But he knew it wasn’t a big deal. Crushes pass and fade. It’s impossible not to have a crush at that age.

Jungkook was 16 when he realized it wasn’t just a crush anymore. The poor bastard was head over heels. Down for the count. Your smile made his heart burn—he’d do anything to see it. He’d pull up pictures of you on his phone on the rare occasion he couldn’t see you, just to make sure he could at least see your smile every day. He recalls feeling stupid for feeling so fuzzy about you all the time, but what’s shameful about wanting to see someone you love happy and smiling? Nothing.

At some point, it turned physical. Absolute hell. He felt complete and utter shame the first time he touched himself while thinking about you. It was deplorable how badly and how often he yearned for your lips on his body.  

Throughout high school, Jungkook could barely look at anyone else other than you. Others could tell, most didn’t even try making a move on him. Except for his first kiss, taking place after prom in the parking lot. He remembers apologizing profusely to his date the next day, admitting that he just didn’t feel that way about them.

During graduation, he almost slipped. Almost confessed that he wanted to give it a shot. The longing was becoming too much. But no matter how close he came to finally spitting it out he’d always chicken out. You meant too much. And it felt… wrong to spring it on you.

But this? He might break in two. He’s insane, he knows, but that millisecond where you accidentally touched him through his pants almost made him hydroplane, losing all traction on reality.

A knock on the door yanks Jungkook out of his murky thoughts. “If you use up all the hot water, I’ll personally annihilate you, Kookie.”

He can’t hold back a smirk, “yeah, yeah, I’m almost done.”

If hot showers were personified, you’d marry them. Specifically, the ones taken after your best friend, with his scent still lingering. This night has been one hell of a rollercoaster, and you take your time washing away the 14 hours of uncomfortable driving and cleanse your airways. Jungkook has always smelled like home to you. Years of friendship will do that to a person. Not even your own family can make you feel at ease like he does, with the way he shines. Bright enough to feel warm, but not so bright as to scare anyone away.

7 long years.

You were 11 when you realized you had a big, fat, disgusting crush on Jungkook. But you’d had countless meaningless crushes at that age, he was just a crush out of convenience, right?

Wrong.

You were 16 when you realized it wasn’t just a crush anymore. Something about Jungkook’s demeanor with you changed. He was always nice to you, but as Jungkook matured, his rough-and-tumble attitude crumbled away into something softer, cushier, and sweeter. It was unbearable. Whenever he put a secure arm around your shoulder, your heart would squeeze, and then release. First yearning, then comfort.

You wanted him. In more than one way. Never in a million years would you live down the shame from the first time you let him invade your thoughts alone at night. It wasn’t that long ago, really. Jungkook had turned 18, and He wasted little to no time in getting a lip piercing. You nonchalantly said it looked cool, but it kept you up that night.

It was becoming too much, but with graduation fast approaching you thought you’d finally have your out. You’d go off to college, and as much as you’d miss your best friend, you knew you needed to get away, and hopefully the love would fade with time.

Well, that was before you found out that Jungkook was going to the same college as you.

It was pure coincidence.

So here you are. Desperately trying to wash away your increasing desire on both fronts, romantically and sexually.

Regretfully, you step out of the shower into the cold bathroom air. In an instant you’re pulling Jungkook’s stolen hoodie over your head.

The room is dead silent when you leave the bathroom, and you spot Jungkook resting peacefully on the heart-shaped bed. His eyes are closed. It’s moments like these that make you want to give in and just tell him. So what if he doesn’t feel the same way? So what if he doesn’t fight back the urge to kiss you every day? So. Fucking. What.

He’s your best friend. That’s fucking what.

Losing him is not an option.

“Gook?” Jungkook is lightly startled, and you almost feel bad for waking him. “Hey, can you move over?”

“Huh?” He groggily looks around, then realizes, “Oh—yeah, yeah, just a sec.”

With sloth-like movements, Jungkook grabs a pillow and a blanket from the bed and lays them on the floor, but before he can slip down onto the carpet you stop him, “woah, woah, woah. What’re you doing?”

“Uhhh, going to sleep?”

“On the floor? We’ve shared a bed before, doofus.”

“yeah, when we were like, nine.” Jungkook retorts. Please, God. Don’t do this to him.

You know it’ll be hell sharing a bed with him, but you’d feel like shit making him sleep on the floor. “What’re you afraid of, catching cooties? Come on, bun, it’s not a big deal.” It is a big deal. It is such a stupidly big deal.

Jungkook takes a moment to read your eyes, only a feeling a twinge of awkwardness. With reluctance, he moves the blanket and pillow back onto the bed and climbs in first. He can do this.

You climb in behind him, settling in quickly. His back is to you, thank God, but warmth is radiating from his body. You can’t do this.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Focus.

Focus on the patter of the rain outside. Focus on the whirring of the ceiling fan above. Focus on the softness of the sheets. Focus on the warmth of the blankets. Focus on the smell of the detergent. Focus on the smell of Jungkook’s shampoo.

Wait, no. Don’t focus on that.

Hell freezes over in the time it takes for you to get comfortable.

It feels like infinity has passed by as Jungkook lays deathly still. One movement and he’ll shatter. The bed feels smaller than it looks. The proximity is too much. He can hear your deep breaths, can feel them in how your back lightly hits his with every intake of air. His body feels like it’ll start vibrating. His chest feels like it might implode. His thoughts are spiraling. He just wants you.

Eyes. Closed. Mouth. Closed. Mind. A work in progress. Sheep, count sheep.

1…

2…

3…

Just fall asleep. Please. You tell yourself.

Closing your eyes, you count the seconds as they pass by into minutes. You’re on minute 28 when a haze finally begins to ease you. But some prick outside of your room drops something heavy and you hear them giggling and walking away. You hope they have a terrible night’s sleep. Even if they weren’t planning on sleeping anyway.

Being conscious again, it’s impossible to ignore it. You can’t take it. You can’t. His warmth, his smell. His smile, his laugh.

Him.

Something possesses you. Chest aching painfully, heart beating mercilessly.

You whisper.

“Jungkook,”

“Yeah?” He curses the waver in his voice as your body shifts around to face his back. It takes him a moment before he has enough courage to turn around.

Your eyes.

Your eyes are big and wide, you look scared and excited all at once. “Jungkook, I…”

What are you doing?

You must be insane.

Just forget it.

But there’s no going back.

Do it.

Just say it.

Say it.

Fucking say it.

You like—

No.

He gently reaches for your hand beneath the blanket. The mingling of your fingers calms your mind, eases your breathing. “Thanks,” a whisper is sent across the small distance that separates the two of you. “How do you feel about me?”

Jungkook stares. Huh? That’s all? He chuckles, “We’ve been friends since we were like, four. It’s a good bet that I like you.”

You blink. What an absolute dunce. “No, you stupid asshat, how do you feel about me?” All this courage makes your mouth keep moving, “I mean… I feel something, and sometimes it seems like you feel something too. Can you like, tell me if it’s just me?”

Jungkook’s eyes go wide, his warm hand slipping away.

Oh. You’ve made a huge mistake.

Or so you think before he’s crawling to hover over you, hands beside your head. “You like me?”

It’s your turn for your eyes to bulge, your face burning at the position, one that you’ve imagined at least a million times. Head turning away, you reiterate, “Unfortunately.”

His head falls to your shoulder, “Oh my god. Holy shit, oh my God. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this shit, holy fucking shit.” You patiently wait for his rambling to stop, but you’re confused now. He’s on top of you. This man is on top of you but hasn’t said anything about how he feels yet.

The only natural response is to flick his forehead, of course.

“Hey, ouch!”

You exaggerate the clearing of your throat, “’holy shit, I can’t believe this shit.’ Isn’t a super direct answer, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re mean?”

“Aww did I hurt you fee—” His lips touch yours softly, but it doesn’t last long enough before he falls back to his side of the bed.

“It’s not just you,” Your hands find each other again.

A thick silence rests over you, despite your staggering heart. You want him to kiss you again, desperately. You push yourself to ask, “kiss me again? Maybe longer this time?”

Jungkook obliges wordlessly, leaning over to press his lips against yours once more. It’s slow, cautious, unsure. Your body feels tense, making it difficult to feel excited. Not sure what to do, you pull him closer by his sweatshirt, forcing your bodies to touch.

It feels like he’s melting into you. His lips are still shaky, but he pushes forward, placing his hand on your hip as you wrap a leg over his body. Creating even less distance between you. There’s a heavy breath.

“Um… okay, pause.” Your eyes meet. He nods and his fingers brush through your hair, playing with it casually and awaiting your next request. In this wide expanse of time, the tingle of him playing with your hair lulls your mind and heart.  

“Again?”

Third time’s the charm, right?

With less hesitance than before, Jungkook finds your lips again, keeping his hand buried in your hair. This time, it’s more comfortable, and your lips tingle. Unsure of what to do with yourself, your hands grip his sweatshirt even tighter, and you find it in yourself to lean in closer, breath quickening less from nerves and more from pleasure.

How many times had you thought of this? Each scenario being different, passionate and fiery. And yet of the hundreds of daydreams, none of them were accurate. Despite the underlying awkwardness, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

All thoughts drift away when Jungkook’s lips leave your own, and before you can protest, they fall upon your neck. Far more astonishing is when he drags you on top of him, changing your positions.

A quiet gasp escapes. Woah, woah woah, buddy.

But your surprise doesn’t stop him from dragging his lips to the other side of your neck. You feel your legs go numb. With his stupid lips on your neck still, he asks, “Is this okay?”

There’s a lot of fumbling in your brain before you can answer, “mhm… I’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Oh really? How much of it?” This stupid bitch.

“Shut up before you ruin it, just keep going.” You have no clue, but to Jungkook, the breathlessness in your voice feels like kryptonite.

Slipping a hand beneath your hoodie, you jolt at his touch. “How far do you want me to go?”

You squirm, “Um… I don’t know yet, is that okay?”

“Good, cuz’ I don’t know either. We can stop at any point.” Becoming impatient, you only give him a nod before you guide his hand to slip further into your hoodie. The trail of his touch his tingly, unpredictable, exciting. The gentle nature in the way he feels you causes your body to take on a mind of its own as your hips sink into Jungkook, forcing a groan from his lips. “Fuck, do that again.” You follow his instruction, and he lets out another noise of pleasure. It sends a spark coursing through you, leaning in to kiss him again. It’s messier this time, the caress of his hand on your skin making the simple task of breathing complicated. Your hips push down again, and the bulge you feel beneath you makes you gasp. In quick succession, Jungkook’s fingers brush over the tip of your breast, and to your utter shock a whine flows out of your lips. Your legs lose more strength, and you follow instinct. One hand slips beneath Jungkook’s shirt, and the jerk has the audacity to cup your breast in retaliation, dragging another whine out of you. Your head falls to his neck, partially because you feel like jelly, and partially because you want to leave a string of kisses to match what he so generously left on you prior.

With each kiss your hands keep exploring his torso and chest. If he can play dirty, so can you.

Or so you thought.

He pulls the neckline of your hoodie down to gain access to your collarbone before leaning up and licking a bold stripe from your clavicle up to your neck, dragging your body closer all the while. And when he latches on to the crook of your neck, sucking hard and meeting your hips as they subconsciously grind into him, you release a moan.

“There you go.”

You see through hazy vision the smirk on his face. Different from any that you’ve seen in your countless years of friendship.

He does it again, latching onto a spot along your collarbone and sucking, harsh but loving. Easing the sting with another swipe of his tongue.

The room is soon a quiet orchestra of heavy breaths and stifled groans, whines, and moans.

Time feels nonexistent.

“I think I want you to touch me, koo--”

“You think?”

You whine, “God, I don’t know—I just need more.”

He groans, “Fuck, babe.”

His hands securely grip your hips, and guide them to grind down onto him, hard. His sweatpants barely getting in the way.

You gasp at first, but as he keeps guiding your hips you let out a moan, louder than the one before. You cover your lips, not wanting to be heard by anyone outside.

“shit babe, please don’t be quiet, please—”

As the rhythm of your hips continue, you lean down, resting your head beside Jungkook’s ear, hoping that the muffle of the pillows will prevent anyone other than Jungkook hearing you. You let go, letting your moans flow, as his hips meet yours. Each sound you let out into his ear brings Jungkook closer to his breaking point.

“Keep going Koo, I’m close.” You whisper, and the sounds Jungkook lets out sound almost painful.

“Fuck, I love you.” He whines. And with barley another thrust of his hips, he comes undone beneath you. He keeps his grip on your hips, continuing to bring your hips down onto him.

You can barely manage “I love you too, Koo” before you find release.

The butterflies haven’t subsided yet. You’re clean and warm in bed again with Jungkook, hands and hearts intertwined. This time sleep feels more possible, but you can’t help but want to talk.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“some of that felt awkward, right?”

“Well, I don’t think anything is more awkward than when we were forced to take a bath together when we were toddlers just cuz’ we got all muddy in the rain.”

You giggle as Jungkook pulls you in closer against his chest. “Yeah, sex ain’t shit compared to that.”

The warmth lulled you into a comfortable silence. You can’t remember the last time you felt this content, and you never want it to end. Every night this is what you want. Hands fit together loosely, blanket tangled between your bodies.

Jungkook will process with time that this is his new reality. His new reality in which you fall asleep in his arms, in which he can pull you closer, hold you tighter, and play with your fingers as he drifts off into a dreamland that couldn’t possibly match what he has with you. No one knows what the future holds, but Jungkook sure as hell hopes that you’re a part of it.

This shaggy love motel did more good than he thought it would.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#bts smut #bts fanfic #bangtan sonyeondan #bts #Jungkook smut #jungook fanfic #bts imagines #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts scenarios #Jungkook #Jungkook imagine #Jungkook x reader #Jungkook fic #Jungkook x y/n #smut #kpop smut #female reader #Jungkook fluff #bts fics #jeon Jungkook

[peterthepark]

so damn into you

pairing: eddie munson x cheerleader!reader

tags: 18+ graphic smut, mature content, piv, dirty talk, established fwb, swearing, rough sex, ring kink and spanking, mentions of drugs, squirting, choking, throat fucking

summary: good girls stay out of trouble. bad girls invite rockstars like eddie munson into their bedroom and fuck secretly behind closed doors. there’s something different about your dynamic though, and you’re starting to think it isn’t just the sex.

notes: title references so damn into you by vlad holiday! enjoy :)

There seems to be this forbidden rule in the crowded halls of Hawkins High that runs till this day. It’s funny, truly, how the concepts behind cliques have such a serious hold over your fellow senior classmates. The idea that cliques can’t mix, can’t intermingle, or — hell — can’t even fucking look at each other because a glance meant absolutely everything drives you crazy.

Especially when you liked breaking the rules.

Especially when you liked looking at him.

Him with his shaggy hair, those big doe-eyes with that familiar sparkle of mischief that always had you smiling behind your locker whenever he’d saunter by, him with his obvious double takes of boyish desire in the cafeteria whenever you’d walk past in that tiny little skirt to go sit with the cheer squad as if you didn’t know each other at all, him and the way he stares at you after school, crossing his arms across his chest while he leans up against his van and counts the minutes till he can touch you.

Those eyes were always only for you. Always you. Always him. And yet, always behind closed doors, out of sight, forever in your mind, because the connection between an innocent cheerleader and the mirthful leader of the freakish Hellfire Club would be deemed the semester’s next controversial topic aside from that recurring rumor that Chrissy Cunningham does cocaine in the girls’ bathroom.

Not true, by the way. It’s definitely weed.

The twenty-year old senior has a reputation far different from yours, an accumulation of all the negative remarks people seem to implode upon him for his extreme love of D&D, overachieving rock band and his late highschool graduation. 

Although, if someone were to accuse you of having sex with Eddie Munson on a regular basis? You’d be totally screwed. Surely, something with a lack of seriousness couldn’t be so problematic? Sex with no feelings. One-hundred percent, to the core, consensual sex, filthy and forward with zero emotions implied. 

A fling, who you’d let tear you apart anytime and any day.

A fling that leaves you not just weak in the knees but… fuck. That’s all it is: a fling. Right?

So when Eddie shows up at your bedroom window with autumn-colored leaves in his hair and a shit-eating grin, the palpitations in your achy heart tell you otherwise. You don’t exchange many words, moreso just usher him inside and gently shut the latch behind him as if your entire manic spiel of avoiding each other’s houses hadn’t mattered at all anymore.

At this point, nothing matters. Except him. He always does. Especially now, when he’s hauling himself off of that little bench by your windowsill and nearly face-planting into the carpet with how he ungracefully maneuvers his taller frame into your arms for the millionth time this week. You’re careful not to make too much sound, giggling like children as Eddie’s boots thump against your flooring.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Eddie whispers with twitchy lips, scratching the nape of his neck bashfully as he adjusts to the midnight darkness of your small bedroom. “I know I’m late, but I had this really, really important campaign earlier and those shitheads Dustin and Mike needed a ride home, so I didn’t want to just leave them hanging which is why…”

You interrupt him with an overdue kiss to the lips, caressing his flushed cheeks as his outgoing hand gestures come to a halt and instinctively make their way down your soft sides. You slowly ease your tongue into his mouth, his large palm splaying over your jaw as he draws you closer to him. 

“Well, hello to you too, sweetheart.” Eddie quips playfully. 

You pull away shyly, wiping the smeared gloss from your mouth with the back of your wrist. “Sorry. Artificial strawberry.”

He hums in approval, smacking his lips together. “Tastes sweet. You know, actually reminds me of something…”

“Oookay, you can stop right there.” 

“I was gonna say your…”

You glare at him, “Eddie.” 

“Fine.” He rubs your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, remnants of a chuckle falling upon his features as the moonlight dances through your curtains. “Y’know, your lips are always so soft, so… fucking delicate — how do you do that? Jesus Christ, you smell really — fuck, you smell really good right now.”

You twirl one of his unruly curls around your digit, batting your lashes up at him as you pout with feigned innocence. “All fresh and clean from a shower.”

Eddie’s brows shoot upwards in amusement at your suggestion, “I can change that.” 

“Really?” You gnaw on the inside of your mouth, feeling his hand dip lower and lower on your back as you instinctively arch into him. “Why? Feeling filthy?”

He holds your cheek, palm spreading across your blemished skin as he stares into your eyes. “Everytime I’m with you, all I am is filthy.” His lips twitch humorously. “You turn me into an absolute horndog, what can I say? Short skirts, knee-high socks, and you know I go a little crazy for those black converse.”

“Converse turns you on?” You snicker, nearly yelping aloud when the backs of your knees finally hit the edge of your king-sized bed and you catch yourself against the springy mattress. 

You look up to Eddie, jaw falling open as he thumbs at your bottom lip. His tall shadow is far from menacing, but surely intimidating as he smiles toothily down at your frame. “You’re so silly, converse doesn’t turn me on. But, hey, you know what does, though?” He sighs out through his nostrils, using his other hand to card through your scalp and tilt your head back. “Mmm, look at me.”

“I am.” You gulp loudly.

“Look harder, Y/N.” You want him to swallow you whole. Right there, with that look, the intensity of his gaze and the dominant stature of his skilled hands molding and melting into your body. “You know what turns me on? The thought of having fucked you in nothing but those converse, back in my van, just a few days ago. You must remember, hm?” 

You clench your thighs together at the recollection.

“I remember, alright.” You hold his stare, feeling his thumb dip a bit further into your mouth. “Came home smelling like sex and weed. My cheer uniform… all sticky and gross.”

“And you liked it… because the next day, you still smelled like my van. Meaning…” Eddie hooks his finger against the corner of your lip, before pulling away and putting the glistening digit against his own tongue. “You slept without washing me off you, little lady.” He hums in approval when you shut your eyes. “Hawkins’ perfect angel of a cheerleader, such a good fucking girl that surely no one in this small town would suspect that she’s actually just a slut for my cock…”

You whimper, tucking your chin to your chest as a rush of heat pulses through your cunt. “F-Fucking hell…” 

“With the mouth of an actual sailor, by the way.” He shrugs almost dorkily, “But, god, do I love that mouth.” His hand slips to the nape of your neck, fingers gripping the soft skin before he starts to breathe heavily and blink rapidly. “Shit, can I kiss you?”

You don’t even answer, just nod and awkwardly rise from the bed to meet Eddie’s lips halfway — your knees are buckling beneath you from the weight of him against you, his plump lips velvety and familiar as his tongue explores your wet mouth. 

You try to be more resigned, knowing that flaunting your neediness would only stroke Eddie’s already-growing ego. But your older classmate has learned to see right through whatever facade you use to convince yourself that you’re immune to him. 

This current dynamic is different from when you first slept together.

You’ve grown bolder, he’s taken note of that. Especially in public, you like to stare. A minute turns into two, two turns into a couple glances that are too shit to be even called subtle, and glances turn into objectifying stares at his hands or rings, his lap, and sometimes even the ink on his arms.

Eddie gets off on it more than he should.

He finds pleasure in breaking your little good-girl cheerleader act, knowing that his unholy influence is seeping right through the cracks of your misleading halo.

But you’ve also grown tender to one another. Eddie knows there’s still that awful rift between your differing sides of highschool, but sometimes your company means more than just sex to him. He feels… wanted, seen, sure of himself, because a pretty woman like you probably wouldn’t hang out with anyone like him if he wasn’t someone of good substance. 

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t only sex. Because on the afternoons you’d sit in his van, he sometimes wouldn’t even think about what was underneath that cheer uniform. Fuck the uniform, he could listen to you and your animated self talk for ages, watching how your bright smile spreads across your cheeks and your kind eyes light up with enthusiasm as you tell him about your day. 

He knows he’s screwing himself over for the long run.

“I’m still sore, just so you know.” You whisper brokenly against his lips, clutching a fistful of his leather jacket. “I had to skip last practice because I really couldn’t walk straight.”

Eddie moans wantonly at the confession, covering up his whiny tone with a stifled cough. “Oh, that’s a shame.”

“It really is.” 

“Let’s make it happen again, then.” He grins, winking at you before he’s settling you down onto the bed. He rests on his knees between your spread legs, chin jutted out as he studies how your arms lay out over your pretty head. “Fuck, you’re so cute like this.”

You scoff, glad that the darkness can mask your flustered expression. “M’not doing anything.” 

Eddie tosses his jacket to the side, baring a plain white tee. “No, you aren’t. It’s just adorable seeing how all innocent and put-together you look right before I fuck you.” 

You gasp when he roughly tugs you closer to him by the slope of your calf, hooking your leg over his shoulder and pervertedly watching the way your shorts ride up your thigh from the new angle. 

“Take a picture,” You breathe out, moaning quietly as Eddie kisses along your exposed skin and brushes his mouth against your ankle. “It’ll last longer.”

“I have enough pictures back at home.” He smirks devilishly with a shrug, and you can’t help but laugh knowing that he’s absolutely right. Shoebox of polaroids and other things hidden under his bed. Classic move. “None of them are as good as the real deal right here, sweetheart.”

Eddie sets your leg down from his shoulder, gently skimming his hand over the faint lovebites across your thigh before he’s helping you out of your oversized shirt and shorts. Both look two sizes too big on you, but either way, he still finds it sexy. His palms hover over the naked swell of your breasts, fingertips barely running across your hard nipples as the cool air of your bedroom hits your chest. 

Your apparent lack of bra is coupled with a pair of lacy boyshort panties, a little ripped by the waistband, but Eddie honestly doesn’t care (he can do a lot more damage than some wear and tear). He admires how it hugs your hips perfectly, cheeky from the back and nearly teases him with how it drapes over your ass before the cloth disappears between your luscious thighs.

“Touch me.” You pout, tucking his hair behind his ear. 

He grins. “So eager, let me take you in. Don’t rush it.”

“Mmm, okay. Whatever you say, dungeon master.” A giggle escapes your throat, sweet and innocent, and not at all mischievous. His nostrils flare, eyes dilating into the darkest shade of brown you’ve ever seen him sport. “Does… that turn…? Oh, my god, it does!”

He pushes your shoulder playfully, sneaking a glance at the way your breasts jiggle from the movement. “Shut up.”

“Okay, I thought it was a joke.”

Eddie winces. “You’re kinkshaming right now, you know that?”

You bite back your widening smile, and take it upon yourself to hook your arms behind his neck as you clamber onto his lap. “I think it’s kinda hot.”

“You’re a horrible liar, Y/N.”

“Oh, please fuck me, dungeon master.” You draw a laugh out of Eddie, stroking his flushed cheeks as he finally finds the courage to lock eyes with you again. “Show me who’s boss. Come on.”

Eddie hisses when you grind yourself against his denim-clad thigh, suddenly a reminder of his aching hard-on. “You’re a fucking whore.”

“Okay, now you’re just telling me qualities about myself that I already know.” You nudge your nose against his, entranced by the image of his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So? Are you gonna fuck me like the whore you think I am?”

Eddie’s hands squeeze the fleshiness of your ass, rings cold against your bottom before a hot sting starts to crawl over your skin. 

He spanked you, and you’re certain that his ornate jewelry has left an angry mark that’ll appear in the morning.

“No need for me to think when I already know.” He whispers, before he’s pulling his shirt over his wild head of hair and flinging the ball of fabric at you. You catch it before it can hit you in the face, tossing it back at Eddie with a giggly hmph! that makes both of you lose your balance.

The sudden motion combined with your bodies at the edge of the bed sends you tumbling onto the carpet, limbs hitting the floor with a foreshadowing of bruises. You both wince at the loud thud that echoes throughout the house, and Eddie’s thankful that your family is full of deep sleepers — a theory that he hates to say has been tested out before.

“Are you okay?” He laughs, propping himself up on a pale elbow as he cups a hand over his twitchy mouth. You both erupt into hearty chuckles, muffling your amusement behind your forearm.

You groan, rubbing your boob. “Peachy.” 

“Mmm, I’m sorry. Listen, I can make it better.” Eddie crawls over to you, spreading your thighs apart with an expert knee as he hovers over you. “I know a couple tricks.”

“If you’re that horny, you could’ve just told me.” He watches the careful rise and fall of your breasts, taking in the suppleness of your abdomen and the slight arch in your back against the floorboards.

He bends over you, slowly mouthing at the space above your navel before his large hands travel up your stomach and knead at your tits. Your mouth falls open, nothing but the ghost of a moan leaving your throat as Eddie pinches your nipples and runs his tongue up your middle. The hot muscle immediately finds one of your breasts, taking the pebbled skin between his lips before he tends to your other hardened nipple. 

You card a shaky hand through his curls, taking a gentle handful and guiding his head to that sweet spot beneath your jaw. “Fuck, you’re pretty.” Eddie whispers, pecking the underside of your chin before he’s trailing his lips over that vein in your neck. “Can I tell you something?” You hum, lashes fluttering against your cheek as Eddie nips at your earlobe with a knowing grin. “I’m so fucking horny, I just wanna take you from behind on this floor. Is that what you wanted to hear from me, Y/N? God, is that alright? Me eating you out right here, me fucking your mouth till you’re just drooling, then me cumming inside your little pussy? Is that okay with you, sweet girl?”

You squirm beneath him, pleading with your eyes as he pins your wrists over your head. “Y-Yes, Eddie. I… fuck, yes. Please.” His teeth make contact with your neck, a tiny pinch drawing a needy groan out of you before his tongue swipes across your pulse point and soothes the bite mark he’s left. “Wanna feel good.”

Eddie kneels back and sighs out desperately, puffing his hair away from his face as he guides your hand and runs it over his torso. You bite your lip as goosebumps form under your compelling touch, his faint abs flexing against your palm as you skim over his happy trail and make straight for the tattoo near his collarbone.

“You can be quiet for me, can’t you?” He inquires, his voice dripping with desire. You nod instantly, and Eddie almost laughs at how quickly your head bobs in agreement. “That’s a good girl. Help me out of this, yeah? Can’t let me stay here and do all the work.” He gestures at his heavy belt buckle and distressed jeans, smiling cattily as your fingers eagerly run his belt out of the loops and pop the button of his pants. “Fuck, feel how hard I am.”

You sit up and press your hand against the thick outline of his clothed cock, mewling at the feeling as Eddie’s eyes light up with an immediate burst of ego. 

“Don’t let it get to your head, Munson.”

“Honestly? It’s all going straight to my dick.” He huffs, throwing his head back as you kiss him through his boxers. The tone of his voice changes instantly once you start to palm him, lips massaging the tip of his leaking prick through the fabric, “Shit, fuck, o-okay… you know what, I’ve been edging myself this entire day, and I really don’t wanna get walked in on so if you could… just… hell, if I could fuck your throat like right now… please, I’m dying to be inside you.”

“God, you really are horny tonight.” You laugh teasingly, pulling the waistband of his boxers past his hips. “What’s gotten into you, rockstar? Is it the whole dungeon master thing?”

“Oh, my god. You need to shut the fuck up.” He hisses playfully, scooting forward until his hard cock is aligned with your parting mouth. “Getting off on my embarrassment is so not funny, Y/N.”

He doesn’t hesitate to shove the reddened tip right between your lips, and you immediately salivate at the weight of him on your tongue. Waiting has never been Eddie’s strong suit, always too eager, and you seem to take it as impatience when really, he’s yearning to be as close to you as possible. 

“Mmm… E-Eddie!” You whimper around him, using your fist to fuck the base of his cock while you suckle on his aching head. 

He inhales deeply, placing his hand on the back of your head. “Look at you, baby. C’mon, suck me off. You know exactly how to do it. Had to teach you in the library bathroom that one time, didn’t I?” His hips instinctively buck up into you, pushing his length further into your mouth. The tip of your nose is pressed up against the groomed tuft of dark curls by his lower abdomen, inhaling the scent of his manhood as Eddie guides your head up and down his dick. “Fuck, and you were such a f-fast learner, too. Weren’t you? Can I go a bit harder, sweetheart?”

Your face scrunches up into pleasure when Eddie’s hand dips between your thighs, cold rings skimming over the damp crotch of your panties before you’re widening your legs and opening your jaw even more for him. 

He tightens his hold on the back of your head, fingers stroking your scalp as he keeps you in place and his hips rhythmically meet your mouth. Saliva starts to roll down your chin, a trail of wetness making its way past your flexing neck as Eddie fucks your warm throat. 

“Damn it, Y/N, you’re taking it so well. You love it when I fuck your throat like this? Filthy thing, tsk tsk. What would your little cheer team say? Their favorite member… s-shit, getting her throat fucked by an awful boy like me in her own bedroom. You gonna tell ‘em how much you enjoy getting corrupted by me?”

You scratch at his inked thighs, clasping a hand over the backside of his knee to draw him nearer. His jeans hang haphazardly low on his hips, the front slick from the spit dripping off your knuckles and the mess that spills over the corners of your lips. 

Eddie finds pleasure in your humiliation, in fact, it’s what keeps his cock begging for more. 

So, when you quickly pull away from him and blink away the tears from your sparkling eyes to utter your next words, he’s practically begging for sweet release.

“Want you to be rougher with me tonight. Please, Eds.”

“How rough?” His brow quirks upwards, a taunting smirk tugging at his mouth. “Like… fuck you till you can’t walk kind-of-rough? Slap you in the face? Spank you till your gorgeous ass is just… covered in — fuck — bruises?“ He drags the tip of his prick along your cheek, moaning at how your eyes flutter shut at the feeling and a shaky sigh leaves your body. “Choke you till your neck is covered with the outline of my rings? What, so you can show up to school tomorrow and flaunt it for everyone to gawk at like the fucking dumbasses they are? Can’t figure out who’s been railing the pretty cheerleader, can’t they?”

You whine at his loaded words, avoiding eye contact when his fingers find the underside of your loose jaw. His touch is a stark contrast to the tone of his voice. “Need you so bad.”

Eddie begs to differ. He needs you more. Needs to be buried inside you and never leave, just an endless night of wild, uncoordinated sex like horny rabbits — so believe him when he says he needs this more.

“Where do you want me?”

A pout forms on your lips as you intertwine your hand with his and drag it towards your mound. “Here.”

Eddie coos, splaying a hand over your stomach. “Lay back then, baby. I’ll go easy. Promise.” You send him an unconvinced look, watching as he finds solace in the space between your thighs and flops onto his stomach. “What’s up with that face?”

You roll your eyes, gesturing at him as he hooks his ringed thumbs over your boyshorts and pulls. “And by easy you mean… make me cum on your tongue like fifty gazillion times till I’m begging for mercy.”

He pauses in contemplation, before letting out a sound of agreement and pursing his lips. “Sounds ‘bout right. You never seem to really complain though.” You swear your vision blurs when Eddie flattens his digit along your folds, teasing your poor hole with gentle swirls. “My sweet Y/N, it seems that you’re already soaking wet.”

“I can’t help it. Rings off, by the way.”

Eddie playfully frowns, making haste to rid himself of his silver ornaments. “Watch these for me.” You moan when he lines the cold jewelry straight along your navel, “And keep still.” He says. “Wouldn’t want these little babies all over the floor.”

You look down at him from where you lay, hands reaching for him as his steady breaths fan over your pulsing cunt. The placement of his rings on your belly feels incredibly sexual, like a signature on your body that belonged to Eddie. Every tiny movement you make causes the silver to shift just a little bit, so when his tongue finally makes contact with your clit, you have to stop yourself from thrashing out in satisfaction.

But something about the way Eddie looks at you from between your thighs, his moans buried in your own folds, just makes you want to leap up and take him right there. 

Maybe you don’t give him enough credit for his restraint.

He continues to flick his tongue over your bundle of nerves, testing out your sensitivity and relearning the perfect amount of pressure when he suckles on your clit. He drags his hands down your outer thighs, gripping the soft flesh with a newfound hunger.

“Fuck, E-Eddie… feels nice. God, I love your mouth, you’re so — so good with it, baby.” 

“Yeah? Fucking tastes delicious. Could eat your pussy out everyday.” He chuckles sneakily. “Maybe even take you to-go. Lick you up whenever I need a snack.”

You whimper, balling your hands into fists in his hair when he slips a long finger inside you. “Perv.” 

“Simply a man speaking his mind, Y/N.” Eddie’s digit slowly curls into you, making an embarrassing wet and sopping sound that draws a whiny groan out of him. “Christ, you really are wet. Fucking hell, babe.”

Babe.

That’s a first. 

Eddie adds another finger, the soft heel of his palm is pressed roughly against your clit as he rocks his hand into you. Your cunt grips around him tightly, pulling him in further with every stroke that brushes against your contracting walls. He nibbles on your inner thigh while gauging your reaction, dreamily gazing up at you with those huge eyes as he fucks you with his slender fingers.

“Eds, please. Mmm… f-fuck, I’m… fuck!” You grit your teeth to muffle the sounds of your broken moans, the rings laid out on your stomach nearly toppling over as your hips jolt up. “You fill me up so well, your fingers are so — fuck, please. Please just fuck me.”

“Oh, such a dirty mouth.” He hums in amusement, grinning as he uses his other hand to massage your clit. “At least give me one orgasm. Just one, baby. You know I love making you cum more than once. You deserve it, deserve cumming over and over again like the pretty girl you are.”

His hand snaps into you faster, your juices coating his palm as you start to drip all over him. His digits are embarrassingly slick, and you quickly feel the rush of your climax approaching from his gentle words.

“I’m — I’m close, just please… please keep touching me like that. Gonna… gonna cum.” 

A smile spreads across his face, “Yeah? Keep beggin’ for it. Show me how much you want it. Need some convincing.”

“Please, please let me cum. I’m so — Eddie, want you so bad. Please make me cum so I can… fuck, so I can have your cock inside me already.” 

“Only because you said so, sweet thing.”

You share a look. Longing. Need. Lust. 

Then Eddie is fucking his fingers knuckle-deep into you, relentless and unstopping, a sensation so overwhelming that you don’t even know you’re cumming until Eddie is pointing out how you’ve wet the carpet. 

“Did you just…” Your mouth falls open in disbelief, breasts heaving as he pulls his fingers from your cunt. 

He grins toothily. The smug bastard. “Make you squirt? Hell-fucking-yeah.” Eddie leans over you, capturing your lips in a celebratory kiss that feels all too tender. “That was so goddamn hot. Christ, I could cream my pants.”

“You’re so lame.” You laugh, pushing his shoulder gently before he’s pecking either side of your cheek.

“Lame? Does lame make a girl squirt? I don’t think so. I’m cool-lame. Watch, I’ll make you squirt again.”

“In your dreams, Munson.”

He slips his boots off, pushing the rest of his jeans down and kicks it to the side. “Get on your knees.”

You send him a challenging look, raising your brows with a smirk. “If I don’t?”

“Guess I can just do this, then.” You yelp as Eddie flips you onto your stomach. His rings clatter loudly to the floorboards, flying in all different directions as he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. A heavy sigh leaves his mouth, and you glance back at him with sudden concern. “Fuck… condom?”

“Just pull out.”

“Just… pull… out?”

You shrug, making a confused face. “Yeah, I’ll pop something in the morning.”

“Y/N, honey, have you ever been to this thing called… I don’t know, sex-ed?” Eddie’s eyes are wide, and you would’ve laughed had you not noticed his extremely hard cock waiting in his hand.

“Honestly, I’m more of a hands-on learner.”

“Oh, are you now?”

“Most definitely. You’d know.”

“You sure you want me to pull out? We can just stop right here if you don’t wanna keep going.”

You bite your lip, eyeing him over your shoulder with a half-lidded gaze. “I wanna keep going.”

“Down you go then, Y/N. Fuck, let me see you.” His hand comes down on the middle of your spine, pressing onto your back until your cheek is laying against the floor. You can feel his tip prodding into your entrance, the teasing motion of his cock rubbing against your needy slit. “Shit, baby, could just cum on myself from looking at you.”

“Please, f-fuck me.”

His dick enters you in one, slow and agonizing motion. You muffle your moans into the carpet, mewling from the immense stretch you feel between your legs as Eddie buries himself deep inside you. His hips are lined up against the curve of your ass, his large hands leaving dark prints on your skin as he pulls out and pushes back in.

“S-shit… Y/N.” He drawls, hair falling against his face as he watches his thick cock disappear into your cunt. “Fuck, you’re so tight. What the fuck… Christ, it’s like the first time I had you.”

When he took your virginity on that lunch table in the trailer park, that’s definitely what he meant.

“Oh, my god. You’re so — so big, I can’t… can’t think with you inside, I just… fuck, move.” You reach back for his hand, nearly crying out when he places his palms on either side of your head and looms over your compromised position. He trails his soft lips over the nape of your neck, his pick necklace brushing over your skin as he breathes your scent in. “Need you. Need you, you treat me so well.”

“I know. I know I do, sweetheart. Rock back for me, yeah? Feel it, feel my cock right here.” You choke on a moan when Eddie feels up your abdomen, stroking the outline of his cock inside you. “Good girl. You can take it.”

His hand wraps back around your throat, fingers pressing into your pulse point before he’s pulling you up by your neck and having you sit on his dick. He chuckles darkly, “Your favorite seat in the house, right? All the way, Y/N. Take it deep for me.”

You shiver when his head pushes against your g-spot, and you realize that shutting your thighs together is absolutely no use when Eddie Munson is balls-deep inside you.

“Oh, f-fuck!” Your voice comes out garbled and raspy as his hold on your throat tightens, bruising yet pleasurable all at once as he pounds into you.

From fucking under bleachers, to the bathrooms in the library, to the back of his van and the floor of your childhood bedroom, you’ve come a long way.

Eddie’s fingers leave your throat and find comfort on your supple waist, digging into your generous hips as you grind on his lap. He meets you halfway with long strokes, slow and purposeful with each thrust of his cock. 

“Y/N, baby… f-fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good. I-I — holy fuck — I’m so lucky I can do this with you.” He whines out, barely coherent, but you can only focus on that one phrase.

Lucky I can do this with you.

“Eddie, fucking hell. Oh, oh my god. P-Please… wanna cum on you.”

“Gonna get you there, baby. Promise. A little longer, yeah? Gotta make you cum before I do.”

Your fingers messily circle over your clit, a combined sensation of pleasure that adds to the feeling of Eddie stretching out your pussy beneath you. He’s holding back his moans, stifling whimpers against your shoulder when his pace starts to quicken and his rhythm grows sloppy.

You tilt your head back and reach for his lips, pulling his face against yours as he continues fucking into you. You still taste yourself on his tongue, and you’d be lying if you denied that you enjoyed the idea of his mouth being on your cunt just moments ago. 

“You’re so pretty.” You whisper against his cheek, watching as his eyes close in bliss. “Fuck, you’re so hot. And I get you all to myself — a cheerleader and her favorite rockstar… oh, you fuck me so well.”

The praise goes straight to Eddie’s dick, and your words spur him on even further. He holds you tight against his chest, tattooed hands grasping at your skin and breasts as he feels you clench around his length.

“Close, ain’t you? C’mon, sweet girl. Two for two. Let me feel you cum, Y/N. S’my favorite part.” Eddie nearly topples over when your cunt gives his cock one hard and long squeeze, fingers flying to help you massage your clit as another orgasm pumps through your quivering body. “Holy fuck, you’re so sexy when you cum. S-Shit, I… I gotta pull out…”

You nearly sob from the loss of contact when Eddie leaves you, emptying his seed out across your back and the tenderness of your ass as he grunts quietly behind you. Of course, you make no subtlety to watch him ride out his high — that perfect scowl on his face, the curl on his lip as he moans and runs his thumb over the leaking head of his prick.

“Hoooly fuck…” You sigh out, knees giving out from under you. Thankfully, Eddie catches you at the last second, arm swooping under your stomach before your body can make contact with the floor. “Oh, my god. That was…”

“Yeah, I… I honestly can’t… can’t think right now when there’s cum all over us.” He giggles heartily, leaving a hickey right on your collarbone. “Fuck, your neck is all red and purple.”

“Hot.”

“Not hot, I’m sorry if I was too rough. Just been thinkin’ about you lately, and… well, I guess I couldn’t help myself. Hold still for a sec.”

The admission makes you smirk, and you look back at Eddie as he grabs a random towel from your closet and wipes his spill off of your back. You turn over once he’s finished, arms outstretched over your head as Eddie sits against your bed frame and lazily draws shapes on your calf. 

“You think about me in your free time often, Munson?”

He clicks his tongue and tilts his head to the side cutely, “Only when I wanna recall something pretty.”

“Mhm. Sure, rockstar.” You flick at his hand.

“Don’t let it get to your head, miss cheerleader.”

Eddie continues running his fingers up and down your leg, taking in the beautiful sight of your naked body as the late midnight seeps through your curtains. You hum as he brings your ankle to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the bone before he’s leaning his head back against the edge of the bed and letting out a tired sigh.

“Wish you could stay the night.” The words that leave you shock you just as much as they do Eddie. “I mean, I just don’t want you driving back so late, y’know.”

“I know.” He takes note of your darting eyes, suddenly evading his amused stare at all costs. He’ll play nice for now. “I’ll see you tomorrow though, just before first period. Wanna see you in your dorky uniform.” 

You gape at him, sitting up with an expression of feigned offense. “Okay, rude. I thought the uniform was hot — like, like every guy’s fantasy kind of hot.”

“Only getting back at you for calling me dungeon master.” He shrugs giddily, before he’s pulling your legs off of his lap then slipping on his wrinkled boxers and jeans. You follow suit, fetching new underwear and a flannel before you prop the window back open while he collects his rings from your bedroom.

Eddie’s belt buckle jangles behind you as you sit on the bench by the windowsill, looking out at the flickering street lamp of your little culdesac. A hand on your hip draws you from your trance, and you’re met with Eddie’s sunken face of an awaiting goodbye.

“Stay safe, Hellfire.” You tease, heart fluttering as he squeezes your side and gently moves you away from the window. You’re unable to tear your gaze away from his arms, admiring the way his tattoos glint on his porcelain skin.

“By the way, best part about this is the drive back.”

“Huh?” You lean over as Eddie clambers out onto your roof, boots nearly slipping on the shingles. “Why’s that?”

He smirks, glancing at the sky before he settles on the details of your face. “Get to think about you all the way home.”

Then, he’s landing on your lawn with two feet and jogging away from your porch, but not without a nerdy wave and a little wink that makes your heart do another somersault similar to when he first knocked his way into your room.

Whatever this is, whatever it’s going to be, you know the both of you are absolutely fucked in the long run. Either way, it doesn’t matter what people will end up thinking. 

You’re so damn into him, even if it is — after all — just a fling. Totally a fling. 

Just a cheerleader and her favorite rockstar. 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things oneshot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

[qraceiuv]

hii can you do singer!reader x jude (ik you’ve done it recently so i understand if you don’t want to 😞) and can the faceclaim be tyla? idk if you let anons choose faceclaims anyways thank uuu!!!! also remember to eat and stay hydrated 🫶🏽🫶🏽 love u

water. jude bellingham.

summary — your new song causes the fans to want more and more content from jude and yours relationship

notes — tysm for this request! love u more bb, i literally had tyla in mind for a new blurb, and getting this made it perfect

warnings — inappropriate jokes? idk + mentions of throw up and such - js some cute lil fluff as usual

_________________________________________

y/nsusername

y/nsusername: 'water' out this friday🩵🐆

—

username: OMGOMGOMG

username: THIS IS SO UNEXPECTED

username: totally not breaking down

username: i need to wife her

username: WHATWHATATWNAN

username: WATER??😭

yourfriend: HOT HOT MEOWWW

— y/nsusername: oh thats

username: her and jude r dating right

— username: yeah it was confirmed like 3 months ago but they dont post much of each other

— username: maybe the singles abt him

— username: I HOPEEE

y/nsusername

y/nsusername: make me lose my breath, make me water 🪩🪞🐆💦

—

username: IM GLING INSANE

username: WTF

username: omg im so proud of her

username: SHES COME SO FAR CRYING

— y/nsusername: 🥹🥹🥹

username: AH AH AHHHH

username: im actually so happy for her

yourfriend: JIMMY FUCKING FALLON

— y/nsusername: JIMMY FUCKING FALLON

username: STREAM WATER BY Y/N

username: MAKE ME SWEATTTT

— username: MAKE ME HOTTERRRR

username: on repeat

username: oh shes gonna eat

judebellingham: 💦💦💦

— y/nsusername: delete immediately

— username: HELP?

username: JUDE IM CRYING

username: judes comment has made my year

username: finally y/njude content (its horrible)

y/nsusername

y/nsusername: tour so far... i love you lovely people and the many helping hands behind the scenes <3

—

username: see you in a week!!

username: i need to go

username: shes thriving

username: getting the hype she deserves

judebellingham: omg you love me?

— y/nsusername: no !

— judebellingham: guess ill turn the plane around

— y/nsusername: HEY.

username: HES ON A PLANE TO SEE HER😭😭

username: GUYS R WE GONNA FINALLY GET SOME Y/NJUDE LORE

username: i love them (we barely know them)

judebellingham

judebellingham: to be proud of my girl is an understatement 🩵🩵

—

username: okay ill cry

username: y/n love club

username: shouldve put 💦💦💦

— y/nsusername: agreed

y/nsusername: 💦💦💦

— jude bellingham: i hate you now.

— y/nsusername: payback

username: adoption papers wya

username: hard launch a lil too late

y/nsusername: i love you

y/nsusername

y/nsusername: my man finally took me out

—

username: KMS KMS KMS

username: FINALLY WE GETTING SOME SHIT

username: make me sweattt... sorry

— username: MAKE ME HOTTERRR

— username: everyone thank jude for this sexy song

yourfriend: i could treat u better

— y/nsusername: i know i know

judebellingham: im gonna do it

— y/nsusername: dont.

— judebellingham: 💦💦💦

username: JUDES COMMENT😭😭

username: theyre actually so cute

username: the banter >>>

username: my man is whipped

y/nsusername

y/nusername: 2M weekly streams on water... kisses 🐆💋

—

username: MAKE ME WATERRRD

username: YESSS

username: literally so deserved

username: im so proud lemme cry

username: MY BABY

username: WE LOVE YOU

username: STFU OMG

username: nobody deserves it more

judebellingham: my popstar

— y/nsusername: my starboy

judebellingham: so proud of you baby

username: BABY?!?!

username: im on the floor rn

username: jude is too lucky

username: im throwing up cuz of them

_________________________________________

#jude bellingham #fanfic #qraceiuv #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude x reader #jude bellingham smau #jude bellingham social media au #jude bellingham x fem!reader #jude bellingham fic #soccer x reader #soccer imagine #football imagine #futbol imagine #fanfiction #social media au

[ef-1]

Transcribed Excerpts from Christian Horner's hour long Interview that are batshit insane and so narratively dense you'd think they're lifted wholesale from a book, featuring:

The most in depth, behind the scenes view of what transpired in 2018

Fords CEO getting in touch with Dax to gush about how much he likes Daniel

Christian feeling vindictive towards Daniel

Christian comparing Sebastian and Max

Christian comparing Daniel to Roger Federer

How Christian had to mitigate Helmut's shitshow and personally asking Dietrich to give Daniel everything he wanted

Hilarious rapid fire in the end and his perspective on the failure of Ferrari

●●● <- indicates a time skip

Dax: In tennis you see guys when they lose steam, they break apart.

Christian Horner : you see that with checo.

●●●

[Dax mentions that in Christian's position, a lot of people would not have invited Daniel back into the family. "Because Daniel turned his back on the family." ]

Christian: Daniel's a great guy. Very badly advised in his early career. Everybody fucks up at some point. I think he recognizes that he made a mistake. He didn't have good advice around him at the point he left us. Having spent time outside the family he realized what he had here was actually good. It was horrible to see that it got worse and worse after us. It was actually this time last year in Mexico where I sat down with him in my hotel room, I told him you need a complete reset- take a year out. Come back to us.

Dax: He's such a win for you guys.

Christian: Totally.

Dax: you sent Daniel to Jim Farley [ CEO of Ford] and I know Jim Farley and he got in touch with me and told me "That Daniel Ricciardo guy is the greatest!" I'm like to him: he's the dream, send him anywhere.

●●●

Christian: He's [Daniel] a confidence driver, when he's got his mojo, he one of the fastest guys on the grid.

Dax: he's lethal.

Christian: yep.

Dax: he's got that magic thing that people either have or don't have in my opinion which is: there are winners and there are not winners

[you're not ready for this lol]

Christian: He came to us, he's one of our juniors, I remember going to watch him in formula 3, he really stood out. Very smooth. Just great. Naturally. Like a Roger Federer kind of style behind the wheel, very very classic. Light touch. Great, great skill. And then he came through the system [RB program] when we had Sebastian Vettel, 4 time world champion- Mark Webber retired. We chose Daniel as the Junior, with no expectation on him and he started beating Vettels ass. he won 3 races in 2014 when we had FAR from the best engine, Sebastian never won a race that year.

Dax: Even his time at Mclaren, it sucked for him but he's the only one who won a race.

Christian: He IS the only one who won a race.

Dax: and for a long time now.

Christian: and Renault he had great performances. [...] he's got to feel the love. He's got to feel comfortable in the environment that he's in. Some of his races for us were- absolutely outstanding.

●●●

[Christian about the 2018 negotiations]

Christian: I asked Dietrich to show Daniel love. Helmut was obviously pro Max, I said if you could just balance things out, let him [Daniel] know you want him. Dietrich said "no problem, I'll talk to him" so he took Daniel upstairs after the race in Austria to talk to him, and they were there for well over an hour.

Dax: To the point you were nervous?

Christian: I thought SHIT! But they reappear, and they're both smiling, I tell him: "Dietrich, how did it go?" He says,"No problem, don't worry about it. It's not even a question [that daniel would leave]"

Christian: Then we went to Germany, and his engine blew up. His engine kept letting him down, letting him down, letting him down. But from there, we went to Hungary, and we got his paperwork [Daniel's contract] for a TWO year deal all sorted out. Daniel's manager came to me and said 'listen Daniel is nervous about the engine' because we were going to switch to Honda so his manager said: 'he'll do ONE year' I thought wow. That's not really what we talked about, because in 6 months we'll be having the same conversation. So I remember I went back to Dietrich, and I said, "it's about relationships. It's NOT about contracts. If he wants a one year contract, give him a one year contract," so at this point: he's got everything he wants. Also, at that point, Daniel was doing a test for us after the Hungarian race, I thought Daniel will sign the paperwork on Monday, suddenly Monday goes and he's in the car on Tuesday. I'm starting to smell something because this is an enormous deal, you'd have thought he'd be in a rush to sign this contract. And he didn't sign the contract before he got in the car in the morning and I thought he'd sign by lunchtime but it didn't happen. He had to get out of the car and go straight to the airport because he's flying from here to LA and I thought he'll call me. I'm feeling something at this point.

Dax: you know you're about to be broken up with.

Christian: yeah.

Dax: if your girlfriend didn't show up to lunch then dinner-

Christian: exactly. So- he [daniel] rings me, I was in the car with Geri, he tells me "I just got off the plane, I arrived in LA, and I've been thinking on the flight, all the way here- I'm not going to sign the contract. I'm going to take another contract. [...] he tells me Renault? The engine that let him down for 2 years? I was convinced, I was CONVINCED- because Daniel has got a sense of humour- I thought- he's taking the piss. I thought come on. I told him: come on. There is no way. You're not going to Renault, stop fucking about, just sign the contract. After 10 minutes he finally persuaded me that he was going to Renault. It was disappointing.

Dax: I wanna applaude you, because a lot of people who go through that experience think: fuck you.

Christian: there was an element of that. I thought: go and suck on a lemon for a bit. But actually during the pandemic, I remember he called me and said "Christian I hate to say this to you but you were right"

•••

Christian thinks Max > Vettel

Christian about Alex and Pierre being teammates with Max: he broke them

[Very confused in this part because Christian like? Says the best thing for Checo to perform is to forget about Max, stop trying to compete with him, stop looking at his data? Girl you are NOT selling it rn]

•••

When Christian is asked to analyse Red Bull's champions, he thinks Sebastian and Max are diametrically opposed . Sebastian is your stereotypical German, he would be at the track until 11 to analyse data. Max is not interested in all the detail [devasting news for all the bitches who spent years trying to dunk on Daniel by calling him not technical, Christian seems to think that Daniel and Max share a natural ability that doesn't rely on data.] He [Max] Gives you just what he needs to go faster. Max hates testing, has no interest in it.

●●●

Christian confirms he has a lucky toilet.

●●●

Christian says in 2014-18 Red Bull came this 🤏 close to selling to Audi.

●●●

Christian: Drive to Survive is the Kardashians on wheel

●●●

Christian: You get characters like Gunther Steiner. How scary is he. He used to work for us, I had to be the one to fire him.

●●●

Christian on why he believes Ferrari have failed over the last 15 years: Ferrari is a national institution instead of a Team. It needs to become a racing team again. Too many people have input at the top.

#it like. reads like fanfic #this team is so fucked up none of this can be healthy #what makes him tick #its all very insane. Machiavellian!Christian... be very afraid. #i wish Christian didnt speak about seb like that. just be more respectful. he clearly has his favourites #f1 #daniel ricciardo #Christian horner #brazilian gp 2023

[fbfh]

older!logan x reader hcs

wc: 1.6k

genre: age gap, sort of sugar daddy logan

warnings: big (but legal) age gap, logan is early 40s reader is like early 20s, brief odette mention, logan is a killer lawyer, rory kinda traumatized Logan lol, I haven't finished gilmore girls or ayitl yet so don't come for me lol, logan is obsessedddddddd with reader, mildly smutty, mentions of marriage and proposals, your relationship progresses really quickly

summary: you were reading in a coffee shop when a charming gorgeous much older guy decided to strike up a conversation. little do you know that within a very short time that same charming stranger will know your dress size, your shoe size, and your ring size.

song rec: off to the races - lana del rey

a/n: the choke hold older logan has on me..... euthanize me at this point lmao

tags @yesv01 @magcon7280

As with all nsfw works, all characters are aged up to 18+ (like way over 18 in logan’s case lol)

That being said jesus christ let’s dive right into the brain rot

First things first, a little more about Logan

He’s in his early 40’s and aging like a fine goddamn wine

MEGA MEGA dilf vibes

After the whole millions of dollars sunken into a bad investment in his family’s massive media conglomerate mishap, he still faced a lot of pressure to join the family business

But with Rory rejecting his proposal, he felt so fucking down and beaten up by life

He just had two massive blows to his ego back to back

And he needed a win

Then the strangest thing happened 

He just got back from another late night of partying with his friends and switched on the tv so he wouldn’t have to fall asleep with his thoughts, and some random movie was playing

The girl in the movie is at dinner with her boyfriend and thinks he’s going to propose, but he breaks up with her instead

It hits a little too close to home and Logan’s about to switch it off

Then she decides to go to law school to prove herself

He finds himself getting more and more invested in this movie, relating more to Elle with every scene, and by the morning he confronts the idea he’s been shoving away for too long so he doesn’t rock the boat

He talks to his dad and they decide Logan will go to law school, but remain a prominent board member and shareholder of the family company

Mitchum is surprised by how responsible and well thought out Logan’s plan is

He’s forging a path to a very lucrative field - one Mitchum can tell he’s going to be very successful in - while still staying involved enough in the family business 

So Logan goes off to law school, and 20 years later he’s a total shark 

He’s a prestigious, expensive lawyer with a reputation for never losing and a long streak of killing it with really high profile cases

Now the Huntzberger name carries all the weight and power of his father’s media reach, and Logan’s success in the courtroom 

He’s excelling 

And he’s excelling enough to keep his family out of his personal life for a while 

He’s living the bachelor life until he hits 40

That’s when his parents decide it’s really unacceptable that he’s still not married 

So they tell him if he doesn’t get married soon they’ll arrange something

Some french heiress or something 

And Logan finds himself right back where he didn’t want to be

And then, like a gift from god, he sees you

Like I said in my initial drabble, Logan first saw you in a cafe reading some dusty novel no one actually reads like war and peace or crime and punishment or something

He's seen people your age do that before, reading complicated stuffy literature to seem smart and make some pretentious English class commentary that barely makes sense 

So he calls you on it

"War and Peace, huh?"

He’s expecting you to say something fake and pretentious

Some bullshit fake deep pseudo intellectual shit

But you look up at him, only pausing for a moment before you speak

You’re surprised to see such a gorgeous guy in a little cafe like this

Especially one that seems interested in talking to you

And god, the way you talk about it

The way your eyes light up

It takes him by surprise

He's not just interested

He's invested 

You start talking and realize that you've been talking for way longer than you expected to

And he wants more

He wants to know more about you, wants to see you sweet smile and hear your cute little laugh when he says something charming or compliments you

So he takes you out to dinner, his treat 

He guides you out the door and into his Porsche with his hand on your back 

It's a subtle gesture but it makes your stomach flip 

Then he buckles your seat belt for you

If you weren't sold before you sure are by now 

So he takes you to this nice fancy restaurant, wines and dines you, and he is laying on the charm thick

"Oh, come on. A pretty young thing like you must have a boyfriend."

"Really, you have excellent taste.”

You don’t miss the way he’s been eyeing you all night

And he doesn’t miss the way you squeeze your thighs together when he touches your face or plays with your fingers

One thing leads to another and after he pays the bill and leaves a generous tip, you find him ushering you back into his porsche

And yet again he closes your door for you and gets you all buckled in

This time when he drives his hand rests on your knee

He thinks he can handle this

He’s the biggest whore on the east coast /affectionate 

Then you grab his hand and move it up your thigh

There’s no going back now

He’s in just as deep as you are

Before you know it you’re tearing off each other’s clothes

His lips are all over you and motherfucker does he know what he’s doing

He worried for a moment he might have lost his edge

But as he lays you down into his big soft bed, your skin touching his silky sheets for the first time

But definitely not the last

As he finally touches you and feels how wet you are for him

He knows he didn’t peak in college

“Shh, listen,” he says between kisses that make you feel dizzy, “you’re gonna tell me if it’s too much for you, can you do that?”

You nod while he holds your face in his big hands

“You gotta say it,” he chuckles at how sweet you are, how well you respond to him, “use your words, baby…” 

You manage to choke out a desperate yes between kisses that makes his stomach twist

And that is the very beginning to your intense affair with Logan Huntzberger 

He’s desperate to see you again

He sends flowers and a dress and a gorgeous necklace to your apartment

And not the normal amount of flowers

The Logan amount of flowers

So a lot

And you can’t believe your luck finding a hot rich older guy that’s so into you 

You really like this attention

Your daddy issues are SCREAMING

And Logan likes having someone as gorgeous and intelligent and into him as you are

And he wants to do this right

But he’s rapidly approaching the deadline his family set

He doesn’t want to scare you off

GOD that’s the last thing he wants

But he is terrified of proposing and having it end up like it did the last time

Eventually he works up the nerve to talk to you about it 

He’s explaining everything to you while you pay your bills 

But it says they’re already paid

And your credit cards are paid off

And your debt has just disappeared

Even your student loans are gone

And there’s a fat deposit in your checking account 

He paid off all your debt and didn’t tell you

By the time he’s done explaining that you basically either need to get married asap or you can’t see each other anymore he still hasn’t brought it up

And you realize he’s not going to

He didn’t pay your bills to guilt you into anything

He’s not holding it over your head

He’s taking care of you

And all you’ve ever wanted is someone who will take care of you

Logan is surprised when you agree

But he’s even more surprised at how fast you agree

You sit in his lap and end up rambling about how much you love him, how you don’t think you’ll ever find anyone you like as much as him or anyone that treats you as well as he does

To no one’s surprise the conversation ends with him taking you on every surface of your apartment

Hours later you’re cuddling naked on your couch, resting your head on his muscular chest and listening to his heartbeat

“So like… are we engaged now?” you ask looking up at him

He laughs sweetly

“No, not yet. I have to actually propose first.”

You think back to your conversation earlier when you first said you’d want to marry him

“So that didn’t count before?”

His heart breaks at how little you ask for

“No, that didn’t count.” He kisses your head, “I’m going to take you out somewhere nice, give you a proper proposal, with a nice ring.”

You get butterflies thinking about it

You can’t believe how much he does for you

How much he wants to do for you 

You’re quiet for a moment, and he can feel you smiling into his chest

“...Okay.” 

Your voice is so small and bashful, and he can hear you suppressing a flustered giggle

Fuck he can’t get enough of you 

He laughs and pulls you closer, grabbing your chin and makes you look up at him so he can kiss you 

You fall asleep in his arms

And you think that you won’t mind being married so young if it’s Logan you’re marrying

Logan is looking at you with so much love and adoration

And right before he falls asleep 

He thinks that maybe it’s not too late for him to find love after all

#logan huntzberger #logan huntzberger x reader #gilmore girls #gilmore girls x reader #logan huntzberger smut #gilmore girls smut #older husband!logan #older boyfriend!logan #older!logan #sugar daddy!logan #euthanize me #he's just #so #very #hm. #he's so #just #yeah #you get it #we're all like this after reading that lmao

[yoon-kooks]

darkroom | jjk

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x Reader

Genre: smut, fluff, vampire!au, college!au

Summary: When you somehow end up in an advanced photography class that you definitely shouldn’t be in, you seek the help of shy nerdy boy Jeon Jungkook to preserve your 4.15 GPA. It isn’t until after you stumble upon him in the darkroom that you realize your cute little nerd is actually a super hot vampire with an icy cold stare and beautiful burgundy eyes.

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: minimal blood (just him sucking away), sex on school property, oral (f receiving), dry humping, orgasm denial, jk has dom vibes, he's an arrogant asshole at times, mention of hemophobia, switches to jk's pov 3 times

A/N: i wrote a vampire fic for jk's bday 4 years ago, and here we are again with another vampire fic;;;; enjoy!!!

“What do you mean I can’t drop a class I never signed up for?” Your head is about to explode. You’ve been fidgeting around in the most uncomfortable chair across from your counselor for what feels like ten hours, trying to get to the bottom of why you were placed into the Advanced Photography course when you have nothing to do with photography. “There has to be a way, right?”

“Sorry, this is already an under-enrolled course, which means the whole thing will have to be canceled if you or any other student drops it.” Great, he’s forcing you to stay for the sake of your professor and classmates whom you have yet to meet. That totally won't fuck up your 4.15 GPA at all.

“Okay, but I haven’t taken the prereqs for this course, and I’m not even majoring in photography.”

“Remind me what your major is again, Miss L/N.”

“Biochemistry?” You can’t even hide your disgust at this point. What an utterly useless counselor and waste of time. “Listen, I don’t mean to be rude,” (you definitely mean to be rude), “but you’re basically setting me up for failure over a dumb mistake that I didn’t make. If I don’t get accepted into med school because of this, that’s on you, sir.”

You storm out of the counseling office and make it all the way to an empty hall in the art building before breaking down into tears. It’s not fair. You’ve worked so hard to maintain your grades in the toughest of STEM courses, but this one photography class is about to fuck you straight in the ass.

You’ve never been an artsy person, which is why you’ve always stayed far, far away from anything remotely creative. The one “artsy” course you’d been forced to take as a graduation requirement was a coding design class, and it was a pain in the ass even though you came out of it with an A. But the point is, you’re not cut out for a photography class, especially not an advanced one. And it’s shitty to know that you’re stuck in one for a whole semester.

After patting your tears away, you regroup and walk into the photography room. Your counselor was right about one thing: this course is severely under-enrolled. There are more empty seats than taken ones. You count seven other students when there are supposed to be twenty. They all seem to be chummy with one another (perhaps from all those prereqs they took together), but no one even bats an eye your way, including the professor. It would’ve been great if you were allowed to drop this class and have it canceled altogether. Every single one of these assholes would have suffered the consequences instead of you.

A minute before the first class starts, a boy scurries to the corner of the room with big round glasses and the darkest eyebags you’ve ever seen. He has the look of someone who’d spent his entire high school career staying up until 2AM to study for the SATs and never quite recovered, someone who forgoes hanging out with friends to make an essay ten pages longer than it needs to be, someone who takes on multiple internships and jobs at once, someone who cries when people undermine his hard work, someone who actually gives a shit about school and his future. 

You’d know. You have that same look, that same aura. No one looks at him, either.

Your internal 4.3 GPA detector is going off.

“Welcome to the fall semester of our Advanced Photography course,” your professor begins, looking around at all the empty seats. “Since we have a small class this semester, it’ll give everyone more space to learn and expand on their photography skills. Let’s start by having everyone introduce themselves one by one, and just give me a brief idea of your experience with photography.”

You tune out as the first person is introducing herself because you really couldn’t care less about any of the assholes who ignored you and clearly already think they're above you. They all say the same thing anyway, reminiscing about their past projects from other photography classes they’ve taken. Yeah, you’re still bitter about the prereqs.

When it’s your turn to introduce yourself, you say the first thing that comes to mind. “I take photos for a popular Instagram model slash influencer.” 

That catches their attention. It’s not a lie, either. Your 3-year-old black cat has 40,000 followers and over a dozen sponsorships with brands like Greenies, Chewy, and even your local coffee shop. Her passive income is what’s putting you through school right now. And you can’t let all her hard-earned money go to waste by failing this photography class.

“What kind of camera and equipment have you used for your Instagram photos?” your professor asks. It’s a valid question, but you hate her for asking it anyway.

“My phone,” you say in the tiniest voice. That earns you a few chuckles and plenty of eyerolls, and it kind of hurts your feelings. You want to disappear. If anyone asks who your model is, you’re going to run out of the room and drop out of school altogether. Your Instagram-famous kitty will support you financially for a while until you can secure a STEM job that can overlook your dropout status.

The only person not ridiculing you is the boy you thoroughly judged and profiled for having dark circles. He introduces himself as Jeon Jungkook, someone with a few internships and a professional photoshoot under his belt. Your 4.3 GPA detector tells you he’s being modest about his experience and achievements, though. His voice is soft, and he’s terrible at making eye contact, but something about him is comforting. Maybe it’s that his presence makes you feel as though you aren’t the only outcast in the room.

As your professor is busy lending out very expensive-looking cameras and a shit ton of equipment to each student, you investigate the camera you were given. Your lack of camera knowledge is so bad that you don’t even know how to turn it on, or if cameras like this even have power buttons. In the end, you just look like a boomer who can’t figure out how to turn off their iPhone. You’re overwhelmed by unfamiliarity while everyone else treats it like it’s second nature.

You’ve always been the one to reach out and help others in your STEM classes. But in photography, you’re the one in need of help, and you don’t know how to ask for it from people who probably don’t give a shit about you.

Oh no. You feel the tears coming back.

“So… who’s the Instagram model you take photos for?” Your back arches up like a cornered cat until your mind processes who that soft voice belongs to. You turn your head to Jungkook standing there with the round glasses and dark circles and a lot more piercings than you’d expect from someone who most likely carries a 4.3 GPA. Damn, you really need to stop profiling people like that.

“Her name is Stella.” You pull out your phone, open the app, and hand it off to your curious classmate. Showing him your collection of cat photos is only slightly less embarrassing than explaining it with words.

“She’s cute…” he says as he scrolls through the chaotic adventures of Stella the cat. His thumb pauses over a post of her loafing and blepping. The photo quality and composition might not be up to the standards of this advanced class, but at least you can say you have an adorable kitty companion on your side. “You really don’t have any other experience with camerawork?”

You shake your head. “I literally know nothing about photography, and I’m not even supposed to be in this class, but my counselor won’t let me drop it because he’s a dipshit.”

“What was the reason he gave?”

“He said if one student drops the course, the whole thing would have to be canceled due to under-enrollment as if that would guilt-trip me into staying. Not that he even gave me a choice.”

Jungkook’s big eyes spot the tear about to fall down your cheek. You blink it away as fast as you can. The last thing you want is to look pitiful in front of another classmate. School is where you’re supposed to thrive, not be defeated.

“Anyway, thank you for letting me rant.” You give the boy a half-smile as you pack the camera back into its bag. You’ll have to watch some TikTok tutorials later. Especially since your very helpful professor has just handed out your first assignment to take a photo of “something cool” and make a print in “The Darkroom,” whatever the heck that is. You’re pretty sure it has to do with the occult club, and everyone else in the room is in on the joke except for you. Because you’re the only student who didn’t have the luxury of learning about The Darkroom in the beginner-friendly photography courses. Those damn prereqs.

But maybe, with Jungkook here, you don’t have to go through this shitty class alone.

Just as you’re about to leave the photography room with all your equipment, you turn to Jungkook who also has his mouth open with something to say.

Jungkook’s POV

You were definitely about to cry. And as much as Jungkook would rather not get involved with a cuter-than-average human, you’re exactly what he’s weak to. Especially when you have that tiny sparkle in your eyes—not the sparkle from the tears but from the passion you have for school. Your counselor really screwed you over for no reason, and Jungkook just wishes you didn’t have to suffer the consequences. You don’t deserve that.

He’ll help you so you won’t have to cry anymore. All he has to do is scare that dipshit counselor a little—perhaps drain him of his blood until he agrees to wipe the class from your schedule… or he could stand in solidarity with you and threaten to drop the course as well. He’ll go with whatever seems more convincing.

“Um, Jungkook?” Shit. Your voice is so sweet like honey. He’d really like to taste you right about now. But he can’t. That would be inappropriate.

Jungkook nods slowly, still very much entranced by your beauty and innocence. He can’t even look you in the eye. If he did, you’d surely notice how red his irises are turning with lust.

“If it’s not too much trouble for you, do you think you could help me pass this class?” You look so weak and vulnerable like you’re being a bother to him for asking for help. You’re probably not used to asking others for help because you seem like the kind of person who tends to rely on herself. “A couple of study dates might be fun.”

He bites his tongue as his eyes travel down to the floor between you and him. How can he respond to that—to someone as cute as you? He doesn't hate the idea of study dates, but he can’t let himself do that. He’d get too carried away and end up hurting you. That’s what happens with most vampire-human relationships he’s heard of. Your blood probably tastes like sugar. You’d become his new addiction. As soon as he gets a taste, he won’t be able to resist you. That’s the power you hold over him.

“Or, I mean, they don’t have to be dates… I didn’t mean to assume you were single or interested in someone like me or—” You pause to study Jungkook’s face. He must be doing a horrible job of concealing his internal struggles. You probably think he’s a loser by now. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything. I’ll figure things out on my own.”

Your voice is shaky as you walk away. He needs to do something, anything to cheer you up. The thought of seeing you sad hurts more than a silver dagger to the heart.

“Y/N,” Jungkook finally speaks. “Which counselor rejected your request to drop the class? I just wanna talk.”

As you lay on your bed and stare at the empty wall, you don’t really know how to feel after leaving that cursed class. Jungkook said he’d state his intentions to drop the course to put more pressure on your counselor, which was a kind gesture. But the boy also rejected your study dates. And that might be what hurts most. It’s a reminder of why you shouldn’t ask others for help. You’re the only person you can truly rely on.

After spending the rest of the afternoon feeling sorry for yourself, you finally look into some photography tutorials and set up a mini photoshoot for your cat. She cooperates at first but leaves you with a big scratch on your cheek for taking too long and getting too close to her with the lens. Great, even your own cat hates you.

By the time you’ve captured enough pics, it’s already dark out and way later than you thought. That works out, though, because it’s unlikely that anyone else will be in The Darkroom at this hour. The last thing you want is for any of your classmates to see you struggling in there.

The campus is eerily empty and quiet at night, and it’s at times like this when you’re thankful your apartment is only a five-minute walk away. The art building is empty too, but it’s going to take more than all those premature Halloween decorations to scare you off. After all, this totally beats the awkwardness of running into your classmates.

You hum as you open the door to The Darkroom. As one would expect, The Darkroom is quite dark. The red lighting screams occult club, but maybe that’s just you and your ignorance of both photography and the supernatural. Everything is fine until you hear a few things being knocked over. You’re not alone after all.

“Sorry, I didn’t know someone was in here. I’ll come back later,” you say without seeing which classmate it is. You suppose you can kill time by doing your daily Wordle on the bench in the halls. In honor of the premature Halloween decor surrounding you, your starter word will be “blood.” But before you can make a u-turn, you hear a voice that’s both familiar and different at the same time.

“I’m done in here. You can use it.” The voice exudes confidence and mystery in a way that’s luring you in. You step inside and see two glowing eyes staring back at you. The lighting makes them look almost burgundy.

“Wait, I didn’t just crash an occult club meeting, did I?” You probably did. That’s the only logical explanation (besides the lighting) for this person’s glowing red eyes. He could be cosplaying as a vampire for all you know. Apparently everyone is celebrating Halloween early this year.

“What?” he asks with a hint of amusement in his tone.

You walk further and further into The Darkroom until you can finally see who you’re talking to.

“Oh, it’s just you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. It’s just Jungkook. If it had been a cosplayer from the occult club or anyone else from your class, you would’ve opted for Wordle in a heartbeat. “For a second, I thought the occult club was doing their thing in here.”

“Their thing?” The boy’s brow piercing lifts. It takes a second for you to notice he isn’t wearing those cute round glasses, and you almost confuse his lip ring for a fang. His hand is also covered in tattoos that you’re 99% sure weren’t there before. He looks so different in this lighting.

“You know, like summoning demons, talking to ghosts. Stuff like that,” you hum, walking around The Darkroom like you understand what any of that equipment is used for.

“Or hunting vampires?” he plays along.

“Exactly,” you laugh. God, he’s so cute and definitely your type. It’s a shame your study date idea got shot down.

As soon as you make your way back around, you catch Jungkook staring at you, almost shamelessly. It’s a lot different from how he avoided eye contact with everyone during class.

“What happened here?” He points to his cheek, mirroring the spot where Stella the cat had her big meltdown. You're surprised he can see the cut in such shitty lighting without his glasses.

“My cat lashed out at me during our mini photoshoot. Are all models such divas?” As ridiculous as it sounds, that’s the direction your life is going in right now. If you can’t get into med school because of this whole debacle, you’ll be stuck as your feisty cat’s photographer for the rest of your life.

Jungkook narrows the gap between you and him until you can see the tiniest features on his face, like the cute little dot hiding in the shadow of his lower lip. The back of your thighs hit the counter as he cups your chin in his tattooed hand. His icy touch gives you goosebumps. The Darkroom suddenly feels too small to hold the both of you, like you’ll suffocate if you stay in there. You should probably leave, but something about the boy is enticing you to stay.

“It’s dangerous, you know. Letting your cat scratch you like that,” he whispers against your cheek. Despite how cold he may be, you feel your whole face heating up with him so close to you. The fact that he’s worried about a tiny cat scratch is so fucking endearing. You didn’t know such a boy existed.

“Yeah, it’s kind of unsanitary when their litter box claws cut into our skin like that, but I’m used to it,” you shrug.

“But you’re bleeding.” Jungkook’s burgundy eyes follow your thumb as you swipe it over the scratch. The wound does still feel a bit fresh.

“A little bit of blood won’t hurt anybody. Unless they have hemophobia.” It suddenly occurs to you that the boy might not fare well at the sight of blood. “Ah shit, do you have hemophobia?” you ask with the most concerned look on your face.

The boy shakes his head. “A vampire wouldn’t last long if they were scared of blood.”

He grabs ahold of your wrist and brings your hand up to his parted lips. Your thumb grazes the metal ring around his lip and then the sharp tips of his canines. His tongue caresses your thumb until there’s no more blood for him to taste.

Your head is spinning as he lets go of your wrist. You don’t need a biochemistry degree or an occult club membership to know that the boy pinning you against the counter isn’t human. And the cutie you met earlier with the round glasses is someone much darker and more mysterious than you could’ve ever imagined.

“Are you really a vampire?” you ask, looking right into those bloodstained eyes of his. You really hope so. A vampire would be a lot more socially acceptable than, say, a demon.

“Why don’t you test your theory?” Jungkook pulls the camera out of your bag and hands it to you. “Vampires supposedly don’t show up in photos, right?”

He’s not wrong, but you aren’t trying to waste any more time with that cursed film camera. Instead, you pull out your phone and—

“Hey, no cheating.” He snatches the phone from your grip and hands you back the cursed cam. You swipe your paw at him in hopes of reclaiming your phone, but he pulls it just out of your reach. Why is he being a dick all of a sudden? You liked him better when he was all shy and cute with the round glasses. But you suppose that was just a facade to distract people from what he actually is. “I’ll help you develop your film and make your print. Unless you were planning on going to TikTok for help.”

He’s not wrong, again. You did watch at least twenty photography TikToks with your cat before coming here, and even then, you’re not super confident about pulling the whole thing off without any mistakes.

“Okay fine,” you sigh, snapping a shot without even looking through the viewfinder. For a second, the alleged vampire looks like a deer in headlights.

“You do realize the lighting is practically nonexistent in here, right?” Unimpressed, Jungkook pulls you into the photography room across the hall and turns on the light. You squint the same way your cat does when you wake her up in the middle of the night to catch the creepy crawlies in your room. “And let me make sure your camera settings aren’t all fucked up.”

Once your eyes are finally adjusted, you get a better look at the boy fixing your camera. The red in his eyes isn’t as intense now, but they’re still really pretty. His hair is all ruffled in a super sexy way as opposed to the neatly combed style he had earlier in class. And all those hand tattoos make you wonder if there’s a whole sleeve of ink hidden beneath his shirt.

If he was cute as a button before, he’s hot as hell now.

“If you’re done drooling over me, you can take the picture now.” He takes his seat in the corner of the room and rests his legs on top of the desk like a gigachad. His icy stare into the camera is the icing on the cake. Turns out he’s good at modeling too.

“I wasn’t drooling over you,” you hiss. If he teases you one more time, you’re gonna lose it.

“Sorry, I meant eye-fucking me,” he hums as if that’s less of an insult. Whatever. You have to remind yourself that this arrogant boy is the key to passing this class. You can’t get into a scrap with him now or else your 4.15 GPA is as good as gone.

When the impromptu shoot is over, you have a decent amount of film ready to be developed. Hopefully Jungkook shows up in the prints whether or not he’s a vampire because you put a lot of thought into each composition. You’d also secretly want to keep the best one for your eyes only because that boy is truly a work of art. He may or may not be your new guilty pleasure.

Back in The Darkroom, Jungkook goes through the process with you step by step. He clarifies a lot of small details that your TikToks missed, like when you ask about the parts that need to be done in total darkness vs the red safelight. And he’s actually good at explaining it in a way that appeals to your scientist brain with all the chemicals and variables involved. He’d make a fantastic professor whom you wouldn’t mind bothering during office hours.

“We’ll let the film dry overnight and do the prints tomorrow,” the boy says as he gathers up his stuff and throws his jacket back on. Tomorrow? It’s a little concerning that you didn’t know this would be a two-day process.

“So I won’t know if you’re a vampire until tomorrow?” You’d like to know asap so you can rule out demon as a possibility because demons are kind of freaky. Although you’re sure Jungkook would find a way to make demons as seductive as vampires.

“Or I can answer your question right now.” He strides over to you and presses his lips into the nape of your neck. The way he sucks on your skin is delicate enough not to leave a mark but strong enough to send a naughty little signal down to the spot between your legs. “I’m told I’m not very gentle, though.”

Rough. He’s rough. And he could be rough with you. You wish you weren’t so turned on by that thought. This handsome vampire boy is really stirring the pot in that sacred section of your brain where all your sexual fantasies are stored away.

“I can wait until tomorrow,” you say before you can change your mind. No one said it would turn into sex (except for your dirty little mind), but now you’re curious to know what vampire sex might entail. Maybe it’s better than anything you’ve experienced.

“It’s better I leave before you tempt me with your other cat scratches, anyway. Specifically the ones on your thighs,” he says, ushering you out of The Darkroom and toward the exit of the art building. You’d like to know how he knows you have cat scratches on your thighs. Either vampire noses are extremely sensitive to blood, he has x-ray vision, or he’s aware of The Feline Urge to jump into your lap and knead your thighs with those tiny little claws. 

It’s much chillier outside now than it had been when you first arrived on campus. You didn’t think to bring a jacket, so you hug your camera bag in hopes that it’ll keep you warm on your walk home.

“Humans are so weak to the cold. It’s pathetic,” the boy says as if he doesn’t have any weaknesses of his own. Garlic? Silver? You make a note to yourself to compile a list of everything vampires might be weak to as soon as you get home. But instead of walking off like you’d expected him to do, he waits around and asks if you live nearby.

Jungkook’s POV

He should’ve just kept his mouth shut and let you walk home by yourself in the dark on this chilly autumn night. That’s what any other rational vampire would have done. After all, vampires know better than to get involved with humans. It’s statistically proven that humans are safer without vampires around. By that logic, you would’ve been better off walking home alone. 

But he would never live it down if something bad happened to you on your way home. It doesn’t matter that it’s just a five-minute walk. Besides, you looked so fragile and needy the way you clung to your camera bag for warmth.

So after shedding his jacket off and throwing it over your shivering shoulders, Jungkook finds himself walking you home. The five-minute walk isn’t unpleasant, either. He learns that you’re a biochemistry major hoping to get into a good med school, though he doesn’t think it should be an issue for someone as bright as you. You also talk a lot about your cat Stella and all her little antics and how you firmly believe that black cats are good luck instead of bad. He’s never considered himself much of a cat person, but that tiny sparkle in your eye is making him reconsider everything. Maybe he’ll visit the animal shelter tomorrow (just to browse!) or spend the rest of the night watching cat TikToks.

The most intriguing part is that, even though you suspect he’s not human, you haven’t treated him any differently. Typically, when humans learn of his vampire roots, they either freak out or ask too many questions pertaining to Twilight. You, on the other hand, make him feel like less of an alien and more like a boy you have a crush on. And that’s something he hasn’t felt for as long as he can remember.

As the two of you reach the door to your apartment, you hand the jacket back to him and pause before heading in.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say in the most angelic voice. “For helping me with the assignment and walking me home and not letting me freeze.”

“No problem.” That’s not entirely true. There’s definitely one problem he can think of. Now that he knows where you live, there’s little stopping him from knocking on your door like a pathetic lost puppy whenever he’s craving your taste. He’s already struggling to control himself around you as it is. He would have bitten straight into your neck and sapped you of your sweet syrupy blood if you hadn't said you were fine with waiting to see what the prints show. Curse you and your patience.

A meow and some scratches from inside prompt you to open the door. Your eager little kitty completely ignores you and circles Jungkook like a shark. Her tail is extra bushy as she rubs her face against his leg.

“Does that mean she likes me?” he asks. He knows about cat language as much as you know about photography—not much at all.

“She likes you more than she likes me,” you say, wiping away a fake tear as you step through the doorway. “C’mon Stella, we have to let Uncle Jungkook go home now.”

Still ignoring you, Stella stretches her arms up Jungkook’s leg. He quickly picks up on the cue to lift her and cradle her like a baby. The warmth of the cat is soothing against his cold vampire body.

“She wants to come home with me.” His lips curve upward ever so slightly as the sleepy kitty purrs against his chest. If a seven-pound cat can emit this much warmth in his arms, he has much to look forward to when you and him—No, no. He shouldn’t be thinking with his cock at a wholesome time like this.

“Fine, you can be her new photographer. See if I care,” you say with a faux hmph. Two seconds later, you’re desperately trying to pry the stubborn Stella out of Jungkook’s arms. And although you eventually get the cat back, she flails around in your arms for the remainder of the farewells.

“It was nice meeting you, Stella,” Jungkook says, waving goodbye as he reverses out of your doorway and heads toward his apartment. “Oh, and Y/N, keep the vampire thing between you and me.”

“Sure, I won’t tell anyone,” you call out to him. He knew he could count on you to be a good girl. “But only if you agree to go on some study dates with me.”

Fuck. He should have known you’d put conditions on it. He already rejected your study dates once, but things have changed since then. He’d been scared of losing control and hurting you if he got too close to you, but you showed him that sparkle in your eye and now he’s committed to helping you succeed in any way possible. Even if that means going on a few study dates with you. He just has to learn how to keep his blood and sex cravings in check.

“Fine,” he says.

@jjk817263: Hey, meet me outside the art building in 20 minutes so we can finish your prints.

@fairycatstella: sorry stella isnt taking on any more sponsorship requests at this time thank you

@jjk817263: No, no. I’m not a company contacting you about a sponsorship. It’s Jeon Jungkook. From your Advanced Photography class? The one with the glasses. I helped you develop your film in the darkroom.

You burst out laughing at your phone screen. Even after the night you spent with him in The Darkroom, he really thinks you’ve forgotten about him already. He’s as awkward online as he is during class with the round glasses. Except you don’t think he’s just pretending to be awkward right now. It’s kind of cute to see him squirm.

@fairycatstella: youre seriously asking me out on our first study date by sliding into my cat’s DMs??

@jjk817263: You didn’t give me your number.

@fairycatstella: you didnt ask for it! smh

@jjk817263: Whatever. Stop calling it a study date or I’ll suck you dry🧛

@fairycatstella: you dont scare me btw

@fairycatstella: unless youre actually a demon. demons are 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

@jjk817263: What’s wrong with demons? What’d they ever do to you?

@fairycatstella: have you ever seen demon slayer

@jjk817263: Yeah, I’ve seen some demon slayers in my days.

@fairycatstella: 👁👄👁

@fairycatstella: nvm we can watch it together on another date. it’s good but too scary to watch alone

@jjk817263: I swear if you call it a date one more time, I’ll call up all my demon buddies and you can host a watch party with them.

@fairycatstella: DATE💋

You smile to yourself like an idiot. As much as you’d like to tease him about his cute little “threats,” you have a study date to get ready for.

When you arrive on campus, you immediately spot the boy with round glasses leaning against the concrete structure just outside the art building. It’s still early in the day, which probably explains why his dark circles are so prominent. That doesn’t make him any less cute, though.

“Hey,” you say, tapping on his shoulder. He looks up from his phone and nods, barely acknowledging your existence. Wow, you can’t believe you made an effort to look cute in your corduroy dress only for him to give you the cold shoulder. Literally. You suppose that’s where the expression comes from. “Ready for our study date?”

Jungkook narrows his eyes at the taboo phrase.

“Ready to meet my demon friends? I have a lot of them, you know. And they’re always hungry. That watch party isn’t going to be so fun when you see your grocery bill,” he throws back at you. He’s serious about it, too. 

“Oh no, that’s absolutely terrifying,” you snicker. You honestly don’t care what kind of wholesome threats Jungkook comes up with next. Sounds like he wouldn’t harm a fly, like he’d catch it and release it outside instead of swatting it against the wall. So yeah. You’re going to keep calling it a study date until he completely loses it, bites you, and introduces you to the forbidden concept of angry vampire sex.

He shuts his eyes, rubs his temples, and mutters something along the lines of, “for fucks sake,” as he drags you into The Darkroom.

As soon as the two of you step inside, Jungkook removes the round glasses. His dark circles slowly start to disappear as the red deepens in his eyes. His tattoos creep onto his skin like they’re drawing themselves in. What a beautifully mysterious creature he is.

You’re suddenly reminded of something worth mentioning. “I’ve been meaning to ask why you downplay your appearance so much with other people.” Or whenever he’s not alone with you. You get that the darkness plays a role in altering a few of his physical features, but no one’s forcing him to wear those glasses.

“You mean why I look like the nerdy kid sitting on a 4.3 GPA?” It’s as if he can read your mind. Maybe that’s one of his vampire powers.

You nod, although you don’t mean it as an insult the way it came off when he said it.

“So people don’t ask me out on study dates.” He cocks his head with a smirk. Oh boy, he really knows how hot he is and how many people would ask him out if he looked like this all the time. He’s like the opposite of a catfish, except his “nerdy kid sitting on a 4.3 GPA” look was still cute enough to bait you into asking him out.

“What do you have against dates?” 

He shrugs. As much as he likes to complain about study dates, he’s pretty quiet now. 

Ah, shit. Maybe he’s aromantic and you overstepped. Or maybe he’s just not interested in you. Fuck.

To fill the silence, you start on the next steps in making your prints, whatever those might be. You must look like a lost lamb because you’re pacing back and forth holding things and not knowing what to do with them. Thankfully, the boy steps in to guide you the rest of the way. Crisis avoided.

As your first print sits in the developer solution, you watch the shape of the boy’s body fade onto the page—his hands clasped behind his head, his legs propped up on the desk, and his gorgeous eyes that still pierce through you in black and white. You should’ve guessed he’d show up in the print, considering you did see him in the tiny negatives that developed last night. Still, it’s not like you knew at which point vampires were supposed to magically disappear in the photography process.

Does that mean he’s not a vampire after all?

“Still drooling over me, huh?” Jungkook says as he monitors his own print soaking in the solution. His photo looks like a small pond, but it’s hard to make out anything beyond that until it develops more. “Don’t forget to move the print to the next solution.”

You do as you’re told and move your print into the stop bath. Perhaps you’re a little biased, but your photo of the boy looks like it’s coming out pretty well, composition and all. Or maybe he’s just handsome enough to make any lackluster photo into something extraordinary. It’s probably a mix of both.

After letting your print sit in the stop bath and fixer solutions, you admire the finished product of your first attempt at traditional photography. Okay, yes, Jeon Jungkook is really, really hot, and he photographs well. You’ve already established that fifty times by now. But you’re also proud that you made some creative decisions and didn’t fuck it up the way you’d been half expecting. Maybe this advanced photography class won’t be the bane of your existence after all. And at the very least, you’ll come out of this class with some eye candy decor to liven up your minimalist bedroom.

“The whole thing about vampires and photos is just a myth, you know.” Jungkook walks over to your station and points at himself on your print. “I can confirm that this guy you’re drooling over is really a vampire.”

You nod, relieved that he’s not an evil demon prince or anything scary like that. At this point, it would’ve been a bit of a letdown if it turned out he wasn’t a vampire. It also puts your mind at ease to know there’s some sort of explanation for his fetish with your cat scratches, even if it’s not a scientific one.

The thought of vampire sex doesn’t even cross your mind. Until it does. For some reason, you imagine that cute boy with the round glasses losing himself in a desperate lust and longing for your body after getting the tiniest taste of your blood. You hope he’s as rough as they say he is.

To distract yourself from those wildly inappropriate thoughts, you look through your strips of film for more photos to print. You pick the one you took of your cat just before she pounced at you and another of the vampire that focuses on the details of his hand tattoos.

While you process those prints one by one, you examine Jungkook’s completed pond print. It gives off quiet, cozy vibes with a family of ducks out for a swim and a couple sitting in the grass with their sketchbooks out. How do you know they’re a couple? You don’t, but that’s the assumption from the onlooker's point of view. And it’s a tender moment that you wouldn’t expect from a guy who acts like dates are taboo.

“This might be a dumb question, but can vampires feel things in a romantic sense?” You really hope the question doesn’t come off as insensitive in any way. But you’re curious to know more. After all, he’s still very much a mystery to you.

Jungkook nods. “Unfortunately, yeah. We can feel whatever humans feel. Less of some things, like the cold. And more of other things.”

Heartbreak. You wonder if heartbreak is to blame for his dark response to your question and his distaste for dates.

“You asked what I have against dates,” he continues as you move your cat print from one solution to the next. “I don’t have anything against them. I just avoid them to avoid feeling certain feelings.”

“You don’t want to feel romantic feelings?” You finish the cat print and start on the one with Jungkook’s hand tattoos. 

“It’s complicated for vampires.” He frowns at your cat print. It’s a cute pic of Stella’s dilated pupils, but the blurriness isn’t going to work for your assignment. You suppose you’ll just hang it up next to your eye candy decor. “And it’s especially complicated when said vampires let themselves fall for humans. You look like the kind of person who’s seen all the Twilight movies ten times, but you don’t need to be a diehard fan to realize the consequences of that sort of relationship.”

Perhaps he’s afraid of endangering the human he falls in love with. You don’t exactly know how much self-control vampires have over their lust for blood, but regardless, it’s in their nature to prey on humans. By avoiding close interactions with humans (ie. your bothersome study dates), nobody catches feelings, and nobody gets hurt. If you had to guess, that’s the reason why Jungkook tries to be so distant and cold with you. Because if he outright hated you, he wouldn’t waste his time guiding you through the basics of photography.

“First of all, how dare you profile me and assume I’ve watched the Twilight movies ten times.” You’ve actually seen them over twenty times each, but who’s counting? “Second of all, is the Volturi coming for us? Don’t answer that. And lastly, does a relationship really have to be off the table for you?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “It’s situational.”

That’s true. You can’t always control how you feel or who you fall in love with, no matter how hard you try not to. But that’s all you really needed to hear from him—assurance that he’d give love a chance if that’s where his heart’s pointing him.

“Anyway,” he says, clearly ready to change the topic. You barely hear him because you’re busy humming away as you pull your last print from the fixer solution. “You look awfully happy making all those prints.”

“I think I finally got the hang of it.” You glance at the hand tattoo print and decide to submit that one for the class assignment. You captured the details of his tattoos pretty well, and the exposure is just right. It also helps that Jungkook’s face is out of frame so that your classmates can’t start any rumors. Mission accomplished.

“Weren’t you crying just yesterday about not being able to drop this class?” he teases you. You knew it. He’d seen the tears you tried to blink away, he’d heard your cry for help when you ranted to him about your dipshit counselor, and he did what he could to help you find your footing again after you’d hit rock bottom.

“That was before you agreed to my study dates,” you remind him. “Before you helped me realize I’m not actually terrible at photography.”

“So you’re saying I threatened your counselor into letting you drop the class for nothing?”

“You got him to change his mind?” Your eyes widen. Who would’ve thought that worthless counselor would have a change of heart. “What’d you threaten him with? A tea party with the boys?”

“The boys?”

“Your hungry demon buddies, obviously. I’m sure they’d love some biscuits and scones.”

“They prefer meat, actually. The expensive kind,” he plays along to your banter. “Are you taking notes for your grocery run before the big watch party?”

As much as you’d love to conquer your fear of demons, you don’t want a big watch party. You want it to be just you and him—a party of two that involves minimal watching and lots of touching.

“Well, regardless of your method, thank you for dealing with that headache of a counselor for my sake,” you say. He didn’t have to do that for you nor did he have to teach you everything you know about photography. But he did, and that means the world to you. He might act all cold and arrogant sometimes, but you know he’s still as caring as the bespectacled cutie you first met in class. 

“So what’s the verdict? Are you gonna drop the class or stick around?”

“I would have dropped it,” you start off. If not for a certain vampire, you’d be running down to the counseling office as fast as you can to banish that class from your schedule. But since Jungkook’s willing to keep up these study dates for the rest of the semester, you’d like to think you can pass the class without jeopardizing your chances of getting into a good med school. You’re sure your cat’s influencer status will also benefit from all the photo tips and tricks you’ll learn along the way. “But right now, you’re giving me every reason to stay.”

“Good.” He eyes you up and down, more so out of admiration than lust. Looks like your efforts to look cute are paying off after all. “You’re the only one I can tolerate in that class.”

“Aww, you’d be lonely without me?” you tease with a big fat smile on your face.

“I didn’t say that.” Deny, deny, deny. You don’t buy it anyway. “It’d be a lot more boring, though. That’s for sure.”

Jungkook steps closer until you can feel the chill of his body robbing you of your warmth. He pulls the prints out of your hands and tosses them aside onto the counter behind you. With your hands now free to roam, you slide them up to his neck and comb them through the stubborn tuft of hair sticking up. His eyes are the reddest you’ve seen them. That’s not all, though. Under the red lights, everything feels more intense—the intimacy, the temptation, and the kind of danger you aren’t afraid to explore.

He slips the strap of your dress off your shoulder and strokes his thumb against a sensitive spot along the nape of your neck. The chills you get from his cold touch fuel the heat down below, right between your legs. You’re curious to know how good it’d feel to have his icy fingers all over your hot little pussy. Amazing, probably.

You feel something sharp and jagged graze your skin like a cat claw when Stella paws you politely for attention. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s also not cutting into your skin at all. The boy pulls back for a second to hold your gaze.

“It’ll hurt a lot more than a cat scratch, you know.”

“More than a cat bite, too?”

“Yes.”

“More than a lip piercing?”

“Yes.”

“More than a tat—”

“Y/N,” he puts an end to your rambling. You only shut up because you like the way it sounds when he says your name. “It’s painful, and I’m not just saying that to scare you. I won’t do it if—”

“I’ll be okay,” you assure him. You may or may not have cried once when your cat bit your toe in her teething days, but he doesn’t need to know that. The last thing you want to do is chase away the boy who’d avoided close human interactions up until this point.

He nods before spinning you around and pinning you against the counter with your ass facing him. You tilt your head to the side and let him grope one of your breasts from behind as he finds that sweet spot on your neck once more. Your grip around his arm tightens in anticipation.

Before you know it, all you feel is a rush of pain. The kind of pain you’d imagine if your cat evolved into a saber-toothed tiger and made you her next meal. You can’t tell if it’s his fangs sinking deeper into your skin or the rapid draining of your blood that hurts more. The boy bites down harder, and a whimper escapes your throat against your will. This one feels more like an injection with the fattest needle the doctor can find. A different sensation from pain quickly invades your body. It’s burning with intensity.

The two holes in your neck suddenly feel hollow as the boy pulls back to check on you. You look over your shoulder. His eyes are wide with concern, and his lips are beautifully plump and drenched in your blood. It looks more like a sweet strawberry glaze. Is it bad that you want him to kiss you with those lips?

“You okay?” He wipes the blood from his mouth and licks it off his thumb before it can drip down his chin. His tongue cleans up your neck as well. To your surprise, the pain vanishes, or maybe you’re just numb to it. 

You nod. You might not have been okay a few seconds ago, but you are now. Your body just feels hot. Really hot. Like if Jungkook doesn’t get you out of your dress right now, you’re going to lose it. 

You spin around to face him and press your body against his. Your fists cling to his black crewneck, your eyes beg for him to undress you, your body aches to be touched.

Finally, the boy takes a hint and slips your body out of the dress. He lifts you onto the counter and stares at you in your cutest lingerie, perhaps plotting where he might bite you next. Before he can think too much about it, you throw your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist.

His lips collide with yours. Your tongue gets tangled with his. It’s messy, dirty, loud, but you love every second of it. Not even the hint of blood you taste can spoil the moment.

“Mm, you're driving me mad, Jeon,” you whisper down his throat as you start grinding against his crotch. That big bulge in his pant has been tempting you for far too long. You wonder if anyone’s ever been kicked out of photography class for having sex in The Darkroom. Thankfully, there’s a lock so no one can walk in while you’re being fucked on top of the counter… or while negatives and prints are being developed.

You feel his hands sneak down from your waist. The tips of his fingers loop around your panties and slip them off your booty with such finesse. You’re ready to return the favor by freeing what you assume is a nice and swollen vampire cock trapped in his tight jeans, but he keeps on going with his own agenda. You’re not complaining.

He lifts one of your legs and leaves a trail of eager kisses up your inner thigh. His lips are so soft that you almost forget about his fangs. He could very easily bite you again, but he doesn’t.

As his lips get closer to your center, you can’t stop thinking about how desperately you need his tongue to soothe the unbearable ache between your legs. You haven’t even been touched yet, but you already tell that you won’t last long.

Before he goes in for a taste, he glances up at you helplessly pleading with your eyes for him to start pleasuring you already. Your face is so flushed with heat and sex, and it’s apparently distracting enough for Jungkook to stare at for a good minute instead of touching you.

Impatient and frustrated, you move your own hand down, but you’re immediately caught. He holds your wrist with a firm grip and gives you a devilish smirk. “I want to watch you squirm some more for me.”

You knew it. He gets a real kick out of torturing you in such an aroused state. You whine like a hungry little kitten as you roll your hips out of desperation, but there’s nothing to grind against, nothing to rub away your thirst for raw and rough sex. You’re so powerless.

“Good girl.” Pleased with your behavior, the vampire licks his thumb and strokes you once between your wet folds. You cry out in pleasure with your head thrown back and almost come on the spot. That’s how well your body responds to his touch and the sound of his voice.

“More,” you beg. You’re back to square one with nothing but a soaked pussy that isn’t being tended to. Who knows how long he intends to keep toying with you like this. “Please, more.”

He throws both of your thighs over his shoulders and pulls you in by the ass until he’s got the perfect view of your poor little pussy all drenched in your own lust. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your entire life. 

You admittedly have a kink for guys eating you out, but all the other guys you’ve slept with had to be convinced to test the waters (they were shitty), and a few of them didn’t even bother hiding their lack of enthusiasm (they were shittier). So the fact that Jungkook’s mouth naturally gravitates down there is not only a pleasant surprise but also a huge turn-on. You wonder if he somehow picked up on that kink of yours, or if it’s a byproduct of being a vampire who lusts after the taste of his lover.

Without warning, his tongue presses into you and flirts with that swollen aching bud of yours. You grab a fistful of the boy’s hair the way you’d be clawing bedsheets if the two of you weren’t stuck doing it on campus. God, he must be so fucking good in bed where no one has to worry about knocking over expensive photo equipment or spilling chemicals out of the trays neither of you bothered emptying before things got physical.

The first time he sucks your clit between his lips, the raw and filthy moan you let out is comparable to the moans you usually reserve for the best orgasms. That’s how fucking good his mouth feels. Hopefully, the walls can block sound as effectively as they block light.

“Don’t come yet,” he warns, still very much into your pretty little pussy. You nod submissively even though he’s far too invested in eating you out to look up. There’s something so charming about a guy who likes giving oral as much as he likes being the dominant one. Jungkook clearly knows how to do both.

You really start to come undone when he feasts on your clit like a lollipop, working his tongue and sucking at the same time. It must be the best lollipop in the world because he’s really going at it with impassioned moans and groans of his own. Hearing him enjoy it only brings you closer to hitting your high. Your eyes roll back and your lewd sounds keep leaking out of you like a broken record, as if your body has completely surrendered to the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Fuck, Jungkook, please, I—”

There’s a knock at the door.

Your whole body stiffens. You’ve never been interrupted during sex. What do people normally do? You’d ask Jungkook, but he’s still busy with your lower half.  And he obviously knows there’s someone waiting outside because he snorts at the muffled gasp you almost fail to contain.

“Um, we’ll be out in a minute, sorry,” you call out in as steady of a voice as you can manage while on the verge of coming.

A second later, the boy finishes you off with a soft and sneaky bite and a whole lot of tongue to help you ride out your orgasm. It’s probably the only vampire bite that’s all pleasure and no pain. You wish all of them could be like that.

Your sex sounds would have been much louder and filthier if someone wasn’t waiting on the other side of the door, but the soft whimpering you do isn’t exactly wholesome either. Even after the pleasure fades, you need to take a moment to catch your breath and come back down to reality. 

Jungkook does the same, dropping your legs from his shoulders and licking your creamy lust off his lips. He waits at the door for you to straighten up and slip your dress back on since you were the only one on the receiving end. It’s an absolute tragedy that his cock didn’t get any action, but you’re hopeful there will be a next time.

“Would you have kept going?” you ask after the two of you escape The Darkroom. He’s walking you home without even offering.

“Did it seem like I was done with you?” He narrows his eyes at your ignorance.

“No… but I mean, how much longer were you going to make me wait?” If you had to guess, you’d say he had another solid twenty minutes in him. After all, he was savoring every bit of your taste.

“That’s for you to find out next time,” he says so nonchalantly. So there definitely will be a next time. Good to know. Now you have time to mentally prepare for the long and delicious torture ahead. “You’re gonna wish someone interrupts us again.”

Sounds promising.

Jungkook’s POV

“Hey, can I tell you a secret?” you ask him with that dang sparkle in your eye. He nods, of course. “I think I enjoyed our quickie in The Darkroom more than any sex I’ve had in the bedroom.”

That’s because vampire fangs contain a special venom that temporarily enhances the sexual urges and pleasures of the humans they bite. Apparently, it brings their pleasure up to the same intensity that vampires feel (aka a lot more than the average human).

The problem is that Jungkook doesn’t know how to bring it up to you. You clearly didn’t handle the bite all that well, and he doesn’t want to sound like he’s just pressuring you into giving him your blood in exchange for a better sexual experience.

“Do the Twilight vampires have any special venom?” he asks.

“It turns humans into vampires, I think,” you shrug. “Why? Are you planning on turning me into a vampire?”

“No, no,” he waves off your valid accusation. That’s a loaded question for some other time. “The venom I injected you with—”

“You injected me with venom?”

“Yeah, but it’s harmless… kind of.” He’s digging himself into a hole. It’s probably better to just be frank. “It’s like a sex enhancer so humans can feel the same level of pleasure as us.”

“Oh.” You purse your lips in thought. Your duck face is quite adorable. “Is that why I felt so hot after you bit me?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I should’ve told you soon—”

“Wait, so are you actually bad at giving oral, but I just enjoyed it because of the sex venom?” Another valid (but rude) accusation. He can tell you’re just messing with him, though. You do this cute little nose scrunch thing whenever you’re being flirty.

“Fine, I won’t bite you next time.” All this talk about a next time. Hopefully you want a next time as much as he does. He’s already yearning for your body to be his again. “Then you can tell me how much you hate it while your wet little pussy rubs itself against my tongue and—”

“Okay, I get it. You’re a good lay with or without the sex venom,” you snicker. The way you keep referring to it as “the sex venom” is so endearing for no reason. Everything you do at this point is charming the fuck out of him. That’s how bad he has it for you, though he’d never outright admit it.

When the two of you arrive at your doorstep, Jungkook waits for you to pull out your keys and say goodbye. But instead, you stand there and blink at him. He blinks back.

“Do vampires need to be invited in?” You sound so shy all of a sudden. Maybe you like his company. Maybe you want someone to cuddle up to while watching that demon thing you won’t shut up about.

“Is that your way of inviting me in?”

“We could watch Demon Slayer?” you suggest as you open the door and usher him in. He still has no idea what Demon Slayer is, but he’ll watch it with you if it means you’ll never lose that mischievous little sparkle in your eye. 

Jungkook nods. He’s starting to feel like what the kids these days call a “simp.” Except, the things he does for you are unconditional. He’s never looking for anything in return, not when he talked your counselor into letting you drop the class, nor when he decided to help you out in the darkroom. The only thing he’s made you promise is to keep the vampire thing a secret. And that just comes with the territory.

“Don’t invite your demon friends, though.” You throw your arms over his shoulders and give him a nice long kiss. God, he loves how good you taste. Kisses aren’t supposed to be sweeter than blood, but yours are. “I want you all to myself.”

He carries you to the bedroom, plays with your cat, and decides that Inosuke is his favorite Demon Slayer character. He even helps you hang up your new wall decor even though it makes him feel like he’s your new celebrity crush. 

But his favorite part is the way you run your little fingers across his cold skin, the way you trace his tattoos and say you want one too, and the warmth you radiate when you’re with him.

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