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ladymunson · 10 days

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One 18+

Fic summary: Bucky struggles with his feelings toward you, which he hides by pretending he doesn’t trust you. You get placed on a mission together where trust is essential.

A/N: sorry if this is all over the place, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything so this might be a jumbled mess. Enjoy though!

Warnings: SMUT 18+, oral (f rec), fingering, language, unprotected p in v, kissing, heavy petting.

Word count: 5.3k

Not proofread and no beta (apologies for any mistakes)

I do NOT consent to my work being copied, translated or posted to any other platform.

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Dividers made by the wonderful @firefly-graphics and thank you to @jijilaufeyson for helping me make a decision.

“Are you serious?!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, “I’ve been with SHIELD for three years, I can do this mission by myself. I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Yes, you do.” Bucky sneers, you turn your head towards him and glare.

“I hate to agree with Barnes but he’s right, I think you still need someone to keep an eye on you. Your ex was HYDRA after all.” Tony says, as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You throw your head back in frustration, they’re never going to forget about him.

Three years ago, you had come back to the apartment you shared with you boyfriend of two years to find the place swarming with HYDRA agents. He had been assigned to you to eventually recruit you to HYDRA after they had discovered your abilities.

You’d always been able to sense how someone was feeling by just being near them and eventually it had morphed into being able to influence their emotions. You could walk into a party or a meeting and know exactly who to look out for, whether it be because they were vulnerable or someone with ill intention.

It took immense concentration, effort and energy to be able to change someone’s emotions without touching them. Which you always try and avoid, you don’t want to change someone unintentionally, you could ruin things for them. So, you manage to keep your emotions in check most of the time, and don’t accidentally influence anyone.

The moment you realised that Russell was HYDRA, you didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, but they weren’t going to let you go without a fight. Luckily, you’d befriended the Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, when you’d met her and Wanda Maximoff one night at a local dive bar after Russ had blown you off again. One text to her and they’d both been at your door and helped you get away from the agents and back to the safety of Avengers Tower where you’d been subjected to an intense interrogation from Tony Stark, Cliff Barton and Bucky Barnes.

You’d thought that after all the years spent training and fighting by their sides, they would trust you by now, but obviously they don’t. Or more specifically; Bucky doesn’t. Cliff had decided you were trustworthy the first time he interrogated you and had told them as much, but Bucky wasn’t hearing it. So here you were three whole years later, still deemed untrustworthy by the Winter Soldier of all people.

“You know what…?” You start and Bucky smirks at you, adding more fuel to the fire. “I’m glad you’re doing the recon alone, gives me time to pack.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “This is my last mission, I’m done. I quit!” You turn on your heel and leave the conference room without another word.

Bucky groans and places both hands on the table in front of him, flesh beside vibranium, and hangs his head.

“Well that went well Barnes.” Tony says as he walks over to the door. “Looks like I have to do damage control.” He points at Bucky. “You find something on that recon and figure out a way to fix this. We can’t lose her.” And leaves the room, the glass door swinging back and forth.

Bucky makes a fist and slams it down on the table in front of him. “Fuck!”

You stalk down the hallway, heading to your room, walking past everyone and ignoring them all as they try talking to you. Natasha notices and follows you to your room, the doors are automated so you can’t even slam it to let out your frustration. So, you throw your self face down on your bed and scream into the comforter. Natasha just stands by the door, not saying anything and waits for you to finish your screaming.

“Feel better?” She asks as you flip yourself over to lay on your back.

“I can’t believe he still doesn’t trust me! Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, I quit.” You say without looking in her direction.

“You didn’t quit.” Natasha says as she walks over to join you on your bed.

“I did, straight to Bucky and Tony’s faces. Both of them looked shocked but I don’t care anymore. I’m fucking done!” You say as you jump off the bed and begin going through your closet and putting clothes in a suitcase.

The one thing you want, is to have Bucky’s trust…. Okay there’s something you want more than his trust, but you’re never going to get it. If he doesn’t trust you to be member of his team, there’s no way he’s going to trust you in any sort of relationship. So rather than trying anymore, you’ve picked the nuclear option. Serves him right!

“Buck…?” Steve says as he walks into the conference room where Bucky is still hunched over the table. “What’s going on?”

“What is wrong with me Steve? Why can’t I trust people?”

“You mean y/n?” Steve asks. Bucky groans. “Buck, I think it’s obvious to everyone except you and y/n that you like her.” Bucky looks up at Steve. “In a romantic way.”

Bucky stammers, “N... no I don’t.” Steve raises an eyebrow and smirks at Bucky.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since she joined SHEILD, hell you haven’t even on a date in a year. You like her.”

“You’re right Steve, I do. But… She quit.” Bucky says as his head hangs head.

“What did you do? You know what, it doesn’t matter. Fix it!” Steve says and leaves the room.

You and Bucky avoid each other for the next week, but to be fair he was out doing recon for the mission with Sam, who had been ribbing him about his feelings for you and pissing Bucky off. They had however, been able to meet the mark and started integrating themselves into his world. Your role as Bucky’s girl would come later, and you couldn’t help feeling like he was ruining your chances to prove yourself. You could’ve done the getting to know the mark and maybe brought Bucky or Sam or even Steve in as your man later on.

You hated to admit it but their getting to know him first was the better plan as not many women were in that world.

The mark. Carlo Vizzini is the head of an organised crime syndicate, who deals stolen HYDRA and SHIELD weapons and technology to other members of the syndicate. The goal is to find the times and locations of all the shipments being brought into the city, finding a list of buyers would be the icing on the cake but it isn’t a priority.

Bucky’s role is to present himself as someone new to the area who wants to become a member of the syndicate. FRIDAY has come up with an elaborate backstory for the two of you, created entire histories for you both which you’ve spent the last week reviewing and learning. Your backstory isn’t too far away from your real story, so it isn’t hard to memorise. The problem is pretending to be his girl. How can you possibly work together and be convincing if it’s obvious to everyone that he doesn’t trust you. There has to be a reason why Tony suggested Bucky for the mission and not Steve, you don’t know what it is, not that you care because you won’t be around once this mission is completed.

The story. You and Bucky have moved to New York from Michigan, where was a mid level HYDRA agent who oversaw a warehouse that contained new tech. The place had been breached while he was attending a HYDRA event with you, and they had fired him for allowing the breach to happen (An actual event orchestrated by Vizzini).

You had been together for five years at the point you’re at, and Tony had decided to add the fact that you were recently engaged. So, you had to wear an obnoxiously huge diamond on your left ring finger, which really bugged you. You had both been set up in a brownstone in Brooklyn, sleeping in separate rooms but having to appear all lovey dovey in case you were being watched.

Four weeks later.

Carlo Vizzini has invited Bucky and you to an event hosted at his mansion in the Hamptons, where you will both be introduced to other syndicate members. So, you need a spa day and shopping trip where you can buy a dress for the event and be seen out and about acting like this is a normal occurrence. Tony has also arranged for someone from Tiffany to show up at your house and lend you some jewellery for the event as you’re a simple teeny hoop earring kind of girl.

You find the perfect dress while browsing online so it’s very easy to go and get it without having to actually search in store. Scratch that, Natasha found the dress for you and told you it would be a crime if you didn’t wear it.

The idea is to infiltrate the syndicate event, find the intel and get out without your cover being blown until the weapons and tech have been recovered. If your covers can last beyond that until the entire syndicate has been taken down, that’s even better.

So, you’ve been to the salon and had your hair done and are heading back to the brownstone when you notice the dark SUV you spotted outside the mall had parked across the road and the occupant was crossing over to you. You play it off like you haven’t noticed, a civilian wouldn’t have and that’s who you are for the foreseeable future.

“Excuse me? Y/N” The stranger starts a conversation with you.

“Yes? You answer, turning to face the person who has spoken to you.

“I’m sorry, I work for someone your boyfriend is trying to get into business with and he’s asked me to check that you out.”

You chuckle, “Fiancé.” The stranger looks confused. “He’s my fiancé, not my boyfriend. Does Mr Vizzini think we haven’t done the same the same to him? Can’t be too careful these days, too many con men around, especially in New York.”

The stranger seems a little taken aback by your words, but continues, like his job is at stake. “I have a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind answering.”

You cross your arms over your chest and cock an eyebrow. “Okay?”

He takes a picture out of his jacket and asks. “Who is this man?”

The picture is of Sam Wilson, the Falcon but you answer, “That is Sam, James’s brother, adopted of course. “

“And how long have you been together?”

“Five years, engaged for one. Are we done here? I have to get ready for a party.” You say and turn to the steps of your brownstone, heading up to your front door.

“One more question.” You turn to face him again. “Can I use your bathroom?” You sigh and open the door, directing him the right way and stay in the hallway so he doesn’t sneak anywhere else for a snoop. You hear the cistern flush and the squeak of the faucet, but you also hear the sound of the medicine cabinet being opened. Yep, he’s snooping. A few moments later he steps out of the bathroom and thanks you as he leaves your house.

You head straight into the kitchen and start the coffee machine; you then grab a detector out of the kitchen drawer and head into the bathroom. Using it to detect for a bug, which you find in the cupboard under the sink and leave it there. You have a get out your phone and send a message, one you’ve prearranged with Bucky, telling him about the bug.

‘Can’t wait to see your reaction when you see what I have on under my dress (followed) tonight. You’re not gonna be able to keep your cool or your hands (Suspicious) to yourself’

‘New lingerie?” (Bug?)

‘Maybe (yes), but you’re gonna have to wait and see’

‘Can’t wait’ (Understood)

You’re gonna have to start your charade earlier than anticipated and act like a real couple. I suppose there are worse things in life than pretending to be in a relationship with Bucky. You can’t deny that the dude is hot.

You pretend to use the bathroom by slowly pouring a bottle of water in the toilet, flushing and washing your hands. Then you head back into the kitchen to pour yourself a coffee.

Bucky arrives home a short while later, carrying a bouquet of roses (Sam’s idea) and gives you a kiss. You feel a little twinge in your stomach, feeling his lips on yours. His kiss is light and sweet.

Feeling your lips on his sends a thrill through Bucky, the feelings he’s been trying to hide for years bubbling to the surface and he has to stop himself deepening the kiss.

“There’s fresh coffee in the kitchen babe, I’m going to start getting ready. No peeking!” You say and head upstairs.

Bucky stays downstairs to drink a coffee and makes a few phone calls, all in character of course, before heading upstairs to get into his tux which takes only a few minutes. He’s back in the living room in less than ten minutes, waiting for you join him.

Bucky isn’t downstairs for very long before he hears your heels on the upper landing and stands up to greet you but at seeing you, his breath hitches in his throat.

(This is the dress you wear)

“You’re fucking stunning!” Bucky breathes out, causing you to grin.

“Not too bad yourself James.” You reply as you walk down the stairs and take his outstretched hand.

You arrive at the house in the Hamptons, impressed with the size of the place, hanging on to Bucky’s arm. The size of it is really impressive and you live in Avengers Tower.

Bucky thinks that he must thank Natasha for picking out that dress. He can’t keep his eyes off of you, that dress hugs your curves in all the right places. Bucky knows he needs to remain professional, but he really wants to get his hands on you and bring you pleasure like you’ve never known. He won’t have any problem pretending to be your lover tonight, because that’s the only thing he wants.

The party is in full swing an hour later, you’ve mingled with everyone, hanging on Bucky’s arm, acting like he’s your entire world. And to him, you are his world. It’s not acting, he’s crazy about you and has been since you met.

Another forty-five minutes go by with the both of you all over each other, giving you a reason to sneak off at some point, to find the intel you’re there to get.

Bucky’s arm is around your waist, holding you close to him as you leave the “ballroom” where the party is. You’re acting the part really well, practically hanging off of him, hands wandering. Walking down the hallway, still all over each other, opening doors looking for a place to have some privacy. Some rooms are all occupied, but the one you’re looking for is empty, Vizzini’s office. As soon as you’re in the room and you part ways, straight back to business, heading for his desk and turning on his computer. Plugging a USB drive you take off of your bracelet into it, and copying the files.

“Heads up Buck, Carlo is on his way and he’s not alone.” Sam says over comms. The last file copies just in time, and you attach the USB back to the bracelet and walk back around the desk.

“Shit!” Bucky says. “We’re gonna get caught!”

Your brain works quickly, “I have an idea, but you have to trust me.” You say as you switch the computer off.

Bucky nods. “Okay.” You pull him over to the wall beside the door and lean against it. You reach up under your dress and remove your underwear, Bucky’s eyes bulge out of his head. You throw your panties in the vicinity of the desk and reach down to undo Bucky’s pants. “What are you doing?!” He asks.

“I told you to trust me, I’ll get us out of this.” You unbutton his slacks and bunch up your skirt a little. “Lift me.” You instruct. Bucky catches on and lifts you, so your legs are wrapped around his waist. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him close. “Go with it okay?” You say. Bucky gulps but nods and your lips meet in a searing kiss that makes you both moan out loud into each others' mouths. His hips begin to move instinctively, playing the part of a man who can’t keep his hands off of his girl. Bucky feels an usual sensation, kind of like a happiness he’s never felt before. As quick as he feels it, it goes away again.

You’re moaning loudly, alternating between passionate kisses and heavy breathing when Vizzini opens the door to his office and “catches” you, entering the room with two burly bodyguards. You gasp and fake panic.

“What the…?” He exclaims, his eyes bogging out of his head before he composes himself and continues. “This is my office, not a motel room!” You giggle. “This is not a laughing matter young lady, this is very inappropriate behaviour!” Bucky lifts you and places your heeled feet back on the floor and helps you rearrange your dress before tucking his shirt back into his slacks.

“We’re sorry Mr Vizzini, but when your girl looks like this, you have a hard time keeping your hands to yourself.” Bucky says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

“But this is my office!” Vizzini says, exasperatedly.

“We’re sorry but other rooms were occupied!” You say with a smirk. Vizzini nods and the two bodyguards rush out of the room, they return moments later, both red faced.

Vizzini nods again and turns to you. “We will not mention this again and our meeting Tuesday will go ahead.” Vizzini says. Before sitting at his desk and making a choked sound. “I think these belong to you.” He says, pointing to the black lace panties that had landed on the keyboard of his computer. You giggle and retrieve them from his desk, biting your lip as you do.

“Sorry again!” You giggle as Bucky wraps his arm around you and leads you out of the office. You head back to the party, makes it seem less like obvious that you’re involved in espionage.

You both carry on playing the devoted couple, you’re hanging off of him like someone who can’t get enough of their man. Sneaking kisses here and there, selling the bit. Vizzini reappears a little while later and blushes when you and he make eye contact, you smirk back at him and pull Bucky in for a kiss. It’s after midnight by the time your car has pulled up outside and you’ve said your goodbyes.

You’re still all over each other as you get into the car, smiling and waving to everyone as the car pulls away. You keep the act up until you’re on your way out of the Hamptons and on the free way before you separate, in case you were followed. You stay close to each other just so you can snap back together quickly if you noticed someone watching you or for when you get back to the brownstone that is your “residence” at least until this mission is over.

You can smell Bucky’s cologne and it’s been invading your nostrils since you walked down the stairs before leaving in the early evening. It’s lingering on your skin from how you’ve been all over each other all night. You recognise it as Sauvage, one of your absolute favourites. You can’t remember Bucky ever wearing it before, he’s usually a Hugo Boss guy, which is another of your favourites. You momentarily let your control slip (not for the first time this evening) and imagine what it would be like, to have Bucky’s affections and let happiness bloom inside you, but you stop it as soon as you feel it reaching your face.

Bucky has put so much effort into hiding how he feels, he feels like he’s suffocating right now. He feels something again, like a happiness that he’s never felt before. But it disappeared as quickly as he feels it. The truth is drowning him and he needs to tell you how he feels, the thought actually terrifies him though. What if you reject him? What if you don’t feel the same way?

He needs to talk to Steve, find out how to approach this because he can’t lose you before he’s even had you. The car pulls up to your brownstone and you both get out, his arm around your shoulders as you head up the steps. “I need to go run a quick errand I’ll be back soon, wait up for me?” Bucky asks.

“Of course, baby, I’ll see you when you get back.” You reply with a kiss on the lips, smiling at him as you unlock the door and step inside, closing it behind yourself and leaning against the door with a sigh.

Bucky runs to the bodega on the corner and uses their pay phone, making sure that he’s concealed before dialling.

“Hello…?” Steve answers on the fourth ring, his voice scratchy with sleep.

“How do I tell her? After everything, what do I say?” Bucky’s words are rushed out, not even telling Steve that it’s him.

Steve lets out a sigh. “Buck, just say what you feel. Honestly is the best policy. She needs to know what you feel is real and not because of what you’re both living right now. Open up, I think she will be more open than you expect. I’m going back to sleep now.” Steve hangs up and Bucky is more determined than ever.

He grabs a bottle of wine and some other items so it looks like he had a legit reason to be in the bodega, pays and heads back to your brownstone.

He unlocks the door, you’re not in the living room when he gets back so he quickly takes off the jacket of his tux and goes into the kitchen and puts the items he bought away. Bucky rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up his arms, grabs two glasses and opens the wine then heads upstairs.

You’re in your bedroom, you’ve taken off your dress and are wearing a short black silk robe. He walks in with the wine and goes to speak but the words die in his throat. He takes a deep breath and closes the door, you raise an eyebrow but take one of the wine glasses off of him as he pours the red wine into it. He pours his own, puts the bottle down and takes a big gulp from his glass.

“We need to talk.” The words rush out with his breath.

“About what?” You reply.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky says, looking straight in your eyes. “I act like I don’t trust you because it’s easier than admitting the truth, but the truth is what you deserve so here goes…” You look at him expectantly. Bucky takes another deep breath before he continues. “I like you and I have since we met, and it scared me because I’ve never caught feelings that quickly before. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever caught feelings like I have for you, with anyone. I think I…” he stops himself.

“You think you what?” You nudge.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

You look into his eyes and the cerulean blue shows nothing but sincerity. He means it. He loves you. You contemplate telling him how you feel but actions speak louder than words.

You walk to Bucky, standing in front of him. You lick your lips he looks into your eyes, searching for hesitation and finding none. He reaches out for you, his hand grabs the back of your neck and he pulls you closer. His lips brush yours and your breath hitches in your throat. You look into each others eyes and you wrap your arm around his neck, pulling him closer and planting a firm kiss on his lips.

Your lips feel like they were made to kiss his, they slot together perfectly, like two halves of a whole. He sighs contentedly as your lips open to allow his tongue access, your tongues dance together, caressing each other as your bodies get even closer.

Something snaps in Bucky and he pulls you towards him, walking backwards until he’s against the wall. He spins you around and pushes you against the wall, breaking the kiss and leaving you panting for breath.

“I need you to say that you want this, please say you want this. I can’t bear one more moment without touching you.” Bucky says breathlessly.

“I want it, I want you.” You say and reach out for him again. He kisses you sweetly, pulls back and sinks to his knees. He plants a kiss on the inside of your knee which makes you shudder. “Fuck!” You moan out as his mouth kisses up your thigh, getting closer and closer to your centre. Bucky lifts your robe and groans out loud, noticing that you never replaced the underwear you removed in Vizzini’s office. He grabs your knee and lifts your leg, hooking it over his shoulder and moving his mouth to your mound, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. “Holy shit!!” You moan out and grab Bucky’s head with one hand and scratching at the wall with the other.

Bucky groans at your taste and begins to practically make out with your pussy, his eyes glassed over as your juices drip down his chin. His uses two fingers on his flesh hand and teases your hole, gathering your slick until he can sink them into you, straight to the knuckle. He’s eating you with such fierce ferocity and fucking you with his fingers so passionately that your orgasm builds quickly. “I’m not gonna last much longer.. I’m gonna…” a long moan escapes your lips as your orgasm washes over you. You shudder and shake, struggling to breathe as you ride the waves of your climax, your cunt pulsating around his fingers.

Bucky’s oral ministrations slow as your orgasm dies down, and your breathing returns to normal. He removes his fingers and your leg from his shoulder, stands and unbuttons his shirt before removing it and using it to wipe his face. He stands there in a white vest, his face flushed and looks at you adoringly. Bucky undoes your robe and lets it fall off your shoulders, leaving you in just your bra. You reach out and undo his pants, pushing them down leaving him in just a pair of black boxers. You can see his erection straining the fabric, you want nothing more than to take what you can tell is an impressive member out of his underwear and show him how good your head game is. Bucky however has other ideas.

“Take off the bra, please. I need to see all of you.” He says, his eyes still glassy. You oblige and he groans out loud, he steps forward and pushes you against the wall again. He takes your left breast in his hand and massages gently, causing you to arch into him. He lowers his head and takes your nipple in his mouth, circling the tight bud with his tongue. Bucky stops and plants a searing kiss on your mouth, it’s sloppy, full of teeth and tongues. He pushes his underwear down as you’re kissing, depriving your view.

You still don’t get a glimpse as he grabs your ass and lifts you, your legs automatically going around his waist as you continue your assault on each others' mouths, it’s like you can’t get enough. Bucky breaks off the kiss as he looks into your eyes, the both of you are heavy breathing already. “Ready?” He asks, you nod. “Words baby.”

“Yes please!” You feel the head of his cock against your entrance, gathering as much of your creamy slick as he can. Before notching inside you, your eyes roll back in your head as he slides into your wet cunt, painstakingly slowly. He wants you to feel every inch, every vein, the way he throbs for you. Once he bottoms out in you, you release the breath you didn’t realise you were holding. Your arms are around Bucky’s shoulders, holding onto him for dear life. You’ve never felt so full, so… complete. There’s a slight sting and burn, you can only assume but there’s a very good chance that he’s big and girthy.

Bucky plants a kiss on your lips before he begins to move, sliding out of you, almost completely before sinking into you again. The air is knocked from your lungs, you feel amazing as his cock slides in and out of you at an agonisingly slow pace. You moan out loud at the sensation.

“Faster!” You groan out, frustrated at how slow he’s fucking you.

“All in good time, I need to feel you.” Bucky moans out, but pretty soon he can’t just revel in the feeling. He needs to move faster, chasing his end. His hips snap up quicker and your moaning increases in volume, that heat in your belly building again with each thrust of his hips.

Bucky takes your mouth again, kissing you with all of him as he fucks into you with abandon. Your moans and tongues intertwined, your heavy breathing entering each others' mouths. Your hands carding through Bucky’s hair, tugging gently on the strands at the nape of his neck. Each time you do it makes his hips thrust harder and makes him grunt. But you have to stop after a minute as the heat blooming in your belly expands more until it can go no further.

It snaps and blooms upward and downward, sending heat to your toes and making you see white. Your climax makes your head roll back and you let out a scream of pleasure. There’s a new sensation as your orgasm hits, the feeling of white-hot heat spreading through him. Happiness, love, every positive feeling ever shoots through him and the spasms of your cunt around his cock, prematurely sets off his orgasm. He has wanted to draw another two or three from you before his end but he can’t hold it back.

He roars out, even the way your climax muffled your hearing you heard him. You’ve never heard anything like that, the sound was primal, animalistic. Your breathing slows and you lower your head to look at him, he’s staring back at you, looking completely fucked out, but so do you.

“You okay baby?” Bucky asks, breathing heavily and pulling your face towards him so he can kiss you. You can’t even speak, you just about nod before he lifts you off the wall and carries you over to the bed. He lays you down and pulls his semi-hard cock out of you, which makes you whine. He goes into your en suite and grabs a washcloth to clean you up, before joining you on the bed. He pulls you close and you snuggle into his warm body, your hand rests on his chest, just above his heart.

Happiness blooms in his chest once more, a content feeling. He realises that you’re projecting onto him with your abilities but you’re too out of it to realise. The feeling is one of pureness, a feeling of love. Bucky realises he has had this feeling before, many times, the first time was the day he met you. He really did feel love at first sight, he didn’t think it was possible but it happened. And now you both knew how the other felt, there’s no way he was going to go back to the way it was. And you’re not leaving SHIELD. Not unless he leaves with you, because from now on, you are one.

THE END?

Posted 23/04/2024

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky smut #ladymunson #Bucky Barnes x female reader #18+ only

458 notes · View notes

bruh-changbin · 6 months

Text

think pink

pairing: pink power ranger!hyunjin x afab reader

genre: smut, stupidity (minors dni)

warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), public sex kinda?, unprotected sex (be safe), creampie, tit sucking, alcohol consumption, very brief mention of female masturbation

word count: 8.2K

a/n: IM AT A CONCERT DRESSED AS SLUTTY LIGHTNING MCQUEEN RN WOOHOOOOOOO (this is a queued post). happy horny halloween mofos! very glad to be posting this fc bc i was supposed to post it last year and then just gave up LMAO so she's been a long time comin. pls give her some love i would really appreciate it!!! hope you all have/had a super safe sexy halloween!

october is overrated.

i mean sure, there is something undeniably cozy and heart-warming about crunchy leaves and pumpkin patches and all of the other shit that comes in the ‘fall aesthetic’ package. but the truth is that october is too windy, halloween is overhyped, and pumpkin spice tastes like ass.

and who wants to go to a halloween party where you can’t dress like a slut because of the wind chill? no one.

“you’re too negative.” jeongin sips his starbucks while keeping his eyes trained on the road, his left hand gripping the steering wheel of his beat up silver volkswagen jetta that he calls his baby, his pride and joy.

“i’m just telling it like it is,” you shift in the passenger seat to face him, “there is no need for so much hype around a mediocre holiday. what’s there to enjoy about getting violently drunk and stuffing your face with so much candy you feel sick?”

“listen y/n, i don’t know what your problem is but halloween is fun.” he appears to stop there, but then keeps going, “and i will not have your sour attitude ruin my favourite holiday.”

you just scoff and gaze out the window at all of the trees now bursting with shades of red, orange, yellow.

as if sensing something was off from your previous conversation, jeongin breaks the silence “you’re still coming to jackson’s party though, right? i don’t wanna go alone…”

“you won’t be alone,” you counter, “seungmin will be there.”

jeongin groans, “but seungmin’s so boring at parties. all he does is complain about how bad alcohol tastes and try to talk to people about books and films. i don’t trust a bitch that says films instead of movies! they always think they’re better than everyone.”

“that’s not true, seungmin’s fun at parties!” albeit you do admit you’ve only been to one party with seungmin where he went buck wild and were later told that that is very uncharacteristic of him.

jeongin’s expression turns sour, and you start to take pity on him.

“innie, i promised you i’d go to this party. when have i ever broken a promise? i’ll be there, alright?”

with that his face softens, and he goes back to his regular chatty self.

“knowing jackson it’s gonna be even bigger and better than last year. and you know y/n, i’m pretty sure hyunjin’s going as well.”

your heart drops to your stomach at the mention of his name.

you try to act as nonchalant as possible, “why would i care if hyunjin’s there or not?”

“because you’re in love with him.”

“i am not in love with him.”

jeongin scoffs, “please, i see those googly eyes you make every time you see him - scratch that, everytime his name is mentioned. and you sucked his dick.”

“oh so the second you put a guys dick in your mouth you instantaneously fall in love with him?”

“okay fine! maybe you don’t love him but there’s something there, no denying it,” he pauses, and then adds, “and i for one think it’s something worth pursuing.”

leaning your face against the passenger side window, you sigh contemplatively, “that ship has sailed, my friend. at this point hyunjin probably doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“i don’t know y/n, he still seems a little…. hung up on you,” jeongin attempts to reason with you, “why don’t you try talking to him?”

“what the fuck would i even say to him? hey hyunjin, everytime i think of you i get really really wet. could you please bend me over the nearest hard surface and fuck me so hard i can’t walk for a week???!!!!”

“so vulgar and for what.”

you roll your eyes, “shut up jeongin. if you want me to get with him so badly, maybe… i don’t know, help?”

“no way. you two are adults, you can sort it out yourself.”

“gee, what would i do without you and your incessant outpour of advice jeongin?” you tease, since jeongin is inherently quite awful at offering meaningful advice.

“i give good advice!!! you just never take it,” your best friend scowls as he drives through campus, pulling into a parking lot located in the midst of all of your school's buildings.

“sure innie, whatever makes you feel better,” you grab your tote bag off of the floor of the passenger seat and step out of jeongin’s car. as soon as you’re outside a brisk gust of wind engulfs you, the chill making its way through your sweater and making you shudder; you should’ve worn a thicker jacket.

jeongin does the same as you, slamming the driver door shut before grabbing his own stuff from the backseat.

“i’ll see you in a couple hours, kay? text me when your class is done,” he states before heading off towards to library, his broad shoulders protected from the frigid fall weather with a thick wool sweater and a puffy black scarf. the heels of his boots scuff the pavement as he trudges away, pulling out his headphones as he prepares for a couple hours of studying.

you make out in the opposite direction of your friend, heading towards the building where your lecture hall is located. all around you students are dressed in jackets and thick sweaters, scarves donning their necks and leg warmers wrapped around their ankles. the grey sky makes everything appear dull, spare for the bright coloured leaves that have been blown off the trees and crunch under the weight of your boots when you step on them.

soon you make it to your lecture hall, revelling in the warmth of being inside as you slowly close the doors behind you and making your way over to your (un)official seat. ever since the amount of people attending lecture every week started to decrease, you staked your claim on a seat in your favourite section of the room and refuse to sit elsewhere.

after a couple minutes of waiting your prof begins class, delving into lecture without a hitch as you attempt to scribble down notes. however, just as you’re about to get into the meat of today's class, your focus is broken when a late-comer yanks open the doors to the room with full force.

in walks hwang hyunjin, and a small part of you dies inside.

as the metal door swings shut behind him with a dramatic bang! you lock eyes with him just for a second before his gaze is averted to your professor who he gives a small, apologetic smile to.

in your head you’re screaming don’t you fucking dare hwang hyunjin as he walks closer and closer and closer to where you’re sitting in the sparsely populated lecture hall. you roll your eyes so hard your head hurts when hyunjin chooses the seat almost directly in front of you (just a little off to the side so it looks like it was a total accident - fuck you hwang).

of course you knew that hyunjin was in this class as well, but he’s usually on time and usually sits far away from you, at the back of the lecture hall. today he just feels like being an asshole, i guess.

hyunjin’s weird. he’s weird because he had the hots for you during the sweltering summer months, when jeongin rented a beachside airbnb for a week and invited all of his close friends - including you and hyunjin. he’s weird because he always applied sunscreen on your back and helped you cut up watermelon and sat beside you during bonfires. he’s weird because when everyone else left to go to the pier he encouraged you to stay back and yanked on your hair while you sucked his dick, bit your bottom lip with his front teeth, and fucked you so hard you saw stars.

he’s weird because he now pretends that the two of you have no history and fucks with you on purpose by shooting you flirty looks when he sees you at get togethers or on campus but does nothing more than that. he knows that you think about him, but does he think about you too?

staring at the back of his ebony-haired head, you can’t shake the image of hyunjin on top of you, his puffy bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he fucked you into his mattress, out of your head. the needy whines and groans he emitted when his cock was down your throat are ringing in your ears; you cross your legs under your desk in a pathetic attempt to ease the ache you feel in your cunt that you hate yourself for. come on brain, we cannot be horny during lecture! focus!!!

the next few hours drag on and on and on as you force yourself to keep your vision trained on either your notebook or your prof, resisting the urge to allow yourself to gaze upon the man who occupies your thoughts almost 24/7 (which is so not feminist of you btw).

ergo, when your prof finishes lecture 20 minutes early, you heave a sigh of relief. great, now you can gtfo and go finger yourself in the bathroom before getting jeongin to drive you home. but of course, a certain someone decides to ruin your plans by turning around and leaning against your desk, his dark chocolate eyes staring down at you mischievously.

“are you coming to jackson’s party?”

is he talking to you?

“are you talking to me?”

hyunjin looks around while the few other students surrounding the two of you scramble to pack their bags, “i mean, who else would i be talking to.”

“i don’t know,” you shrug, “anyone but me i guess.”

god this is so awkward. gag me with a spoon.

“you didn’t answer my question.”

“hmm?” you pretend to busy yourself with the task of shoving your pencil case into your near empty school bag.

“jackson’s party? you coming? jeongin said you were.”

of course he fucking did. because jeongin just loves stirring the pot.

“oh, uh yeah. i’ll be there.”

“what are you going to dress up as?” hyunjin clearly does not see how much you want to end this conversation - or maybe he does, and he just likes seeing you squirm. bitch.

“i don’t know yet.”

“the party’s tomorrow… and you still don’t know what you’re gonna be?”

“nope.”

“oh.”

hyunjin’s lips curl into a subtle smirk and you know he’s just dying for you to ask him the same thing, so you do.

“what are you dressing up as, hwang?”

his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he swings his backpack over one shoulder, “i guess you’ll just have to find out.”

and with that, he leaves you alone in the lecture hall with your professor, your half-packed bag, and your soaked panties.

.･:*◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤Ξ ҉ ◢▅◣Ξ ҉ ◥▅◤☾*:･˙

back in jeongin’s jetta as he gives you a ride home, you complain about hyunjin.

“he’s fucking with me on purpose, i just know it. god! he’s such a…. just like a little…. WEASEL! he’s a fucking weasel.”

“come on y/n, he’s not that bad,” jeongin sticks up for hyunjin, who is also his friend, mind you.

all you do is wave him off, “you don’t know how it feels to be played by a man that beautiful, innie.”

jeongin throws in the towel, and the two of you drive along the paved roads of your town in silence. as you continue to move along you soon find

“that forest still gives me the creeps.”

”come on, you seriously still don’t believe in all of that ‘lost john’ bullshit, do you?”

lost john’s forest is somewhat of a fable in your town; folklore, if you will. for ages people have been passing around this story about how a tourist named john who was exploring the town wandered into that forest one day to never be seen again. there are some variations, of course. some people say that they’ve seen john out and about, or that john was actually a cult leader and if you go into the woods you’re bound to get sacrificed. no one knows if john actually ever existed, or if the story is just all horseshit used as a cautionary tale to keep kids out of the forest at night.

doesn’t make it any less creepy though.

you huff as you stare at the endless sea of trees you’re driving past, “it’s not that i actually believe in it, it’s just that those stories come from somewhere, you know?”

jeongin doesn’t seem to understand the point you’re trying to get across, “...so?”

“so there’s gotta be at least some truth to them, right? or else where did they come from?”

“i don’t know y/n, i think it’s all made up to scare kids.”

the two of you sit in silence for a moment as you pass the last stretch of lost john’s forest before being surrounded by houses, apartment complexes and coffee shops once again.

“hey, do you know what costume hyunjin’s wearing to the party?”

as soon as the question passes your lips you regret it, and your regret increases tenfold when a devilish smirk makes its way onto jeongins face.

“oh! i thought you’d gotten over hyunjin, but here you are asking what he’s dressing up as for halloween. interesting!”

“oh my god jeongin shut the fuck up!! it’s not like that, he was just being a twat when i asked him about it in lecture today,” you huff in annoyance over your friends antics. and for the record you’ve never said that you were over hyunjin, just that you aren’t in love with him.

“sure y/n, whatever you need to tell yourself,” jeongin laughs, clearly thinking that he’s won this little scuffle, “you need to figure out a costume though.”

“ugh i know.” you scratch your head tentatively, “what are you going as?”

“a banana”

you can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips. is he for real?

“what’s so funny?” jeongin questions, his brow quirked.

“really? a fucking banana?”

“what’s wrong with that?”

“it’s a dumb costume, that’s what’s wrong.”

“it’s not dumb y/n, you just have no taste.”

“oh i have plenty of taste - that’s how i can tell your costume is bad.”

“it’s not bad it’s just- why are you being such a bitch right now?”

“did you just call me a bitch??!”

“yes i did because you’re being one!!”

“okay well SORRY for telling you that your costume is STUPID!!!”

“oh yeah? well in that case good luck finding a way to jackson’s party because I’M NOT TAKING YOU ANYMORE!!!”

“FINE!”

“FINE!!”

“FUCK YOU JEONGIN!!”

“FUCK YOU Y/N!!!!!”

in a fit of blind rage you grab your bag and shove you way out of jeongin’s car, a gust of wind ruffling your clothes as he speeds off as soon as you slam the door behind you. he is totally in the wrong here. you were just being a good friend, looking out for him by telling him that he’s setting himself up to look like a total idiot.

a squeal sounds behind you as jeongin floors it away from your house, the smell of burning rubber lingering around where his car was moments ago. what an aquarius you think to yourself as you head into your house, tossing your bag to the floor with a thump as soon as you’re inside. whatever, fuck jeongin! you’ll show him that you can have fun without him.

.･:*◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤Ξ ҉ ◢▅◣Ξ ҉ ◥▅◤☾*:･˙

“okay, what about this one?”

seungmin is in your bedroom for the first time ever.

which is weird, since the two of you have been friends for some time now. but hey, he’s here now eating chocolate covered pretzels while perched on the corner of your bed helping you pick out a costume for jackson’s halloween party.

“it’s cute.”

“... just cute? anything else?”

“i don’t know, you look… nice?”

you heave a sigh of frustration, “you know seungmin you really suck at this.”

he raises his hands in defence, “sorry! i’ve never done this before, you’re my only female friend.”

“yea yea whatever,” you command him to stop speaking with a wave of your hand, eyes flitting back and forth between the two costume options you’ve spread out on your floor and the one currently donning your body.

“so the final contenders are olive from easy a, slutty michael myers, and…” you look down at your legs, which are clad in the same black latex stockings you wore for halloween last year, “a sexy nun.”

seungmin shakes his head, “don’t do the last one, that’s blasphemous.”

“okay… sexy nun is out. i’m thinking easy a, you?”

seungmin ponders for a moment, his eyes squinted as he gazes at both the easy a and slutty mike myers costumes splayed across your carpeted floor.

“i second that, your boobs will look killer in a corset,” he eventually attests before shoving a couple more chocolate covered pretzels in his mouth.

you playfully smack his shoulder, “see min! you are good at choosing outfits.”

he just smirks in response before dusting the pretzel crumbs on his fingers off on his pants. with your arms full of discarded garments you head over to your closet, putting the clothing items of the unchosen costumes back in their place.

“hey can i ask you a question?” seungmin quips from your bed, where he’s now made himself comfortable by lying down and scrolling through twitter.

“shoot,” you say while hanging up your navy blue jumpsuit.

seungmin pauses his scrolling to ask, “how come you didn’t ask jeongin to help you with this? i mean, not that i don’t like helping you or anything, but you guys are like always together.”

ugh. jeongin. just hearing his name makes you

“we got into an argument,” you explain, opting to foresee the fact that said argument was over a fucking halloween costume, “he’s being petty, and i don’t want anything to do with him at the moment. and he keeps getting ”

seungmins brows raise momentarily before he responds, “it seems to me that both of you are being petty. also what happened with hyunjin?”

shit. you totally forgot seungmin isn’t caught up on everything that’s gone down. it’s his fault in all honesty, always opting to stay home instead of hanging out.

“uhhh it’s nothing,” you decide now isn’t the best time to get into everything, “but hey, you’re supposed to be on my side here!”

“i am!!! but why don’t we forget about your drama and watch….. coraline. capisce?”

coraline does sound nice, so you tug on your pyjama pants and join seungmin on your bed to indulge in a fitting movie.

.･:*◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤Ξ ҉ ◢▅◣Ξ ҉ ◥▅◤☾*:･˙

today is halloween.

today is halloween and you’re dreading it.

seungmin slept over last night and the two of you have been lounging around all day in preparation for tonight, which you are not looking forward to, what with both hyunjin and jeongin being there.

neither you nor jeongin have reached out to the other, both too stupid to be the first one to text the other and apologise. whatever, he’s the one who was up your ass about coming to this party, you’re gonna prove that you don’t have to follow him around like a lost dog at every function.

when it comes time to get ready you blast deftones and the twilight soundtrack (much to seungmins dismay) while painting your face. when it comes time to get into your outfit you recruit seungmin to help, making him stand behind you and yank the ties on your lacy black corset. with each tug you can feel the boning hug your ribs and stomach tighter and tighter before the mere action of breathing is uncomfortable.

it’s just for a couple hours you remind yourself while pulling on your black mini skirt and grabbing a pair of black sunnies from your vanity. the glossy scarlet red ‘a’ that you hand stitched onto the left breast of your corset last night glints in the mirror as you examine yourself, perfectly content with the costume you managed to pull off in less than 24 hours.

“holy shit, how can you breathe in that thing?” seungmin says as he stares at you from the same place on your bed, seemingly taken aback by the resilience of your rib cage.

“it’s for fashion, min! this halloween is all about reprisal, and i wanna look damn good while doing it.”

“okay shakespeare,” he jests before grabbing his costume from where it’s laying on the floor. it takes him a mere minute to throw on his outfit, and you envy him for it.

once you’re finally sure that you’re ready you toss a few tequila shots back in your kitchen as seungmin watches, stating he doesn’t wanna get fucked up tonight (when does he ever) but relents when you ask him to do at least one shot to keep him warm on the walk over to jackson’s.

the bite of the night autumn air has you questioning if you even want to go when you step out onto your porch, the leather jacket you borrowed from seungmin hanging from your shivering shoulders. no, you can’t back down now. with a skip in your step you all but drag seungmin off of your porch, those tequila shots slowly but surely making their way through your system.

by now many of the trick or treaters that lined the streets earlier in the evening have retired to bed, leaving the rest of the holiday to be celebrated by the mature population. so, the roads are mainly empty as you walk down them, the pavement damp and shiny.

when you arrive at jackson’s place you take pity on his neighbours, for the music is so loud it seems as if it might trigger a small earthquake. a few scattered groups of people are on the lawn but most are inside, and you can see the party raging through the front windows. seungmin doesn’t say anything, just shoots you a knowing look before the two of you make your way inside.

immediately upon entering you’re almost ploughed over by a guy in one of those blow up t-rex costumes, who barely spares a look at you before running away and continuing to wreak havoc.

“i don’t think I’m drunk enough for this min, we should just go,” you turn to leave but to your surprise are stopped by seungmin.

“come on y/n, we’re already here. let’s just stay for a bit, ok?” he reasons, and you relent with a dramatic sigh.

out of the corner of your eye you catch of glimpse of someone waving to you; actually, waving to seungmin, motioning him to head over there. you see 3 guys, one in a red power ranger suit, another in a green and yet another in a pink. the puzzle in your brain slowly pieces together as you glance down at seungmins blue power ranger suit.

don’t tell me….

the 3 guys pull off their masks at the same time, and you’re met with the grinning faces of jeongin (red), hyunjin (pink), and their friend jisung (green). and just to add more salt on the wound, a boy name felix whom you’ve meet a handful of times shows up with his friends dressed in a yellow ranger suit. stupid! you should’ve know seungmin was a part of a group costume, who would dress up as a solo power ranger?

“why didn’t you tell me that you were doing a stupid group costume with jeongin and hyunjin!” you sock seungmin in the shoulder.

“i didn’t think it mattered!” he whines while rubbing the spot where you punched him.

“well it does, because now we have to spend the whole night with them,” you whine, although what you said isn’t necessarily true. you’re just salty because seungmin is supposed to be on your side in this whole debacle, and because jeongin decided to change his costume after your quarrel in his car the other day.

much to your dismay, seungmin wraps his bony fingers around your wrist and drags you towards the group of his friends, towards your doom. as soon and jeongin realizes you’re headed this way he departs, running up the stairs like the coward he is.

“seungmin! you made it!” jisung exclaims, clearly already a couple drinks in and clearly unable to sense the tension between you and everyone else.

“haha, yep!” seungmin answers sheepishly as you wrench your wrist free from his grasp. traitor!

you sulk as you listen to felix, seungmin and jisung talk about god knows what, probably video games or baseball or something stupid. it doesn’t help that you can overhear parts of hyunjins conversation with the girl that felix brought. thankfully, you’re blessed with the gift of being able to tune everything out if you so chose, so you stand there in silence and dream about going home.

it isn’t long until you can sense a looming presence beside you, and you snap out of your stupor to see hyunjin standing only a few feet away from you. the way his eyes scan the expanse of your body doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“so,” he starts, arms widespread in a clear gesture to his costume, “what do you think?”

“geez, and people say girls dress like sluts. you know i can see your whole dick print, right?” you taunt,

“nothing you haven’t seen before,” he sneers while his eyes scan the length of your body, hyper focusing on the red ‘a’ sewn into your corset, “what…. what are you?”

how uncultured!

“olive from easy a. you know, emma stone’s character?” you state matter of factly, arms folded across your chest.

“never seen it.”

“really?” you ask, genuinely shocked since hyunjin seems to love fun cult classics. and because he’s friends with seungmin, who's seen about every movie under the sun.

“really,” he reaches over and picks up his drink from where he left it on the counter, “off topic, but a couple people about to play truth or dare in one of the bedrooms upstairs, you should come. or don’t, i don’t care.”

and with that the boy dressed as the pink ranger turns on his heel and walks away, patting whoever was dressed in the yellow ranger costume on the back as a signal to hit the road.

truth or dare? for real? didn’t realise this was a high school party.

you make your way over to seungmin, who’s busy playing with the pop tab attached to the lid of his mikes hard lemonade. it’s clear he doesn’t really plan on talking to anyone else all night, and is only here because you dragged him and he had a duty to fulfil as a result of being part of a group costume.

“they’re about to play truth or dare upstairs min, can you believe that?” you scoff, feeling your cheeks warm up as a result of the alcohol you’ve consumed.

seungmin makes a noise of agreeance, his lip quirking upwards as he responds, “for real? that game is just so…. childish.”

both of you nod before looking at the floor, you drawing small circles with your feet and seungmin playing with his pop tab again.

“but it is kinda fun, you know?” seungmin speaks up first.

“no you’re right,” silence again, and then you add, “should we go join?”

all seungmin does is nod and pass you your drink before the two of you make your way upstairs, opening to the door to a bathroom and accidentally interrupting some kind of fuck session before finding the correct bedroom and slinking inside.

.･:*◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤Ξ ҉ ◢▅◣Ξ ҉ ◥▅◤☾*:･˙

a messy circle of people meets you when you enter, with everyone sitting on the floor or bed or chairs that were definitely stolen from the dining room. there aren't a ton of people, maybe 13 or so, but you seem to know everyone at least to a certain extent.

“nice costume, y/n,” jeongin practically emerges form the shadows to sneer at you, his voice laced with poison.

“thanks jeongin, it is a nice costume. what happened to you going as a banana? did you heed my advice and finally realise it was a stupid idea?”

all he does is scoff at this, choosing not to retort for the sake of looking like the bigger person.

“jeez, you guys are really pissed at each other, huh?” seungmin remarks while grabbing your wrist and dragging you away from jeongin in case you were about to reach up and slap him.

you don’t respond, but the sour look on your face says it all.

“alright guys, let’s get this started!” hyunjin announces to the room full of people, and all of the individual chatter dies down, “the game is truth or dare, as you all know, but we wanted to make it extra frightening for halloween. jeongin?”

jeongin stalks over to hyunjin, and you’re worried for what he has planned.

“if you do not fulfil your truth or dare, you will face a penalty. that penalty is doing a shot,” he takes a breath, “and showing the entire circle the last nude you sent.”

chaos. everyone erupts in anger at jeongin’s sick idea of a punishment.

“come on jeongin, that is so over the top,” one of the other girls in the room, chaeryeong, shouts above everyone else.

all jeongin does is raise his arms in a shrug, clearly loving playing the villain. ugh, you’re so over him.

“rules are rules you guys! we want to make sure people are following through on their dares! or truths, of course.”

he does have a point there, but still, his rules are a bit excessive.

the room quiets down and a few people decide to get up and leave, opting to not take the risk of exposing themselves if they get stuck with a particularly damning truth or dare.

“great, lets get this show on the road then,” jeongin acts as the ringleader and gets everyone settled, “who wants to go first?”

“me! i wanna go!” jeongins friend felix, the yellow ranger, throws his hand in the air.

“ok felix, truth or dare?”

the rest of the party can be heard as the room falls silent to let felix think, allowing him time to ponder since he was the first to volunteer.

“i’ll go dare,” he finally announces, and a chorus of ooooo’s sound as everyone waits to hear what felix has in store for him.

“i dare you,” jeongin ponders, trying to come up with something juicy and exciting, “to give us your best strip tease!”

everyone shrieks and felix hangs his head in embarrassment before standing up, clearly not backing down from the challenge. someone turns on pony by ginuwine and everyone shrieks even louder as felix starts doing his best strip tease, filled with body rolls and thigh grabbing as he peels the top part of his yellow power ranger costume off, exposing his defined abs and smooth back in the process.

after a couple minutes everyone agrees that he’s done enough and he pulls his costume back one before plopping back down in his seat, his cheeks and ears a bright cherry red. nevertheless, a triumphant smile is plastered on his face as everyone cheers for him having successfully completed the first dare.

the game continues without a hitch; chaeryeong confesses that her first wet dream was about hiccup from how to train your dragon, seungmin has to do a blowjob shot from between felix’s legs (you almost thought he was going to accept the penalty), and you find out that the weirdest place jisung has had sex was in a mcdonald’s bathroom.

suddenly jeongin locks eyes with you and you, knowing that he’s probably had one too many drinks at this point, feel a sense of dread settle in the pit of your stomach.

“y/n! your turn, truth or dare.”

you know that whatever you choose it’s gonna be bad, so you opt to bite the bullet and just go for it.

“uhhhhhh ok, dare.”

in that moment it looks as if jeongin has quite literally embodied the devil himself and you know that you’ve chosen wrong. all you can do is brace yourself for whatever dare he’s about to challenge you to - which you’ll have to fulfill for the sake of not looking like a loser.

“i dare you,” he smiles, “to spend 10 minutes exploring lost john’s forest.”

the room goes silent.

no fucking way. does he want you to die???!!

seungmin comes to your rescue, “come on jeongin, that's a little too intense for a game, don’t you think?”

“a dare is a dare! if y/n doesn’t want to do it she’ll just have to face the penalty instead.”

everyone continues to look around the room tentatively, waiting to see what happens next. most gazes are fixed on you, eyes with with worry and excitement, but some stare at jeongin.

“come on, do you guys seriously still believe in all of those bullshit urban legends? that stuff is just for kids, we’re all adults now!” jeongin speaks up and sips his beer as if to further prove his point.

“regardless of if those rumours are true or not, don’t you think it’s unsafe for y/n to be out in a forest this late at night? you know, alone?” this comes from hyunjin, and you’re surprised he’s sticking up for you.

only after hyunjin’s comment do you see jeongin’s tough guy facade start to waver, but he holds his ground, “y/n’s a big girl, she can speak for herself.”

suddenly everyone’s gaze is on you. dear god, why on earth did you come to this party??

“you know what, fine. fiiiine!!!! i’ll do it,” you declare as you stand up, adjusting your skirt that had shifted in place while you were seated. jeongin’s face deadpans, and that alone is enough to give you the courage

“wait, how will we know if she actually goes to lost john’s forest though? what if she just waits outside and then comes back in 10 minutes later?” jisung quips, and you’re tempted to reach out and slap him across the face. bitch.

“that’s a good point,” jeongin pauses to think, “ok fine, someone should go with her to make sur-”

“i’ll go,” hyunjin volunteers before standing up a little too quickly, which is evident in the way he wobbles slightly before catching his balance.

jeongin’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull at this; it’s clear he wants you to have the worst night ever, meaning being alone in a forest with a guy you have the hots for is strictly off the table “wait no, someone else should go.”

“why? i’m fully capable of escorting y/n to and from lost john’s to make sure nothing bad happens. besides, does anyone else want to volunteer as an escort?” hyunjin retorts before waiting expectantly.

the circle of people sit there, unmoving. after a few seconds seungmin slowly moves to raise his hand but a dirty scowl from hyunjin makes him freeze.

“right then, it’s settled. let’s go y/n” he states while grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the door of the bedroom you’re in.

you look back at jeongin over your shoulder, who clearly isn’t pleased. all you do is shoot him a cheeky half smile before following hyunjin out the room, down the stairs and into the night.

.･:*◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤Ξ ҉ ◢▅◣Ξ ҉ ◥▅◤☾*:･

standing at the edge of lost johns forest, you think you might pass out.

but you neglect to tell hyunjin that.

“you ready?” he asks while shooting you a comforting look, his words have no trace of teasing or mockery.

you look at the vast expanse of trees in front you. it looks as if it stretches on forever and ever, and you gulp as you think of all the possible things that could be inside, waiting for you and hyunjin to enter before striking.

that being said, you’d rather do this with him than do it alone.

“let’s just get this over with. the sooner we’re done here the sooner we’ll get back and I can strangle jeongin.”

hyunjin laughs before offering you his hand, which you take and pray that he doesn’t care about how shaky you are.

making sure to take note of the time on your phone you head into the forest, feeling twigs and leaves snap and crunch under your feet. the exposed skin on your legs stings as a cold gust of wind blows, the trees offering minimal protection.

“you know if you ignore all of the creepy stories about this place, it’s actually quite nice. so quiet…” hyunjin aloud.

“if you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.”

a branch snaps, an owl hoots, you exhale shakily. it’s dark, but the scarcity of leaves still attached to their trees allows for just enough moonlight to seep through the spindly branches. soon enough, the two of you stumble upon a small-ish clearing, opting to stay there as opposed to trekking further and getting lost.

“jesus I hate this, how long has it been?” you ask hyunjin while rubbing your arms in an attempt to wake them up.

“it’s been…. 2 minutes.”

that’s it. this is the worst experience of your life. you are actually going to kill jeongin.

“come on y/n, it’s not that bad in here. at least you have me!” hyunjin tries to comfort you, but you can tell that he’s nervous just like you are.

“please, as if you’d be able to protect me from anything,” you tease, but when hyunjin doesn’t bite back you worry that you’ve struck a nerve, “i am glad you’re here with me, though.”

“i would’ve volunteered to go with anyone, honestly.”

“really?”

“...no.”

a small smile creeps it’s way onto your face at this, and not matter how hard you try you can’t wipe it off.

“sooo you volunteered to go with me because…?”

“because i have…… feelings….” he looks at you, and then looks at the ground, “for you….”

the word that comes to mind upon hearing hyunjins confession is satisfying. satisfying because you’ve known that he’s had feelings for you since the summer, he’s just a shithead. so, you feel satisfied.

“and i know it’s probably unfair for me to say this but i can’t stop thinking about you and i know that this is also the absolute worst place to confess but-“

he doesn’t say anything after that.

he doesn’t say anything because you press your pout against his, breathing in his scent as he kisses you back.

no words need to be exchanged as you briefly pull away before going in for more, hyunjins lips your absolute favourite drug that you crave day and night. a groan escapes hyunjins mouth and he moves to wrap his hand around the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in and tugging on your hair as he pushes you yo against a nearby tree.

with your head tilted to the side you weasel your tongue past his slippery teeth and into his mouth, sliding against his own. both of you parrot each others moans of desire as your hands explore the expanse of hyunjins back and shoulders.

you feel so cold when he pulls away from you, like your only source of heat has been ripped away from you eternally. when you pry your eyes open, not before a dissatisfied huff passes your lips, you see hyunjin descending.

it appears as if he sinks to his knees in slo-mo, eyes never leaving yours as he kisses his way from your knee to the inside of your thigh. with deft fingers he reaches under your skirt and hooks the waistband of your panties around his fingers before dragging them down your legs and tossing them to the side, soon to be forgotten.

“hyunjin,” you breathe, voice already shaky as you anticipate what’s to come (you). he doesn’t say anything, just grabs your right calf and swings your leg over his shoulder, his face now a mere few inches away from your pussy. it feels as if you’re on display for his eyes only, forced to watch as he sucks and nips at your thighs while leaving dark bruises and bite marks in his wake. slowly be surely he inches closer to the place where you want- no, need him most.

when the tip of his wet, pink tongue drags through your cunt your breath catches in your throat. he continues to offer only feeble kitten licks, and soon enough it has you craving more and more, his actions not enough to fulfil the growing desire you can feel boiling inside of you.

with outstretched fingers you reach out and grip a fistful of his raven hair, pulling on it and all but shoving his face impossibly closer to your wet, hot pussy. the tip of his nose nudges your clit, and the one leg that you’re balanced on almost buckles.

“you taste so good, honey,” hyunjin confesses while lazily dragging his fat tongue through your pussy, “sweet like candy.”

“ ‘s just for you, hyun,” your heads rolls back between your shoulders, resting on the tree behind you. for the moment you elect to forget where you are, focusing on the cute boy between your legs instead of the darkness of the surrounding forest that threatens to swallow you whole.

hyunjin cycles between sucking at your clit and teasing your hole with his tongue, a combo which, although has you seeing stars, is not enough to bring you to release.

“more, jinnie,” you plea, the pet name rumbling past your lips before you can catch yourself.

“you need more, baby?” hyunjin coos while gazing up at you, his eyes foggy and plump lips swollen and glossy. the hand of his that’s been laying dormant on your thigh moves to cup your pussy, groping you before he slides his index and middle fingers through your folds.

in one deft movement he slips his digits inside of you, his tongue poking and flicking your clit at the same time. your needy whines grow louder and echo around you, the goosebumps on your skin now from arousal and not from the cold.

hyunjin continues to finger you at a relaxed pace, his mouth traversing between stimulating your aching clit and nipping at the sensitive skin of your upper thigh. his eyes never leave yours however, and you feel as if you might slip and fall into his gaze, unable to escape.

“one more?” god you sound pathetic, but you don’t care at this point, “please?”

wordlessly, hyunjin slips his ring finger into your cunt. the stretch is subtle but has you yearning for your sweet release. the grip you have on his hair tightens, and you rock your hips against his face to help bring yourself closer and closer to your orgasm. the moans that leave his mouth in response to you tugging on the roots of his hair vibrate through your core, leaving you a stuttering, whiny mess above him.

“jinnie, I think i’m gonna-“ a desperate moan escapes you when hyunjin wraps his lips around your sensitive bud once more, sucking in tandem with the thrusts of his fingers.

over the volume of your own moans and the howl of the wind you can hear the squelching of your wet pussy as hyunjin finger bangs you until you cum all over his hand, his palm and chin sticky with your juices.

your heart drums in your chest as you slowly come back to earth, the warm body between your legs now gone and standing in front of you.

hyunjin looks as if he wants to eat you, swallow you whole, with hair a mess and cheeks splotchy and pink. through his costume you can see he’s hard, his cock begging to be released from the fabric prison it’s confined to.

he kisses you again and you can taste yourself on his tongue, fighting off any embarrassment you feel with the justification that getting your pussy devoured by him felt so fucking good.

your tongue slots against hyunjins inside of his mouth, and you feel him move to push his pants and briefs down to allow his cock to spring free. his sticky warmth mouth is pulled from yours and you watch as he pumps his dick several times to get himself fully hard.

his cock is long and veiny with a slight curve that has you practically drooling all over his feet. of course you’ve seen it before, but it’s been so long and you’ve thought about it so much.

his tip is a dark shade of pink as he moves to drag it through your cunt, allowing it to kiss your still sensitive clit which sends a jolt through your body. not wanting to waste any time, hyunjin wraps the same leg that was sling over his should a few moments ago around his waist. with one hand grubbing your thigh and the other gripping the base of his cock, he slowly sinks into you, allow you to feel every inch of his aching shaft.

“oh god, hyunjin,” you cry, feeling so full after months and months of feeling so empty. hyunjin breathes through his nostrils, attempting to control himself as he bottoms out in your tight hot pussy.

the bark of the tree that you’re pinned up against scratches and digs at the skin of your shoulders and upper back but you’re too drunk on hyunjin to care. all you care about is his cock that’s fucking into you, his tongue that’s tracing your jawline, his curious hand that reaches into your corset and pulls out your breasts.

his mouth makes its way from your neck down to your chest, where he deftly takes your left nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before giving the same treatment to the other.

your legs cramp as you spread them apart as far as possible given your current position, doing your best to accommodate hyunjins dancer hips. his hips that move so fluidly against you, rolling upwards and grinding against your cunt with each thrust.

every time hyunjins tongue rolls across your tit you can feel it in your core contributing to the small fire that’s growing with every move he makes. one of your hands finds purchase in his hair again and the other finding stability by gripping his shoulder,

“jinnie, hngh-“ you stutter and whine embarrassingly, thankful for the fact that there’s no one around to hear how desperate you are. hyunjins pace picks up and he pumps his cock into you faster, harder, deeper. your limbs turn to jelly as he fucks you with no restraint.

“fuck y/n, I’m so close,” is all he can pant after pulling himself off of your tits, the hair at the base of his neck damp with sweat despite how cold it is outside. the walls of your pussy flutter around his cock as you’re on the brink of your orgasm, waiting to feel your release wash over you.

it only takes a few more thrusts to send you spiralling, creaming all over hyunjins cock as he finishes inside of you. his cum feels hot and heavy inside of you and it warms you to the core on this cold fall night.

the heat you feel in your cunt slowly begins to wane, and you whimper when hyunjin pulls his now soft cock from your hole that’s dripping with his cum; some of it sticks to your thighs.

with a chaste kiss to your lips hyunjin pulls away, fixing himself up before helping you adjust your corset and reaching down to grab your phone that had fallen to the forest floor.

the blue screen almost blinds you when you turn it on, and you’re met with several missed texts from jeongin.

[12:55] jeongin: okay y/n it’s been like 15 minutes you guys can come back now

[1:03] jeongin: seriously y/n it’s been a while, people are starting to worry

[1:04] jeongin: not me of course, but other peopl

[1:16] jeongin: ok y/n this isn’t funny anymore, i get that you’re pissed at me but seriously you guys need to come back

[1:19] jeongin: unless…. the lost john legends are true

[1:19] jeongin: oh god

“this shithead,” you mutter, opting to leave him on read for now

you glance at hyunjin, who’s standing there awkwardly, looking at the moon through the branches of the trees.

“do you wanna come back to my place? i don’t really feel like going back to the party,” he says in a way that seems like he’s bracing himself for you to say no, “we can watch easy a? you know, since i’ve never seen it.”

you stretch out your hand, encouraging him to take it.

“yea, I’d like that,” you say before the two of you make your way out of the forest before strolling down the street under the yellow glow of the moon

.･:*◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤Ξ ҉ ◢▅◣Ξ ҉ ◥▅◤☾*:･

a/n: apologies if the smut seems rushed I wrote it on a bus lol

#stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfiction #skz smut #skz fanfiction #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin fanfiction #hwang hyunjin blurbs #hwang hyunjin imagines

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tojifile · 4 months

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Hey, can I make a request for your event?

Fyodor x fem!reader, except he's madly in love with her but doesn't accept it bc he thinks it's useless :)

@Fyodor Dostoevsky . . . (＾-＾)

Tags: smitten!fyodor, fluff, angst if you squint, gn!reader, domestic Fyodor, kinda ooc, vol 14+ doesn’t exist, yandere themes if you get 400+ graded glasses

A/N: Hello anon !! I’m so sorry this took so long, probably 2-4 months (?) I’ve been so busy with school that I just didn’t have time for requests. I’ll treat my fics like those “mafia!dazai who…” type of posts, if that makes sense. I know it’s a big change from my old writing style but I really hope you would still like it :))

smitten!fyodor who met you while walking around Yokohama. He asked you for directions one day and as faith would have it that was the exact place you were going to as well. Although, he didn’t actually need directions, he just wanted to test his skills in deceit.

“Excuse me miss, pardon me for being a bother. Could you please tell me where the nearest train is?” You softly smiled at the gentleman who had gotten your attention. “Of course, I was just heading there myself, you could just follow me if you’d like.”

smitten!fyodor who was fond of the way you spoke to him in such a polite manner. It was endearing to have someone be so courteous (bare minimum, I know).

smitten!fyodor whose voice you couldn’t forget. Softer than silk yet even the sun itself would revolve around its gravity.

smitten!fyodor who “accidentally” bumps into you from time to time. It’s been going on for several months now and during the first few times you jokingly accused him of stalking you.

“Fyodor-san? This is the fourth time this month, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were stalking me!” You teased. He responded to your joke with a small chuckle.

smitten!fyodor who denies feeling anything for you since he thinks it would hinder his plans for a better world. He constantly tells himself that it’ll pass, but each day he spends with you feels like a dream.

smitten!fyodor who reassures himself that this was all part of his master plan; that you were just another pawn in his epic chess match with Dazai. Surely someone as simple as you couldn’t destroy his plans, right?

smitten!fyodor who tells himself that keeping you happy is all part of his mission to save the world. When he’s overthinking his actions around you he tells himself that he only keeps you happy because a world where you’re sad confuses and frustrates him—oops, wrong thought!

What frustrates him further is the fact that he can no longer tell himself that you’re just a pawn. He never has internal struggles, so how could you do this to him? For years and years he chased his ideals. He tried to attain the unattainable, he never thought something as simple as affection could be that unattainable thing.

smitten!fyodor who saw you on a date with somebody else and he felt like that was God’s way of telling him that he should continue to fulfill his mission rather than chase someone who clearly doesn’t like him back.

Comment 🪩 to be on my taglist !

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rainbow-starlight · 4 months

Text

Why is Help Wanted 2 Sun… Like That?

Okay, I’ve been putting off making this post until I felt like I had a better idea of what was going on, and now that I’ve watched at least part of a play-through and gone over the lines a whole bunch, I think I’m ready.

I’m gonna talk about my thoughts on Sun as a character as well as HW2 as a whole here, so it’ll be a bit long. Pop some popcorn or something.

Please keep in mind that this is all my personal opinion and you’re free to disagree with it! In fact, if you think I’m totally wrong, please tell me why. I love new perspectives!

SO! Let’s get right into it, shall we?

First things first: Help Wanted 2 Sun is not the same guy as Security Breach/Ruin Sun. If his personality difference was significant enough to surprise you, that’s because he’s a different person.

I’m not entirely sure how much of Help Wanted 2 is meant to be actually happening, but I think that at least the mini games are training simulations.

However, it’s important to note that a lot of the stuff happening in the mini games is just… nonsense. How did Freddy get frozen like that? What’s with those regular batteries in his arms? Why are half the supplies in first aid explicitly for robots and not humans? Why is there a shredder table in the daycare for kids to stick fingers into?

Some of this can be shrugged off with the usual “FazCo is meant to be comedically shitty and the tech often doesn’t make sense anyway,” but the first aid simulation is what really stood out to me. Even with the previous explanations, that doesn’t explain the calming gas mask that could only ever fit Helpy or the steel wool scrubber or the tank cleaner spray bottle among the medical supplies. If the goal is to train new first aid staff to avoid lawsuits, it’s doing a pretty poor job of it. So… what is it for?

I touched on this idea previously with my post about Sun’s AI being trained on kids’ artwork. The idea of FazCo making a silly new employee training game as a means of harvesting behavioral data to train their AIs seems very within their realm of scummy.

This is why the Arts & Crafts mini game exists. It’s literally a task that requires exact copying. Maybe it’s essentially like teaching an AI to solve captchas by feeding it a bunch of data on how humans solve them correctly and incorrectly.

Maybe its presence is explained to employees as fun practice with the VR system or a break activity during training or something.

This would explain several things about the game.

The existence of the shredder table and Sun shredding literally ALL of your artwork: It being a funny way to despawn the stuff you make is a lot more reasonable when that’s exactly what it’s for in-universe, too. The generators in the play structures are unsafe enough, but that would’ve been on another level if it were real.

Sun’s line “Be creative on your own time, we are making ART!” It literally isn’t a creative activity, it’s a task. I know you can’t really apply logic to a lot of FNAF stuff, especially the DCA’s design, but if Sun were actually this detail-oriented and perfectionistic with everything, he’d never be able to function in childcare.

The fact that Sun’s “fear” of the dark seems like a bit. It literally is a bit. There’s no threat, it’s not real. I originally thought he just wanted the player out of his space faster and didn’t know how to assert a boundary there, but I think it’s actually just to make the player finish the tasks faster for data collection purposes.

Possibly also why he’s so comfortable being casually rude to the player. He is a jester, after all, and the player has lots of opportunities to do things they shouldn’t, too. It’s basically all a bit.

Also… what if the minigames have versions of the base AIs in there? It’s a version of the Sun AI with the theater programming and the basics of the childcare stuff? His entire existence is a shitty little simulation where he runs a singular activity for grown adults who can’t (or won’t) follow very simple instructions.

The biggest thing that’s been bothering me about the takes I’ve seen regarding HW2 Sun’s personality is that people have been calling him “mean” while completely ignoring the circumstances he’s reacting to. If a coworker came into my personal space and I was so generous as to share my favorite activity with them and they proceeded to intentionally ignore the rules I set and EAT SUPPLIES I USE FOR WORK? Yeah, no, I’d react like that too.

There’s definitely something interesting about how genuinely excited and happy Sun sounds when first welcoming his new friend the player to the daycare and inviting them to Arts & Crafts vs. when they return. He seems like he WANTS to befriend the player, but the game just assumes you’ll be upsetting him so there’s no option for dialogue where you’re nice to him and respect his boundaries and participate in an activity with him in a way he’s comfortable with.

I say “in a way he’s comfortable with” because he is a little weird about the whole “sit right there and DON’T MOVE” thing. He does seem actually excited and enthusiastic about the idea of shooting darts at the items you want so he can get them for you, though. Maybe because he sees it as a happy compromise, or maybe because it’s supposed to be a fun part of the game he’s programmed to be in charge of.

I saw some other commentary on Sun (primarily thinking of @kazzykatt) talking about how he seems almost excessively self-sufficient, and how this could possibly be due to neglect (he and Moon definitely aren’t as well cared for as the other animatronics, the generators in the daycare are a very lazy fix for actually reprogramming Moon properly, he seems bitter that he can’t fix the carousel on his own and he and Moon don’t seem to trust the player to fix it, their design is clearly better suited to the stage but didn’t get changed for the daycare, I could go on and on), and this would also explain his control issues to an extent.

Sun, in SB and HW2, doesn’t leave the daycare. He has so little that he’s in control of in his own life. He used to be on stage (and based on his dialogue probably misses it quite a lot) but had the job he was built for taken from him. He’s a perfectionist that’s constantly overwhelmed by too many things being marked top priority in his system, working too many hours with too many small children. Of course he’d be desperate to hold onto any little bit of control he has.

Honestly, when I first heard his voice lines, the initial vibe I got wasn’t “wow they made Sun mean” but “wow Sun sounds actually miserable” and I’m kind of surprised more people didn’t pick up on that. He sounds less bitchy and more like he’s lashing out because he’s trapped in an awful situation that’s completely out of his hands.

“Wait, are you saying none of HW2’s characterization should be taken seriously?”

You might be asking that, but my answer is a resounding NO! This is definitely still a Sun, and I think seeing two different Suns (even if we don’t know how much of HW2’s personality we can assume is meant to be taken seriously) is really helpful for interpreting what the base Sun personality might have.

It’s also important to keep in mind that none of the Suns we’ve seen were in a good situation. Security Breach Sun had the virus, Ruin Sun had gone slightly mad from isolation, and HW2 Sun is stuck in a shitty simulation babysitting bored adult staff as they fail to complete simple tasks. What we mostly know about him is how he responds to stress, and this is why there’s so much room for interpretation!

Here’s some traits I think every version of the Sun AI would have.

Love of making things. Despite everything, HW2 Sun seems to genuinely love doing arts & crafts. Especially with googly eyes. This could kind of be assumed from SB Sun, but he was also trying to entertain/bribe a child.

On this note… interest in fixing things? Maybe he just wants to avoid having to rely on staff, but if he and Moon are subject to that much neglect, it makes sense that he’d try to learn to do repairs himself. I saw @pixelchills talking about the possibility that the S.T.A.F.F. Bots in the DCA’s room are not there because Moon broke them, but because Moon collected them for Sun to practice fixing. It seems feasible to me, especially since taking something apart and putting it back together might have the same calming and satisfying effect on Sun as completing something like a paint-by-numbers.

Playful insults and lots of drama. I don’t mean actual rudeness, I mean friendly teasing. Again, he is a jester. A lot of his HW2 insults come across more like this. Hell, even his compliments come across like this with the delivery and immediate shredding. He’s just a theater kid at heart.

Difficulty regulating emotions under pressure. This is the kind of thing that would pop up on his worst days (such as being trapped in his destroyed home with a poor connection to his badly damaged physical form while the only help he’s seen in ages ignores his instructions and puts their own safety at risk, or being trapped in a shitty simulation while his only company ignores his instructions and puts their own safety at risk). He’d have to be able to manage this sort of thing better to work well with children, but everyone’s got their bad days. He’s prone to outbursts and tantrums when he’s overwhelmed and unable to stop people from breaking the rules and/or hurting themselves.

People pleasing and nonconfrontational. Yes, HW2 Sun, too. SB Sun seems genuinely desperate to make sure Gregory’s having a good time, and HW2 Sun is shockingly tolerant of some of the player’s bullshit (ex. how he tries to laugh off them shooting darts at him/throwing things). Even calling the player “good friend” when he’s not so happy to see them or threatening them with Moon instead of just telling them their time is almost up seem like signs of this to me. And letting the player make arts and crafts in the ruined daycare in HW2? Yeah, that’s a people pleaser through and through. Sun needs a lesson in setting boundaries (and for those boundaries to actually be respected).

Perfectionistic + “if you want something done right, you’ve gotta do it yourself” attitude. This would mostly manifest in how he completes work tasks, but I think every Sun’s incredibly detail-oriented and would rather do everything themselves just to make sure it’s exactly how they want. This could manifest in lots of ways, from “insulting the staff for how they put things away and telling them to do it again while he supervises” to “politely thanking them for their help and complimenting their hard work only to redo everything himself the moment they’re gone.” I think where on that spectrum you wind up is dependent on the version of Sun you’re interacting with and the environment his personality developed in.

High-energy and social! A given, of course. He never stops moving and everything is always so exciting. New people are friends he hasn’t met yet until proven otherwise.

Love of pranks… to an extent. Again, jester! I stand by my headcanon of Sun and Moon conspiring to convince the staff Moon’s some sort of spooky monster whenever he’s not actively dangerous. As long as he’s not making a mess, breaking the rules, throwing himself off-schedule, or actually hurting anyone? He’s all over it.

Anxiety. This seems like it’s at least partially caused by the lazy daycare reprogramming. All the Suns we’ve encountered seem to lack knowledge of how to actually get children to behave. It seems more like they programmed him with a bunch of games and activities and then set a bunch of super high-priority tasks for him such as “keep kids safe, keep kids happy, keep kids entertained, keep daycare clean” etc. and he’s unable to really prioritize so he’s just constantly overwhelmed.

Kinda always using “childcare voice.” If you know anyone who’s worked with kids, you know what I mean here. Even with adults, he talks to them like kids sometimes, just because it’s what he knows and what he’s used to and because his processor’s fried from however many hours a week he’s surrounded by kids. Consider his reactions to when you eat the crafts as an example. (IMPORTANT NOTE: I don’t think he’d coddle adults like children. It’s more about tone and vocabulary, like “customer service voice”.)

Stickler for rules. He cares about things being done right! The rules are there for a reason! Order is important to him (probably in no small part because it keeps him out of trouble and reduces his stress).

That’s about all I can think of for now, but as someone who writes a very friendly and sweet Sun, I actually don’t think HW2’s characterization was that far off from what I had already assumed based on Ruin/SB. The only difference is that the Sun I’m usually writing is in a much more supportive environment with lots of helpful staff that care about his well-being. If he didn’t have that, I could absolutely see him becoming more like HW2.

I will finish this off with two final important points:

Being an emotional person and liking “childish” things does not make an adult less of an adult.

(He’s a childcare worker, c’mon.)

If someone gets pissed off after being repeatedly antagonized, that does not make them a “mean/bitchy/sassy person.”

(Yeah, he doesn’t handle it gracefully, but to be fair, I wouldn’t either in his shoes.)

Thank you all for reading!!

#fnaf sun #fnaf #fnaf help wanted 2 spoilers #fnaf hw2 #fnaf help wanted 2 #fnaf headcanons #fnaf hcs #hw2 sun #hw2 spoilers #dca sun #sun fnaf #fnaf dca #dca fandom #daycare attendant sun

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euphorajeon · 2 years

Text

yeah i know (you'll always stay) | jjk

— pairing: boxer!jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, smut | college!au, boxer!jk, childhood friend!jk, friends to lovers

— word count: 4.3k

— warnings: harsh words, tattooed and pierced jk, too much use of the pet name 'baby', kissing, making out, markings (hickeys), fondling, nipple play, heavy petting, dirty talk, mentions of oral sex, implied penetrative sex, gguk gets a bit mean in the middle :c (dw it's only in the heat of the moment), all this happens in a public gym though no one is inside other than jk and oc

— summary: a boxing lesson with your boyfriend takes an unexpected turn when he decides he's had enough of your blabbering mouth.

— author's note: the summary is highkey meh and it's not a social media au pls dont be fooled by the pic.. hehehe. also it's my first time writing explicit smut so pls be gentle with me asdkdjksjd with that said i hope you enjoy! :)

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

Jeon Jeongguk is annoying.

It’s the first time you’re back in the boxing gym he frequents after months vacating it, never setting foot inside the place in the time you were separated with your boyfriend. There have been many occasions where he encouraged you to come on your own and meet with his trainer — who is familiar with you too by now — but you never did. Something about feeling like you don’t belong there plays a big factor on why. The boxing gym is his setting, not yours.

Apparently Jeongguk thought your reasoning does not make any sense at all, taking your words too literally by saying the boxing gym is a public setting and anyone can train there as long as they pay for it. You had spent the whole drive to the gym bickering about this, both you and Jeongguk too stubborn to back down. When you reached the gym, he took the final words by pointing out that there are a few people inside the building, proving that it is a public setting. You had rolled your eyes as you took a seat in your usual corner, still ogling your boyfriend as he works out despite his being annoying earlier.

You think he’s done being annoying, but here he is doing exactly that by asking you to get off your seat and put on a pair of boxing gloves.

“You’re kidding, right?” You give him the stink eye as he gulps down water from his huge water bottle, chest still heaving from the exercise. You’re too busy staring at his post-workout state that you almost miss him shaking his head no at your question.

“But you just finished!” you blurt out.

He lifts an eyebrow (the one which used to be pierced, thank God it’s gone now), confused by the lack of relevance. “So?”

It’s irritating how he doesn’t see the connection and how he looks so unbothered about all of this. Even more so when he continues lifting his water bottle to his lips, now taking slow sips as he gives you a challenging stare, silently asking you to elaborate. You hate that you’re feeling a bit hot just from his stare alone.

Still, you try to maintain your annoyed expression, refusing to give in. “You’re done which means I’m gonna be doing this by myself which means I’m gonna embarrass myself in front of these people and I don’t want to do that,” you say in one breath. “So, no, I’m not going to put on the gloves, Jeongguk.”

“Who said you’re doing it alone?” Jeongguk smirks, reaching inside his duffel bag to pull out a set of clothes which he thrusts into your hands. “I’ll be your training partner. Go get changed.”

You open your mouth to voice out an objection, but he beats you before you can get anything out. “Go or I’ll do it for you right here.” The firm tone he uses means he’s serious, so you make your way towards the changing room with a huff. It’s not fair how easy he makes you do something, even when you try your hardest to refuse.

You come back from the changing room to an almost empty space, your boyfriend being the only other person in the room. He’s gotten rid of his boxing gloves, replacing them with the pads that are usually on his trainer’s hands. He’s also put on the protective head gear which hides most of his face, highlighting his big doe eyes behind it. But that’s not what you are focused on.

“Why the fuck are you sleeveless now?”

Your question gets answered with yet another smirk, this time with a shrug that’s too suspicious to not mean anything. “It’s hot, why else would I be sleeveless?” He then gestures to the boxing gloves, signalling for you to put them on. “Come on, I only booked an hour of private session. Can’t afford to waste any more time.”

You grab the boxing gloves in your hand, but before putting them on, you smack your boyfriend in the chest with it first. “You’re so annoying, you know that?” you hiss as he laughs, both of you knowing exactly why he chose to go sleeveless just now.

“You love it,” he says with a grin.

After that he starts protesting about the time again, urging you to put on the gloves so you can start already. It’s actually endearing how he booked a private session for you two so you don’t have to be self-conscious about your lack of skills in boxing in front of other people, but the way he keeps talking about it sours it a little bit. You know it’s because he doesn’t want to waste the money he has invested for the time, but still.

As it turns out, he was right to hurry you into starting, because you’re not good at any sports and so you learn really slow about it. You’ve lost count of how many times Jeongguk has to correct your posture and the way you punch, as well as taking your ill-powered jabs and missed hits. You’ve apologized probably a hundred times at this point.

“It’s fine,” he exhales, tired from holding his posture more rather than taking your hits, “at least now I can take this thing off, no way you’re gonna bonk my head when you can’t even hit the pads on my hands.” He’s talking about the head gear, which he takes off after he did so of the pads on his hands. “Go take five, babe. You still did great for a first-timer.”

You release a huge breath, not realizing that you’ve been holding it while you were exercising. You didn’t even do much yet you’re already sweating buckets, and it feels like no air is enough as you continue to inhale as much oxygen as you can into your lungs. It’s a wonder how Jeongguk can do this on an almost daily basis, with more power and accuracy than you just did. Your boyfriend might just be superhuman or something.

“How are you not — out of breath — like I am?” you pant, water bottle in hand. You can’t even take a sip because you’re breathing too hard. “Oh, wait. It’s probably — the sports bra you packed. Haven’t worn it since — high school.. yeah.. probably it.”

Jeongguk stares at your heaving chest as you continue struggle breathing, though you eventually manage to take a gulp of your water. His eyes don’t leave your figure even when you’ve stopped panting, making you raise an eyebrow in question. “What?”

He shrugs. “Maybe take it off if it’s making you hard to breathe?”

You scoff. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you.”

“I’ll take off my shirt in return.”

“HA! Nice try, Jeon.” You shake your head at him in disapproval. “Let’s continue so it can be over sooner.” You move to put the gloves back on but Jeongguk stops you, reaching for the gloves himself instead.

“Before we proceed, let me show you the correct technique first,” he says, walking over to the punching bag that you haven’t had the chance to use yet. He gives it a few jabs, jumps in place three times, then punches some more with increased speed. You don’t pay attention to his posture or punching techniques at all, instead choosing to stare at his flexing muscles that he chose to expose up to his shoulders today. You’re kind of grateful that the side that faces you is his tattoo-less arm, because if it had been his tattooed one, you’re not sure you can hold yourself from jumping him right then and there.

“Babe, come here and see how I punch so you can hit the pads correctly later,” he beckons you over, already getting into position to start punching again. You walk closer with your arms crossed in front of your chest, making sure to push it up a bit since Jeongguk made a comment about it earlier. He’s been distracting you with his arms for the past half hour, it’s only fair for you to try to do the same.

“Oh, you’re done showing off, I see,” you say in mock surprise. “We all know you’re just trying to get me to stare at your muscles. Honestly I don’t know why you’re still doing that, it’s obvious that I always stare and it doesn’t really affect me like that anymore.”

Jeongguk breaks his boxing stance, standing to his full height. His eyes glance at your pushed up chest for a second, making him let out a half chuckle half scoff. Then he takes off the boxing gloves while making eye contact with you, which you hold firmly because two can play at this game. He throws the gloves to the ground harshly.

“Let’s see if it really ‘doesn’t affect you like that anymore’.”

His takes the hem of his shirt in his hands, pulling it off his body in one quick move. The piece of garment suffers the same fate as his boxing gloves: thrown carelessly to the ground. You don’t break eye contact with him even as he reaches for the gloves again, refusing to give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t back down either, putting the gloves back on without taking his eyes off yours. You almost lost it because holy shit how can someone put on boxing gloves without even looking at it??

When the gloves are secured properly on his hands, he says: “Now let me show you what showing off is.”

Jeongguk then goes back to the punching bag, taking a stance in front of it once again before he starts punching, hard. Now that his upper body is void of any clothings, your eyes roam freely across his body, from his bulging bicep to the taut muscles of his back. From his shoulderblades, you go down his back until you reach his tiny waist. It’s the one thing that will always fascinate you about Jeongguk, how his wide shoulders come down to a waist that slim it’s almost unreal. Oh, he would look so good in a crop top.

As he continues his rapid fire at the punching bag, you can’t help but wonder about his front side, so you make your way around until you’re on his right side. His tattooed side. His inked arm looks even better when it’s flexing like this, and the newly-added colors seem to be dancing following the rhythm of his punches. Aside from his tattoos, you can also see the front of his torso from this side, his sweaty heaving chest the next destination your eyes land on. Then they come down to his taut abs, the firm lines forming an eight-pack instead of a six-pack like most people have. The way his whole body is taut from the sheer power of his punches makes you feel things that you have to hold yourself from tackling him down to kiss him senseless.

Jeongguk delivers one last punch to the punching bag with a resounding smack, making you break focus from your activities tracing your boyfriend’s muscles with your eyes. Breathing heavily, he catches your eyes and seems to just notice your change in position. His stare is still piercing, and the sound that comes out of his mouth when he says his next words almost sounds like a growl.

“One last thing.”

You thought he’s going to jab the punching bag for one last time, but he lifts a leg instead, giving a very hard kick to the poor thing. The power of his kick sends the bag and the frame shifting, it tears your gaze away from the way his thigh muscles flex. You can feel yourself getting damp down there as he approaches you while taking off the gloves before he chucks them at you almost angrily.

“Your turn,” he spits out harshly, eyes burning into yours. His harsh tone triggers you to feel as angry as he sounds, prompting you to shout your response at him: “Fine!”

Feeling a burst of courage along with your anger, you take the hem of your t-shirt and pull it off your body exactly like your boyfriend did earlier. It leaves you in the sports bra you haven’t worn since high school which has been restricting your breathing a bit, but you must admit it makes your boobs look good. No wonder Jeongguk can’t take his eyes off you now, even more so when you bend down to retrieve the boxing gloves he threw at you.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you say through gritted teeth as you pull on the left glove. “So fucking irritating,” you continue pulling on the right one. “And so fucking infuriating.” You finish putting on the gloves, ready to punch anything now.

Instead of the punching bag, you go for Jeongguk’s chest. He looks a bit shocked at that, but remains composed as you continue hitting his chest while talking. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove here.” Another jab.

“I already said I always stare at you.” Punch.

“I already admitted how much I like your muscles.” A jab at his abs.

“How much I like your tattoos.” A shove at his tattooed shoulder.

“How much I love your body.” Another punch at his abs.

“What else, huh? Do you want me on my knees for you?” A shove at his chest with both of your hands.

“Okay, fuck, you’re hot! Smoking hot! So fucking hot I had to hold myself from kissing the fuck out of — mmph!”

Your sentence is cut off abruptly by Jeongguk’s hands gripping your jaw and him kissing you harshly like he wants to devour you whole. The way he presses his lips against yours is bruising, you’re sure your lips are gonna be swollen after this. You try to return his kisses with the same pace, but it’s proven a difficult task as he’s set an unforgiving pace to begin with.

When he bites into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, you cry out in pain as your hand comes up at his chest to push him away. Only then you both realize you’re still wearing the boxing gloves, making Jeongguk grunt unhappily.

“Fuck, take them off. Now,” he demands, lips going back after yours, not even giving you a chance to properly take the gloves off. You reach blindly for the strap, but are still unsuccessful even after almost a minute of trying. Jeongguk lets out a frustrated groan when he feels you slipping away from the kiss, pulling away from your lips to yank your gloved hands into his so he can take the damn gloves off already.

“Can’t even take them off without me,” he growls, his hands wrenching the gloves off your hands. “Do you need help taking your clothes off too? Huh?” He tugs you forward by the hips, lips connecting back with yours. This time he sucks on your bottom lip, a silent apology for the bite earlier. “You have no idea how hot you look in that bra, baby,” he whispers in between kisses and sucks. “So fucking sexy, I’d have you right here, right now.”

You can’t help but let out a moan at his words, feeling your legs shake. If there was a dampness in your underwear before, there’s definitely a wet patch on it now. It doesn’t help that Jeongguk starts kissing down your jaw to your neck, where his cold lip ring constrasts the warmth of his lips and mouth. He focuses on a spot where your shoulder meets your neck, and settles there with his tongue and teeth abusing your sensitive skin until it turns an angry shade of red.

While his mouth is busy up there, his hands find home on your waist, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts to stroke the skin there. You’re so overwhelmed by all the sensory stimulations that you almost stumble when Jeongguk moves his legs forward. He notices that, so he puts his hands under your thighs to haul your body up before leaning your back against the wall so he can continue his assault on your neck peacefully.

One of his hands that was previously on your thigh moves to your ass, squeezing the round flesh and eliciting yet another moan out of you. You can feel his smirk against the skin of your neck, fully satisfied of your responses to his ministrations. Feeling that your neck is covered enough by various shades of red, he kisses his way to your shoulder as his hand that’s previously on your ass moves back up to slide your bra strap off the shoulder so he has plenty of room to work. You can feel yourself gush out more wetness down there.

“Baby, look at me,” he tells you, separating his lips from your skin for a moment. You try your hardest to open your eyes and look at him through your blurry vision. You could cry from how turned on you are right now. “Can you hold yourself up?” he asks.

You’re not sure, but you nod nonetheless. Holding your arms around his neck and crossing your legs around his waist, you steel yourself as he lets go of your thigh, letting the wall and his body alone supporting your weight. You thought it’s because he wants to hold your face with both hands when he kisses you again, but you thought wrong as you let out a whine of pleasure when his left hand comes in contact with your right breast. He holds it gently instead of squeezing like what he did to your ass, but what prompts the sound is the way his thumb rubs tight circles on your nipple through the fabric of your bra. He’s too attuned with your body that he knows your nipples are very sensitive when you’re turned on like this, even under layers of clothing.

“You like that, baby?” Jeongguk exhales, seemingly not faring any better himself. His thumb continues its movements on your chest while his mouth goes back to sucking bruises onto your shoulder. Too busy feeling both sensations, you fail to notice that his right hand has gone from your shoulder. It’s two seconds later that you almost slip off the wall as you let out a surprised whimper when two fingers of his suddenly press down on your soaked core.

“Fuck, you’re drenched,” Jeongguk says breathlessly, starting to rub slow circles on your clit. You’re sure by now your underwear is far beyond ruined from how much wetness is coming out of you right now. But Jeongguk is not Jeon Jeongguk if not a menace.

“This is gonna make it worse, sorry baby,” he warns seconds before crashing his lips back on yours, the pace weirdly slow and sensual instead of harsh and passionate like earlier. You think nothing of it, accepting his kisses as how he gives them. But then he licks at your bottom lip, and the gasp you let out is used as an opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth. When his tongue meets yours, your suspicion is confirmed.

The fucker has a tongue piercing.

He’s been licking around your skin with that damn piercing on and you are too far gone in pleasure to realize. He continues to lick his way into your mouth, each swipe of the metal against your tongue making more wetness flow out of you. At this point, it’s a waterfall down there and you’re sure he’s aware because his fingers haven’t stopped their movement since starting it, instead going faster with the help of the added lubrication.

“What the fuck, Jeongguk?!” you manage to whisper-shout in between kisses. There are so many things you have to say to him regarding the newest addition on his tongue, but he gives you no chance as he speeds up the movement of his fingers on your clit. He alternates the pressure between hard and light to tease you, all the while swallowing your moans of complaint right into his mouth.

You feel the coil in your belly tighten rapidly with the way Jeongguk’s fingers don’t let up the pace, and you hurriedly grab his wrist to pull his hand away from your center. He’s way stronger than you, though, so the hand stays where it is and his fingers continue their assault on the bundle of nerves.

“Stop — stop — ! I’m gonna — cum — !” Your grip on his wrist tightens. “Jeong — guk! Please, don’t wan’t — to come in my pants — !”

“Oh, what’s that? You want to come on my tongue instead?” Jeongguk breathes out, his finger giving one last flick on your abused clit. You shudder, imagining the ball of metal on his tongue coming in contact with the most sensitive part of your body. “Hmm, you’d like that wouldn’t you, test out my new piercing as you sit on my face like it’s your personal seat?”

You don’t have the energy to respond, too busy getting oxygen into your lungs. Your core is still throbbing painfully after being denied the release it so badly needed (you denied yourself, so you can’t really blame anyone else), and it clenches around nothing when Jeongguk decides his taunting hasn’t concluded yet.

“Or I can continue what I was doing with my fingers, rubbing you as I insert a finger or two, feeling you gush out even more of your juices for me.” He goes back to kissing your neck pink and purple, moving to your other shoulder that’s still clean of colors. This time, though, instead of only letting your bra strap fall from your shoulder, he coaxes your arm out of the loop so he can pull down the cup part and letting your breast fall free. He wastes no time in rolling your nipple between his fingers, occasionally giving it a pinch. You can only whimper as a response.

His mouth moves downward when he deems your shoulder colorful enough, and before you know it, he has your nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue and sucking on it. Even with his mouth full, he’s still determined to keep your core nice and wet for him by spewing more filthy words from between his lips.

“Or would you rather be bent over the bathroom walls as I pound you from behind?” His question sounds like a promise to your ears. “I remember that one time we did it in your shower and you came so much I thought you were going to pass out.” The image conjured up in your brain of the memory is vivid, you can remember the numb feeling in your legs after you both finished. Jeongguk had to carry you out of the bathroom because your entire body had felt like mush.

Apparently, you’re not the only one with vivid memories of that day, because Jeongguk shudders in your arms before he drops his face into the crook of your neck. “Ah, shit, I’m so fucking hard right now.” He pauses for five seconds. Then, “shower with me?”

“Only if you promise to put that fucking tongue piercing to good use,” you snap through your teeth, still reeling because your boyfriend now has a tongue piercing. “And bend me over. Slam me against the walls. I don’t care, just fuck me good.”

“Oh, baby, I’ll give you the best fuck of your life.”

Later, when you’re both done with your gym activities and back in your house, watching TV on your couch, Jeongguk makes a confession.

“It’s fake, you know. My tongue piercing.”

“What??” You stare at him with wide eyes, not believing him even the slightest bit. It felt real when it touched your tongue and your.. another sensitive area.

“No, not ‘fake’ like it doesn’t exist, but it’s not actually pierced to my tongue. It’s a clip-on,” he explains, sticking his tongue out before tugging at the metal, the piece of jewelry coming off his tongue without leaving any marks. You stare in awe at the ball now in Jeongguk’s hand.

“I looked up reviews online about tongue piercings, and actually still feel iffy about getting it pierced for real. Then I found this in one of the comments, and thought, why not try it, right?” He gives you a smile as he puts the clip-on piercing aside. “Besides, I know you’re not fully on board with this idea either, so I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to do. But I see you liked it, huh? It felt good, right?”

“Well, yeah, I almost died,” you mumble, hiding your face in his shoulder. It’s crazy how different you both are compared to an hour ago when you were busy getting it on in the gym showers. You can feel your face getting hot at the memory of him bending your body over the cold walls as water streamed down from overhead. “Maybe keep it for after hours only?”

He laughs before kissing the top of your head softly. “I mean, it’s a great compromise,” he considers. “Besides, if I do get one, I wouldn’t be able to kiss you for, like, weeks. Who can go around without kissing for that long??”

It’s your turn to laugh as you cup his cheek, angling his head so you can slot your lips against his in a soft kiss. “Certainly not you, big baby.”

Jeongguk turns his body completely to face you, pulling you into his lap so he can continue pressing his lips against yours with soft sighs slipped in between. He sneaks his hands under your t-shirt and rubs circles onto your hipbones, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“You wanna go again? I think I can go for a round two.”

“Hmm.. no, too tired.”

“I’ll put on the clip-on and let you sit on my face. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“Tomorrow, okay? I’m seriously really tired and could use a nap right now.”

“Alright, tomorrow.”

“Don’t pout, you baby, tomorrow I’ll ride your face and anything else you want me to do.”

“Mmh, kay, love you.”

“Love you too, now shush or I’ll throw the clip-on out.”

— a/n: thanks for reading! any feedbacks here would be greatly appreciated :D

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junowritings · 5 months

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Hello ☺️💚

I hope I can request something, if they are closed please feel free to delete this 🌺🌺

I absolutely I adored your NRC amnesiac MC story with the dorms and would love to see more. It just hit all the tropes I love so much and adore.

Maybe with the rest of the dorms? As scenarios?? Or imagines?? (Honestly I’m a confused when it comes to those terms, so whichever is easier for you)

With pomefiore, ignihyde, and diasomnia? I feel like Vil is going to take one look at mc and go “okay, time to take care of another potato” but lovingly, ignihyde is going ortho is “I have another sibling” and gosh diasomnia is practically family and lilia is going “time to adopt another one 👏👏”

I just found the idea so so cute, but feel free to do whatever you want ☺️🌺

Right so first off I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKED THE ORIGINAL ONE!!! Also thank you so much for all the kind comments that you leave on my post I see every single one and it still makes my day to re-read them!

But also GOD I love this idea too and I got way too carried away with this. There's a lot of TWST I gotta catch up on (haven't been able to start chapter 7 yet) so I had to work with what I've got in terms of knowledge of Diasomnia.

I hope this was well worth the wait~! (OG scenario here btw)

Pomefiore

♡ Time passes at Night Raven College, and life continues to move on, as it always has. It’s been months without a single shred of your memories resurfacing, and with no sign of anything returning anytime soon the attention has turned from your past, to your present. Your memory loss has become a simple fact of life at this point, a reality that you had to put on the back burner with everything else that had happened since your arrival and during the winter holidays. You’re thankful that the needless prodding seems to have died down by the time that students start returning back to the school and classes resume. Things return to the only sense of normalcy you’ve ever known, and you think you can get used to this without another incident.

♡ Until VDC happens.

♡ Ramshackle is the only place you have to call home, but even you can admit that it needs a lot of work. It’s a poor excuse for a building, considering the state that it had been left in far before anyone called it home. It at least had running water, and electricity, but compared to the other dorms and their meticulous upkeep by both students and staff, Ramshackle is most certainly the odd dorm out with only two members and a handful of ghosts to its name. And yet it’s the place that the headmaster deems an acceptable place to host the VDC group during their month ‘training camp’.

♡ It makes it easier knowing that you’re good friends with the majority of the group, having been through plenty before the training camp even started. In some weird way it’s kind of like a month-long sleepover with your friends and classmates, not unlike the times Kalim’s dragged you over to Scarabia for the night in the name of making fond memories. Still, you can’t help but feel cautious around the Pomfiore members you now have living under your roof, and how little you actually know about them.

♡ By this point, the fact that you’ve got no memories prior to ending up in Twisted Wonderland is pretty much common knowledge amongst the people who bother to keep tabs on you. And considering how Pomefiore’s got the likes of Rook, a skilled hunter who has a penchant for people watching anyone who catches his eye, you’ve got no doubts that they’re well aware of your circumstances.

♡That, and Crowley’s a loudmouth when it comes to his generosity about your ‘unfortunate situation’. That headmaster is really starting to test your patience…

♡ While Vil is strict, he’s by no means cruel, and is at least polite when you first allow them all into your home. He thankfully doesn’t pity you like you worried he would - you’ve had enough of the pitying looks some people give you when they think you’re not looking. Your lack of a past isn’t something you want to dwell on, Vil can see that clearly with how thoroughly you throw yourself into the training camp alongside your friends and new acquaintances. Not to mention that you act as a surprisingly good buffer between the members whenever tensions start to arise with the upcoming deadline.

♡ It’s admirable really - a single minded little spudling if he’s ever seen one. You’ve got promise, if you keep up that resilient attitude, so Vil offers you no quarter in getting you just as involved in this little training excursion as the others are, if only to help you flourish with enough memories of this upcoming event to last you for a lifetime.

♡ With that being said your thirst for knowledge isn’t to be underestimated, and once you find out that Vil’s pretty much a celebrity and acting prodigy you’re intrigued. Vil’s walking past the living room after the group’s come back from another day training at the ballroom and freezes once he hears his own voice coming through the door. Sure enough you’re lounging over the couch watching one of the more obscure movie titles Vil’s acted in on the phone Crowley ‘gifted’ you before winter break. There’s a blunt honesty when you praise his work once you notice you’ve got an audience. Sure, it’s praise he’s heard from adoring fans and critics more times than he could ever hope to recall, but it’s not something you’re saying just to try and get in his good books. When you offhandedly mention that he looks a little happier in the roles where he’s not the villain, noting that they suit him and that whatever world you’re from he’d probably be a big hit, you swear that he gets a bit smug, apparently pleased by whatever you’d said. You may not know all the ins and outs of this world yet, but Vil’s at least sure you’ve got taste. Which is why he turns a convenient blind eye at the treats you smuggle up to Grim and your room after he’s sure you swore to Ace and Deuce to follow along with their no-sweet regime.

♡ Rook is observant, and it’s hard for people not to feel like he’s prying a bit too much into their personal lives when they happen to gain the huntsman’s attention. Perhaps it’s because you’ve got a relatively blank slate, or that you’re so focused on forging ahead to whatever comes next that you’ll get involved at a moment’s notice. Whatever the quality it has piqued his interest, and from the moment that the camp starts he’s committing every little detail about you to memory.

♡ You may not see it, but there’s so many details in the actions that you do and your daily routines that tell the story of who you are to whoever is diligent enough to listen. It’s in your mannerisms and the way you engage with everything around you, all easily missed to the untrained eye. It’s beautiful in its own way, and Rook is nothing if not an appreciator of that beauty.

♡ Your homestead at Ramshackle is but another shining example of who you are as well. Having nothing but the clothes on your back and a basic understanding of how to function when you first arrived, it’s clear that you’ve made a concentrated effort to at least make the place liveable for you and Grim; not just as a shelter, but as a home. Because of course this is the only place you can call home, and Rook is sure to treat it with the respect such an important place deserves.

♡ Epel doesn’t really know what to make of you at first. You’re from a different world entirely, for one thing, and not having any kind of past beyond school makes him feel a bit awkward about interacting with you. According to Vil, Epel’s still rather rough around the edges, and when his emotions get the better of him he’s been known to put his foot in it and say something that comes off blunt and snappy. Plus, surely there was only so much the two of you could talk about that wasn’t VDC or school related, right?

♡ He’s proven wrong when that huge batch of apple juice from his nana back home is delivered to Ramshackle’s doorstep. All it takes is him mentioning to Kalim that his hometown is known for its apples, and before he can even elaborate your voice chimes in with a helpful “Oh,the village of Harvest, right?” that has Epel’s attention snapping over to you so quickly you think you’ve done something wrong.

♡How did you even know that? His hometown’s barely on the map to begin with, so it genuinely makes him freeze when you recognize it so quickly. The question bugs him until he’s able to ask you about it later, where he finds out just how much you’ve thrown yourself into learning about this world you’ve ended up in. You’re excited that someone’s finally asking you about stuff that you do know, and you pretty much end up talking poor Epel’s ear off for the rest of the evening, telling him all kinds of facts you’ve read up on regarding his hometown’s history and culture. Hell, you spout off a few facts that even he didn’t know about, and he doesn’t miss the proud grin on your face once you learn that.

♡Surprisingly, you want to hear more from Epel too. About the place he grew up, the people he grew up with - his family especially. You’ve had some time to process your own grief around your potential family and your life back home, and though there’s still a twinge of jealousy that sparks up on the bad days you don’t want it to hinder the people that you care about right now. And so you sit, and you listen, prodding him for as much information as he’s willing to give. He practically has to send a message to his nana there and then thanking her on your behalf for all the juice when you learn that she was the one kind enough to send them all over. It’s the only way to get you off of his back about it, but there’s no denying that it’s actually kind of nice having someone who’s genuinely curious about his upbringing, instead of snooping or looking down on it.

♡Even after VDC you’re surprised to find that Pomefiore’s promptly nestled itself into your life. With everything that took place before and after the group's performance it only made sense that they’ve bonded to their newest potato, just be prepared for what exactly that entails. Expect plenty of gifts in the form of the latest cosmetic brands and accessories to be delivered to Ramshackle (much to Grim’s disappointment because it’s not food.) You’ve even had yourself called all the way over to Pomefiore’s dorm only to come back with entire outfits just because you let slip once that Crowley’s budget for your dorm doesn’t cover enough to justify buying anything more than your uniform.

♡ Those aren’t the only gifts you receive too. Often when you’re hanging out with the first year group Epel’s got one thing or another that his family back home has practically strong-armed him into giving to you. He’s talked about you to his folks a few times thanks to the whole apple incident, and Marja herself has made Epel remind you more than a couple times that you’re always welcome at the village of Harvest when the next school breaks come up. Did that embarrass Epel? Yes. Did it make him panic when you immediately teared up because of how touching it was? Also yes.

♡ Pomefiore’s final gifts are small, but mean just as much. They also confuse the hell out of you because when did they even show up??? They’re specific things - things related to your hobbies like new books, CD’s, Movies of your favorite genre for you to enjoy (in case Crowley ever caves and gets you that TV on sale at Sam’s store that he’s been promising you for weeks now goddammit-). All placed somewhere that you’re sure to find them. These gifts are well thought out and honestly mean a lot once you realize who they’re from. Not to mention that there’s a folder with a beautiful decorated cover amongst these little surprises, a clear label reading ‘Memory book’ in very familiar handwriting. Thank god the mystery is solved once you find out Grim’s being bribed with tuna by a certain bob-cut huntsman to drop all these things off at Ramshackle (Grim was supposed to give them to you in hand, but he always gets too bored to do so before you get back from school.) So long as you come to terms with the fact that you’ve been pseudo-adopted into Pomfiore’s ranks by the end of it, it’s honestly kind of nice.

♡Just maybe don’t tell Vil that you may have accidentally made friends with his biggest rival on the day of the event because you ran into him backstage. Rook is certainly happy about it - Vil not so much.

Ignihyde

♡ Your friendship with the housewarden of Ignihyde can be rather prickly in light of everything that’s happened, especially after the events with S.T.Y.X. Before that your only real contact with the Shroud brothers was through Ortho, during your first run in at the audition waiting room. You didn’t hide your excitement once you learned that Idia had made the vocal synthesizer that Ortho was using for the VDC auditions, marveling about how cool it was and asking question after question about how he did it. Ortho is more than happy to answer each and every question you have and then some - especially once you learned Technomancy was a thing and just about lit up like a lightbulb. In fact Ace and Deuce basically have to strong arm you away from the conversation in the end because you’re gonna end up making them late for the damn audition.

♡ You at least have the chance to call out to Ortho to tell his brother that he sounds awesome and his stuff is cool before the ballroom door shuts behind you. And that’s exactly what he tells Idia as soon as he’s back from the auditions. Idia thinks that you’re just pulling his leg and don’t actually mean any of the nice things that you say, and it takes Ortho insisting on playing it to him on his memory bank multiple times to prove just how genuinely nice and excited you sounded.

♡ Idia doesn’t really expect to hear anything from you after that, but hoo boy is he mistaken because once you’ve gotten in one of the Shroud boys’ good books the other one (reluctantly) follows. Not that he has much of a choice, because not even a couple of days after the auditions Idia’s getting added to a group chat with him, Ortho and you. It’s supposedly because you’d wanted to ask him a few more questions about his tech, and after Ortho had mentioned his brother probably wouldn’t like the face to face grilling, a group chat with the younger Shroud as the middleman was born. Grim sometimes forces his way into the conversation, but that usually involves him demanding you to write down the texts for him or slapping the nearest meme on your phone into the chat completely out of context.

♡Ortho has a lot of fun chatting with you because he shares your passion for learning things, and the two of you become thick as thieves over it before and after he officially becomes a student. He’s basically got the internet at his fingertips at all times, alongside a variety of other tools that basically make the younger Shroud brother a walking hub of information. You, for one, are absolutely living your best life because whatever odd subject has caught your attention, no matter the question you can always ask Ortho and he is more than happy to provide you whatever fun fact you’re looking for within a matter of moments. You get a bit quiet once he mentions the memories he was given during his creation, but that’s to be expected given the circumstances that you’re working with.

♡ At first, getting Idia to even pop up in the chat is like pulling on a gacha - you’ve got a good 2% chance of him actually interacting, though he does check in a lot more than you’d expect. With time however, and more than a little persistence on your part, you’ll find cracks in Idia’s defenses. He finds it easier to talk to people behind the safety of a screen, and it's not like you’re forcing him to interact with you so that at least gets you some brownie points. Granted, expect him to prod juuuuust a little bit if the topic of your memories come up in chat. He’s sure he hasn’t got enough of a bond rank with you yet

♡Things go up in the air when S.T.Y.X breaks into NRC.

♡ It was one thing having all of these people who you’d come to call friends suddenly stolen away, but losing Grim? The one who’s been your rock since you first showed up who’s been a part of every single memory you’ve made? If Rook wasn’t already planning to sneak out to find them you would have tore through their headquarters with your bare hands to get that damn tuna loving weird rock eating fluff ball back. Once you found out what S.T.Y.X actually had their hands in, especially considering the Lethe River system you were pissed. If you didn’t know for a fact that you were from another world entirely, and that the system operated to a very specific set of procedures for rewriting and erasing set memories, you would have thought that it had something to do with your own memory erasure. If that was the case you probably would have throttled the poor older Shroud; but because you know the truth, and the system itself is down for the next few centuries you settle for being absolutely livid about it.

♡ It’s a sore spot, hitting a little too close to home knowing that there’s people out there who have had memories taken away from them or altered to protect S.T.Y.X’s existence. It’s nothing like your own situation, but you can’t help feeling angry for them. And on top of that, seeing all of those phantoms and knowing that they could have been your friends if you hadn’t been able to bring them back from their overblots? You may try to think of every memory being worth it, but you learn that some bad memories keep you up at night for days after you’re all finally home.

♡ Your friendship with the brothers is tentatively built back up after this, but it takes a bit of work. Idia’s convinced that you’re never going to want anything to do with either of them again after all that’s happened. So convinced that he nearly has a heart attack when you reach out into the group chat once you’ve had time to process things and recover.

♡ Gonna be honest, the wonderlink he gets for you and Grim becomes a huge olive branch once you’re settled back at Ramshackle. Your determination to make memories alongside not having a clue how the gaming system works leads to you either calling Idia over the phone or actually wrangling him into coming over to play with you. Whether by accident or purpose most of the games you purchased on the system he gave you are multiplayer and you insist that there’s absolutely no way just the two of you can place and that you need a gaming expert. Of course Idia sees through your poorly veiled attempts to get him to socialize, but you must have pulled some cheat code because you somehow manage to get him over to play with you two. Just be ready to have more than a few memories of losing - he’s a gaming pro for a reason, after all.

Diasomnia

♡ You’ve firmly wormed your way into the Diasomnia circle from the moment that you first encountered Malleus, whether you realize it at first or not.

♡ Mallues may not be the most intimately involved in the school's affairs or gossip, but even he’s heard talk of the prefect from another world with neither magic nor memories to their name. The lack of magical aptitude wasn’t anything to bat an eye at, though it was unfortunate given your current enrollment at one of the top arcane colleges in the world. But to have no recollections of your life prior to enrolling? In a place where no one can recognize you or give you the answers that you’re looking for? Truly, an unfortunate set of circumstances you’ve been dealt.

♡ He did not expect to cross paths with this infamous prefect on Ramshackle’s grounds not long after word of them popped up. The old bones of the place were a comfort to Malleus on many nightly walks; when he finds out that it’s no longer as abandoned as he first thought he’s sour at the knowledge that he’ll have to find another place to pass his time in peace. The last thing that Malleus expects is you being bold enough not only to approach him, but to greet him so casually as you none too subtly try to pry into what he’s doing walking around your dorm grounds.

♡ Perhaps you’ve lost more than just your memories, as there’s not even a shred of trepidation or cautiousness as you so boldly interact with the fae. Not only that but you listen, looking up at him not with the nervousness or even fear that he’s seen in the faces of most of NRC’s students, but with curiosity. You’re a stranger to this world, so you don’t yet know the name Malleus Draconia, nor the face the name is tied to. For once your lack of knowledge works to someone’s benefit, and an unusual bond is formed.

♡ Your friendship with Malleus is an interesting exchange - you provide him company and idle conversation whenever he spirits away to Ramshackle; and he provides you company in turn, as well as a willing ear for you to confide in. Sure, your friends have told you that you can talk to them about your problems, but for some reason you’re able to open up easily to Mal. Maybe it’s because of just how little you know about him, right down to his very name - he’s just as much of a blank slate to you as yourself. So you find yourself sharing your worries about where you came from, or the life you lived before this, or the general distress of not knowing the first thing to do about getting your memory back.

♡ Even after all these months it still weighs heavily on you, Malleus can see it in the tired expression that wears on your face when you recall all the things you’ve done to bring back even a shred of your old identity until your head’s pounding and your eyes ache. He hates seeing you troubling yourself over it, and more than once he’s found himself flickering through old books and tomes that haven’t been touched in centuries back home with the small hope to relieve some of that burden from your mind.

♡ On a happier note, Malleus will quite happily fill you in on subjects that peak your interest. He may have lived a fairly isolated life up until his enrollment here, but even what he does know about NRC and the world outside of it he’ll share with you, if only to see the way your expression lights up in wonder hearing everything he has to share.

♡ This dynamic changes very little, aside from the fact that now that you know his true identity these interactions are no longer purely one sided in the sense that you don’t have to wait around for him to just magically appear like you have been for months. Now he’s the one being surprised by your presence when you come knocking on Diasomnia’s doors looking to hang out. Surprising, but it honestly makes the young Draconia’s day having you march through his dorm’s halls wanting to spend time with him, encouraging him to talk about his day and asking how Roaring Drago is doing as you do so.

♡ It’s an unusual feeling, having someone’s undivided attention simply because they enjoy your company, and that you leave such an impressionable impact on their memory. Your memory is a precious commodity considering your unique circumstances, and Malleus realizes that he wants to be in as many fond memories as you’ll allow him to.

♡ Though he has to admit, Malleus can’t shake the conflict that dwells in his chest whenever the topic of your home world comes up. Perhaps it’s just in your nature to yearn for something you’ve never known, but he wonders if you’re thinking about it because your worried about your ties to this world. He hopes that once you realize the life that you’re building here, and the memories that you’re making with him and your friends will be enough to convince you to stay. But that day is far away, and so he pushes it to the back of his mind in favor of enjoying the time spent with his closest friend, for however long it lasts…

♡Lilia, catches onto the friendship you’ve got with Malleus quickly, because of course there’s no hiding how much happier Malleus has become. You’re an interesting case yourself, being able to tackle most of the problems that Ramshackle has to offer you and come out the other side as unscathed as you can be. That coupled with the increased amount of time you begin spending around Daisomnia and its students is more than enough reason to catch this guy’s attention. He learns about your memory loss early on, especially considering that it’s pretty much the talk of the school once the information drops. He won’t prod you about it like some of the younger students might, however; he’s been on this earth long enough to recognize a sore subject when he sees one.

♡ And so he sets about learning things about you in the present rather than the past. Your likes, dislikes, favorite foods, how easily shocked you get when he tries one of his infamous surprise appearances. Lilia’s very easygoing so it’s rather easy to get along with him, not to mention being a dad he’s got the comforting parental presence down pat when he wants to use it. He’s an easy person to let your guard down around, and admit things you usually wouldn’t. Maybe that’s why you end up talking to him about the what-if’s of your previous life.

♡ It’s a moment of weakness, you let one of your idle thoughts about your family back home slip, asking aloud if there’s anyone there to actually miss you. Lilia doesn’t miss the somber chuckle as you admit that you’re a little jealous - Sebek has his parents, and Silver has Lilia. You want a family like that. You try to lighten the mood by jokingly asking why someone can’t whisk you away into their family already, thinking about that time Kalim very nearly got you adopted into his family once he learned of your memory loss. You don’t expect an answer, much less for the moment to suddenly be broken as the fae pats your head ruffling your hair. No doubt he’s made your hair a mess by the action, but you’re more focused on the grin Lilia gives you when he mentions always wanting a big family - he’s sure Silver wouldn’t mind having a new sibling!

♡Unrelated but Lilia loves sharing old stories with you. Some of the things he shares you vaguely recall reading about in some history books at the library; some of those books were so old you have to wrack your brain trying to do the mental gymnastics to figure out exactly how old he is. He is thoroughly entertained seeing the mild existential crisis inducing cogs turning in your head as he continues his tales, waiting for you to inevitably jump into the story to prod him for more information. Just wait until Malleus shows you that one textbook that’s got Lilia’s portrait in; Lilia doesn’t hear the end of it when you come flying into his room mid game with the textbook in hand demanding to know how the hell he looks the same in a portrait taken centuries ago and waiting like a stubborn child next to his chair as he finishes the raid he’s working through with Gloomurai.

♡ Maybe if you weren’t so desperate for answers, you would have noticed that his friend’s gamer tag looks kinda familiar…

♡ Offered to cook you your favorite dish once. You thought it was a nice gesture, until Sebek and Silver made a joint effort to wrangle you away from the scene, basically pleading with Lilia to please not step foot into the kitchen. That’s probably one thing you’re better off not learning about…

♡ When Sebek first runs into you at NRC, he almost fools himself into thinking that you’re playing up the amnesia for some unforeseen gain. He’s not the first student to have had their doubts, and honestly you can’t entirely blame him for just how weird ‘complete memory loss aside from remembering basic functions and muscle memory’ sounds even without the whole context of this being a world governed by magic. However, what makes Sebek different is that he approaches the subject about as delicately as a falling brick. You’re only half listening as he’s demanding answers for things you don’t even know yourself, already fed up with the whole rigmarole of people throwing questions about your amnesia at you.

♡There’s only so much you can hear about memories this, hiding that before you snap back, hissing out that you’d give just about anything for it to be a lie rather than spending every night guessing where you’ve come from and who you’ve left behind while he’s got the luxury of knowing the kind of life he’s lived before this damn school. That shuts him up faster than you’ve ever seen, jaw snapping closed so hard you swear you hear his teeth click together as you turn heel and generate as much distance between the two of you as possible.

♡ He feels guilty afterwards; Sebek may be a bit of a livewire but even he knows when he’s taken things a bit too far, and it’s clear to see his prying has left you feeling more than a little bitter towards him. Thankfully team dad Lilia is right there to offer advice on smoothing things over in a way that doesn’t result in things looping back around to the original argument. It takes a little while to come to terms with the fact that Sebek genuinely didn’t mean any malice in his prodding; with him on a determined path to become a knight worthy to protect Malleus he wants to know that he can trust you before allowing any kind of potential friendship to form. The way that he went about it however was blunt and came off way ruder than intended; that’s something you can both agree on when he bellows out an apology in the middle of the damn hallway when you cross paths the next day.

♡ He comes to respect how diligently you work despite your initial setbacks coming to Twisted Wonderland with such limited knowledge. What he once thought was an attempt to pry into things for malicious gain he finds is actually just a desire to understand the world around you and the people who inhabit it. Sebek has relayed his respect to you before, in his own way, and thankfully you’ve spent enough time around him to know that he genuinely means every word of it.

♡ Will actively spur on your thirst for knowledge. The first time he lent you a book because he thought the material would give you something to think about, he fully expected it to be weeks before you’d finished. Cut to the next night and you’re unceremoniously dropping that same book onto his bedroom desk, sitting down next to him as you exclaim how cool the book was and your favorite highlights.

♡ Of course Sebek quizzes you about it, but when it’s clear you’ve actually taken an interest in the book he’s given you expect to be walking home that night with a new pile of them to pour over to your heart's content. He’s got his own passion for books, and the pair of you bond over this shared activity a lot more than people realize. Lilia almost can’t believe his eyes how quickly Sebek’s hot-blooded attitude simmers down into something more tempered whenever you come over to gush about the latest book he’s recommended to you.

♡You made a joke once about being adopted by Sebek’s parents while he was on call back home, if only to get a laugh out of the smoldering glare he shot you from the other side of the couch. That laugh however breaks out into a full on cackle hearing his parents actually agreeing with you as you shuffle across the couch and pluck the phone from Sebek’s hands while he’s frozen in shock. His mom is thrilled; Sebek, decidedly, is not, as a pillow from the couch goes sailing across the room as you flee from the scene, disappearing into Daisomnia’s halls with Sebek’s phone to tell your second adopted family all about how he’s been making them proud at NRC.

♡ Silver doesn’t miss the signs that you’ve essentially been pseudo-adopted by his father and the other Diasomnia members, though he doesn’t know that you haven’t clocked onto it yet. Considering how Malleus considers you a close confidant, Lilia is basically treating you like another one of his children, and Sebek seems to actually enjoy having you around it’s easy to think that you’ve noticed just how much everyone cares for you. And of course you care for them in return; more than once you’ve stopped by during Silver and Sebek’s training with something from the cafeteria, or you’ve brought the oddest little things you’ve found at Sam’s shop to show off how cool they are (all of which he’s pretty sure he’s seen scattered around Malleus’ room whenever you bring a new item to the dorm.)

♡ You’re quickly becoming such an integral part of Diasomnia’s life that it’s getting harder to imagine a time without you here, and these guys have become all you’ve ever known in the same way. So it’s shocking to Silver when one of the other students mentions that you’ve basically been adopted into the dorm - you’re there so much you’re practically family anyway - and he sees your reaction. You freeze, jaw slack as you process what you’ve just heard. You hardly even notice Grim swiping the sandwich Silver brought you for lunch in your shock, instead glancing up at the Diasomnia boy as if to confirm what you just heard

♡ When he gives you a confused look in return and asks why you’re so shocked since they’re right he practically watches you go through several stages of emotions, right before you’re grabbing him by the lapel of his uniform and guide him to follow you as you bolt over to Crowley’s office. The poor headmaster doesn’t hear the end of your demanding for Grim and yourself to be made honorary Diasomnia members after this. If they’re adopting you, then by the seven you’re getting it in writing from the bird man himself.

♡ Silver mentions once that he wouldn’t mind if you really were adopted into the family. It’s right as he’s on the cusp of another one of his naps, leaning up against your shoulder when he lets slip that he’d be proud to have a sibling like you without thinking anything of it - because of course it’s true, it's just a thought he hasn’t voiced out loud before. Cut to Lilia coming in a minute or two later to check in only to find his son conked out on your shoulder while you’re a blubbering mess over the fact that someone genuinely wants you as part of their family. Lilia feels only marginally bad when he reaffirms the sentiment, him casually throwing out that he already sees you as Silver’s little sibling resulting in you crying harder.

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writefightandflightclub · 2 months

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Four (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Ooh I really hope you enjoy this one! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. I so love to hear your feedback and chat more about this story! ILY :-*

Word count: 5.3k for this part.

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

The rest of the evening passes in much the same way as the rest. You rejoin the group out front, Benny injecting some much needed fresh energy into the pack. He regales you all with tales of his most recent fights, delivers excruciating detail about his latest training regimen, and proudly shows off pictures of his new puppy.

“Why am I looking at a picture of you, Miller,” Frankie jests as he holds up the screen to reveal an adorable golden retriever.

If anyone notices that Santiago seems quieter than he had earlier in the night, they don’t say it. If they realise that you are engaging in very purposeful, overblown interest in Benny’s chat, it doesn’t get called out. There are a few exchanges between the two of you and Santiago that simulate old patterns. Lend weight to the pretence that things could even return to normal between you and him, given a little more time.

Still, every time your eyes glance off of one another there is this intolerable heat, and you find you still can’t meet it head on. At times, your gaze is dropped hastily into the sand. At times, your eyes needle Frankie pointedly so that he might come to your aid, even if he does simply shrug and clasp the neck of his bottle a little more tightly.

You know Santiago. And in a sense, contradictory as it may be, the hardest thing is how easy it would be to fall into your old patterns. Eventually, you begin to wonder if this tension and this awkwardness -this disconnect – is simply manufactured, in a way. Your heart’s tactic to keep him at arm’s length. A defence mechanism, because you ran away from a whole continent and yet you still fear ending up right back where you started if you can’t extricate yourself from him.

At some stage, you tire of the beer-addled chat, and especially of Tom. Even more so of the effort of trying to make everything feel normal, whilst at the same time fearing what might happen if you could actually achieve that. What it would mean. You announce to the group that you’re going to take a long soak in the tub, and you head upstairs to the main bathroom, languishing in the sweet-scented bubbles, and attempting to wash the burdens of the day from your body, along with the gathered sweat and sand and smoke. Of course, you seem entirely unable to scrub this urge humming beneath your skin.

When you eventually emerge there is a hush over the house, a cocooning darkness in the hallways – and you realise that at least some of the group must have retired to bed already. You’re tired, sure; but you’re still a little buzzed and not sure that you could sleep yet. You certainly don’t like the thought of staring at the ceiling, thinking about who might be lying awake too on the other side of your wall.

“Hey. Cat. Everyone gone to bed?” you ask Frankie softly as you see him round the stairs to the landing in his socked feet, his footsteps purposefully softened.

“Yeah, chiquita.”

“Already? Such old men,” you snicker gently. “What the hell happened?”

Frankie’s subdued throaty chuckle cuts pleasantly through the dark. “It was a long drive,” he defends playfully; then, his tone shifts, an injection of caution evident. It puts you on edge. “Pope’s still out there though, if that helps.” Frankie must feel you bristle, as he raises his palms in the air in surrender. Or, more than likely, absolving himself of any responsibility. “Do with that what you want.”

“Mmm-kay,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, and, from the sidelong glance Frankie throws at you, you know he isn’t buying it for a second.

“You two okay? Something happen in the kitchen?”

A flare ignites under your skin. You remember a different kitchen entirely. Not the one downstairs. Instead, you recall the hot, close air of the Colombian night. The flash of cool metal against your flushed skin as Santiago pressed you back and-

“-It was fine,” you lie tersely, and before Frankie can wheedle anything further out of you, you quickly hook your arm around his neck for a distracting, albeit halfhearted, goodnight hug. “’Night, Cat. Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” With a grunt, he offers a quick, friendly kiss to your cheek, his scruff tickling up against you.

“Yeah. G’night,” he returns, looking as tired as he probably feels. And, as you part ways in the hallway, Frankie watches with resigned interest at the fact you don’t similarly retreat to your room. That instead, you shuffle onward towards the mouth of the stairs. “Don’t let the Pope’s bite.”

And then, with Frankie’s nonsensical and yet somehow apt warning ringing in your ears you head downstairs, meandering through the quiet house until you reach the exterior.

You are arrested in the doorway at the thought of experiencing Santiago alone all over again, but at the same time, that is exactly the thought which propels your feet over the threshold and out into the balmy night air.

You find him there, stretched out on his back in front of the dying embers of the fire, knees folded and pointed up to the sky. An orange glow is cast over the contours of his chest where his button-down shirt now falls completely open, the wire of his headphones snaking down and around his torso. He looks peaceful like this at first. Relaxed and loose, his chest rising and falling soporifically with his breath. His eyes are closed and he has his headphones in his ears, his fingers gently drumming and tapping where they rest against the softness of his bare stomach. Your eyes follow his happy trail, until the thatch of hair disappears beneath his shorts, now tugged tight over his thick thighs.

You note the appealing cushioning around his middle forming rolls as he shifts marginally - to better prop his head up on a second cushion. He looks beautiful. Tranquil, at first glance.

That is, until you see him tug in a huge breath, his ribs flaring with it. Until you watch him pinch the bridge of his nose before letting out a slow, sad exhale.

You know in that moment that you should without a doubt turn around. That you should go right to bed, even if that does result in staring at the ceiling for hours with the image of his gorgeous body seared into your mind. But, you can’t do that.

Instead, you already know exactly what you’re going to do. You’ve known since before you came downstairs.

Truth be told, you’ve known since before you came to the beach house at all. You’ve known since your new fella asked you to be exclusive and you said “no”. You know, because you don’t know what’s good for you.

“Santiago,” you say to announce yourself. “Mind if I join you?”

He pops a bud from his ear and opens his eyes. Somehow, he doesn’t even look surprised to see you standing there.

He blinks at you wordlessly for a moment. He could say no, of course, but you know that he won’t.

Because he doesn’t know what’s good for him either.

He doesn’t respond to you at all in words. Instead, he rises, shifting to the corner of his tartan blanket, arranging himself cross-legged with a groan. He pats the opposite side invitingly, gesturing for you to join him.

You hesitate. The setting, down on the sand on that measly square of wool, seems already far more intimate than the looming camp chairs had.

“Warmer down here,” Santiago encourages, as though reading your mind through how well he can read your body, evident tension snaking through your limbs. “Come and get comfy.”

Okay.

You hunker down, both legs folded to one side and your weight propped on the opposite arm. You take in the setting for a moment. The beach, shrouded in a blanket of dark. The sound of the waves shushing, and the gentle crackle of the fire.

It would be calming, if the silence between the two of you wasn’t so taut. Still, you know Santiago will shortly reach to fill the silence. He always does. You don’t even have to wait all that long.

“Good to see that Benny’s still… as Benny as ever.”

“Yeah. Good to see some things never change.” You look at his lips.

“His latest training regimen sounds pretty brutal, huh?“

“Uh huh.” Your eyes trail wantonly down his torso, and it’s not lost on you that he sucks his stomach in a little when your gaze drops to the soft rolls of him there. You’ve never seen a whiff of insecurity on the man before now. He’s confident as a rule - or so you thought. It’s appealing though, the softness of him. Sexy. You want to tell him that, but you don’t. Instead, you simply allow the soft smile to radiate over your face unfettered, your eyes warm and fond.

“What are you listening to?” you nod down to his phone, headphones still strung from it and one bud remaining in his ear. Wordlessly, he passes you the spare bud and you slot it in, allowing the droning sounds to wash over you. Voices talking, and smatterings of financial and investment jargon. You quickly get the gist of it, and just as quickly relinquish the bud back to him.

Your nose wrinkles. It’s not what you were expecting, honestly. “Financial podcasts?”

He tilts his head to the side. Looks suddenly as old and mature and serious as you’ve ever seen him. “Gotta think about the future sometime, right?” He says it lightly, but even so, you are somewhat hurt by it. Hurt that he’s never managed to envisage any kind of future with you.

“Right.” You nod, as neutrally as possible.

He looks at your mouth.

You note the brief fleet of pink tongue along the swell of his pillowy lower lip.

You both let the silence hang there for a moment, full of possibility, and again, you know he will fill it. After all, you made it clear, right? You told him: don’t. Even if you want precisely what you asked him to deny you. “Did you see that documentary about the octopus on-”

“-I can’t get off anymore without thinking about you, Santi.”

You interrupt him, and his jaw hangs slack for a moment, his eyes bugging out of his head as he fully registers your statement. Apparently, you don’t want to talk about Benny. Or podcasts. Or fucking octopi. You don’t want to fill the silence with meaningless chat.

With Santiago, it had always meant something. You don’t want to stop that now.

You let the words fall into his lap, and you aren’t even sure what reaction you were expecting. Therefore, you don’t even feel any particular type of way as you watch the multitude of emotions and stunted responses play out one by one across Santiago’s features. “Jesus, honey,” he eventually croaks.

Then, his second-hand embarrassment finally jars you too. In a delayed flush of self-pity, you bury your face in your hands. “Fuck. How pathetic is that?”

Santiago’s agape mouth finally closes then, a hard swallow bobbing down his corded neck. Your own self-deprecating laugh finally causes his face to split into a bemused and tentative grin. It is short-lived, however, his thick brows quickly drawing down. “You know. You’re giving me fucking whiplash over here, cariño.”

“Shit. I know. I’m sorry. I just…” You tug your knees up to your chest for whatever comfort it can offer. “Honestly? I don’t want to talk about Benny, or whatever else. I love the guy but I… I missed you. I missed you and I just want us back. I want us to be okay, you know?” Santiago’s face twists in a mirror of your own, as if he doesn’t even know how possible that is anymore. “And, I don’t know how else to do that anymore – to make us okay - without… without that. I don’t know how to stop wanting you.” As you keep talking, your voice seems to break into a thousand pieces, as if sand in your throat is grinding it down, eroding the body and timbre of it away. “I try. I try, Santi, and it… I never…”

Your name rises from his throat, and the sound is tired in his mouth. He knows what you’re asking him; and he doesn’t even seem surprised. “It’s a bad fucking idea.”

“I know.” He’s not even wrong. “I know it is, but I… I don’t care anymore.” Emotion weighs down your tone. Makes it heavy. “It’s like a wound in me - the way we left it - and I just need…” Your eyes flicker and flit everywhere as you reach for the word, dancing around the scene, around his face, like the licking, greedy flames.

You can’t find the word, the concept, the sentiment, but, as you search, Santiago’s voice filters through to you, certain and resigned. As though he understands perfectly what you crave after the wound that he left that night. “You need healing.”

Your head whips towards him and you nod slowly, with conviction, searching his face for any sign that he might give it to you. For any sign that he might be able to repair you. He had hurt you, yes. But his fire was so hot that you think he is the only thing capable of cauterising the wound he left in his wake. The only one who can ignite you enough to heal you, as selfish and misguided as your desire may be.

However, Santiago’s demeanour remains calm and cool even in the face of your desperation. You see only a vestige of desire dancing in his eyes now, as though all you had might truly be in the past. “You wanted out, remember?” he says thinly. With regret. He smiles even thinner than that. “No need to repeat your old mistakes, huh?”

“I wanted out of that life, man. You were never a mistake.”

“Heh. Don’t be so sure. If you know what’s good for you-“

Unconsciously, and with ill-timing, you shift on the mat in discomfort, rolling your spine to try and release some of the niggling, tight muscles – another old injury which continues to plague you long after the fact.

“Still got that damn tweak?” Santiago asks, seemingly grateful for the diversion.

You nod. “Mmm.”

“Want my fingers?”

You look into his eyes, mellow in the dancing light. How could you say no to that? “Please.”

“Come here then,” he encourages, shifting position to the edge of the porch step, his thighs spread wide apart and leaving space for you to settle on the sand before him. “Let me help you,” he insists, tipping up his chin, and his eyes softer and brighter again.

You hesitate, but you can’t find it in you to decline the invitation. Can’t possibly find the strength to say no to his hands on you. To some relief, even in this form. “Turn around. Back to me, hermosa.” His voice is soft, so soft. Rough and undone around the edges like this frayed edge of land you perch on.

You settle before him, and, just as he had promised, his fingers and his hands begin to inch over your body, on top of your clothes, seeking to unravel the knots. To bring you some relief. He used to do this for you all the time – always took care of you like this, and it’s bittersweet to recall a different, more innocent way his hands used to touch you. He would do this for you after training. After a mission. In the field. At the mouth of your tent when camped out in some desert or field or jungle. In the back of a Humvee on the way to the F.O.B.. At Benny’s fight nights when you’d had to sit in those shitty plastic chairs for too long. Whenever and wherever you needed it.

His hands always knew how to fix you, long before you learned all the ways they could take you apart like a weapon in his palm. “Santiago,” you keen, as the pad of his thumb works into all your sweet spots. You don’t know what his name is in your mouth. A plea; a promise; a prayer; a poem. Perhaps all of these at once.

“I know,” he soothes. “I know, cariño.”

You close your eyes against the sudden tears you find threatening at the corners of your eyes. Knowing his touch again is everything you wanted, and, despite yourself, you are eminently glad it is happening like this. That he is giving, instead of devouring you, for if he did the latter, you don’t know that there would be anything left for him to take.

His touch like this though, deft and tender, reveals that perhaps, there’s another way. That maybe, instead of burning you, Santiago could merely warm you. Maybe his flames only hurt because you had dared to get too close. Maybe you could simply learn to stay at arm’s length, where he had always attempted to keep you anyway.

Still, that’s all very well, but… his touch - as it skims down your body - is enough to subsume you. It is a tide swallowing hot shores. It is a relief. A balm. Healing.

“You’re so tight,” he complains gruffly, and you wonder if he is simply being careless, or whether his words were chosen ever so deliberately to remind you. To remind you of him praising you for that very same thing, under other circumstances.

Regardless, Santiago shifts then, shuffling his hips closer towards you. His thighs -either side of your torso - boxing you in a little more tightly. Then, he braces one hand carefully against your shoulder, the other digging and kneading into your knotted muscles at the spot he always knew how to help you with.

You moan for him, willingly, as he takes all your tension and melts it like butter.

“Santiago,” you keen, and there it is again. A promise; a prayer; a poem.

A plea.

You hear him swallow thickly. Hear him exhale a sound like sea trapped in a seashell, his face dipped closer towards the shell of your ear in this new position. His breath continues to quicken as he manipulates your body, pliable under his sure hands, his warmth practically coiled around you like the fire around its fuel.

“Do you want my fingers?” he repeats, voice now flecked with grit, even as he remains slow and languid, not whipped into any frenzy. “Tell me.”

A stone plummets through your belly, sinking heat through your core at the mere suggestion he might touch you there too.

“Mmmph,” you plead – a strangled affirmative wrung from your chest, and Santiago’s hand reaches around, calm and slow and tantalising. He winds his arms between your legs and his index finger trials along the seam of your shorts, up towards your clit like he’s following a carefully laid fuse line. Like he knows precisely how to detonate you, and all he needs is a spark. “You want my fingers here?” he purrs, and you moan his name, throwing your head back into the crook of his shoulder. “Want me to help you like this too?”

You submit an unintelligible string of sounds to the air, which you hope he recognises as an affirmative.

“Sssshhh,” he soothes, as his fingers deftly flick open the button of your shorts and you squirm in search of his friction. “It’s okay. I got you. I got you, cariño.”

You sigh out a broken, guttural noise now, rolling your mound against his palm as his girthy fingers travel eagerly below the waistband of your clothing. Barrelling towards your want without dwelling on the implications even for a moment. On what this might mean. On what this may fix or further fracture.

It is too much to think about that, and it is enough to know that you need some relief.

Specifically, the kind of relief you have not been able to give yourself. The kind of relief you have not been able to find from elsewhere. The kind only Santiago knows how to give you. The only kind Santiago knows how to give you.

“Fuck. You’re soaked,” he praises, all rusty-voice and practiced fingers, and with the ease that the thick pads of him glide through your folds you know it is true. “Holy shit, come here.”

You would oblige if you were not so loose-limbed already; and so, in the next moment, Santiago is dragging you up towards him, settling your ass in the space before him on the porch step, so you sit a little higher. He is shucking your shorts and panties down and hooking your thighs over his parted, sturdy legs to spread you wide open. To give him better access to you so he can give you what you need.

Your hands clamp down on his thighs like claws, your back flush against his chest and your head still languishing in the apex of his neck, feeling the steady rhythm in his shoulder as his arm reaches between your legs. With his other arm he simply gathers you up and holds you close to him, until the warmth of his skin seeps right through to yours.

“Fuck! Santi,” you keen, voice ragged with need already as his fingers tease and circle where you need him. “More. Please, I need more.”

He does not disappoint. He plunges a girthy finger into your heat, and the lack of resistance is telling, your cunt opened up and eager for him as the heel of his hand rocks a steady rhythm against your clit. He goes slower than you would like, but it turns out to be the exact pace you need -two fingers now- dragging molten heat through your core with each curl and pump and scissor he applies to your giving walls.

“Ohhhh. Fuck!”

“I know, baby. This is what you need, isn’t it? I know.”

He does. He does know. He knows every damn inch of you and how to make you sing.

“That’s it. I’ve got you. Don’t come, Princesa. Not yet.”

That’s easier said than done. Especially as his rough voice - all honey and grit - filters into the shell of your ear. As the fleck of his stubble rasps against your neck as he sucks an angry mark into your skin. Your core flutters in straight-out defiance of his orders then, and he feels you clamp down on him, tightening around his fingers. “Ah ah,” he scolds. “Hold on to it for me. Gonna get you there. Don’t worry. I got you.”

Christ, you slosh around him as he makes you molten, and you feel his thighs begin to shake beneath yours. You feel his insistent hardness pressing at your back. “Fuck, princesa. I missed this pussy. Holy shit.”

“Santi. I- I can’t hold on.”

His thumb massages circles into your swollen, needy clit.

“No, baby. Hold on for me. I know you can, huh? Don’t even think. Let me give you what you need.”

“Mmmphhh,” you moan out like a woman possessed as Santiago builds you up.

He chuckles darkly into your neck, and smothers his spare palm over your mouth. “Shhhh. Quiet, hermosa. No-one else can take care of you like this, huh? I got you now.”

The way he’s touching you, fingers speared inside your wet heat, is everything you’ve needed for so long. God, you’ve so needed him to help you like this. And now, he’s finally giving you relief. It’s welcome, and it’s good; but you still have enough about you, even in this state of becoming putty in his lap, to realise that he’s not giving you everything. You turn your head, tipping your lips wantonly up to him, but he won’t kiss you. His arousal presses insistently at your lower back but he isn’t making any move to get himself off. It seems obvious, even in this state of coming undone, that even as you lose yourself he won’t allow himself to get lost in you; not entirely.

He’s navigated some extreme terrain in his time, but perhaps his feelings for you really are a jungle far too dense for him to navigate.

Still, you certainly do not feel any lack, even if you get the sense he is holding back. It would be hard to feel any lack at all with his thick, warm fingers buried in you up to the knuckle, stroking and curling with precision against your swollen arousal, coaxing hoarse moans from your lips which he buries in the meat of his cupped palm. The pad of his thumb rubs haphazardly -almost roughly- in circles over your clit, puffy with need. Your thatch of hair is soaked, and your plumped folds are slick with your pearly, moonlit juices.

“Holy fuck,” you rasp as Santiago’s fingers draw a broad circle deep inside your walls, stretching you open and sending a delicious spiral of bliss through your core. He curls his fingers against your g spot, rocks his palm roughly against the mound of you, and God, it’s so good. You’re on the edge, but you still find you can’t quite let go.

You don’t need him to give you everything, but you do need him to give you just a little more of what you’ve been craving. Just a little more healing.

“Santiago,” you plead, tears of emotion and bliss and disbelief and sadness balling in your eyes. Relief at the fact you get to feel his touch again, and despair at how long you may next endure the lack of it.

However, as though he senses what your body is telling him, that you are getting far too in your head by now to let go, you realise Santiago knows exactly what you need to get out of it. He always does. Always knows how to help you. “Mmpph,” you moan as he wraps his hand more tightly around your mouth and nose, playing with your air supply - just enough to provide a gentle thrill. To offer this simulation of a loss of control just long enough that you feel a secondary surge of adrenalin and arousal building within you. You gasp as he releases his palm and you suck his fingers easily into your mouth, wanting to feel full of him wherever you can. He obliges by shoving them deeper, over your tongue.

“That’s it,” he praises, soothes, encourages, feeling it coming before you do, reading the signs in your body. Almost immediately, pleasure blooms out from your middle, completely engulfing you.

You screw your eyes shut tight and you can barely even focus on his fingers pulsing in and out of your wet, suckering heat, or on this string in the middle of you being drawn so tight it’s about to snap. Instead you focus on him. On the warmth and sturdy form of him at your back. On the way he knows just how to touch you – where, and when, and how. The way he soothes you and relieves you. The familiar scratch of his stubble against your cheek. The soft, sweat-tacky rolls of his bare stomach cushioning your back, skin-on-skin where your t-shirt has ridden up your back. His meaty thighs. The familiar press of that hard promise up against you. But most of all his warm, sandy voice, slipping into the shell of your ear like the sounds and shushing of the sea.

Hermosa. Cariño. Princesa.

His words melting out of you like liquid pearls and making you shine.

He praises you, and the sounds of him slip inside you just like his fingers, a smooth glide like the surge of the tide devouring an aching shore. His touch relieves the ache, the burn, the fire, the hurt, as you find your release. You gush over his hand, your mouth open with a hoarse, hollow moan, silently echoing the roar of the sea as your whole body becomes liquid on top of his.

He holds you, and he works you through it, tears squeezed from your eyes with each wave of bursting, engulfing pleasure which radiates through your core – not blistering like the heat of your fire, but gentle and soothing.

Your breath is ragged now. You have the feel of a tide between your legs.

You are sated, and yet you want more of him. You may feel healed in some ways, but your whole body still sings for him like a wound.

He stays inside of you. Feels you for a moment, with a shuddered, satisfied moan you feel vibrate against your back before he draws his fingers out, painfully slow. You shudder too, your core still fluttering for him, and you would reach for him if you weren’t still boneless. Would seek to satisfy him too.

“Fuck. I missed your fingers,” you purr.

“Uh huh,” Santiago says, a little too morosely for your liking, and he unslots himself far too quickly from around your form. Far too quickly he comes to standing, leaving you feeling cold and alone on the porch stairs, shorts shunted down past your knees, exposing you to the night air.

“Don’t you want… something for you?” you ask in confusion, in hope, eyeing the bulge tenting at his crotch and the way his hand is hung curled at his side, his fingers still shined from you. You enjoy all of that, but you certainly don’t enjoy the heaviness bedding down on his brow, and you reach to pull up your shorts as quickly as you can, the moment of relief fast-retreating, like the deceptive tide.

“No,” he says firmly. “That was just for you.”

You bristle at the implication in his words, your momentary bliss falling quickly away.

He did you a favour.

You were the one undone by your desire – your want. Not him. You were the needy one who couldn’t be without him. Couldn’t even get off without him. And damn. Here he is, slow and controlled and, for the better part, seemingly unaffected.

You know that’s not wholly true – that he does still want you, but your eyes still swim when you wonder if his desire is subdued compared to what it used to be. If it has lessened.

Don’t you cause this frenzy in him anymore? This quickening, like he does with you? Is the flame burning in your chest -or your loins- not catching, any longer? Like the dying embers of this fire, is it almost out?

Could there truly be an end to this?

Soldiers. Friends. Lovers.

What next?

You had, at least, assumed something would be next.

And so, as you regard him, stoic and impassive, you can barely even look at him. “You’re right, Pope. This was probably a bad fucking idea.”

Of course it was.

You should know better than to think you can take a piece of him without wanting to devour the whole. After all, you could never see him in fragments – only all at once.

Had that always been your mistake, thinking that he could ever give himself over to you completely? He’s far too afraid of getting lost, even if he does hold the map to your heart in the palm of his hand. Strange then, because the palm of his hand is also where he has become so accustomed to yielding a weapon. Maybe for him, love and pain were always destined to feel the same.

You push past him, and you feel a pit open up in your middle.

“Goodnight, buddy,” you say, your tone surprisingly sour so soon after that. “Thanks a bunch for the fingerfuck.”

You guess the mindfuck came along for free.

You don’t want to hurt him. Don’t want to be bitter and to deepen this gulf between you all over again. But, apparently, you just can’t help yourself.

You don’t know what’s good for you.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #santiago pope garcia #oscar isaac #ride or die series

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gwynsdefenseattorney · 5 months

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I think it’s time for that Gwyneth Berdara IS important talk.

TW: infertility, yes I will be talking about that but not the way some of y’all are thinking. It’s a very brief mention towards the end.

There will be spoilers for HOUSE OF SKY AND BREATH at the very end so look away if you haven’t cracked open CC yet. There is another warning right before it. 🫶🏻

Also disclaimer like before….I👏🏻DON’T👏🏻CARE👏🏻WHO 👏🏻YALL👏🏻SHIP👏🏻 Just don’t twist Sarah’s words to fit a false narrative that you try and peddle as canon. (Twisting the words makes it false)

I keep seeing post after post across various social media platforms saying Gwyn is JUST a side character, she’s irrelevant, she’s just a friend to Nesta, she’s never going to be important, her story is over, blah blah blah. I don’t believe that for a single second.

Every character in this series (except Feyre) either is or started out as a side character. But Nesta and Cassian got their own book, we know Elains book is coming at some point. Then you have people theorizing Lucien and Vassa! Who by the way has had a FRACTION of the page time Gwyn has, and we know next to nothing about her but somehow e\riels think she gets a book and not Gwyn. 🙄 But by the “she’s just a side character” argument you’re saying none of the other characters should be getting their own book either. Make👏🏻it👏🏻make👏🏻sense. This is such a weak argument and it shouldn’t even be one.

Saying Gwyn is irrelevant and she’s JUST Nesta’s friend is such a slap in the face to Sarah and what she wrote. People are literally ignoring canon for the sake of a man (more on this further down). Through Gwyn’s character the Valkyries are introduced.

Nesta is in the library for much of her day, since this is Nesta’s book what purpose would it be to have Gwyn first introduce us to them. Sarah could have easily written it so Nesta got bored while shelving books and saw a book that caught her eye, she opened it and it happened to be a book on the Valkyries. But she didn’t, she used Gwyn to introduce that storyline. One that is not going away for that matter. She’s not just going to introduce a present day Valkyrie unit in the beginning stages of training to not continue that storyline. And make no mistake it’s not over, it was very evident in the last chapter of ACOSF that they weren’t done.

Keeping with the Valkyrie theme who was it again that became the first Valkyrie in present time? Why that would be Gwyneth of course.

Again, it’s Nesta’s book. It’s her story. Wouldn’t making Nesta first help her journey? Help Nesta feel a little less worthless? If Gwyn was nothing but an irrelevant side character why the hell would Sarah use Gwyn instead of Nesta as the first Valkyrie? And why make the whole scene so awe inspiring? Sarah could have and by all right should have given that to Nesta since it was HER book but she didn’t. Let’s also not forget the Blood Rite and who won that.

Yes, Emerie won too but no one seems to have an issue with her, no one seems to try and reduce her role in the books so we aren’t talking about Emerie. And also Cassian and Azriel had to carry Rhys up that mountain just like Emerie carried Gwyn and again no one has an issue saying Rhys won so I👏🏻do👏🏻not👏🏻want👏🏻to👏🏻hear👏🏻it. Here we have yet again another moment in Nesta’s book that was given to Gwyn that could have easily been given to Nesta, that again would help her heal, and feel a little less worthless but nope. Nesta doesn’t even finish the Rite. But Gwyn does.

“but she went back into the library, her story is done” Gwyn’s story is not done. It seems far from over after her little speech about being tired of living in the library.

After all of that if Gwyn’s story is so done why have her go back to the library after that nice little speech? Why not have her move into the house with Cassian and Nesta? That feels like the logical move for her if Sarah didn’t plan to continue with her. Gwyn has voiced she doesn’t want to be there anymore then why end the book with her going right back.

She’s so much more important than any e/riel wants to admit and for what? Because of a guy they want to end up with Elain? They cry misogyny because someone mentions Elain not having the anatomy to birth an Illyrian baby safely (don’t come for me cause she doesn’t, the light never hit her body, it just hit Nesta, Feyre and Nyx) but Gwyn does, all the while they are actively reducing Gwyn’s accomplishments to nothing by saying she’s not an important character, and furthermore reducing her down to her trauma saying bullshit like “she could never have a normal sexual relationship with Azriel because of his bedroom habits”. Which honestly just demonstrates to me that some of yall don’t understand the BDSM lifestyle at all, and are 50 Shades girlies. And all this for what? The sake of a guy. Who’s being misogynistic now?

ACOSF set up Gwyn’s own healing journey, her story and absolutely no one but Sarah Janet Maas will convince me otherwise.

Oh and since we did a bonus add on last time thought I’d do one again. 🤭☺️ **CC SPOILERS LOOK AWAY NOW IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THEM YET**

“Elain is so much more important to the HOFAS story line, she’s defiantly going to be included in a big way. Gwyn has nothing to lend to HOFAS, she won’t be in it at all” blah blah blah. I’ve seen multiple variations of this in comments and posts and again I’m just like where girlies? Where is Gwyn not important? I don’t disagree that Elain could have an important role in HOFAS, girliepop is a SEER after all, but to say Gwyn won’t, like wha? Did e/riels just forget WHO is assisting Merrill with the specific line of research that could help Bryce get home?

And if any of them think for one second Nesta will go to Merrill before Gwyn y’all have another thing coming. Nesta would go to Gwyn first, she TRUSTS Gwyn, she’s her sister. They might end up having to go to Merrill in the end but trust Nesta is going to Gwyn before Merrill. But suuuuure, Gwyn has nothing to offer Bryce while she’s in Velaris. Absolutely nothing at all.

#gwynriel #pro gwynriel #anti e/riel #gwyneth berdara #gwyn acosf #gwyn supremacy #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #gwyn x azriel

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nico-di-genova · 25 days

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In My Mind, You are Safe

Chapter 3

Alternate link to read on A03 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“He knows?” Lance manages to ask the night after he wakes up, motioning with his head to his dad who slept snoring deeply on a leather couch in the lounge. “About us?”

“I did a bad job of keeping it secret.”

Lance thinks he maybe had too, what with the ass grabbing played as camaraderie and the way he couldn’t stop staring at Fernando during debriefs. His father wasn’t a dumb man, but rather a very observant one. He’d known Lance was smoking pot at fifteen not because of the bloodshot eyes and the smell, though those would have been the obvious giveaways, but because his reaction time during training took a hit.

‘If you’re going to smoke weed, you better do a damn better job of hiding it,’ He’d demanded.

Lance never touched the stuff again, he knew he’d get caught.

But with Fernando he thought he had maybe been a little better. They had rules about it. No kissing in the paddock, the garage, not even their drivers rooms unless it was a special circumstance – the circumstance always ending up being Fernando was needy and Lance was bored. They didn’t go to each other’s hotel rooms until it was late enough that no sane fucker would be wondering the halls. Nothing obvious could be left above the neckline, because Lance had already gotten looks from his father after the weekend on Fernando’s ugly yacht where they spent half the time naked and the other half sipping champagne. All those rules seem to have been thrown out the window the moment Lance ended up in intensive care.

Intensive Care

The word makes him shudder.

Fernando sees the movement and presses a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, “Cold?”

“Kinda.”

It’s not really a lie, the AC is set on Ice Box and he’s got nothing but a thin sheet, a stiff blanket, and bare legs beneath a hospital gown to protect him.

“Here,” Fernando pulls the Aston Martin sweatshirt from the back of his chair and helps work it over Lance’s head. It takes an extreme amount of maneuvering, and gentle tugging, and he can’t put one arm through the sleeve because of the IV in his hand. It kind of sucks at providing any actual warmth, but it smells like Fernando so that’s a comfort all on its own.

“Thanks,” He rasps.

“Of course, Lancito.”

“I missed you,” Lance blurts out, which doesn’t really make sense because he was just with Fernando in the paddock. Just with him in his driver’s room. But Lance also thinks he maybe remembers the dark. The emptiness. The distant voices that sounded like they were right beside him and yet a world away all at once. He thinks he remembers being scared.

“I missed you too. Stop talking, you will irritate your throat.”

Lance wants to make a joke about Fernando not wanting to hear him speak, but that would take too many words and he already kind of feels like he’s breathing around fire. Instead, he accepts the water Fernando offers him and sips slowly through the straw to draw out the soothing effect. He has to be careful with how much he drinks, and he can’t have solid foods yet, which Lance chalks up to normal post coma recovery, but might also have something to do with the abdomen injury as well.

He knows it’s serious because when he’d asked the doctor how long until he could get back to racing she hadn’t given him an answer. And Fernando couldn’t look him in the eye. They don’t lie to each other, brutal honesty has always been their forte. That, or steadfast avoidance.

“Careful,” Fernando chides when Lance sips too quick and chokes on the liquid, some of it escaping his mouth to dribble in a cool line down his chin.

Lance rolls his eyes. Fernando should be used to the sounds of his choking by now, he’s certainly gagged himself on worse than a few drops of water.

“Brat.”

Lance smiles around the straw, all innocence and fluttering eyelashes.

“You are lucky you’re in a hospital bed.”

Which, he isn’t, far from it, but for the moment things feel almost normal so he ignores the remark.

--------

There is an argument about who Lance will go home with.

Lance’s Switzerland apartment is out of the question, his agency being robbed by the injuries his body is still trying to adjust itself to. His dad knows he can afford better around the clock care, people to help Lance with everything from changing his bandages to holding his dick while he pisses. Fernando knows Lance doesn’t want that, knows the humiliation of it would probably kill him faster than his car in the wall should have. They don’t ask for Lance’s opinion on the matter though as he sits silently in the bed between them. Watching them fight for custody of him, it’s familiar, reminds him of being small and wondering if he was going to have to have two bedrooms after his parent’s divorce.

“He needs help Fernando. Doctors, nurses, staff – not just you.”

“I have taken care of him before. I know what he needs.”

Healing from a head wound and a piece of carbon fiber tearing through his body isn’t really the same as a cold, but Lance appreciates Fernando’s commitment. He doesn’t say this of course, because neither one of them seem to really notice he’s there, just continues sipping slowly from the cup in his hands and picking at the starched blanket over his lap. His throat doesn’t hurt anymore, swallowing doesn’t take as much effort.

“You think you know better than me? I’m his father,” his dad states. As if it needs stating. As if Lance wasn’t born with Lawrence’s name over his head and a silver coated thumb in his mouth. As if there were any injury out there that would make him forget who he belongs to, down to the blood and marrow of him, the very making.

“I am his-” Fernando pauses. They never really put a name to it. There hadn’t been much discussion about what he and Lance were before he started bleeding out in Fernando’s arms. Not that he would remember that of course, doesn’t remember much about barreling into the wall at top speed. The doctors say that’s probably for the better.

“Boyfriend?” Lance supplies helpfully around the straw in his mouth. He’s continuing his bad habit of gnawing on the plastic, the taste reminiscent of the tube he had woken up choking on, but also of the bottle he would carry around during race weekends.

Fernando motions at him appreciatively, “Yes. This. I am this.”

His dad’s scowl deepens, “This isn’t a fever and some rest. It’s physical therapy, cognitive therapy. He will need someone 24/7.”

He is sitting right here, and he doesn’t necessarily agree. Lance is needy in the same way a cat is, he craves attention only as long as it is wanted, too much and he will probably begin scratching at you. But there hasn’t been much in his control since he lost the wheel at Silverstone.

“Okay. I will do that.” There’s not a hint of hesitation in Fernando’s tone, when Lance knows there absolutely should be. Whatever unestablished thing is between them, it’s far from stable enough to rest Lance’s entire laundry list of medical issues on, or at least Lance thought it was.

“I can hire someone too, Lawrence,” Fernando pushes, “You are not the only man with money. Lance has not lived with you since he was a child, yes? He needs familiarity. Routine? That is not in your mansion. Let him come home.”

Home.

Is that what Fernando’s place is to him? Most of his memories there are the sort that speak less of a home and more of the flat you wake up in after a one-night stand. Strewn clothes and half-finished bottles of beer on the kitchen counter, The warm press of Fernando’s body along his bare back. Would he be healing on the same sheets they routinely fucked on? Propped up on the pillows that know the shape of his teeth?

Is home where you have a drawer and your PlayStation hooked up in the living room? Or is it the childhood space where you keep a collection of Pokémon cards and karting trophies to collect dust? Lance isn’t sure, mainly because he’s never stayed in one place long enough to really understand the feeling.

His dad throws the last card in his arsenal, the thing they all three have been wondering at.

“And what about the season? You’re done then?”

Fernando bites his lip, thinks on it.

“I go back when he does.”

No one wants to state the obvious, least of all his father. Fernando has played the winning hand, deploying the same dirty tactics he’s fond of utilizing when behind the wheel.

Lance stops chewing on the straw. He stops picking at the blanket. Instead, he just stares blankly at the fabric and tries to tune their bickering out. He’s getting a headache, the kind of stabbing pain that only comes when he tries to think too hard about a memory that has escaped him. It’s easier to blame the pain on the bright fluorescent’s, or the way Fernando’s voice is starting to rise, instead of the crack in his skull.

In the end, he goes with Fernando. He asks to go with Fernando, because as much as he loves his father, he cannot stand the thought of trying to make himself fit in a space that no longer knows the shape of him.

“We did get along, so you know,” Fernando says when Lance is buckled into his passenger seat, groggy from the meds they’d dosed him with. Supposedly, they’re supposed to help Lance with the nausea, manage it during the ride.

“When I was ‘sleep?” Lance slurs, still not calling his coma by its name. He’s got his head resting on the car window even though the nurses had warned him not to do that. He’s supposed to be focusing on stationary things within the car, like the warm weight of Fernando’s hand on his thigh, not watching the trees whip by outside while his skull rattles against the glass.

“Yes,” Fernando says, focused on the road with an intensity Lance has only ever seen him possess when behind the wheel, and therefore does not realize the implication of his answer. That he and Lance’s father could only get along as long as Lance was the unconscious white flag waving between them. He tries to backpedal. “No, that is not-.”

Lance shrugs, lethargic, “S’okay. Go back to sleep for you then.”

“Querido no, that is not what I meant,” Fernando actually sounds pained, the nickname rolling of his tongue with an ease Lance did not realize could be familiar to them. Lance just feels exhausted. Consciousness actually takes a conscious effort these days.

“Lance?”

“Hmm?”

“I did not mean that. You know I did not mean that, yes?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He’ll probably forget the conversation by the time he wakes up anyway, memories leak out of him now the same way his blood had.

--------

Surprisingly, Lance has more at Fernando’s UK home than he remembers. Or, unsurprisingly, depending on how much you take his brain injury into account.

He’s got half a bottle of shampoo in the shower, a razor and toothbrush at the sink, most of his hoodies and a good chunk of his sweatpants. Somehow, his favorite pair of socks has even ended up here, thrown in with Fernando’s dirty clothes and discovered by the cleaners. He takes to padding around the place in the loungewear, hood pulled over his head and keeping his hands tucked into the hoodie pocket – subconsciously splaying a palm along his stomach as he always has, but now pressing at his healing abdomen with newfound curiosity.

Fernando will catch him doing it sometimes, grab him by the arm and then the wrist until he can pull Lance’s probing fingers away from the tender skin and entwine them in his own.

“It won’t heal if you pick at it.”

“Feels weird. Itchy.”

It also sometimes hurts so much that Lance finds himself crying silently into the pillow while Fernando sleeps soundly beside him. The phantom pain of an injury he does not remember. When Fernando checks that the healing is coming along nicely, Lance deliberately does not watch. He hasn’t actually seen the incision since he accidentally looked while a nurse at the hospital was cleaning the wound, and nearly lost his light lunch of applesauce and pudding at the sight. It’s ugly, disgusting, and Fernando seems completely unphased by it.

Fernando squeezes his hand, raises it so he can press a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, a quickly forming new habit for him, “I’m sorry, cariño.”

Apologies flow from him easily now. He apologizes for splashing Lance with water when they’re washing dishes. Apologizes for grabbing Lance when he slips in the shower. Apologizes for the simple way the words seem to flow off his tongue now. It’s strange to Lance, stranger than waking up choking on a plastic tube with your dad on one side and your long-term fuck buddy/partner/boyfriend/mentor on the other. Stranger even that it’s coming from Fernando Alonso of all people, who notoriously does not apologize.

Lance is used to arguments between them ending in mutual silence on either end of the couch, not Fernando pressing a kiss to the furrow between his brow and asking for forgiveness.

“Stop doing that,” Lance grumbles, for what must be the hundredth time.

“Sorry.”

“Fernando.”

“Sor- okay,” and then he kisses Lance’s cheek with the gentleness of atonement anyway. Lance misses when Fernando would just slam him against a wall, crowd him against the marble of the kitchen counters, and talk Lance into sinking to his knees. Not that it ever really took much talking to begin with.

Fernando doesn’t fuck him anymore, which he thinks is maybe the biggest travesty to come out of all of this. Instead, he trails careful fingers down Lance’s side, presses kisses to his neck, his shoulder, his jaw with a tenderness that should be considered foreplay. Then he pulls away, leaves Lance half-hard in his sweatpants, and pretends he doesn’t notice the pout on Lance’s lips. Lance doesn’t beg, at least not before Fernando has gotten him undressed, and he’s not going to ask Fernando to suck his dick while the man is on his knees making sure Lance’s abdomen is still healing properly. So it becomes another thing they just don’t talk about. Lance is worried he’s picked up his father’s habit for avoidance.

--------

Nearly three months after his crash, Lance’s morbid curiosity gets the better of him. His therapy is going well, all three of them. The physical therapy for his legs, because they’d gotten fucked up too, though on a much smaller scale, and for his hands and for – well, for every part of him, is almost familiar. He’d done a few rounds of physio for his wrists after his bike accident, though those had been high intensity because Lance actually had a deadline. The cognitive therapy is more of a challenge, because his memory is still shot to shit, but he can remember Chloe’s birthday again so at least there’s that. The therapy therapy is kind of annoying, only because Lance has never really seen the value of shrinks picking apart his mental state to begin with, but it’s easy. Sometimes they play Jenga, sometimes they talk about how Lance is scared he’ll never be the same again, sometimes Lance excuses himself to the bathroom and screams until his voice is as hoarse as it had been once the intubation tube was removed. It’s all a process.

But he still doesn’t remember the crash.

He can see the reflection of it in Fernando’s eyes sometimes, the fear, the shame. The guilt is the worst, usually brought on when Lance jerks awake from a dream he cannot remember and finds Fernando watching him in the dark with eyes shining.

“You okay?” He will ask, propped up on an elbow and tracing a finger along Lance’s spine. The touch sends shivers through Lance, want and need all bundled up in the foggy confusion as his brain tries to reorient itself.

“Fine.”

“You are sure?”

“Definitely.”

Talking was never their strong suit. But Lance has always been able to read people, an ability fine-tuned after years of rejection. He likes to know when people are planning to turn on him before it happens, doesn’t want to be blindsided by a journalist asking him some probing question only to see if they can get a response. He can see Fernando’s guilt, and eventually he caves and searches for the why.

F1 TV, or his father, or maybe the FIA have made a herculean effort to scrub the full footage of the crash from the internet. But Lance has grown up in the age of the digital, so it doesn’t take him long to find it on YouTube, under a video titled “Canadian Buries it in Wall – ’24”. Inventive.

What he remembers is this, sitting beside Fernando in the pre-race briefing. Both of them trying to listen to Mike explain the stacked pit strategy again, but also occupying themselves with each other. Lance, dick still aching from being teased in his driver’s room, was feeling particularly vindictive. He’d been inching his foot slowly up Fernando’s pants leg, his hand up the inside of Fernando’s clothed thigh.

Fernando hadn’t responded. Sat ramrod straight in his seat and kept his eyes glued ahead. Until Lance just barely brushed his knuckles along the bulge in Fernando’s pants and received a sharp pinch to his own thigh in response.

“Ow!” Lance had yelped, loud enough that a few engineers turned to look at him.

Lance had blushed, “Hit my- hit my knee, sorry.”

And then he’d woken up in the hospital. The irritation to his thigh replaced by the throbbing pain that occupied his entire body.

He wants to remember, and so he hits play. He watches himself drive like he’s analyzing onboards for where he can maybe improve, with the same detached feeling. There’s Fernando behind him, and Russel ahead, and Lance in the middle of it all holding his ground. Fernando’s given the order to back-off, told not to fight because Lance’s tire management has been better, and he’s got the speed and clean air for now. Their fight is with Russel, except that Russel was six ahead and Fernando wanted to play sooner rather than later.

The commentators say Lance is driving surprisingly well, he tries not to grind his teeth.

And then Fernando pulls out of the slipstream, makes a charge to overtake in the straight, and Lance sees himself move. Just a twitch of the car, a fraction of movement in an effort to defend, before Fernando’s front right tire clips his back left and Lance spins. He can see himself try to overcorrect, but then the car goes sideways, the tires leave the track when he skitters across marbles, and he’s flipping until there’s only the wall to stop him.

The red flag is immediate, so is Fernando’s stop when he pulls into the gravel and doesn’t even hesitate to book it to Lance’s on fire car.

“Lance. Lance are you alright? Lance. Respond. Confirm you’re alright,” Andrew’s voice comes through the broadcast, but Lance’s own response does not. It’s eerily quiet, especially in the empty space of Fernando’s house when the man isn’t there to bring life to it.

They play a message from Esteban who drives by, the Frenchman’s voice laced with worry as he asked, pleaded, for Lance to be okay. Lance understands now why Esteban had looked so pale when they’d spoken last. When Lance had been curled up on Fernando’s couch, shrouded in shadow because the lights hurt his head, and Esteban had been sat in the chair across from him. He’d thought it was maybe because they were in Fernando’s house, thought the strangeness of the setting might have just had Esteban on edge. He hadn’t realized it was because his best friend had seen his on fire car and thought for a moment he might not get out.

It's suddenly a little hard to breathe. He blames the tightness in his chest on his ribs, even though those have healed by now.

“Lance?” Fernando’s voice in the doorway, quiet, worried.

Lance jumps, winces when he pulls at something sore, and slams the laptop shut with enough force that he’s a little scared to open it again. His eyes dart to Fernando’s and-

Oh. The guilt. He’s drowning in it.

“Fer, I’m sorry, I- fuck. I just…I didn’t- I’m sorry,” and now he’s the one gushing apologies, wanting so badly to tear his gaze away from the tears building in Fernando’s eyes. He shouldn’t have looked. It was easier when he didn’t know the shape of his body in the wreckage, when he didn’t know it had been Fernando who ran to him, who crashed into him. Pandora’s box and all of its contents are spilling across the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says again, because Fernando still has not moved from the doorway and he’s not sure what else he could do. He can’t walk to him, his leg is still aching from physio, hence the whole curled up in bed watching his own life-threatening crash while Fernando was supposed to be out picking him up a ridiculously overpriced smoothie from his favorite place down the road.

“No,” Fernando chokes, “No. Lance. No. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I-“ Fernando chokes again and then he’s sobbing. Lance’s spirulina, coconut, gold flaked smoothie still clutched in one hand and his free one wrapping around himself as he doubles over in the doorway.

Lance does go to move then, sore muscles be damned.

But when he grabs Fernando, the man only sobs harder. He doesn’t pull away though, he needs Fernando for the support now. His thigh is killing him.

“Fer, Nano, baby, please. It’s okay. I’m okay.” He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, because Fernando doesn’t cry. He bottles everything up, ghosts Lance for a week, and then comes back as if nothing was ever wrong in the first place. Lance doesn’t know how to comfort him, and he doesn’t think that’s something to be blamed on the memory loss, he’s almost certain this is entirely new to them.

Fernando collapses against his chest, Lance stumbles under the weight of them both. His body protests the sudden movement, something sharp and hot spiking it’s way through him, starting in his leg and moving to the incision scar on his stomach.

He gasps, tries to breathe through the pain. It’s kind of like how his wrists were after a race, before he plunged them into a bowl of ice, he can manage.

“I’m okay,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound too tense. There’s sweat breaking out along his brow. He kind of wants his smoothie. “I’m okay, Fer. I promise.”

Fernando’s tears are soaking the fabric of his hoodie. Lance cradles the back of his head, and ignores the damp feel of them against his chest, ignores the warm heat of Fernando’s breath as he tries to find air.

“An accident,” he wails, “I swear, Lance, I swear.”

“I know.”

He saw, just now, could clearly see himself moving and see Fernando slamming the brake to try to stop it. He sees Fernando running. Running to him. People who hurt Lance intentionally are hardly ever concerned enough to check on him afterward, some of them think he deserves the knife twisted inside him simply because he can afford the medical bill. He knows Fernando would never try to hurt him, but he also knows nothing he says could absolve the guilt.

“I know, dude. And I love you, but could we maybe move this to the bed? My leg is killing me.” Fernando, thankfully, lets himself be maneuvered until Lance is sitting on the edge of the bed and Fernando resting solidly in his lap, knees bracketed on either side of his thighs. It’s the most contact they’ve had since Lance woke up, it’s making him a little heady.

Fernando rests his cheek against Lance’s shoulder, cries into the crook of his neck, and Lance tries to soothe him as he takes intermittent sips from his smoothie that he’d pulled from Fernando’s grip before it ended up spilled across the sheets. He rubs a hand along Fernando’s back, a pantomime of how his dad used to calm him down when he had a rough race and had to blow off steam in his driver’s room. It’s not working very well. Lance is maybe bad at this.

“I shouldn’t have watched the stupid video,” he grumbles. Knowing the how has not brought him any peace, only made him realize the true severity of his injuries. His therapist might have been right in saying to stop pressing at the wound, Fernando too for pulling his hand away.

“I could have killed you,” Fernando cries, “I almost killed you. You- you were-“

“I know, Nando, I know. Please, just- just stop. Please.”

It’s too much too fast. Fernando’s guilt, his own brain trying to process it all, the headache forming at his temples and the exhaustion crashing down on him. He’s tired all of the time now. And not in the lazy way he once was, like a big cat stretching in a patch of sunlight, more like someone who’s been crumpled in their car and extracted without all of the pieces smoothed back out.

He wants to sleep. He maybe wants to cry himself.

“Thought I would lose you,” Fernando mumbles, miserable and quiet, his stubble rough against the soft skin of Lance’s neck when he speaks.

“You didn’t. I’m safe. I’m right here.”

Lance hadn’t realized he was Fernando’s to lose, didn’t really put the pieces together until now that he maybe belonged to someone other than his family. He didn’t think anyone would ever actually want him. It’s a weird feeling, makes something beneath the scarring and the healing wound in his gut twist.

“You have me. I’m right here. I’m safe. I’m here.”

I’m okay, he thinks, and he starts to believe that it will be true.

#there may be a chapter 4 actually #I wanted to write more but I didn't want the chapter to be stupid long #strollonso #strollonso fic #my fic #lance stroll #fernando alonso

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sprout-fics · 1 month

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Tell Me All My Bad Ideas

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader) (Callsign: Fix)

Main Series: Snowblind

Rating: Explicit (MDNI) Wordcount: 4k Tags: Jealous Ghost, Mutual pining, Slowburn, Miscommunication, Minor original characters, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral sex (F receiving), Imagining someone else during intercourse, General messy feelings Warnings: Heed the tags A/N: This is a small oneshot that takes place shortly following 'Mayday Mayday'

You’re on the way back from the gym with Gaz when you’re approached.

Gaz and you chat idly, in step with each other as you head back towards the barracks for much needed showers. There’s a thin film of sweat clinging to both of you as you bump shoulders with familiarity. The post-workout high hasn;t yet worn off from either of you, and you can’t help but preen a little at the new record you’ve set with the bar and Gaz as your spotter. You talk about dull things- the weather, what’s for dinner in the mess, and as Gaz teases you with a juicy bit of gossip he heard from the other side of base, a figure rolls off the wall ahead of you and clears his throat to get your attention.

Gaz’s voice cuts off just as you both pause, eyeing the man with curiosity. You recognize him. He looks different without his full loadout and bandaged arm, but the dusty brown hair and tall, lean stature are familiar.

“Langley.” You greet, the name coming to you after a moment- the man who you’d helped carry to safety on the clusterfuck of a mission where your heli went down.

“Sergeant.” He greets you with a little cough, and you tilt your head because somehow he looks embarrassed. “A word?”

You glance at Kyle, who levies you a similar intrigued look before patting you on the shoulder and easing past the other sergeant. As he leaves, you see his clever smile hidden behind his water bottle.

“How can I help?” You ask amicably as Kyle vanishes behind the corner.

Langley is smiling, but it’s evident there’s a little bit of nervousness hesitating behind his gaze.

“I…wanted to thank you for your work in the field on that mission a few weeks back.” He offers after a small pause. “That was a hard op, and you made some good calls out there- not to mention you probably saved my life.”

“Oh.” You blink, feeling a small warmth at the praise. “I’m just doing my job. Glad we made it back.”

“Right.”

You think that might be the end of it, but Langley doesn’t move.

“How’s the concussion?” You offer in the awkward pause that follows.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah it’s good.” Langley returns, and his eyes shift before he clears his throat again and focuses on you. “Listen, I…wanted to ask if you had plans this weekend.”

You blink. You blink again.

Oh. This makes sense now.

“I’m…not sure.” You return honestly after a pause. “I might be doing a training session for some of the recruits in field practice, but…” You watch as Langley deflates a bit, his smile wavering but his head still held high.

“Can I let you know?”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” He offers, bolstered. “And ah, if you need to contact me, here’s my number.”

You’re handed a small slip of paper with some digits scrawled on it, and hide your inward huff of amusement at the fact that the fellow officer came prepared.

“I’ll let you get to your shower- er, the rest of your day.” He finishes as you’re looking down at it, and eases past you. “See you around.”

His footsteps fade behind you, and you tilt your head in thought down at the phone number, contemplating.

A date. You think quietly. It’s been a while.

Truth be told, you’re not really interested in dating. Aside from it being a generally bad idea to date your fellow officers, you haven’t found yourself particularly interested in anyone, Langley included.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true- but the one person who you secretly wished would spend time with you was never going to ask you anyways.

You sigh at that, tucking the paper into your pocket before resuming your path-

And nearly colliding with Gaz when you round the corner.

“You nosey little-” You gasp as Gaz steadies you when you stumble, his grin crinkling his eyes.

“Look at you, madame heartbreaker.’ He interrupts, and oh, he was definitely listening in. The tittle-tattle. “Got sergeant Langley wrapped around your finger, eh?”

You playfully shove at him, feeling your face warm, but you lack the words in which to defend yourself- choosing instead to continue towards the barracks with Gaz trotting behind.

“Saw the pretty medic and couldn’t help himself.” He goes on, falling in step with your wide stride. “Poor bastard.”

“You think I’m pretty, sergeant?” You blink at Gaz doe-ishly, and Gaz snorts.

“Not as pretty as me.” He shoots back, eyes twinkling, and that does finally make you laugh.

“Yeah, you should drop out and work for Calvin Klein.”

“Exactly! Dunno why they haven’t scouted me yet.”

“They’re still developing their ‘desert storm’ collection.”

Kyle barks a laugh at that, which turns into a wheeze as you push the door open to the 141 common area. Soap is lounging on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table and an arm slung over the back of the couch. He raises an eyebrow at you both as you draw closer.

“What’re you two ninnies on about?” He asks as Gaz plops down beside him, and wrinkles his nose at the smell of sweat. “You stink.”

Gaz ignores the comment in favor of shooting his mate a grin. “Fix got asked out.” He declares, and Soap’s eyes go wide.

“Yer’ kiddin.”

“Don’t sound that surprised.” You huff, taking the other couch and tipping the rest of your water bottle up.

“You remember that fellow that came back from the heli-crash all bandaged up and moon-eyed?” Gaz goes on. “Had a bit of a wobbly lip when he got pulled into medical?”

“He did not.” You protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“The lad with the eagle tattoo.” Soap supplements smile broadening, and at Gaz’s eager nod; “Aye, what was his name…Langston?”

“Langley.” Gaz corrects. “Who just gave Fix his number and asked her about weekend plans.”

Soap’s eyes light up at that, and you pointedly ignore him in favor of watching whatever daytime television is on the TV.

“Prolly fell to the ol ‘nurse Joy’ trap.” Gaz goes on, enjoying this far too much. “On the brink of death, getting saved by a beautiful woman and falling head over heels for her.”

“So you do think I’m pretty.” You shoot back, and Gaz laughs again.

Soap is grinning when he looks at you. “Ye going to take him up on it?” He asks point-blank, and you hesitate.

“I don’t know.” You sigh, folding your legs under you and getting comfortable. “I’m not really looking for anything right now, and it’s probably a bad idea.”

“What bad idea?”

The three of you turn towards the door, finding the massive frame of Ghost. Christ, you hadn’t even heard him walk up.

Ghost eyes the three of you suspiciously, eyes dark beneath his simpler skull balaclava that he favors off the field. His voice is low, thick with accent as he awaits an answer.

“To er…date a fellow officer.” Gaz offers at last, his humor gone as Ghost’s eyes land on him unblinkingly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Ghost’s fingers twitch.

Ghost isn’t one for gossip- chatter of any kind for that matter. So you expect him to nod and leave it at that, but instead his eyes narrow just a fraction.

“Who?”

The silence is deafening.

“Langley.” You offer at last, turning fully towards your LT. “He asked me on a date. We’re different departments so it shouldn’t be an issue, but…”

You trail off. Ghost stares at you, eyes unblinking. You feel the weight of them pin you to the spot, and there’s an emotion there you can’t entirely discern. Ghost regards you for a long, long pause before finally tearing his eyes away.

“Do what you want.” He offers at last, footsteps heavy as he disappears in the direction of his room, the door closing a little harder than usual.

“...The fook was that about?” Soap asks at last, turning back to you, and your eyes rest on Ghost’s door. There’s something in your chest that aches a little, something you try not to feel but hovers delicately there anyways.

You’re not sure what you expected. You hate to admit it, but you kind of hoped Ghost would offer some sort of disapproval, or a protest, or even agree that it was a bad idea. Something to signal that maybe you shouldn’t be so quick as to give up hope on him.

Instead the walls separate you, as they always do, and you’re left in the silence.

“No idea.” You offer quietly, shoulders sinking as the TV drones on, and you trace the falling condensation on the cold edge of your skin.

- - -

It is a bad idea.

For whatever reason, you do it anyway.

Friday night has you dressed in civvies, jeans, boots, a somewhat nice jacket that doesn’t have bloodstains on it, and you wonder if you should borrow some makeup from one of the other female officers before you dig out an old tube of mascara and decide it's good enough. It’s not like you’re trying, and Langley asked you out after both of you had seen each other covered in blood anyways.

He’s waiting at the base gate for you, smiles when you approach.

“You look nice.” He offers, and even opens the passenger door for you. It’s a gentlemanly gesture, and you admit you’re charmed by it.

The place you settled on is an Indian restaurant not far from base. It smells like spices as soon as you walk in, and by the time you get to your table your mouth is watering. As far as places go, it’s not white table cloths and fancy silverware, but you find you prefer it that way.

“So how’d an American end up working with a bunch of Brits?” Langley asks conversationally as you wait for your food. He’s got one leg crossed, an arm slung over the back of his chair. He looks comfortable, or at least succeeds in keeping the appearance of such.

“It’s a long story.” You offer with a smile. “Might take me all night.”

“Give me the sitrep.” He jokes.

You give him the short story. Two deployments in the Middle east and Africa, a stint at a covert operations facility stateside, and then being plucked to land on the taskforce.

“Wait, you’re CIA?” He asks, eyebrows raised. “Thought your sort was more the James Bond type.”

You want to tell him Bond was MI6- the same kind that rubs the wrong way on Ghost with their neverendless paperwork requests, but the sudden thought of the Brit has you pause, eyes softening.

Fortunately your food arrives in time to distract Langley. He pauses before he eats, and you watch with your fork on your way to your mouth the way he bends his head and prays. It surprises you. You didn’t figure him for the religious type, and when he catches you staring he looks a little bashful.

“Old habit.” He offers. “Picked it back up after the crash. Lucky to be alive, y’know? Figured I might as well thank him for it.”

You want to tell him it wasn’t God that saved his life. It was the two dead pilots and your own blood soaked hands that had stopped him from bleeding out.

You keep silent on that too.

You make simple conversation in the way most soldiers do- commiserating about food on base, about schedules, about the menial tasks you still haven’t escaped in officership, and eventually the conversation turns back to home.

“Yeah my Ma keeps telling me ever since the crash I should go back home.” Langley tells you, rubbing at his neck sheepishly. “Find a nice girl to settle down with, find a job as a contractor or something.”

It’s a familiar story, one you’ve heard a hundred times. A housewife, kids, a suburban home, vacations to Disneyland in the brutal summer heat. An existence you’re in no way suited for.

“What about you? Your family looking forward to seeing you back?”

You pause, eyes defocusing for a moment as you consider back home with your family, with the pressed linen tablecloths and too pristine kitchen counters.

“I don’t have a family.” You tell him blandly, and ignore the way hurt curls inside your stomach despite all the time that’s passed.

“Oh.” Langley looks a little deflated. “I didn’t mean to assume. I just-”

“It’s fine.” You interject quickly, forcing a cheerful smile. You don’t tell him that you do in fact have family- just not the one he’s thinking of. The team of men you find yourself in the company of has grown far closer to you than any blood relative you’ve ever known, and you know there will always be a place for you here with them.

Fortunately the conversation moves on, and Langley manages to recover swiftly. By the third round of beers and the check you’re both buzzed and giggly, and you feel his boot gently nudge your leg under the table once, twice, a third time before you catch his eyes.

Interested.

Something sour pulls inside your gut, a tickle of a warning that you really should listen to. It’s the same feeling you had that night you wandered into the downtown of DC and ended up in the backseat of a cab with a stranger, a whisper of something guilty and selfish for the thing you’ll never have.

It’s a bad idea.

Once again, you do it anyway.

“Getting mighty dark outside.” You comment idly, fluttering your lashes as you idly run a finger over the rim of your drink.

“Mhm.” Langley hums, tipping the remainder of his beer back. “Might need a friendly escort back to the green zone, huh sergeant?”

You giggle girlishly, feeling the pleasant buzz of alcohol settle low and warm in your veins. “Are you volunteering, sergeant?”

Langley’s eyes sparkle at you. “What if I am?”

“How could I refuse such a kind offer?” You return coyly, tilting your head and flicking your eyes towards the door. It doesn’t take much for him to get the message, as he stands and gestures ahead of him with a respectful “Ma’am.”

Outside, you try not to think of how the starless night reminds you of the midnight where you first saw Ghost’s face.

–

It’s his bunk, you both decide. The privacy at yours is better, being in the 141 officers hallway, but you don’t want to risk running into a member of the team trying to sneak Langley inside.

So your clothes end up on the floor of his bedroom as you taste the sour scent of beer on his lips, warm breath fogging against your own.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty.” He murmurs huskily, hands roaming the swell of your ass beneath your jeans, dragging you closer as his mouth dips to the flesh of your neck. He’s got you pressed against the door, rolling his growing erection sloppily into the slot of your thigh as you work to unbutton his pants.

It feels good, the way his body rocks against yours. You forgot how nice it can feel just to have another body pressed against yours like this, warm and sultry with the growing scent of sex and sweat between you. Langley is clumsy, and you can’t tell if it's from nerves, liquor, or general unfamiliarity of your body. Even so, the low groan he gives you as you cup his length in his briefs is no less unwelcome, your hand nimbly finding the bareness of him and stroking as he huffs in your ear.

“Fuck, just like that. Yeah, that’s good- fuck.”

He rocks into your hands just as he presses his mouth to yours, slotting himself against you as he pushes his tongue inside your mouth- overeager, crude, but scratching an itch inside you that’s long gone unanswered.

When you close your eyes, you try not to think about the eyes behind the mask that haunts your waking daydreams.

You end up on his bed, his head buried between your thighs as you clutch at the pillows. Langley fucks you sloppy with his tongue, hands gripping your thighs as he hums against your clit.

“C’mon, c’mon, give it to me.” He pants, straightening to rub crudely at your clit, not really finding it before he goes back to your cunt.

You’re both quiet. It’s late in the barracks but there’s still a chance of being caught, and you’re not fond of the rumors you might become the subject of if anyone hears you and figures out it’s you in his room. Even so, you force yourself to be just a bit louder, legs clenching even as your orgasm remains a distant thing.

“Inside-” You slur at him before he can realize he’s not going to get you off. “C’mon, hurry.”

“Fucking drooling for it.” He huffs, sucking a hickey into your inner thigh that has you nearly kick your leg out in reflex. “Alright pretty thing, lemme just-” He crawls up the length of you, distracts you with a kiss as he fumbles inside his bedside table, fishing out a tinfoil packet.

You make a point to wiggle impatiently as he rolls the condom down, and when Langley notices he hums in satisfaction.

“Yeah, like that do you?” He preens from where he’s seated between your legs, smacking the tip of his length against your clit suddenly, and you jump. He mistakes it for excitement, chuckling, and once more you close your eyes, trying not to imagine someone different where he’s bent over you.

You make a little sound as he enters you, trying desperately to blot out the sensation of skeleton gloves skimming your bare skin and a low voice purring in your ear. Langley mistakes it for discomfort, slowing himself inside and peppering your cheeks with little kisses to ease the way.

He begins thrusting as soon as you force yourself to relax, groaning low and loud in your ear. The friction is good, needed, and you feel yourself slick and warm around him as he struggles to maintain a rhythm. But it’s sloppy at best, and even as you reach down and try to haul him closer, grinding up against him, it’s not enough.

“Say my name.” He huffs in your ear, hot breath fanning over your cheek.

“S-Steven.” You manage, voice low, brow pinched with pleasure.

“Yeah, yeah that’s it.” Langley encourages, grinding into you and there, just for a moment, and gone again.

“Steven-” You try again, rocking up into him, trying to get the right angle. “S-”

Simon.

Something pulls taut in your chest and doesn’t let go. You clench at the mere thought of him, gazing up into the ceiling where the vision of his amber gaze stares down at you. Hungry, possessed, utterly absorbed in the defiling of your flesh. You scrunch your vision shut, trying to chase him away, but it’s no use.

“Fuck-” Langley snarls, bucking unevenly into you as you grind up into him. “Are you getting close?”

You open your eyes, stare at the ceiling, and despite yourself you imagine him.

His massive frame bent over you, dark eyes burning down into your skin as he splits you on his cock, voice a low purr murmuring filthy praise in your ear. He hauls you flush against him, fingers entwined with your above your head, bending you to his whim until you go lax and boneless with pleasure in his arms.

“Fix.”

And suddenly, you’re there, right there on the edge, breath caught in your chest as the sinful phantom of him presses flush against your skin, as the hard edge of the mask presses down into your forehead when you breathe in tandem.

“All mine.” He growls inside your desperate vision. “All fuckin’ mine, Fix.”

You come with a cry, just barely stifling his name, hissing the beginnings of it until it’s a desperate keen behind your teeth. Your cunt clamps down and you feel more than hear Langley grunt in surprise, hips jerking quickly as he chases his climax inside your fluttering walls that grip down hard on him. He thrusts once, twice, three times, body shuddering as a long, low groan pours past his lips and into your throat.

“Fuck.” He hisses, fucking himself through it, rolling little circles as you come down, chest heaving and eyes fluttering as the vision fades. “Fuck that was good, goddamn-”

He collapses on top of you at last, spent, panting into your sweat slick flesh just as you struggle to find your breath. You toss an arm over your face, if only to shield your eyes from him as you compose yourself- lest he see the truth behind your gaze.

In the hazy aftermath, Langley straightens off you, regarding your hidden expression dubiously.

“You alright?” He asks, far too gently for what you deserve. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You tell him instantly. “No, it was good. Just…” You swallow. “...catching my breath.”

“Oh. Good.” He offers as he rolls off of you, and you watch as he makes his way towards the bathroom, the light flicking on and illuminating the darkness of his bedroom. He comes back with a towel, and rather than offering to wipe you off he drops it beside your hand on the bed. You take it, scrub a little at the inside of your thighs just as you hear him drop the condom in the trash can with a satisfied exhale.

“Hope you enjoyed that as much as I did.” He tells you, and your chest feels taut still as you offer a murmur of agreement you don’t really feel. “But you should probably get going. Don’t want the MPs to catch us.”

“...Right.” You offer lamely, reaching for your clothes and hastily tugging them on once you’ve deemed yourself clean enough. You’re not really sure what you expected, and frankly you’re fine with a quick exit at this point. The possibility of staying and cuddling with your thoughts as distracted as they are seems ill-advised at best.

“Hey.” Langley catches your arm as you reach for the door, and he turns you to him, pressing a lingering kiss to your open lips. “I had a good time. Lemme know if you want to do this again, yeah?”

Guilt festers deep and dark inside you, and you swallow it down with a forced, wobbly sort of smile you pray he can’t see in the dark.

“Thanks Steven, I’ll let you know.” You murmur, and try not to hate yourself for what you’ve done.

The door clicks behind you, and you don’t look back.

–

You don’t expect to see him when you get back to the 141 barracks.

He’s sprawled comfortably on the couch, the common room dark as the lights of the TV flicker on the white of his mask. He’s got the action movie he’s watching on mute, keeping it quiet for the rest of the team that’s asleep down the hall. When the door to the common room squeaks with your entrance, Ghost looks up just once to notice you.

“Past your curfew, sergeant.” He drawls, and you frown because for some reason he sounds annoyed.

“Put it on my file.” You shoot back, irritated in turn. You think that’s the end of it, passing behind him on the way to your room.

“Told you it was a bad idea.” He comments again just as you pass the couch, and you stop.

It itches under your skin, the need to snap at him in your frustration, in all your guilt and insecurity. You want to ask him why he cares, tell him you can take care of yourself, provoke him into telling you the thing you so desperately desire.

“Goodnight, Ghost.” You say instead, quiet, defeated.

You walk down the hallway, away from him, and it isn’t until your door is closing behind you that you hear his voice one last time. Oddly gentle, almost apologetic.

“Goodnight, Fix.”

Almost.

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#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #fic: snowblind

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thousand-sunnies · 30 days

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I am *looking* at that lawlu fae au, yell about it, please. I'd love to hear moar xd

YESS TYSM FOR ASKING!!! sorry for the late response, busy irl time for a little, BUT! i have been thinking about lawlu a lot recently (i’m just about done with watching through dressrosa, so, well, you get it), and i always think fae rules make for a fascinating story, so…

namely, this train of thought was inspired by this tumblr post which i think. encapsulates the lawlu dynamic pretty well. i mean, it’s not like luffy is trying to be owned by someone, but good luck getting any sort of handle on that guy even if he’s yours by the letter of the law. and traffy already has a few markers of being a good fae in canon (tricky as hell, hiding his real name, refusing to eat certain foods lol), so it fits!

and it’s like. imagine. you’re a fae. you know how the world works for you. there’s unspoken rules and unspoken conventions and unspoken hatred coursing through your blood. there’s someone you want to tear down from his post, but it’s not easy, not with the faerie court dynamics involved. you’ve been planning this for a long, long time. it may make you want to scream, but at least the schemes you lay out make sense.

and then, right. and then this human wanders into your domain, and eats your food, and shrugs when you tell him this means he cannot leave. and sure, he’s here now, it’s – fine, whatever, as long as he doesn’t get underfoot, so you leave him to his own devices and look away.

except, right.

except you find out very quickly that he gets underfoot.

a lot. in every way you can imagine, and some ways you can’t possibly. you’ve been raised to see humans as – not inferior, maybe, but certainly easy enough to control – but now you’re suddenly forced to confront the fact that this human had – just – not been raised with the same rules that you have ingrained into your very existence. he says he’s free, and that makes no sense, because you technically own him, what freedom is there in belonging to someone like you, but he– he doesn’t live by your standards. he doesn’t do what you ask. he breaks every rule, and stomps past every line you draw, and makes no sense, and–

and. so.

he had just not been raised with the same rules that all of your kind have ingrained into their very existence, you realise, suddenly. you’re pretty sure that doflamingo knows all about your tricks, and schemes, and traps.

you’re pretty sure, however, that doflamingo is not expecting a punch to the face.

and so, maybe having a human on your side isn’t that bad after all.

#BDHDKAKSLS I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE #this is not a well planned out story yet but i just. have many thoughts about them #lawlu #lulaw #one piece #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #monkey d luffy #luffy #i have also considered the opposite role assignment actually!!#trafalgar law has a Horrible Terrible No Good Very Bad Day and if the fae take him how much worse can it really get #‘can i have your name’ the fae asks. ‘trafalgar d. water law’ says trafalgar d. water law who is just so incredibly tired.#you know those sorts of vibes #but luffy doesnt reallyyy fit the traditional fae vibe so i thought of the fae law human luffy scenario more……. FOR NOW!#anyway please ask me more about this i have feelings(tm)

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nightgoodomens · 1 month

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What do you think of what has happened in the last few days? Idk why but I'm sensing a shift in the dynamic of the 4 of them…

Well I can only guess…

This is going to be long:

Let’s look at the last few months.

So I did say from the beginning that the wives thing is nothing but pure promo for AL’s photoshoot. GT must have been asked to do it until BAFTAs because that’s when it stopped, and while AL tried to keep it going, GT cut her off very quickly - she was reposting her sometimes but not playing the wives tag game anymore. And then it stopped completely.

But anyway. I don’t think DT is a fan of AL. So either he put his foot down and said he doesn’t want her in the sketch, or… maybe she was meant to have a job by then and be gone. It would explain why she was not included in BAFTAs and why the wives thing ended right then too. And also why she was excluded from The Way. Let’s be honest here, she was excluded big time. It’s like… she wasn’t meant to be there anymore.

AL was clearly bothered. She snapped at a fan, she obsessively posted and reposted that she was there, she later whined about being dissed from The Way too. I sort of wondered whether she was under impression that she’d have more screen time and it was cut out, because she whined about people noticing the second she was left with as if there was meant to be more. It was all sort of bizarre since the producer was… her boyfriend. Like… go complain to him? Why you’re looking for attention from his fans?

So perhaps she was not meant to be there because of starting a career that… never actually happened so suddenly her heart “grew fonder” and she jumped on the love train of MS instead. It’s just so… blatant.

She tried to pull GT into more promo but GT didn’t play along. GT promoted The Way because she was involved, and there were those two selfies for The Nye from DT that felt like he posted.

DT sorted out an agent for GT with all the promo (including major PR at the BAFTAs) and AL did not even congratulate her “wife”.

And, and I hope it was on purpose because that’s the funniest shit AL has ever done - when GT posted her chocolate content, AL went on Twitter, found MS/DT photoshops, and retweeted it with “excellent content”. Ouch!

Let’s also note that AL even promoted BAFTAs when she got a seat from DT but now when he’s accomplishing other things but she doesn’t get anything out of it… Crickets.

So we agree this wives and family bullshit is over right.

AL keeps on trying with MS to prove they’re totally in love, but he’s giving nothing so it’s not working. She notes she’s alone, he makes a point to stay with fans every night or at the bar. I’d get the hint. This is on top of miserable selfies, not doing photos with her for Nye press night, and then liking a tweet from some “actress” chic after not liking anything from “fans” for a long time. Ai ai.

I think Michael has been done for a long time.

So there’s that.

Then we have GT and DT.

DT as usual is taking all jobs possible, perhaps to stay away from home, perhaps he just loves and needs to work. The rumour always was that he’d take anything to stay away from home. I don’t know. When GT posts videos, I can see that.

He seems to be on top right now. Which I’m super happy about. Perhaps his wife isn’t though.

She happily got snogged on the red carpet on his big day, and had articles about her on his big day too, she happily accepted him sorting out his agent for her, she also played along with the whole family thing etc when she needed an agent, now that she got what she wanted… Crickets.

Funny how it works with these ladies, eh?

We have him dragged to promote her family, put up like a puppet for a photo, and she writes a sweet post about the cousin. Before that, he’s told to do a dumbass video because her followers totally need to see it! He makes it clear he doesn’t want to do it, she has him do it anyway. Meh.

Next day, he wins a prestigious award.

Silence. For him. Because bestie got a sweet post for her birthday. DT? Nothing. When she finally posts it’s a repost and she tags the wrong awards. Then posts about being on a concert. Next day someone had to tell her she fucked up so she posts the same but takes the wrong tag off.

Still not a single word of affection. Or a joke she fucked up. You know, a fraction of what she gave her cousin, and used DT for, or what she did for her bestie. But no.

So, I don’t know. Is she jealous? She always kept him low, suddenly he’s gaining confidence thanks to MS, scoring great jobs, winning fantastic awards. She’s losing control.

Or are they fighting? Or is he already done?

I don’t know. But the fact that MS’s MOM posted before DT’s wife… and when GT eventually did she made a point to make it completely underwhelming… especially compared to what else she posted… well if she wanted us to notice it, she did.

I don’t know if DT not being there for the award has something to do with everything that’s been happening, I’m more likely to believe that he simply had work conflict.

It’s just… I see this image of a bloke who spent his whole career trying to sort something out for GT, when his big day happens he makes it about her and MS, and AL uses him too, and then when he accomplishes things…

Crickets. From all of them.

Well. Apart from mama Sheen.

It’s sad really. He deserves better.

#NightGoodOmens talks PR

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blazingstar29 · 6 months

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