#We’re Only Kidding Ourselves

[mooseonahunt]

As a kid, I used to be terrified that I’d be the reason my parents got divorced. As an adult, I’m kinda tempted to be the reason by whispering to my mom “you should leave him” any chance I get

[polyamorouspunk]

First week of school go okay? If yes, YAY!!!! If no, Im sorry my guy and I hope it gets better!!

Yeah actually! I’ve had 2 classes so far, first one was just setting up and going around an introducing ourselves which as a kid I would have loved to brag about how cool I was and as an adult made me be like hi I like metal music and I’m watching Saw movies don’t talk to me and then I literally had a hot guy come up to me after class and walk with me to my car talking to me, and then after that I a girl in my class saw me and started talking to me, and then last class was “okay group work! I’m putting you guys in group to meet each other” which made me want to gouge my eyes out because if there’s one thing that makes me feel good about myself it’s being in a class full of idiots and realizing I’m literally one of the coolest people in the room because I’m either smarter then everyone else or if I’m not I’m not super fucking dorky about it. Like. There’s a guy in my class that won’t stop talking about the ACTs. Like okay dude. Chill. Go smoke some weed or something. And then there’s the kids in my class who are just Not Getting It and I’m like wow! I’m so fucking glad I am Not That Stupid! And then there’s the girl in my class who is like timidly raising her hand and I just want to take her and be like girl don’t raise your hand women have been waiting their turn for centuries speak your thoughts. Meanwhile home girl is literally an ICU nurse like girl you are telling me you watch people cut open people for a living and you literally keep people alive but you’re too shy to say anything without raising your hand first and getting acknowledgment from the teacher. But like man she was so cool to talk to as well. So like my plan of being antisocial isn’t working at all because I keep meeting really cool people. There’s literally a guy in my class in a metal band who is a tattoo artist. Like damn dude can we hang. Next class I gotta drop in online though because I’m gonna be on vacation. I want to talk to the guy who was talking to me on the way to my car more but after class last time he was taking to ACT dude about- wait for it- the ACTs and I heard him be like “hey can I get your number” like wait hey I want YOUR number you’re hot and you like Pierce The Veil… anyway yeah.

[augustinewrites]

“what’s on these?” megumi asks, holding up a box of memory cards.

cleaning day always unearthed all types of lost and forgotten items. sometimes it was clothes long forgotten in you and gojo’s closet, other times it was the kid’s old books or toys. you knew every inch of your little apartment, so most times you could identify any mystery items that came up.

“i don’t know,” you hum, plucking a card from the box to inspect it a little more closely. the only hint as to what’s actually on it seems to just be a date.

2006

…and it’s in gojo’s handwriting.

curious, you pop one into the video player and turn on the tv. the kids join you on the couch, clearly eager to entertain any distraction from your cleaning crusade.

when the screen flickers to life, a familiar courtyard comes into view.

you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.

“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.

you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”

“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”

geto grumbles about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.

“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.

the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”

behind the camera you can hear nanami and geto laughing as haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.

“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe a thin trail of blood from his cheek. “you’ll get it next time.”

as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.

he’s blushing.

“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”

“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.

gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”

tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.

this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”

you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”

“jar,” megumi says flatly.

he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”

he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.

you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to zoom in on the victor.

but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.

“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.

when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.

the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.

some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.

(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)

but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.

his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.

the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.

the way he reaches out instinctively whenever you’re knocked backwards.

the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.

the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.

“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”

you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.

“hey! those are gucci—”

you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”

blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”

you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.

(because you’d had his heart in your pocket long before either of you had realized.)

[apollos-boyfriend]

so like. now that we’re adults we can all agree that any teacher that tried to scare us off of using wikipedia with an anectode about changing an article a day before a paper and having half their students submit incorrect information was totally bullshitting right. the autistics on wikipedia do not play around when it comes to troll edits. not only would that teacher be instantly banned from wiki editing but whatever misinformation they’d allegedly written would be corrected before any of their students even saw it. let’s not kid ourselves here

[ohmerricat]

We Invest Things With Significance, or: Why Sutekh Isn’t Sutekh, But Death Itself. alternative title: Fear Is the Mind Killer.

the Doctor Who Series 14/1 thesis statement

i don’t think that sutekh has literally been attached to the TARDIS since Pyramids of Mars. i think that the salt at the edge of the universe — the grievous mistake that caused all myths to become a reality — was what made him appear. and he’s not the same character as sutekh the osiran, a powerful alien that delusionally believed himself to be a god. he *is* a god. nuwho-Sutekh is Death Incarnate.

ergo, this version of Sutekh is the literal psychic manifestation of the Doctor’s deep-seated, guilt-motivated fear of the idea that his arrival brings death wherever he treads. this death-anxiety was turned into a physical presence, haunting the TARDIS all through the Doctor’s timestream, because of the salt. that’s the reason why the Doctor didn’t spot any Susan Twists before Wild Blue Yonder…

there are two timelines in Doctor Who — relative time and universal time. universal time is the history of the universe. relative time is how the Doctor experiences it. in universal time, Sutekh has supposedly been hitchhiking through the vortex for millenia. in relative time, he has only been doing so since Fourteen accidentally invited myths back into the world.

the Doctor was insecure and afraid and believed the above quote (from the very first episode!! spoken by the very first named character in nuwho to die on screen, no less!) to be true. but until WBY it had only been true on a symbolic, metaphorical level. myths, legends, concepts and stories becoming real after the salt caused the Doctor’s anxiety about being a death-bringer to take the shape of a black dog — a universally recognised symbol of death — wearing the name and voice of his most formidable enemy, Sutekh.

in a way, this plotline mirrors The Woman from 73 Yards similarly being a manifestation of Ruby’s worst fear — that of being abandoned by everyone she loves for something intrinsic and incorrigible inside her that she cannot change. Ruby fears being left completely alone, so “The Woman” causes everyone in her life to leave her. the Doctor fears that his coming always heralds mass destruction (“maybe i’m the bad luck”), so “Sutekh” makes sure that the TARDIS literally becomes an altar of death.

ever since Wild Blue Yonder, stories in doctor who have become sources of immense power. the worst, most potent stories we tell ourselves are the lies that our sick brains whisper to us — secret anxieties that we’re not good enough, that all our loved ones will inevitably leave, that we carry nothing but bad luck in our wake. what better clay to mould a monster from than the protagonists’ own neuroses?

and if anybody’s still in doubt, here’s the plain text, all laid out below:

we invest things with significance. that’s what the salt at the edge of the universe really meant. that’s what almost every episode this series has been about, thematically — the imaginary kastarions, the cosplaying chuldur, the bogeyman written into life because kids need a scary story. myths become real to us because we believe in them, love and death and monsters too.

[fastandcarlos]

Family Affair ~ Max Verstappen

Summary: it’s a family affair at the singapore grand prix as the entire verstappen family come to cheer max on

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

ynusername just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 103,382 others

ynusername: I’ll give you three guesses as to where we’re off to 🏎️

tagged: maxverstappen1

28,492 comments

maxverstappen1: well aren’t I just the luckiest dad/husband in the world 🩷

username1: we love when the verstappens all show up

username2: I can’t deal with how cute you all are

charles_leclerc: yesssssss!! leo can’t wait for all the pup cuddles this weekend

ynusername: nvm the kids, all the cuddles will come from me

danielricciardo: it’s been too long, can’t wait for the fam to reunite

maxverstappen1: @/danielricciardo you do know you’re not actually family…don’t you?

danielricciardo: @/maxverstappen1 can you stop ruining my dreams please and thank you

redbullracing: we’re preparing ourselves for all the chaos 🤯

username3: watch max be exhausted before even getting in the car dealing with the kids and y/n

username4: cannot wait for the verstappen spam all weekend 😍

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maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 2,291,202 others

maxverstappen1: project verstappen junior is well underway, checkout y/s/n learning the ropes during practice this morning 🏁

72,291 comments

schecoperez: when I’m next in need of a new engineer I’ll be sure to give y/s/n a call!

ynusername: @/schechoperez he would absolutely love to work for uncle checo ❤️

username4: just when we all thought these kids could not get any cuter, max posts this

username5: it’s the baby uniform for me 😅

oscarpiastri: y/s/n already looks like he does a better job than anyone at mclaren

mclaren: @/oscarpiastri we’ll pretend we didn’t hear that

ynusername: I’m never gonna be able to escape f1 am I??

username6: max must be the proudest parent seeing his son so in love with what he does

pierregasly: little guy is looking good in blue max!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

redbullracing just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, ynusername and 492,971 others

redbullracing: when all the verstappens are wearing blue, it only means one thing 🏆🏁

tagged: maxverstappen1 and ynusername

28,491 comments

maxverstappen1: another big push this weekend team, with my favourite mascots I’m sure p1 has my name all over it

username7: petition for team verstappen to come and cheerlead for me instead

username8: asking for a friend…can your ovaries burst just from a photo?

ynusername: team max! (and @/schechoperez 🎉)

username9: if anyone was wondering where all the good genes went…look no further

username10: pls tell me that is max’s helmet that y/d/n is wearing, it’s drowning her 😭

ynusername: @/username10 don’t worry, it is, she insists on trying it on when max finishes it, the stench is gross

maxverstappen1: @/ynusername excuse me, I always smell a million dollars

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by redbullracing, alex_albon and 3,032,583 others

maxverstappen1: on pole for tomorrow, job done for another day, now to rest up and relax for tomorrow. not sure how possible that will be with the kids, the pink bow was a new low 🥺🩷

68,302 comments

estebanocon: mate the bow should stay…really brings out the colour in your eyes

georgerussell63: sorry max, I’m never going to be able to take you seriously again

ynusername: damn love, y/d/n really has got you wrapped around her little finger 😂

maxverstappen1: @/ynusername what can I say? she really is a daddy’s girl 😊

username11: look at his smile, that’s a true proud dad smile going on there

username12: I swear max you have never looked better 😍

carlossainz55: almost at smooth operator level there max!!

maxverstappen1: @/carlossainz55 from you sir I will take that as a complete

pierregasly: that reminds me, I really must update your photo contact on my phone

fernandoalo_oficial: you lose all street cred the moment you become a dad I’m afraid max

username13: not all the drivers finally taking revenge and getting back at max 😂😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

ynusername just posted

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 729,492 others

ynusername: the three stages of race week with children. 1) run around with loads of energy. 2) begin to tire but remind yourself how cute your children are when they give you cute notes. 3) completely collapse after the race when you realise your children have tired you out before the lights even went out. sorry bub, but remember we love you dearly 🩷🩷🩷🩷

tagged: maxverstappen1

42,593 comments

maxverstappen1: I’ll be good as new for tomorrow, spending time with you guys will always be my priority. I love you all so much more 🥺❤️

landonorris: I remember the days when max used to write me cute notes like that 😭

danielricciardo: @/landonorris and the days when he used to play tag with me around the paddock too

landonorris: @/danielricciardo he’s abandoned us now for the kids…my heart is broken

yukitsunoda0511: that looks like a man trying to get five minutes peace from his kids on the right 😂

maxverstappen1: @/yukitsunoda0511 guilty as charged

username13: just when I think we possibly couldn’t get anymore cute dad max photos for the weekend, we end up getting more

username14: you just know that max absolutely dotes on his two angels

oscarpiastri: petition for the two of you to adopt me, I want to be part of all this fun too 🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by ynusername, schecoperez and 3,382,503 others

maxverstappen1: singapore p1 🏁🎉 couldn’t have done it without my incredible team cheering me on, having them beside me constantly reminds me of the sacrifices they all make. y/n, y/s/n, y/d/n, you guys are the best. thanks for all the support team, now to soak up all the daddy cuddles before the next one 🔥

tagged: ynusername

194,328 comments

ynusername: words cannot begin to express how proud we are of you!! nights like this simply don’t get better my love 🤩

redbullracing: congratulations on a great week of racing max, enjoy the time with your family now

username15: poor y/d/n looks so exhausted, it must be hard work cheering for daddy

landonorris: are those daddy cuddles just from y/s/n and y/d/n????

maxverstappen1: @/landonorris what exactly are you implying?

landonorris: @/maxverstappen1 🫢🫢🫢🫢

charles_leclerc: congrats on a great week max, an honour to share the podium with you again

lance_stroll: lovely to finally meet all the family my man, enjoy the rest and recovery with your little ones

username16: are we all just going to pretend like we don’t know what lando is hinting at back there?

username17: max screams daddy material…literally 😅

georgerussell63: we couldn’t not let you win this one…we just didn’t wanna upset the kids 😂

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ynusername just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton and 629,402 others

ynusername: husband, father, grand prix winner, is there anything that this man can’t do? we are so proud of you max, every time I think you can’t achieve more, you go and prove me wrong. thank you for the best weekend with our little team ❤️🔥

tagged: maxverstappen1

42,402 comments

carlossainz55: he’s yet to beat me at fifa…that’s something he can’t do 😂

logansargeant: I swear you guys are the ultimate goals, if anyone asks, this is how I want my future to look!!

maxverstappen1: thank you for cheering me on, I hope you guys know that I do all of this for you 🥺

ynusername: @/maxverstappen1 ofc we do, and once again you’ve reminded our children that hard work really does pay off

danielricciardo: I remember the days when he used to hug me like that 😭

ynusername: @/danielricciardo MOVE ON AND LET IT GO 😂😂😂

username18: he’s lucky to have someone as amazing as you in his corner y/n

username19: pls tell me this is the last post this weekend, my heart can’t take anymore adorableness 💔

landonorris: go team verstappen!! (I’m secretly rooting for you guys!)

redbullracing: remember y/n you’re always welcome in the paddock, we’ve loved having you, y/d/n and our future world champion y/s/n with us this weekend 😊

——

I hope you enjoyed this little smau, any feedback or requests would be gratefully received 🥺🥺🥺

 ˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[southhbound]

“It is literally impossible to be a woman. You’re so beautiful and so smart. And it kills me you don’t think you’re good enough. Like we have to always be extraordinary. But somehow we’re always doing it wrong. You have to be thin, but not too thin, and you can never say you want to be thin. You have to say you want to be healthy, but also you have to be thin! You have to have money, but you can’t ask for money, because that’s crass. You have to be a boss, but you can’t be mean. You have to lead, but you can’t squash other people’s ideas. You’re supposed to love being a mother, but don’t talk about you kids all the damn time. You have to be a career woman but also always be looking out for other people. You have to answer for men’s bad behavior which is insane but if you point that out you’re accused of complaining. You’re supposed to stay pretty for men but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you’re supposed to be a part of the sisterhood but always stand out and always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged so find a way to acknowledge that but also always be grateful. You have to never get old. Never be rude. And never show off. Never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line. It’s too hard! It’s too contradictory! And nobody gives you a medal or says thank you! And it turns out in fact that not only are you doing everything wrong but also everything is your fault! I’m just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie ourselves into knots so that people will like us.” -Gloria (America Ferrera, BARBIE)

[blackbyakko]

In Defense of Vanessa

All of the peeps hating on Vanessa and Wade ‘a relationship in Deadpool 3 need to expand their imaginations a bit lol.

Do you think Vanessa, the woman who fought so so hard to keep Wades spirits up when he got his cancer diagnosis, whose after fucking DYING in the second film told him that he had to continue on living and supported him to live a good life despite her not being in it, and upon seeing Wade after he ghosted her and then showed back up looking SOOOOO fugly (he’s adorably fugly) and her first reaction was to look lovingly into this man’s eyes and say “That is a face that I’d be happy to sit on”, would just simply LEAVE him? Just like that???

Y’all, I think we saw a different film lol.

Almost everyone in Wade’s life, has either belittled him, or have actively shown their distaste for him known at some point (Peter, Yukio, and Dopender my beloveds, we’re not talking about you). Vanessa from the get-go, matched Wade’s freak. When we saw Wade’s flashback of their break up, Vanessa never said that she wanted to break up with him. We heard HIM Say that if she wanted to leave him to get it over with already. One of Wades biggest character flaws throughout the film has been that he pushes people away through humor and through insults because he is terrified of being vulnerable with them. Vanessa is the only person throughout the films that, even when he’s hurt, he lets himself be vulnerable around her, even post break up. Vanessa didn’t want to leave him, she wanted him to be a better version of himself, because he was wallowing, and not allowing himself to look beyond his insecurities.

Sometimes, doing things for ourselves, for the sake of bettering ourselves is not enough motivation. Wade was not willing to pick himself up and try to live up to his potential until Vanessa encouraged him to. I don’t think she cared if he ever became an avenger or not, but what she cared about was that he had all this potential and no direction and she could see how it was eating him up inside. Why is everyone else in Wade’s life around allowed to rude to him and tell him straight up he’s being a fuckhead, but Vanessa telling him he needs to pick himself up when he takes a knee or asking him to let her walk with him, and when he refuses to do so, wnd gives him some distance when HE PUSHED HER AWAY, makes her the bad guy. You could tell it hurt her when he asked if she was seeing anyone. And that handhold? She absolutely took him back lol. And that’s good! Deadpool is not someone who would sacrifice a loved one to save the world, he would sacrifice the world to save a loved one. And Vanessa is the same, being ride or die from the beginning, and I will not hear her name besmirched.

Also are you really going to tell me that she saw fucking WOLVERINE and didn’t turn to her man and say, “We’re tag teaming him right?” Or that she saw a free child in X23 and didn’t turn to Wade and say “We wanted a kid, so we’re adopting her right?”

Use your imagination people lol. Vanessa would be the first person to drag Wolverine and X23 into their family. She gets a hot new husband and a kid, Wolverine gets a hot new wife and a husband, and X23 gets a new mom and two dads. Everyone wins!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.

Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

“Maybe someone will save us.”

“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”

“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”

“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”

Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.

Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”

You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.

“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”

He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”

“You don’t want to die a virgin.”

“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”

“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”

“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”

“Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”

“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”

“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”

Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”

You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”

“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”

“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.

“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”

“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”

“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”

“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two.”

“Good. Don’t use them.”

You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”

“Remember what you promised me.”

His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”

Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”

“I rarely do.”

“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”

It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.

Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”

The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.

The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs

You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed

You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave

There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”

The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.

Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”

Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”

All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.

Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”

The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.

“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”

The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”

Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”

“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”

Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”

“Get bit, you poodle.”

Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”

Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.

“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”

Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”

“Odessa, Oregon.”

He nods. “We’re going to California.”

“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”

“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.

“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”

“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.

“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”

“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.

“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”

You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.

Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.

“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”

Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”

“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.

“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.

“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”

Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.

“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.

“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”

“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.

“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is truly desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”

Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”

“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.

“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”

“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”

Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”

“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.

“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.

“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.

“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”

Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”

“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”

“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”

“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”

“Who’s Criston?” you ask.

“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”

“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.

Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”

“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.

“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”

“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”

“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”

Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”

Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”

“So racist,” you agree.

Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”

Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.

“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”

“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”

Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”

Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”

“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”

There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.

“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.

“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”

“Where is it?”

“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”

Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.

“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”

“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.

Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.

Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”

Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”

Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.

“And then I have to marry Michelle.”

“You gotta.”

“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”

“It’s the only logical answer.”

“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.

“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.

You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.

What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.

Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”

“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”

“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”

It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”

“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.

“Kentucky,” you confess.

“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”

“Why would I want to go back there?”

Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.

After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”

Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.

“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”

“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.

“Aemond?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”

“I did.”

You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”

He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”

You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”

“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”

“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”

He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”

“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.

Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.

There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”

Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”

[pucksandpower]

Charles Leclerc x Wolff!Reader x Max Verstappen - Social Media AU

Little (Ferrari) Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad She Wolff

Love is in the air for these two stars of the paddock! Brace yourselves as we spill the scorching hot tea on the newest potential pairing that has set tongues wagging. The grapevine is buzzing with the latest snapshots capturing none other than Ferrari’s golden boy, Charles Leclerc, and the stunning princess of the paddock, Y/N Wolff, in what can only be described as a romantic rendezvous. Oh la la! In these sizzling photos the duo can be seen cozied up in the VIP section, captivated by each other’s company and stuck in their own world, ignorant of the busy club around them. The obvious sparks between the young heartthrobs leave fans and gossip hounds wondering if there is more than just friendship brewing between them … (Read More)

A Wolff on the Prowl: Y/N Wolff spotted getting cozy with Max Verstappen

Hold onto your racing helmets because our newest racing romance just took an unexpected twist! We had barely caught our breath from the sizzling chemistry between Charles Leclerc and Y/N Wolff when another speedster entered the picture. Some lucky fans caught Y/N locking lips with the reigning world champion, Max Verstappen, leaving us all in a state of utter shock and awe. It’s a tale as old as time, with Y/N and Max gazing into each other’s eyes like they have discovered the key to the podium of love. The intensity between these two is palpable and their beaming smiles suggest that this could be more than just a passing fling. Will this newfound affair send shockwaves through F1, leaving Charles Leclerc heartbroken and fans breathless? Buckle up, dear readers, as we brace ourselves to see how this unfolds … (Read More)

y/nwolff posted a story

Just an inchident? Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen seem closer than ever despite their apparent battle for the heart of Y/N Wolff

Rev your engines because the race for Y/N Wolff’s heart is reaching exhilarating speeds! While the rivalry between Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen is as fierce as ever on the track, it seems that outside of the race itself a surprising bond has formed between these two young stars. Interestingly, during the Austrian Grand Prix cameras caught Leclerc and Verstappen sharing an incredibly close friendship. Despite their fierce competition for Y/N’s affection earlier this week, the two drivers were spotted laughing, hugging, and inseparable whenever they had a chance, proving that friendship can indeed thrive in the midst of romantic tension. Are they genuinely defying expectations and putting their hearts on hold for the sake of camaraderie or is this just a cleverly orchestrated PR move? Only time will reveal the true nature of this intriguing friendship and love triangle they are part of … (Read More)

y/nwolff

Liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 1,285,493 others

y/nwolff Happy Pride Month 😉

View all 4,762 comments

charles_leclerc mes amours ❤️

maxverstappen1 mijn liefdes ❤️

y/nwolff my boy toys 🥵

charles_leclerc i see how it is

maxverstappen1 she only wants us for our bodies

y/nwolff kidding, kidding. i love you both more than anything ❤️

y/nwolff and of course i don’t only want you for your bodies … i want you for your cars too

mercedesamgf1 Oh

redbullracing My

scuderiaferrari God

feralferrari this is not what i was expecting

givesyouwings i don’t think anyone predicted this but they are adorable together

silverarrows y/n has the power to build one of the most insane driver lineups ever for mercedes

y/nwolff they have to survive meeting my dad after he learns that we’re together before we can even think about that 😅

lestappenbeliever this is the best day of my life

formulanone we got married a week ago?

lestappenbeliever i said what i said but our wedding was a close second

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 3

summary ;; Sullys stick together. You learn the hard way what happens when you don't. PART 2 | PART 4 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; descriptions of blood and violence incoming, beware! shout out to the ppl who predicted the stuff in this chapter LMAO so um... i couldnt tag everybody who asked when i said i would... there's apparently a limit to how many people you can tag. please forgive me 😭 im not taking any tagging requests anymore since i cant do it. so sorry about that,,,, seriously also, thank you so much for 1160 followers! i still cant fucking believe it... daddy issues solidarity 🤙🏻🤙🏻

“Hi there Corporal, you hear me? Yeah, I know you do. As much as I’m charmed by the fatherly love I could give you a big old sloppy wet kiss, we have unfinished business.”

Rain covered the rustling of clothes and the click-clacks of readjusted weapons as concentrated silence hung in the air, thick and heavy like the morning mist swallowing up the forest.

No answer. 

What face could your parents be making right now? Heartbeat in your ears, you tried to hide your shame by looking down, but a jerk on your queue set you straight. the avatar holding you digging his gun sharper in your neck.    

“What, cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” The leader’s stare found yours. “Let me give you a quick remedy.” 

They’d linked your device into another for the sound to be relayed outside and the voice detection range could be wider, in other words, they wanted your father to hear what was happening to you. Your braid was yanked as if the one pulling it wanted to snap it right off your skull, no amount of training could stop the scream torn out of you — all the show just for him. 

The line was deadly still, save for some rustling, crackling static that you could have easily mistaken for hissing.

A ghost of a smile shadowed the man’s face, he extended his rifle to tip your chin up. “Guess we’re gonna have to be louder than that to wake daddy up sweetheart.” 

“Stop!” Father yelled, the unexpected timing of it made you jump. That earned him a group chuckle from the avatars around you. “Stop.”

He talked. He didn’t leave you to fend for yourself in this. Thank Eywa!

���That was fast,” the captor behind you said. 

“Thought you’d have forgotten English by now, playing native.”

“...Quaritch?” 

Quaritch. That awful, awful man from the stories your mother killed? Spider’s father? But… But he was dead. How could sky people know how to cheat death?

“In the flesh.” 

Father’s voice wavered, you’d think he was scared if you didn’t know any better. “That’s impossible.”

“Back from the grave just for you, Jake.”

“Then I’ll just have to put you right back where you belong.”

The squad of avatars openly laughed at that, boisterous, confident, arrogant. 

This was Toruk Makto they were openly mocking. None of them would last for one minute in front of him and yet—

“Quite the teary lovers reunion we’re havin’ here, but you got busy while I was gone, huh?” He looked down at you again, yellow eyes filled with mirth. “I have this tiny bird here we plucked right out of the air. Imagine my surprise to learn she’s yours. Is this the only one, or you got yourself a litter now?”

Silence again. 

“What do you want?”

“Straight to the point as always.” The smug smile momentarily twitched into an unamused, withheld resentment. This man was nearing the end of his capacity to keep taunting. “I don’t think I’ll tell yet. You know I love to be a tease.”

Your ears rotated upwards in treacherous hope at your father's next words. “If you touch one hair on my daughter’s head I swear to god—”

“You exchanged your god for this shithole, Jake. Let’s not kid ourselves now.” Any hint of playing around was gone, now, eyes fixated on something on the ground ahead. “Your daughter will be my guest for a while. Think of it as summer vacation. Don’t worry, unlike the Na’vi, we’re very hospitable.” His thumb brushed over a button. “Until next time.”

“Fucking bastard—”

With one beep, the call was over. Quaritch was touching the band around his neck this time. “Iron Sky, Blue on Actual. We are standing by for extract, over.” 

You began to tussle against the avatar behind your back. “No! No! Let me go!” 

“Be advised. We're bringing in a high value prisoner.”

“Dad’s really gonna flay her alive this time, I can’t wait.” Lo’ak, positioned just behind the flap of the tent to not be seen from the outside as he peeked with one eyeball just in case, was watching his parents vehemently yell at each other in whispers that started out loud, but got hushed probably to not reach him and his siblings. Aggressive limb gestures were flying in the air, and at one point, his mom had tried to run off somewhere and was forcefully stopped. 

Dad was currently pacing around like a wild animal with one hand permanently stuck rubbing his face, and mom turned away from him, holding her forehead. “They’re really going at it, huh?

Kiri was not amused with his insistence to breach their privacy. “What’s so interesting about watching this kind of thing?”

“Catharsis?” He remarked in English, feeling sophisticated. “You remember Spider talking about it? Purification and emotional cleansing through relief that you’re not going through the horrible tragedy, the character on stage is.” 

“You’re normally so dumb.” Lo’ak bore his fangs at her matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Your brain only comes back on when it’s about chaos.”

“I’m petty, and what about it?” A tilt of his head to dare Kiri to ask for her point, then his attention was thwarted by an incomprehensible cry from his mother. She was pushing dad from his arms, furious like Lo’ak had never seen before as the upset man tried to hold her more. “Look at mom and dad breathing fire at each other! You think they’re discussing how to punish her?”

“Stop spying already skxawng, mom will be angry if she sees you. We’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to listen here!” His ears were tilting at every angle to make out any words that reached to him as nothing but a cluster of broken sounds. “Why did they have to go far?” 

“Because they wanted to be away from peeping toms like you?”

“And you’re still here too, so?” Lo’ak gave his sister a meaningful look. “I know you wanna see too.”

“Ugh!” Kiri shoved out her tongue at him, eyes dead. “And it’s not funny, by the way! They are fighting. Stop being happy about it.”

He knew they were fighting about his older sister, and that she’d get all the heat and fallout from it the moment she was back. Lo’ak’s head was full of what he could get out of it, or what to ask her for in return for helping her out in her detention. So satisfying to be the sibling who wasn’t in trouble. He should do it more, actually. “It is funny when it’s not about me.” 

“You’re sick for taking joy in another’s suffering.”

“Oh, I’m doomed, then.” Kiri took whatever fat was on his thin arm between her thumb and forefinger, and twisted. Lo’ak had to blink away the tears that rushed to his eyes, snatching his limb away from the displeased girl and pushing her away in return — he was annoyed at how much that hurt, why was that so damaging for no reason? “Yeouch! What the hell?”

“Will it kill you to practice mindfulness once in a while?” 

He raised his voice’s pitch to mock the wobbly, ear-scratching whine of yours, and exaggerated his body movements to match, too. “I hate you!”  

“Gross.” She tried to shove him, he caught her hands in the air, pushing her back and getting the spiteful annoyance of his sister as a result. “Dad was actually hurt by that.” Lo’ak’s eyes could roll down the hills by themselves the way that sounded, but Kiri, as always, was bothered so inexplicably. “I don’t like this. I have a bad feeling.”

That bad feeling was the herald of dad’s upcoming cranky ill-temper and what would follow after you inevitably had to come crawling back home with tail between your legs, Neteyam dragging you from the scruff of your neck. Lo’ak was refusing to sleep so he could enjoy the fight. 

“Me personally, am over the moon, ikran duty is so gonna be off my hands. For months.” He halted at the idea that just went off in his head, tail swishing with the hype. “I wanna tell Spider. I’ll go get him.”

“Absolutely not. You sneak off now and they’ll laser-focus all the anger on you!” Kiri was pointing a warning hand at him, but slowly lowered it, one corner of her mouth twitching up. She was holding back amusement. “Hey, you know what? Nevermind, you can go. I want you to go. I have to see this.”

“Ha-ha.” Lo’ak’s tail stuttered, losing enthusiasm. “Attempted murder, much?”

“Guys, what’s going on…”

Upon the unexpected voice that wobbled its way into their conversation, they both looked down to see Tuk gripping her weaved blanket with one hand and dragging it on the floor as she made her way to them, the other rubbing her eyes one by one so sleep dripping from them would fly away.

“See, you woke her up! What do we do now?”

“You woke her up by yelling, why is it my fault now?”

“I didn’t, you—”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did n—”

“Guys…” Tuk pulled on Kiri’s hand, and the foreign object she was clutching the whole time distracted Lo’ak. It must have dug into the older one’s skin that she carefully picked it up to inspect. The ear pieces they took off before they went to sleep. This one was Kiri’s.  “Neteyam’s calling. You didn’t hear…”

Grinning, Lo’ak snatched it up and skipped backwards and put it in his own ear, ignoring Kiri’s hushed yells to give it back now and the groans about ruining it with his stinky, cheesy earwax. He had to keep bouncing around, the girl was chasing him around the tent. “Bro! Tell her she’s sooo dead. Dad’s literally keeping guard in front of the tent—”

“Lo’ak, quit it.” Neteyam’s tremulous answer was harsh. Lo’ak’s smile wavered as he dodged Kiri’s arm and jumped over discarded cups on the floor, knocking over wooden spoons. “I need you to tell me what’s happening over there.”

“Aw, baby’s so scared to come back she needs to make a game plan first?” He laughed, slapping Kiri’s hands away. “I’ll only tell if she gives back my karambit knife.”

His older brother sighed, a bit too exasperated. 

“Yeah, I’m not letting that one go and I’m also making it your problem—”

“Lo’ak, she isn’t here.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“She isn’t here. I couldn’t find her.” Kiri bumped into him, unable to stop herself at the right time to hit the brakes due to how abruptly Lo’ak had stilled. They’d almost tumbled over. “Dad told me to wait until he contacts her and I’ve been waiting for minutes. Now tell me what’s going on over there.”

“Bro, you’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious, skxawng!” 

He turned to Kiri in disgusted discomfort, who had damn-near glued her own ear to his to hear better. “Forget months, I’ll be free for years. Dad’s not gonna let her take one step off the camp anymore.”

The girl would stomp her foot if she was a couple years younger. “What’s this about?”

And Neteyam would shake Lo’ak from the neck for ignoring him this long while he was fussing. “Tell me already you—!”

“They’re having a fight bro.” He leaned better to peep outside the tent. “Yeah.”

“She came back? Why didn’t you tell me?”

It was uncommon for Neteyam to completely disregard the previous input he’d been given. Lo’ak didn’t understand this level of anxiety. “Are you having a brain fart? Would we be having this conversation if she was here? It’s mom and dad who are fighting.”

It wasn’t that serious — on the contrary, his sister was quite simple to understand. She didn’t want to be found and had changed her place of hiding. End of story. The golden boy’s worrywart nature was keeping him from reasoning. 

“Don’t be a smartass.” Lo’ak practically felt Neteyam’s want to land a loud smack on his back. “Were they only able to reach her, then? Is that why they’re fighting?”

“You’re asking me?—”

The older boy began to grumble under his breath. “This is why I called Kiri.”

Said girl’s ears perked up over picking her name from the static-surrounded line. Lo’ak snorted. “Ouch, bro.”

Kiri shook him from the elbow. “Me? What about me?”

“Great title for your autobiography.”

Kiri raised her arms to give him a beating and Lo’ak was already bolting away from anywhere near her vicinity. The siblings didn’t even take notice of the line with Neteyam going dark as they focused on their own play-scuffle for a while. 

Until Lo’ak bumped into someone.

It wasn’t Tuk. 

Shoulders pulled into himself, he turned around torturously freaked out to find dad standing there like a ghost, his tactical vest packed to the brim and gun hanging from his back the way they wore their bows. 

The blue of his skin had faded into an ashier tone, amber eyes wide and bloodshot, the veins on the normally put together Olo’eyktan’s forehead were bulging, even a socially clueless person would pick up something was seriously wrong. He commanded cold authority of the battlefield simply by the way he stood, immediately triggering Lo’ak into soldier mode.  

He took a few steps back, chin hanging low at the lightless, unblinking stare his father pushed down on him. “Sir.”

All the sleepiness that had Tuk unresponsive and nodding off through Lo’ak and Kiri’s push-and-pull was knocked out of her at the sight, she was now unnerved and frightened. “Dad?”

The man’s intensity was somehow eased by his youngest’s reaction, but he held back from taking her in his arms like he normally would to comfort her, didn’t even care to remark on how they were supposed to be sleeping — how they’d woken their little sister up, instead focusing on Lo’ak. “I want you all to listen well. Your mother and I are heading out for a minute and your grandmother will be with you soon — Neteyam is Oscar-Mike to come back here. Stay put and don’t go anywhere, understand?” His finger pointed accusingly at him. “Don’t cause trouble. Looking at you boy, what I’m saying here is Marine proof. I’m at the end of my wits here, don’t even think about slipping a tail out of this tent.” 

The potent severity of whatever the hell was making him this agitated to the point of a voice so hoarse it was unrecognizable got the wheels in Lo’ak’s head whirring. “What’s happening, dad?”

“One child!” The thundering shout came down on him with the force of a falling mountain, making Lo’ak jump out of his skin. “I need one child of mine to listen to me without asking any questions today!” Dad’s voice broke when Tuk whined, he shut his eyes as if he was in physical pain, and flexed his jaw, shaking his head and pulling the girl in from her shoulders to soothe her. Still no direct hugging. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Lo’ak said immediately, distraught by the over-the-top reaction, hands unknowingly curling into fists by his sides. Whenever that sky people word ‘Jesus’ slipped from dad not having any control between the border of his two languages, the boy knew it was demanding gravitas. “I heard you CFB.”

“Good.” He thinned his lips. “Kiri, please.”

Lo’ak frowned at dad basically asking for her to play her brother’s keeper in Neteyam’s absence in two simple words.

She nodded. “I know dad.”

He caught a glimpse of his mother running in the distance, her father’s bow in her hand. 

Just what was happening? What had you done? 

Eywa, it had to be sky people. 

Dad saw the realization in his face. “Stay,” he emphasized, one final time before he was also gone with the wind. 

Lo’ak wouldn’t have obeyed if it wasn’t for his grandmother arriving just in time, keeping them busy with a story about the arrival of a wounded ikran with no rider.

You realized the gunshot wound puncturing your upper abdomen was there the whole time when the avatars put first aid and later slapped a rectangular sky people bandage on it that helped clotting or whatever it was called, the pain simply not being there had played a big factor in it with the body running on pure adrenaline. 

(Crouching close to you, Quaritch had bragged, “We aren’t so bad after all, huh, sweetheart? It’s called civilization. Your daddy ever taught you about that?”

Civilization, your ass. They needed you. There was nothing well-meaning about what they were doing.

And the nickname had ticked you off, sullying the good memories of father, your head slammed into his nose in full power after a hiss.

“Now my daddy taught me that!” you spat in English as other avatars had tackled you. The man claiming to be Quaritch was smiling as he wiped away the blood trickling down his nose.

What was the point in trying to patch you up if they were going to do this, then?)

You were now a part of an elaborate trap to lure your father in. Bait. The worst position to be in. This was the kind of trouble Lo’ak would get himself in. It was too late to go back now, the mess you’d gotten yourself into had made itself known. 

Think, think! How could you get out of this?

Within the unsleeping forest’s nightly noises chirping all around you, a specific call in the air halted your train of thought. 

It was mom. 

Your parents were here. But how? How did they know where you were, exactly? Dread and expectation pooled in your heart, coexisting in a nauseating mix. 

Father must be thinking that you already caused so much trouble, they couldn’t know you were also hurt, you’d never hear the end of it.

But there was no time to think, the pain you should have been feeling was ebbing its way into your body, and she was calling in the night to inform you to get ready.

All hell broke loose when the man who held you tight from your queue was shot right from the back of his head with an arrow, collapsing right on top of you. 

You couldn’t get away in time to not be crushed by his dead body and promptly got squished between the mossy soil and him, his gun was hurting you, the wound on your stomach getting in the way of you using your core to push the body off. 

How many minutes had passed with you struggling to get him off as a hurricane of bullets roared, you didn’t know (it hurt, pain was climbing towards the threshold) — mom was able to break free from the weight of a whole AMP suit, as you’d heard as a child, a Na’vi was naturally strong, but you couldn’t even crawl out. Panic was a rope tightening around your ribcage as your breathing picked up

All of a sudden, the weight was gone, and the only remaining thing from it was the big gun left from the avatar you found yourself hugging for dear life, eyes wide as saucers. Before you could see whoever had done that, you got hoisted up right back on your feet and tried to run, only to be held tighter and pulled behind the trunk of a tree.

“Hey, it’s me, it’s me!” Clumsy, overwrought hands were cupping your cheeks and — and oh, it was your father. 

You didn’t know whether to be afraid or cry from happiness.

Once he was sure you registered it was him by staring intently in your eyes with that edge of the softness you’d missed so much, his hold shifted to your neck and around your shoulders, and he gave you a look-over, checking for any wounds. Too bad what he was searching for was behind the gun you were holding. “Are you hurt?” He shook you when you were too stunned to answer. “Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” you shook your head automatically, it was weak against the explosions of bullets raining down all around you, but father had picked it up regardless, only focusing on you for the moment.

In the darkness, nobody could see the blood running down your body, that bandage had come out at one point. 

“On my mark, we’re gonna run, okay?” He nodded to you, tomahawk axe in hand coated in a dark substance, commanding your full attention. “Follow me. Ready? Ready?”

You weren’t ready at all, stomach feeling like it was being stabbed at every heartbeat, but you couldn’t tell him that. 

Instead, you ran like hell, moored by father’s taut clutch on your forearm pulling you forward to match his incredible speed dodging roots, bushes and branches. 

Things stopped moving only when you were enveloped in mom’s embrace, consciousness almost flying off from the relief that washed over you. Kisses were peppered along your hairline and forehead, her mumbling your name in gratitude blending with your panting. Tears burned bitter in your eyes, but you couldn’t cry, not when father was looking at you like that, chest rising and falling. You instantaneously remembered why you were holding that gun at the intensity he was radiating, tail escaping between your legs and letting mom hold you. 

At least this way he wasn’t able to objurgate you.  

Over her shoulder, you saw three ikrans instead of two. Heart soaring, you were skipping towards him in pure astonishment in a heartbeat. “Hey buddy!”  

His head lowered down towards you in bird-like movements. In this angle, it looked like he was giving you a razor sharp-toothed big grin. 

“He brought us here,” your mother said. The hand you were going to pet the ikran with stopped midway at her dejected tone. “You have passed Iknimaya, I take it. On your own.”

You didn’t know what to say, feeling immense guilt at having made her this disappointed over it. If this was any normal situation, any normal fight at all, you would have shot back with, ‘Well father told me to do it.’

But you were tired. 

Your pain threshold was being threatened, and you needed to get to your grandmother before any of your parents saw the situation you were in and this escalated into the worst fight you were going to get into in your entire life. 

Father’s only response was a dead cold, “C’mon, we gotta get outta here.”

He didn’t talk to you after that. Not one word. 

Squatting on an ikran’s back on a flight with an abdominal gunshot wound you were trying to hide was not an option unless you wanted to pass out midair and was looking for a free dive, so you were all but hugging the poor thing’s neck like a monkey, trusting him to follow your parents while you concentrated on mentally fighting to level out the pain. 

Nonsensical as it was to believe the gun stuck between your ikran’s neck and your stomach was acting as a tampon to lessen the bleeding, you were concerned with how dumb it must have looked to father and mom, how incompetent they must think of you that their daughter didn’t even know how to ride right. 

Got an ikran for nothing. 

Would they be less proud of you seeing how funny it appeared, nevermind that it was to contain your pain all the while not trying to faint?

But no words were exchanged about it. 

Father clamping up right after he’d made sure you weren’t hurt (yikes) had resulted in this awkward trip succumbing in total silence. They had sandwiched you between them, only necessary space for the ikrans to beat their wings freely left, so close that you could discern the scariest look on father yet, deepening the lines of age in his face while simultaneously expressing his barely contained desire to kill someone. 

A ticking time bomb. 

Forget speaking at all, but not only did he never address you until now, he didn’t even look in your direction for once. You knew because staring at him for five minutes straight for him to just acknowledge your existence had proven to be unfruitful. 

And the tears involuntarily streamed down your cheeks with how utterly worthless and alone that made you feel, trapped in this agony you couldn’t help but hide because he’d think you didn’t deserve to complain after bringing it upon yourself. You would rather bite your tongue and bear the pain than stay dreading his reaction. 

Yeah, no, he couldn’t know. 

Mom was looking over at you every one minute to make sure you were okay after her ears picked up on your sniffles, arrows of worry shot from her side sinking down your skin every single time, and you hated to make her this way. 

Your ikran kept comforting you through tsaheylu until you landed.

Father had promptly jumped down, agile and making haste away somewhere, passing you by and giving the cold shoulder. You all but slid off your own ikran, managing to make the gun stay where it should be, as you couldn’t help but weakly call out to him for one drop of consolation. “Father…”

He didn’t stop for you, quickening his steps, but his ears twitched, the tail beating the air ferociously halting and lowering before it returned to the previous motions, and those were the only indications that he’d heard it Lima Charlie.

The man just didn’t want to talk to you.    

And you had to make yourself believe it wasn’t the emotional devastation that had you falling down, but the wound sucking out all your energy now that you had gotten to safety. 

“Ma’ite?” Mom rushed to you. “Ma’ite, what’s wrong? What is it?”

“I’m okay, mom, it’s okay.” You were sitting on the floor, cross-legged. Thank goodness you still had the unbreakable willpower (and not the fear of Eywa put into you by father) to hold your shit together. “I’m okay. Just tired. My knees buckled. Weak, you know?” You swallowed, smiling. “I’m just… Just resting.”

Her gaze full of concern studied you, zeroing in on the gun you clung on for dear life against your stomach. Her hands lovingly brushed your hair, gripped your shoulders and elbows even though you were disgustingly clammy all over. It was grounding, anchoring within the ocean of pain washing over you in waves. 

“Oh, why are you sweating so much? You’re freezing.” You clutched the gun harder in a panic when she grasped it, most likely to put it away. It was the wrong reaction to have, but you weren’t exactly in the position to function healthily. 

Mom, as any other person would, got suspicious from it, her eyes flying up to your owlish ones — blanked out like a frightened animal. “You’re fine now,” she whispered, thankfully attributing it to how disturbed you must be, still not out of survival mode. “You are safe, my daughter. Mom is here.” She cupped your cheek, but every touch to your body hurt now, even when it was away from the gaping wound, still gushing blood, trickling down your hips and getting you scared that it’d be discovered once you stood up. “I’m here.” She searched your soul to know just why you were grimacing at her attempts of comforting. “I will take this now, you do not need it anymore.”

You snapped out of the gradually darkening gray haze mom’s lulling was laying you down gingerly into. “No, please don’t,” your breathing hitched. She was going to see. She couldn’t see. You had to avoid this somehow, as long as you could. Grandmother’s tent. You would make it, you had to.  “I’ll… I’ll just sit here for a while, okay? I need to just… take a small break, and then I’ll… Can you go back? I’ll follow later. Father is angry, I don’t—”

“Nonsense.” Incredulous and enraged suddenly about something you couldn’t put a finger on, and before you could stop her, she tried to haul you up with her by gripping your upper arms — colors exploded behind your eyelids, getting you you to lose consciousness for two seconds, your vision flooding back in a starry kaleidoscope. When mom’s voice reached your ears, it was in staccato exclaims your ears were ringing too much to discern. She was shaking you. 

You weren’t able to sit up straight anymore, leaning forward — mom had caught you, utterly confused and panicked at the same time. And then your head was lying on the crook of her elbow resting on her legs she’d tucked under herself. The moment you’d switched from sitting to straight up lying down was missing from your memories. 

A baby being cradled. Yes, this is exactly what it was like. Gentle arms surrounded you amidst the pulsating sea of agony. 

Your body was letting go, but your arms were vices around the gun, still holding that last line. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. They can’t know. Father will be so mad if he learns. “‘m okay… ‘st restin’…”

When your eyes cleared enough for the surroundings to be only a bit blurry, your mom was looking at the hand she’d just tried to take away the gun with, caked with your blood that had stained it, out of it and perplexed like she didn’t want to believe it. 

Her gut-wrenchingly stunned numbness sent the misery clawing its way inside into overdrive, pulling your consciousness down to the earth from the clouds it was ascending to. “Not mine,” you forced out, but it came out as begging. Everything was falling apart. The plan was so simple, why couldn’t you do anything right? “Not mine. Please. Mom, it’s okay.” 

“No…” Mumbling, she started sharply swaying back and forth, and with one brutally vigorous attack, she ripped the gun away from your arms, and hurled it away — then it was over. Your sob wasn’t due to the motion hurting you, it was all entirely for the broken wail of your mother at seeing the bloodied mess, tears spilling from her eyes as she reached down to press down at the pouring liquid. “No! No! Oh Great Mother! Why did you hide this! Oh, my daughter!” 

“No, mom, I’m fine, it’s nothing. Not my blood. Not my blood, okay?” You reached up weakly and wiped at her cheeks with trembling fingers, your heart got crushed worse than the pain could beat you down at her grief — lungs constricting. Where was all the air?  “I’ll get up. I’ll go to grandmother, don’t cry. Just resting.”

Frantically looking around, she yelled, “Jake!—” but her voice didn’t quite come out, breathy as if she’d been punched in the ribcage seconds prior.

A heartbeat’s worth of nothingness, after which you were full-on freaking out. Only one thought: Father will be angry. 

“No!” You shrieked, and blood swelled in one strong pump against mom’s fingers. She looked down at you in anguish, pupils blown wide, arm tightening around you as if you were a flailing bird. “Don’t tell him! Don’t tell father! He’ll really kill me for this—”

“No, no no no,” she shook her head, frenzied, tone cracked from beginning to end. “Do not say that. Don’t you ever say that—”

But you were struggling in her arms, wanting nothing but to crawl away into a hole, no reason registering whatsoever, only instinct. “He’ll be so angry,” you begged, pleading, pink spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth. The sound of gurgling accompanying the words you forced your whole body to form. “You can’t tell him — you can’t! He already hates me!”

The more you thrashed around and kicked your legs, the more you bled.

“Please, Great Mother!” The more mom lost her mind, hissing and howling hysterically, crazed, hugging you tighter and rocking. “Jake! Jake! Ma’Jake!” She put her temple against yours. “Not my daughter, please, Eywa…”

Why was she being like this? It wasn’t that serious! You were okay!

Delirium claimed you hot as she kept calling his name and her unbreakable hold on you kept you in a cage of a mother’s despair. In your feverish mind, a threat to your life was coming. Weakness spread like wildfire around your body and chipped away at the pain, slowly picking it apart to replace it with drowsiness. “Don’t call ‘im,” you continued to repeat, over and over again. “I’m just taking a break. Don’t call him over. He’s gonna be angry. He’ll hate me. He hates me. Please, mom.”

The sentences slurred together, shortened, wilted away pitifully, your voice died down, tongue deteriorating into only echoing, “He hates me.” A withered away, old flute. 

Your ikran was bellowing in the distance and you looked. The torches on cave walls were illuminating him and finally revealing to you his beautiful color scheme.    

And then your father was here, falling to his knees right beside you, his glistening wide eyes flying everywhere around your body — tracing all the blood, hands hovering above you as if he didn’t know where to start piecing a shattered vase back together.   

It was over.

Fully expecting the chastising you were about to receive to shake the floating mountains so bad the enemy would be able to spot you, you began to apologize — pride be damned, this battle be lost, you’d failed anyway. “Please don’t be mad,” you shuddered, meek and unsteady, tunnel vision flickering at the edges only perceiving him. “It’s my fault—I’m sorry—please don’t be angry—”

“Stop talking,” he ordered, rough and harsh, eyebrows knitted tightly, and out of breath — probably because of how hard he was trying to hold the anger back. You knew. That had to be it. “Don’t speak.”

Ah of course. This was only natural when he had refused to utter a single word at you the whole way, denying you the temporary comfort of a simple glance. 

Even the hand he pressed down so ruthlessly firm on your stomach it might as well be a boulder pinning you down was meant to be punishment, the whines your unbreathing lungs couldn’t stop turned into yowls — you hadn’t even noticed your hands were wrapped around father’s wrist in an effort to push him away, scratching him, but he only added his other hand on top of the other in return.

“Hang on, sweetheart, I got you, please hang on a little longer,” he pleaded, but you were already too far gone, Eywa was cruel to have plugged your ears to the endearment you’d been dying to hear from him for so long, making the last things you were aware father said to you the fact that he didn’t even want to hear you talking. 

And you fulfilled his wish. 

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis@alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily @n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

[modawg]

i feel like if rick keeps saying the timeline just goes with whatever timeline it is irl (more or less) so the characters don’t age outside of cannon then annabeth would be the biggest slooth and knew everything abt percy before he even came to camp using that computer they have in the back

if we’re saying technology ages with the irl timeline yk

like i just know pre tlt the moment annabeth found out abt that prophecy and chiron told her they might’ve found their guy she was looking that kid up IMMEDIATELY

like she was looking up first name last name middle initial school records public court records everything abt his mom his step dad yada yada yada like genuinely i just know she would’ve looked into all that shit

like she probably went to luke after chiron told her abt percy and was like “they think they found the kid from the prophecy”

“oh shit fr ?? when are they gonna bring him to camp?”

“oh idk..”

“damn well-“

“but his names perseus jackson he lives in manhattan new york he’s been kicked out of 5 schools so far- he’s my age his birthdays coming up pretty soon, august 18th, so he’s a leo- his moms sally jackson she married his guy gabriel ugliano a couple years ago and hes currently going to boarding school called yancy academy which is where grovers at rn and where chirons going tomorrow. his public records say he’s pretty small too i could prob pick him up, shorter then me by 2 inches😌”

“oh-“

“nothing abt his dad tho chiron won’t tell me :/“

“and when did he tell you all that??”

“he told me his name last night i’ve been at the computer all day there aren’t many ppl by the name perseus lmao”

“cool..so when perseus-“

“chiron said grover calls him percy”

“ok so when percy comes to camp how abt we make sure he doesn’t think ur a creep ok? and we’ll keep this all to ourselves”

“:/ ok”

“ok..cool..”

“do you wanna know his blood type? i already told the apollo kids :)”

“please no”

logistically ik you can say “mo she can’t do that bc the monsters >:(“ FUCK THOSE MONSTERS

their protected by thalias tree at this point and i feel like she’d be one of the only ppl with access to that computer anyway like they keep that thing pretty lock and key so i could see annabeth sticking her hat on and creeping her way to the computer every other night before percy came just so she could know exactly who they would be bringing to camp

hc that annabeths a freak and we love her for it

i will forever believe annabeth has a scary “percy” folder hidden under her bed with a bunch of shit abt him in there

emails he sent her ? printed and annotated check

anything written/drawn by him ? check

anything medical just incase ? check

random facts abt him she probably wrote when he was gone to make herself feel better ? check

your honour she’s a menace and she loves that boy

[eve-was-framed]

If I could get activists to listen to us about one single thing and nothing else, I would ask them to consider just how many of us perfectly fit the definition of “trans kid” when we were children. I would ask them to listen to those of us who, after getting help with body issues, internalized homophobia and sexual trauma, are now comfortable with the sex we were born as and wouldn’t be happy had we transitioned.

when gender non-conforming people say that we 100% would have believed we were supposed to transition if this movement would have been as big as it is now when we were kids, we fucking mean it. we’re not being dramatic or doing it to make you look bad. it does not come from a place of hatred, it doesn’t come from a place of wanting to deny you your right to bodily autonomy, it doesn’t come from the same place that homophobes come from when they say they think same sex attracted people are broken and should be subjected to electroshock therapy.

it comes from a place of genuine concern, it comes from seeing children and vulnerable young adults who remind us of ourselves being called “trans eggs waiting to crack,” medically transitioning, and then being blamed and ostracized for not knowing it wasn’t the right decision when that path ended up being wrong for them.

if you really want to do right by gay, lesbian, and gender non-conforming kids then you should listen to gay, lesbian, and gender non-conforming adults even if it challenges your worldview. we have the hindsight to know what we needed when we were children, and for most of us, the last thing we would have needed is to be told we’re actually the opposite sex and sold DIY hrt online by random adults.

you can hate our guts and keep sending us graphic murder threats if you want but truthfully the movement you’ve created is full of too much misogyny, too much homophobia, too many hurt people, too many contradictions, and too many unanswered questions to be sustainable. gender abolitionism is the only way forward.

[grapejuicestyless]

To Love, To Love, To Love

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: You thought you were over him in every way possible, but you can never really kill feelings that strong.

His curls were soft between my fingers, knuckle deep in his hair, pulling out the tangles with each curl of my fingers.

He hummed appreciatively against my chest, his cheek pressed to my body, lips resting heavily between the valley of my breasts. I could feel each breath lingering on my skin, his lip balm smeared on my shirt, one he had bought for me the night before to match.

“They just threw away the entire plot line in the fourth movie, I don’t get it. It’s like everything that made the first three so good was completely ruined for the sake of some extra cash.” Harry mumbled tiredly, pointing at the tv with narrowed eyes.

“This company always does this, can you even be surprised? Every successful franchise always becomes a cash grab for them.”

Harry hummed, and the sound vibrated against my body. It was all so serene between us. A calm after a whirlwind of a few years.

Harry and I had been two wild dogs, chasing after each other’s tails, running in desperate circles yet we ran at the same pace, and we never figured out how to capture what we wanted.

So many nights had been spent crying over the boy, how my heart ached with affection for my best friend, how badly I needed him to want me. I began dressing better for him, and carrying around mints with the hope that maybe the next time I would see him, he would have me.

But I was a dog with a bird at his door, giving him something valuable to myself that it seemed he never wanted.

Harry did the same things. He’d been drowning in his love for his best friend for so long, aching pains in his bones from the waiting for me. He’d never wanted anything more, but the talking from strangers and advice from friends led us astray. How could the other love each other? How could our best friend develop feelings for us? It all seemed so impossible, and the tears drowned us until we flushed out, and our conversations ran dry.

Nobody tells you that even once you move on, those feelings never really leave. Even now, after years of silence that neither of us meant to keep, after we convinced ourselves we flushed away our devotion and joked about how blind we were, with his head on my chest now I feel especially warm in the familiar house.

You can fall out of love with people, but there will always be that lingering feeling of “what if.” A feeling that bubbles until the warmth returns and your situations draw you back into the storm like a riptide pulling you under. Part of me would always love Harry, only now I liked him much more to ever try and be in love with him again.

Silence is much worse than any rejection. The heartache of realizing you lost contact three months deep hurts much worse than any apology for not returning your feelings. It’s like a knife.

We’ve grown now, we’re older, we can control ourselves. We aren’t teenagers who run around kissing the people by the bars, we stay inside and don’t go looking for something that will someday find us. When I complain that I want to kiss someone, to be kissed, he raises his hand eagerly and smiles, declaring he wants to press his lips to mine. But it’s all a joke now, or that’s how I see it.

Maybe to him, it’s not. Maybe when we make jokes about being in love, about the songs he wrote for me in my wake and the tears I shed over him it’s because part of it is still true, maybe we just don’t believe it anymore. Harry once loved me just as hard and true as I once did for him. Though we may not be chasing after one another, I know that part of him still loves me too.

When we’re forty and single, we’ll get married, and we’ll laugh about how long it took us to get together, but for now he lays on my chest and makes fun of some old movies that seemed better when we were kids. He points out the bad green screen that we never caught when we were younger, and his laughter will echo through my bones.

And I’ll soak up every moment with him, because even if we never happened, at least I have him. At least we never became strangers.

[written-in-flowers]

Here, Hyung?: Changbin x Male!Reader

Pairing: Changbin x Male!Reader | Side Pairing(s): Chan x Male!Reader, Changbin x Hyunjin, Minho x Jisung, Ot8 x Male!Reader

Genre: Smut, fluff, | AU: idolverse! idol!au

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Word Count: 7k

Summary: Changbin drags you to the gym with him after a recording session. What starts off as a normal work out between friends becomes something much more strenuous.

Tags: polyamory, public sex, shower sex, teasing, handjob, cockwarming, voyeurism exhibitionism, group sex, foursome, body worship, muscle worship, muscle kink, gym sex, biting, spanking, rimming, anal sex, anal fingering, creampie, finishing inside, cum eating/swallowing, subby!han, dom!chan, bigdick!changbin, top!changbin, bottom!reader,

Disclaimer: This work is completely fictitious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of Stray Kids in any way. The events within never took place. Thank you.

Here's What You Missed on Newbie!

***

“That was really great, YN, but I think for ‘come inside now’, try to get it to match Felix’s ‘Hey’. Like, his line is pretty fast, so you should match that speed. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Alright, awesome. Whenever you’re ready.”

You loved being in the studio. Working on music makes you feel more productive. You felt alive when you sang; when you sang, you could forget whatever bothered you in the moment. Adjusting your headphones, you shook out the slowness from your sleepiness and let the music play again. This would be your first album with Stray Kids. A repackage with your first single, ‘God’s Menu’, Chan, Changbin and Han felt some new songs featuring you will endear fans to you more. They also said it showed off your singing talents. You wanted to make them proud of you, especially Chan, who had so much faith in you. 

“That was good,” Chan said, approving the newest take. “Let’s go to the next line.”

“I shout my lungs out, I don’t have time to hesitate.” You sang into the microphone, following the music playing through your headphones. Yet, you thought you felt your voice crack on the last word, and you shook your head. You heard the three producers giggling, and you couldn’t help laughing with them. “Can I do that one again?”

“Don’t you want to play it?” teased Chan through the booth speaker.

“No,” you answered, smiling and laughing. “Please, no.” 

“You sure?” Han asked, purposefully cracking his voice to tease you. 

“We shouldn’t subject ourselves to that,” you chuckled. 

You sang the line again, this time hitting every note before the trio deemed it suitable to continue. “Very good job, YNnie,” said Chan through the speaker again. “I think we’re going to finish quickly today.” 

“Can I do one more take of that one?”

“Why? It’s fine.”

“I think if I add a bit of huskiness, it’ll flow into the next line better. I’d like to try it and see how it sounds.” 

“Alright, sure,” he said, “I’ll keep this one and we can record that one and see?”

“Yeah, cool.” 

“Cool.” 

You each decided the first recording was better than the second. Chan told you he wanted to give you larger parts in some songs to showcase your vocals. He always brought out the best in his members, not letting go of a line until it was perfect. You’d grown to trust Chan to make you sound as good as he possibly could. He also grew interested in the dozens of original songs you had backlogged in your laptop, and written in your notebooks in your room. He’d seen them when he found you writing in the cafeteria before dance practice, and asked. You normally hesitated when sharing your music; it felt like sharing a piece of your soul when you did, but you showed them to Chan. 

Something about the leader knocked down your walls. 

“YNnie,” Changbin stood up from the couch, fixing his hair. He’d come to the studio in his work out shirt and shorts, and you knew why. “Let’s go to the gym.” 

“Do we have to, hyung?” you pouted, hoping your cuteness might persuade him otherwise. “We have so much work to do here.”

"Actually, you’re done for today, hyung,” Han said, smirking as his words pushed you further to the gym-route. “We’re doing the next song tomorrow.”

“Stop being a baby,” said Changbin. “Get your stuff together and we can find a way to make you like getting healthy.”

“I’m plenty healthy,” you mumbled, grabbing your duffle bag from beside the couch. 

When you reached the door, Chan caught your attention. You wished he’d worn something else other than a tight black shirt and put a cap over his soft fluffy curls. Even if the other members surpassed all idols with natural beauty, Chan always caught your eye. You stood by the door when he came over to you, Han speaking with the other producers by the boards. 

“Hey, if you’re not busy later,” he said, “I thought it’d be cool if we worked on some of your songs? I’d like to add the one you told me about to the repackage album.”

“‘The View’? Oh no, that one’s not ready yet. I don’t think it’ll go well with the vibe of the repackage anyways,” you said modestly. “It’s not even finished.” 

“We can work on it together,” he insisted. “I’d like you to be part of the music production too. You have all that equipment in your room; it’s like your own little studio. Why not?”

“It’s just not good.”

“You need to start having more confidence, dude,” he grinned. “Your stuff is great. I mean it.” 

Compliments from Chan never cease to make your heart flutter.

“So, we’ll do that and we can get some dinner together or whatever,” he said. 

“Sounds good. I mean, I’m going to be beat since Changbin will likely ride me throughout the gym,” you said, “But that sounds good to me.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell him to take it easy on you,” he winked. “See you later, bro.”

“Later.”

Working out with Changbin was not on your To-Do list for today. You’d originally planned to go to the practice room for a solo practice run after recording. But when Changbin texted you a photo of his gym outfit that morning, you knew you’d be elsewhere today.

“Hyung,” you whined behind him as you walked to the company gym downstairs. 

“You’ll feel better when you’re done,” Changbin said, cutting off your complaint before it began. “It’s good for you to do something besides work. You’re turning to Bangchan-hyung. He does nothing but work until he’s burnt out and running on fumes.”

“I do other stuff besides work,” you scoffed. 

“Hardly. I promise,” he said, “After today, you’ll like working out. This is my mission today.” 

You walked in behind him to the company gym in your plain shirt and loose shorts, very unenthusiastic about this. You went to the gym to keep up your fitness for performances, and that was all. You learned after four months of being with Stray Kids that Changbin actually enjoyed working out at the gym. This should have been obvious given the guy’s muscled arms, chest and shoulders. The same muscles that had you weak in the knees the whole time. 

Memories of the last time you’d gone to the gym with Changbin made you internally cringe. You did your best not to notice his shirt clinging to his torso and biceps that day. Every time he made the softest of grunts, instant images of him making those sounds with you came. You hated being so weak for them; you should be focusing on yourself, not whatever horny desires came to you. You’d debuted, but you still needed to keep improving and working. You couldn’t let Stray Kids distract you with their gorgeous faces, perfect bodies, chaotic energy and open sexuality. While you did slightly more comfortable being open with them, you couldn’t let it slip too much. 

“Or we could go to your place?” you recommended to him, putting your personal belongings in the company locker room. “Play Playstation and forget about the gym completely?”

“Another time,” he smirked. “I need a new gym buddy, and it’s going to be you.”

“Why me?” you groaned, following him to the gym area. “I’m terrible at working out.” 

“That’s why,” he said. “Is it wrong for a hyung to want his dongsaeng to be fit and healthy?” 

“No, but…”

Changbin brought you over to a series of mats lined up in front of a mirror. His eyes swept over you for a moment, then he said, “Don’t worry, YNie. If you get hard again, I’ll take care of it for you.”  

“I won’t.” 

“Sure, you won’t. Come on, pervert-”

“-I’m not a pervert-” you answered, hiding your face from him. 

“Warm up with me.” 

You started with simple stretches before he led you in lunges and leg swings to get your legs moving. It became a joke in the group to call you ‘Pervert’ when nobody else was around. You supposed you’d earned it with everything you’d done during pre-debut. While you might act shy about it, you did not mind it so much when they said it with affectionate, teasing smiles. 

“You actually do have a good body,” he said when you both laid on your elbows and toes to do high planks. “How often did you work out before?”

“Not that often. Once a week, I think? I did most of it through dancing anyway.”

“You should come more often, especially with me and Chan-hyung.”

“Chan-hyung comes here?”

“Of course he does,” he snorted. “Where did you think he worked out?”

“His dorm. Another gym,” you guessed out loud. 

Working out alone with Chan. You didn’t mind Changbin at all, but any excuse to be alone with Chan sounded great to you. Not just because he said when he fucked you, he wanted you to himself either. You enjoyed being in his company. He carried this comforting aura about him that made you feel safe. You understood why the other members felt okay being open in front of him. While you did like being in the studio with him, it was places outside the company building you liked. He often took you out to a cafe around the corner for coffee or you went to parks where you sat and ate snacks together. You talked about everything from your lives before kpop to your families and to your mornings. The warm infatuation you felt around him blossomed into a much grander feeling. When you’d both gone out for drinks after a long practice day, you both stood at the bar’s outdoor area overlooking the Han river. The wind blowing in his black hair, the dim lanterns bringing a glow to his beige skin, you realized not a single soul measured up to him. Not even Jihwan, who once owned your heart. You thought about kissing him. You wished he’d kissed you. 

“You like him, huh?” Changbin asked, standing with you from the mats. 

“Who?”

“Chan,” he said, “You really like him.”

“Yeah, he’s a great guy.”

He laughed, “No, I mean, like-like him, YN.”

“Oh,” you laughed nervously, looking at yourself in the mirror to avoid meeting his eyes, “I mean, wha-what makes you say that?”

“The fact that you look at him with heart eyes whenever he’s not looking at you,” he smiled. “You’re always looking for excuses to hang out with him, and just him. I know these things.” 

“I don’t have a-Wha-I just admire Chan and look up to him as our leader, that’s it.”

“Ha, yeah, you want to look up to him…from your knees.” 

He laughed softly when you flicked his shoulder. He brought you over to the pull down machine, since Changbin insisted you should work on your biceps and back for a bit. He helped you grab onto the handle above you, then observed as you pulled it down gently with light weights. 

“You know,” he smirked as he adjusted the back to keep you from leaning, “He likes you too.”

“What? No, he doesn’t. We’re just bros. That’s it.” 

“Maybe to you,” he said, “But I know Chan. He likes spending time with you in and out of the studio. He picks you to be on his team in every SKZ Code game we play. He naturally sits next to you when we go out as a group; he always chooses to walk next to you. He loves the other members, of course, but he’s taken a special interest in you.”

“Yeah,” you finished your set with a grunt, “Because I’m still new and he wants to make sure I’m adjusting okay. That doesn’t mean he’s in love with me or anything.”

“I know when somebody is in love,” he grinned knowingly.

“Psh, please.”

“Because I was the same way with Hyunjin.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, no not when he was underage,” he said quickly. “I might’ve joked with him about it, but I wasn’t serious about it until about two years ago?” He took up the bench next, and you did your best not to take in the muscles. “We grew closer, and I suddenly got butterflies around him all the time. I liked teasing and joking with him. I found reasons to be next to him, to talk to him, to laugh with him.” He smiled softly to himself as he did his first set. “I thought we’d always be only friends because he was younger, and that’s how we started out. But then, during one studio session, he kisses me. Like, randomly kisses me. Then tells me he’s always had a crush on me, and hoped that all the times I flirted with him weren’t jokes.” He stopped pulling, then stood, “Then you guys started dating?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Maybe if you two stopped dancing around one another, you might actually get somewhere.”

“It’s not like that.”

When you went over to the pull up bars, Changbin let you get into position first. He placed both his hands on either side of your torso. He then pressed his lips close to your ear, “In that case, if things aren’t like that,” his hands went to your waist, “There are seven other members who’d love to take his place. I know Hyunjin and I would love you to join us.”

“Hyung,” you breathed, a special kind of warmth running down your body now, “We’re at the gym.”

“That didn’t stop you before,” he said, grabbing your arms to place on the bar above you. 

Your hands above your head, Changbin had access to the rest of you. His hands slipped through the loose holes of your shirt, his fingertips grazing your bare skin. You didn’t know if you’d be able to pull yourself up with him right behind you. Yet, you started pulling yourself up at a steady pace. It made your muscles burn slightly from the strain of lifting your body. Changbin didn’t say anything as he held onto your hips, occasionally sliding into your shirt to brush your nipples. Your eyes kept darting around the gym for a sign of a single soul, but the early hour left the place deserted. As you did a few more pull ups, you trembled at the hands going further down your body. Soon, he held you by the curves of your ass as if using you as a weight. 

“Changbin-hyung,” you giggled out of embarrassment when you finally let go of the bar. “Here?”

“There’s nobody around,” he whispered, arms going around your waist and face buried in your neck. Planting gentle kisses along your collarbone, he said, “We can mess around a little bit here. I do it with Hyunjin and Chan all the time.”

You gulped imagining Chan and Changbin in a similar position. Then, you gasped when the hands on your ass gently pulled down the back of your shorts. The sudden exposure left you flustered and not sure what to do. Tightness built up in your lower gut when Changbin pressed his groin to your bare ass, the smooth fabric of his shorts dragging up the crack. 

“You should do a few squats,” he said, voice low and breathy as he grabbed one of your cheeks. “It’ll help with your thighs and keep this ass in perfect shape.” 

“You think my ass is nice?” you replied. 

“More than nice, trust me.” 

He spat on his fingers and slipped them between your cheeks. A gasp left you when the two fingers brushed right to your entrance, and you might’ve folded right then. Still, you got into the proper upright position and began taking careful squats. It didn’t help that each brush put you right against Changbin’s wet fingers. Sometimes, he’d stop you just to tease. He started with slow circles around it, going up and over at times before returning to the torturous touch. It brought on a tickling sensation that hit your core multiple times. Your loins might’ve been on fire from how he so expertly teased you. Whenever you grew shaky, he’d give a soft laugh and slide his fingers down to your balls for a few delicate rubs. 

“Changbin…” you whimpered when he did this. You completely forgot the burning in your legs due to the pleasure pulsating to the apex of your thighs. “That feels so good.”

“It makes you reconsider coming to the gym with me again, huh?” he teased, pushing his finger to your hole when you stopped squatting.“I don’t mind doing this with you any time.” 

One arm around your waist, he slid his hand under your shirt to tease your nipple. You did nothing to push him away; it felt too good to stop him. You wished he’d do more. 

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because then I’ll want to do it all the time.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he chuckled, pushing his finger in another knuckle. Your body contorted backwards to the finger probing your ass. His thumb brushed over your middle of your nipple, adding to the arousal in your lower belly. “The gym is the best place for it. There’s lots of places for me to work out both my muscles and pretty boys like you.” You whined when he withdrew his hand, unable to avoid the emptiness he left behind. An idea came to him as he brought your lips to his, “Come to the bench press with me. You need to work out your chest.” 

The bench press proved to have nothing to really do with working on your pectorals. It served to let Changbin’s fingertips sail up and down your torso teasingly between sets. He’d added weights to either side for you when he saw the normal 20kg on each side was nothing to you. The only time he did not touch you was when you were lifting, since too much distraction might make you lose your grip. When he saw you struggle on the last set, your arms burning, he straddled you to help you lift it easily. You couldn’t help noticing the bump in his shorts, and how close it was to you. With the bar out of the way, he could easily pull it out and shove it down your throat. You bit your lower lip thinking about it. 

“Pervert,” Changbin laughed, shaking his head. He grabbed himself through his shorts, showing the print underneath, “You’re practically drooling for it, aren’t you?”

“No,” you said unconvincingly. “It’s just in my eye line. That’s all.” 

“Just like how your pretty lips are in my eye line, right?” he said, rubbing his cock through his shorts. He moved further up the bench until his crotch was inches from your face, “Or how they’re so close they could kiss my dick through my shorts.” 

“Yes,” you sighed, mouth watering from the thick outline right in front of your face. 

“Go on,” he encouraged, tugging on himself, “Give it a kiss or two, if you wa-oh wow…” 

Hooking your arms around his thick thighs, you started kissing right where his ballsack sat. Changbin exhaled deeply when you began a soft trail across both balls, nuzzling them to take in his natural musk through his pants. You kissed up to his shaft, though the position only allowed you halfway. You used your hands to rub the tip steadily growing upwards. You saw his eyes grow heavy with lust, and his chest started heaving slightly from your touches. Your eyes remained locked on his as you licked where his balls might be, the fabric dragging on your tongue which curved to the shape. 

“You pretend to be so innocent and shy,” he laughed, doing everything in his power not to grind on your face. “But, you’re just a naughty boy, aren’t you?” When you nodded, grabbing his dick through his shorts, he groaned, “A very kinky, naughty boy.” 

“It’s not my fault you all make it so easy,” you giggled. “All I have to do,” you gently slipped his shorts past just the tip, “Is exist around you and you get hard.” You delicately traced the wrinkles underneath the hard head, going down each one until you went back up. “Like, be honest, hyung. You brought me here to fuck me, not work out with me.” 

“I did bring you to work out,” he said, eyes closed, “But the fucking part crossed my mind too.” 

“Bunch of horndogs,” you snorted, “Every single one of you.”

“Hey, what can we say? We’re young,” he snickered, “And have a lot of pent up feelings.”

“Yeah, sure.” 

A trickle of precum spilled from the tip, and you eagerly licked it up with your fingers. Changbin let out shaky breaths as you continued teasing him, gripping the barbell on the rest in front of him. Someone could walk in right then. They could hide in the equipment, pull out their phone and film you driving Changbin crazy. Something about that scared and aroused you. The idea of someone watching you always made you rock hard, especially if they filmed it for later use. You hoped for a moment someone did walk in as you pulled down his pants another inch. 

“Let me get on the bench for a few sets,” he said hurriedly. “You can cockwarm me while you watch.” 

He lifted his pants up and you both dismounted the bench. You kept your hands in front of your crotch, dying from being so aroused in a public place. This would be the moment that Changbin takes you to the showers, where you both finish each other off. But, instead Changbin put on the weights of the barbell as if you’d hadn’t been teasing his cock seconds ago. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’s done this that he acts so nonchalant about it. You noticed the bulge forming in his shorts, and wondered how he is not dying from shame over it. Changbin laid right on the bench to then do the most scandalous thing. 

He pulled out his full cock. You thought you might be in a porn video. 

“Spit on it before you sit,” he suggested, stroking himself right underneath you. “I don’t want to hurt you too badly.”

You hadn’t seen Changbin up close on comeback night. Not particularly long, he was certainly thick. It made your cock pulse. Bending down, you drooled over the head. Seeing your spit travel down before he started spreading it over, you took hold of him yourself for several long strokes. You slid the head into your mouth, hearing Changbin give a soft groan, before straddling him on the bench. Changbin gripped the barbell, eyes focused on you pulling down your pants again and aligning him with your ass. You took deep breaths in anticipation of his width stretching you, then slid down. You let out quiet moans in every inch, your heart racing and stomach tightening as he slipped further inside you. When you finally impaled yourself on him, Changbin let out a low groan that tilted his head back. 

“That’s so nice,” he moaned, pushing up into you gently a few times to hear you whine his name. “Your ass is squeezing me so tightly. I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate with you warming my dick up like this.”

“You-Y-You should try, hyung. You’v-You’ve barely worked out today,” you breathed deeply, hands on his ribcage as you fought the urge to ride him. His tip pushed right to your g-spot; you almost lost your mind when he rocked into you. “You’re not the only one who cares about his members’ health and bodies.” 

He chuckled at your words, then steadied his hold on the barbell. You sat on his cock, your own throbbing on his stomach in your pants, as he lifted it up and down with ease. His muscles bulged in each angle, his chest and shoulders working themselves each time. You felt up his abdomen when he took a break, feeling to his chest and rubbing along the line between his pectorals. His muscle shirt created a thin barrier between your fingers and his nipples. This distracted him a moment, so he placed the barbell on the rest as his body twitched under you. 

“YN…” he laughed, eyes closed. 

“I just want to make sure you’re steady,” you said, feeling back down his body. “You have such nice muscles. I want to feel them while you fuck me.” 

“In that case,” he took hold of the barbell again, “I should work them out a bit more for you.” 

You continued rubbing up and down Changbin’s chest, his muscles moving underneath your hands. The temptation to start riding him came hard, and you found yourself squirming for him to move inside you. You thought he might give in with how you clenched around him, but Changbin maintained his workout. He continued pumping the barbell up and down, taking steady breaths, while still enjoying your hands and ass on him. The small worry that someone might come in and see you sitting on top of Changbin like this came to you again. Your ears kept trying to find the slightest sound of a footstep or door opening as you sat there. But, your burning arousal made it harder to care. 

“Ugh!” Changbin grunted on the last lift, setting the bar back on the rest. He held onto your hips, keeping you in place as he started rocking himself to you. You thought you might lose it right there, his tip pressing deep inside you. “I think we’re done for today,” he groaned, “We can continue this workout in the shower?” 

“Yes, please.” 

You tried not whining too loudly as you forced yourself off him. Your cock tapped against your stomach now, which Changbin noticed right away. Even though you both pulled your pants back up, hands still sunk back into them as you kissed. You whimpered into Changbin’s mouth, tongue battling with his own while he fondled you gently. The touch sent you in a whirlwind. Your desire burned hot, bringing up a surge of excitement during your walk to the locker rooms nearby. 

Changbin barely waited to start undressing you. Your back pressed to the cold steel lockers, you kicked off shoes and tore off socks before working on each other’s shirts and pants. Seeing him bare in front of you, cock stiff to his stomach, you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling him all over. You kissed down his neck to his pecs, where you sucked the soft flesh until the spots turned purple. Changbin hissed, but did not discourage you. Your fingers went down his defined abdomen, almost counting each one before reaching the top of his erection. But, you then reached around to feel his strong back muscles. They flexed at your touch, and you moaned. 

“You’re so strong, hyung,” you moaned, gripping his broad shoulders and locked yourself around his waist. He carried you to the shower stalls easily; he might have been carrying a lightweight box, in your opinion. “You’re so much bigger than me…It’s so hot,” you giggled. 

“Do you like that I’m wider?” he asked, turned on by your response. He put you to the wall as he turned on the shower in the nearest stall. 

“I do,” you whimpered. Your cocks pressed together, you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding on him. “I like being thrown around and manhandled by bigger guys.”

“I can definitely throw you around,” he smirked. 

He set you down to turn on the shower, then immediately brought you underneath it. The gentle rainfall sprayed over the pair of you; streams slipped between you even in your kisses, falling down your bodies to the floor. Your hands found his pecs again, which you squeezed softly to hear him groan in your mouth. Being this close to him, getting to enjoy his body freely, felt liberating. For years, you felt scared to show even an ounce of interest in another man. The lingering nightmare that someone outside the company found out and your career would be ruined forever often came to you. Beomgyu’s hurtful words and fists became a harsh lesson in showing that who you truly were wasn’t allowed. He would’ve put you in the hospital if the manager hadn’t walked in on it. As Changbin’s hands gently caressed you, you thought of them being harsher and rougher with you. He could break you easily, like Beomgyu. 

“What’s wrong?” Changbin’s voice pulled you away, though he simply switched to kissing your neck. 

“This feels…good.”

“I know,” he smirked against your throat, leaving a soft bite and lick before moving back down. “It does for me too.”

“No, not just like that.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve never done this with a guy before,” you said, breathless as you felt his hands grab your ass. “I was always scared they might reject me or hurt me. I was always afraid of getting caught. I’ve kept who I was a secret for a long time. I know I still have to, but…” 

“Not with us?” he finished your sentence, kissing the other side of your neck as he kneaded your bottom. 

“Yeah.”

“Good, because you shouldn’t,” he slipped his hand down your front to your aching dick, “The only pain you’ll get with us is a few hard smacks to the ass, and lots of edging. Particularly with Chan and I,” he kissed you right as you moaned at his touch. “I love seeing the pretty ones wriggle,” he started stroking you slowly, “And whine while I keep them on the edge. Do you like that?”

“I’ve done it to myself,” you admitted, head falling back as more water continued spraying on you, “But not with another person.”

“Then we can do it another time. Time is pretty limited,” he said, thumb massaging your tip, “And I need to have you right now. Turn around, baby.”

You faced the wall, breath growing heavy with anticipation. Changbin crouched down and spread your ass cheeks apart. Water ran down your back to your bottom, where it slipped between your parted buttocks and over the tight hole. It teased the tight sensation in your balls; shooting up to your leaking tip. Changbin’s tongue created a different type of wetness that made you lean into the tiled wall. The tip of his tongue circled and flicked at it, while his hands continued squeezing your cheeks. You even gave a small yelp when he spanked one side, enjoying the small spark of pain and pleasure. Soon, he stood, and your fingers curled to your palms in fists. He did not shove himself into you immediately, though you felt his temptation clear. 

“Relax,” he said softly in your ear, tip pressed to your entrance, “Relax for me, baby.”

You tried, but your body still jumped when he pushed the first inch inside you. It certainly stretched. He took a few careful pumps with the one inch before adding a second, then a third. Each time had you simultaneously wanting him to rail you and keeping it slow to make it last. Any moment, you knew, someone could walk in and hear your labored breathing and faint moans. Much like the times before, public sex made you eager for a hard orgasm. The moment Changbin fully filled you, you fell into a spiral of bliss. 

“How’s that? It doesn’t hurt too much?” he asked with concern, keeping himself hilt deep to let your body adjust. “Do you want me to take it out?”

“No, no,” you said quickly, “Keep it in me. Fuck me, hyung. Please. I want it so bad.”

Changbin somehow kept a handle on his desires, because he kept the same careful speed. He gave small slaps to your ass, pinching and grabbing the tops of your cheeks to distract you. When he saw this only made you hornier, he kept doing it. 

“I think our team might have a new butt,” he said, pushing deep into you as he brought you to his chest. “Yours is so nice. It’s all round and a little plump. It’s just enough to grab onto while I fuck your tight hole.” 

His dirty talk only added to the pleasure wracking your body. You reached down to your cock, fiercely stroking to chase down your orgasm. Changbin did not stop you from pushing into his hips, clearly content with letting you use him. His own moans joined yours when you went faster. 

“Just like that,” he said, smacking your ass again, “Fuck my dick like that. I want to cum in this nice ass of yours.”

“Yes, please, hyung,” you said, forehead against the tile floor as your body tensed. “Cum inside me. I want your cum dripping out of me, please.” 

Suddenly, as if the fates hated you, the shower room door opened. Who the hell could be using the shower first? Changbin stopped right away, alert to the sound and stayed planted inside you. Your body shook against the wall, and you clawed at the grout between the tiles from frustration. Soft footsteps hit the tile floors, likely slippers, as they came further into the room. Panic slowly started setting in when a voice rang out. 

“Changbin-hyung? Are you in here?” 

Han. You recognized his voice right away, but the panic did not go away. 

“Hannie?” Changbin asked, surprised. 

“I came to work out. Hyunjin said you and YN might still be here,” he said. “Did he leave already? I didn’t see him outside.”

“No, he’s…He’s here.”

Han paused, then stifled a giggle. “Really? Here, hyung?”

“It just happened,” he said, kissing your neck and feeling safe enough to pull you into him. “He’s so pretty.”

“God, you’re such a slut,” he huffed. “I’ll tell Chan you guys are in here.”

Chan was here? Why did that turn you on more? Changbin and you resumed what you’d been doing, this time with him taking over jerking you off in time with his thrusts. You couldn’t hold back anymore. Your knees and legs started shaking as your orgasm approached. Changbin, sensing this, picked up the pace. The two of you thought Han went back outside before a rush of cold hit you from the shower door. Han stood in his usual gym clothes, smirking with his arm crossed. His eyes scanned down your naked bodies, then stopped where they met. Changbin stopped a second time, head resting on your shoulder, as he took deep breaths. 

“Don’t you know not to open a shower door?” he asked, unable to keep himself from grinding into you. “We’re busy.”

“I wanted to watch,” he said. “I’ve never seen YN be the bottom.”

A second person then appeared, and you thought you might cum right then. Chan stood in a sleeveless shirt and shorts, his black curls back from his face. He said nothing as he took in the steamy scene before him. Your eyes met his and you didn’t know what to do except moan. Having the two men watch you made your entire body burn with desire. Your back arched, hands pressed flat on the wall, as you started meeting Changbin’s hips. None of you said anything. Han and Chan started stripping off their clothes, and the more they revealed, the hornier you became. 

“God, you’re leaking all over the place, YN-hyung,” Han said in a low voice, taking hold of your dripping cock. He swiped a bit of precum with his thumb to taste it. “You do taste good. Too good.” 

“Oh god…” was all you could say, mouth hanging open. 

“I was telling him he’s our team’s new butt,” said Changbin, stuffing himself to the brim. “Don’t you think so, Chan-hyung? His ass is as nice as yours, and naturally too.” 

“What does that mean?” Chan asked with a laugh, slapping Changbin’s backside. 

“He doesn’t have to do squats for it,” Han said, who began kissing at your neck. “Can you fuck me, hyung?” he asked you in your ear, “Hyunjin and Felix always talk about your dick. I want to ride it too.”

“Did your owner say you could?” asked Chan playfully, pushing hair back from your face. 

“Yes,” Han said defensively. “You can call and ask. YN’s part of the team now, so he said I could.”

“I don’t have to,” said Chan. “You’re the one he’s going to punish. Not me.” 

“Can you both shut the fuck up so I can fuck YN?” Changbin snapped, stopping a third time and driving you insane. 

“Are you having trouble concentrating, Binnie?” Chan teased, hand fondling Changbin’s ass. “I thought you’d be so into YN, you wouldn’t notice us right here next to you.”

“If you two would shut up for like two or three more minutes,” he said, his hips snapping into yours. 

“Two or three minutes?” Chan smirked. “I’ve seen you last longer than that. You don’t want to leave our newest member wanting because you can’t hold it.” 

“Fuck you,” he laughed through gritted teeth. “I’ve been horny all day, and then I have him looking so good in front of me…A slutty pretty boy who loves being fucked in public,” he gave your ass a few smacks, making you whimper and yelp in pleasure. “Isn’t that what you are, YN? A slut?” he yanked your head back and went faster, and you thought you might cum right then. When you did not answer, he slapped your ass again. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you cried at a few more spanks. “Yes, I am.”

The three members laughed, “Good,” said Han, going back to stroking your dick, “I’m a slut too. We can be sluts together.”

“And I love watching sluts get fucked,” Chan told you, pinching your nipple hard. “I love watching you get fucked,” he said in your ear, kissing the lobe before giving it a light tug with his teeth. “Let Changbin finish you off, cutie. I want to watch you cum the way you did last time.” 

Changbin kept the same speed, driving you mad with pleasure as the other two continued touching you both. Your moans and groans ricocheting off the shower walls, none of you caring if you’d be overheard. Balls slapping, hips meeting and hands smacking asses, you’re sure you were a delicious sight for a nearby Bangchan and Han. The latter steadily worked your dick for you, squeezing the tip and rubbing his palm over it until the sensitivity made you tremble. Chan worked your balls, reaching far enough to fondle them in his hand. You knew at this rate you’d spray cum all over the wall and floor. 

“You look so beautiful like this, YN-ie,” Changbing said so only you heard him, “All fucked out and desperate to cum. Be a good boy and cum for Channie-hyung. I know he’d like to see his precious boy cum all over himself.” He bottomed up into you, “I’ll be right behind you, baby. Go ahead and show them.” 

Eventually, your nails dug into your palms and your body started trembling. 

“There you go,” Chan said, “Go on. Cum for us. You can do it.”

“Shoot a big load for me,” said Han, licking up your neck as he moved his hand faster. “A nice thick, creamy one for me to lick off you.”  

Your entire body came at the mercy of your orgasm. Your back arched, giving Changbin a new angle, and your back went back. Hot cum leaked out of your tip, down your head to Han’s fingers. This didn’t stop him at all. All three men assaulted you with pleasure that prolonged your orgasm until you became too sensitive to handle it. Even then, the barrage did not stop. Han crouched down and did as he’d said: he gingerly and lightly licked up your cock, swallowing the bits on his tongue. You shuddered each time he passed over the head, the most sensitive spot that made your mind blank. 

“Trust me,” Chan said, “If you need a place to dump your load, Han’s your guy. He loves cum more than what should be allowed. I’m surprised we haven’t had to pump his stomach,” he chuckled softly, kissing your neck softly. 

“It’s yummy,” Han said, not denying the fact at all. “I like when it twitches in my mouth and throat; it makes me so hard so fast.” 

“Shut. Up,” grunted Changbin. “I’m-I-I’m alm-most there.” 

Finally, a distinct heat filled your own insides. It sprayed over your walls, and soon leaked down to your balls. Changbin’s loud groans could’ve been heard anywhere, but he didn’t care as he gripped your ass hard and pounded out his orgasm. The two of you took deep breaths, slumping against one another under the shower. Changbin kept you in his hold, not as tight but he kept you close. Neither of you spoke, and you felt yourself riding a whole new high. 

“How’d you feel, baby?” Changbin asked, kissing your cheek softly. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

“Ask me in a few hours,” you laughed, eyes closed as you basked in the glow. 

The four of you laughed, and you and Changbin rinsed one another off before leaving the stall together. Any stress from before had pumped itself out of you, and you felt light as a feather. While Han and Chan stayed in the shower, likely about to work on one another, you and Changbin left for the locker room. You forced yourself to dry off, knowing you’ll be properly washing at home, because your body screamed for rest. When you sat down to pull on socks and shoes, Changbin sat on the bench in front of you. 

“I told you he liked you,” said Changbin. “If he just wanted to screw you, he would’ve done it; not wait until it’s just you two to do it.” 

“He probably didn’t want to be rushed,” Sitting down proved to be a bad idea, and you quickly pulled on both your shoes. “Some guys can’t perform under pressure,” you grinned over at him. 

“It’s hard to concentrate with them talking so much,” he said, blushing and tapping your foot with his. 

“But you were talking too, hyung,” you laughed, grabbing your bag and following him out of the gym. 

“A bit of dirty talk isn’t a big deal, but I wanted to focus on getting you there,” he stopped by the door to plant a kiss on you. “I wanted you to cum as hard as you could, and I can’t do that if they’re yapping away.” 

The both of you laughed, sharing another kiss, before leaving the locker room. You climbed into Changbin’s car when you reached it, and you thought you might fall asleep in the passenger seat. You each decided a good lunch was in order, so Changbin drove to a place he loved. While you waited for your food at a pick up spot, your phone buzzed. 

‘You did great today,’ Chan’s message read. ‘In the studio and in the shower 😉 How’re you feeling?’

You squirmed from the butterflies in your stomach. 

‘We’re getting food, so I’ll likely be out of order for the rest of the day lol’ 

‘I know Innie keeps ice packs in your freezer, so I recommend using those haha Changbin is big in lots of ways.’ 

“He’s texting you, isn’t he?” Changbin asked, a teasing grin on his face. 

“He’s only checking on me.”

“Hmph, strange. He isn’t texting me to check on me.”

“You weren’t the bottom.”

“But I was there.” 

‘I still want to go over that song you’ve been working on. You haven’t shown it to me.’ 

‘I told you it’s not ready.’

‘But, you said you’re stuck on it. I could help you get it right. I love your music.’ 

“He loves your music, huh?”

“Changbin-hyung!” you put your phone to your chest. 

“He’s in love with you,” he said, picking up paper bags from the counter. “Just deal with it, and help me take this stuff to the car.” 

No way. Bangchan isn’t in love with you. 

He’s only being a good leader and friend. 

***

A/N: Gym sex with Changbin was far too good to pass up, huh? lol I hope you guys liked this one! Feel free to comment/reblog to let me know what you think! <3

[mrchiipchrome]

Princess Treatment

W.C. - 2.4 k

a/n: if you've seen this before, no you haven't

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

Ever since Ella was little her mum had told her that she had a ‘princess attitude’, that she only expected the best and anything less than that was unacceptable. She was also told that no boy would ever keep up with it, lucky for her, she wasn’t even into boys. 

When you met Ella you were 14, and yet you were already more than a couple heads taller than kids four years older than you. It was no surprise that people were a bit scared of you, tall and rather buff. 

But Ella saw through it all, all the snide comments from the other girls and all the rumors, she saw that you only wanted love from people, to love people just the same as anyone else. So when she started dating you only a year after your official meeting it only surprised the ones still believing the rumors and the ones who were making them up.

Ella was already getting the princess treatment when you were strictly friends, being somewhat of a people pleaser might’ve had something to do with it. But nonetheless she loved you with all your flaws, just like you did her.

The lovey dovey attitude never disappeared, even as you transitioned from being immature teenagers to being mature adults, you were still acting like lovesick teens who just fell in love for the first time. 

And not surprising was that the princess attitude never really disappeared, she was still letting you carry her training bag for her and give her massages. It wasn’t like she demanded you do these things for her, you just did them like you knew exactly what it was that she needed. Though when she was cranky her mood definitely changed drastically, princess behavior turned up to the max.

The only thing that really bothers you about the whole thing is your teammates' excessive teasing. It made you uncomfortable and you felt as though you couldn’t properly express your love for your girlfriend without being ridiculed. Despite the amount of years you’d spent around your United teammates, you were still closed off around most of them, the only exceptions being Alessia, Mary and Ella.

And while the three tried their best to get you out of your shell, it was futile to even try, you could only work and be open with them on the pitch, where you were doing your job.

Your teammates obviously felt your absence, so in an attempt to get you to open up a little, they put team bonding at a bar, thinking that a few drinks would loosen you up. 

———

“How do I look?” It had been a while since you’d been at a bar, and you didn’t exactly know what the latest club fashion was, so instead of overcomplicating it, you just settled on a black button up tucked into navy dress pants and a brown leather belt. 

“You look good enough to eat baby, are you sure we can’t cancel and take the evening for ourselves?” Ella almost had you convinced, but when you remembered exactly how many team bonding sessions you’d missed just because of that reason, you stopped. 

“No, you already know how many team bonding outings we’ve missed, they’re going to think that we’re avoiding them.” Your shorter girlfriend’s hands come up to rest against your chest, her fingers fiddling with the upper buttons of your shirt, popping two buttons open before you take her hands in yours, pulling them up to your mouth, pressing light kisses to the backs of her hands.

“You look so gorgeous my love, but maybe you should go with other shoes? I know how you get after a while of wearing heels.” When she looks up at you with the slightest attitude, the little glare that shines through every once in a while, you put your hands on her waist and pull her body flush against your own. “Or I can stop being an idiot and let you wear whatever you want.” 

Ella hums at your response, lips resting featherlight against yours, her breath ghosting over your lips as she tells you to;

“Wear that navy suit jacket, it’s warm and your arms look nice in it.” And with that she pulls away, frustrated to no end. As you turn around to get the jacket from where it’s draped on the bed, a hand slaps your ass.

“How have I never noticed how good your butt looks in these trousers babe?” The fact that she’s a hundred percent serious is what amuses you, and even though she asked you to, Ella pouts when you put your suit jacket on, apparently not happy to not be able to shamelessly ogle your ass anymore.

“Come on love, Less is outside and I’m pretty sure that she’s going to get the wrong idea if we keep her waiting for too long.” You send the girl a wink before ushering her out of the house with minimal effort. You kept your hand on her lower back, leading her towards the back seat before you took the shotgun seat.

“One more second and I swear I was going to report you two missing.” Alessia rolls her eyes at the two of you, fake annoyance spreading across her face, and you both act like you don’t notice her huge smile.

Arriving at the bar fashionably late, you immediately spot the huge group of women standing around the bar, seemingly ordering their drinks. Ella pulls your hand to go in their direction, your feet drag against the floor in reluctance.

You listen as your girlfriend and your best friend greet the women, the best you can come up with is a meek wave. 

“A coke please. Oh and just make the sweetest and fruitiest drink you can for my missus.” Your teammates look on in confusion and slight disappointment as you order a nonalcoholic drink for yourself. It was clear that they barely knew anything about you, you weren’t a big fan of the taste or the loss of basic cognitive function.

“Y/n is our designated driver, me and Less are planning on letting loose tonight.” Ella answered their unasked question, the team nodding in disappointment.

Finding a booth big enough to fit the whole team, Ella immediately settles herself on your lap as soon as you sit down, your ice cold cola being set down on the table in favour of wrapping your arms around your soon-to-be fiancée’s waist, your hands setting in her lap. 

Everyone settles into comfortable conversations with each other, you’re content to listen to the voice of your girlfriend and Alessia, tracing shapes into her thigh and taking a swig of your now nearly flat and room temperature cola. 

“Baby, my feet hurt.” Ella stops her conversation to tell you, the tight shoes squeezing her and the high heel likely poking against her heel.

“I told you this would happen, my love.” You tell her lowly, acutely aware of a majority of your teammates' eyes on you, seemingly more engaged in your conversation than their own.

“No you said ‘I know how you get after a while of wearing them’ you never told me what would happen.” Your girlfriend sasses back, saying it as if it were fact.

“Alright, then we’ll do the usual?” Ella gets up from your lap to undo the straps of her shoes as you undo the knot of your laces, sliding your shoes off your feet and onto hers. They were a few sizes too big, despite Ella being known as the bigfoot of the team, and as she settles back onto your lap, most of your teammates look on in some sort of shock.

“Did Ella just extort you out of your shoes Y/n?” Maya asks, like she wasn’t familiar with your girlfriend’s attitude. Being put on the spot like that makes you more than uncomfortable as you shift in your seat, thankfully your slightly tipsy best friend notices it and helps you out.

“Have you seriously not noticed Ella’s obvious princess attitude? God, where are you when Y/n’s away and I have to deal with it.” Alessia joked with the younger girl, teasing her about her ignorance towards her friend and national teammate.

“So you just do what she asks you to?” Millie asks, and you look at her nonchalantly.

“I mean, yeah, pretty much. Ella deserves everything in this world and if I can give her even a fraction of that then I’ll do whatever she needs me to.” You answer sincerely, there was nothing to lie about there, she was your everything. It wasn’t like they would remember it in the morning either way, they were all pretty wasted.

“Awww baby, you never told me that. I love you so much.” Ella smothers your face in kisses, seemingly forgetting the bright red lipstick she’d put on earlier. The red lip marks nearly blend into the skin of your face as you blush heavily at her actions, face closer to a beetroot than anything even remotely human.

“I think it’s time to round off the evening now before poor Y/n gets an aneurysm.” The women around the table laugh at your now significantly drunker best friend, both the blonde and the brunette being wasted by now.

Getting Alessia to pick up Ella’s shoes, you steal yours back for a more comfortable fit, Ella sneaking your jacket from its place on the chair. Turning back to see Ella basically drowning in the fabric of your jacket might be one of your favorite sights ever, she was just too adorable. 

Your hands slip around the back of her knees, the other clutching closer to her rib cage as you carry her in a bridal grip. Ella runs her hands over your flexed muscles, whistling to show off how impressed she was. Another dark blush covers your face at her drunken actions, clutching on to her legs a little tighter in an attempt to expel the embarrassment.

Ella keeps on babbling about nonsense as you bring her out to Alessia’s car, the blonde herself stumbling around behind you. She’d given you her car key at the start of the night to keep safe, and you had to shift your grip on the midfielder to be able to unlock the car.

Slinging Ella over your shoulders haphazardly, you make sure to keep a secure grip around her thighs in order to not drop her. Alessia giggles at the squeal escaping your girlfriend’s mouth, sounding almost like a creaky door.

When the car is unlocked, you carefully open the door and make sure you don’t bump the midfielder’s head, buckling her in and ignoring the way her hands travel over your body like they would at home. Making sure that her hands are inside the car so that she doesn’t get hurt when you close the door, you quickly move towards the passenger door, making sure to open it for the blonde. You were a gentlewoman after all.

After helping both the girls to buckle in, you finally get in the driver's seat, ready to transport both of them back to your house. 

They talk absentmindedly during the whole ride, light music floating through the air in its soft glow. Every once in a while you feel Ella’s hand moving up and down your bicep, seemingly entranced by the muscle. 

“Girls, we’re home. Less, the guest room is ready for you and there’s a pair of pajamas on the bed. I’ll come up with some paracetamol for you tomorrow, trust me you’ll need it.” The girl laughs at your words, exiting the car and walking up the driveway to the door of your house. 

You exit the car as well, unbuckling your girlfriend’s seatbelt and throwing her over your shoulder again. Alessia doesn’t seem to mind the wait, standing in front of your door calmly, picking at her nails.

When the click of the door being unlocked echoes through the calm night you rush into the house, leaving Alessia to close and lock the door behind you.

The blonde utters a quick goodnight before leaving you to walk up the stairs to your bedroom, the guest room on the bottom floor of the house. Ella grumbles when you place her back down on the floor, her feet likely aching still from her high heels.

“How about you take my advice next time, pretty girl? No stilettos okay.” Ella nods a little, her body swaying in an unstable way due to the alcohol still rushing through her veins, leaning against your body as you try your damned hardest to unzip her dress and get her into a comfortable pair of pajamas. 

She’s basically half asleep when you slip the oversized t-shirt over her head, the material reaching just above her knee. Pulling her into the bathroom, you make sure to brush both her and your teeth extra carefully, both of you having had sugary drinks that night.

You lift Ella up to sit on the bathroom counter as you get a makeup wipe out of her bag, carefully swiping it over her entire face, over her eyes and lips, all around her face. When you’re done, she puckers her lips for you to kiss, and when she tries to deepen the kiss even more, you pull away.

Taking out another makeup wipe from her bag, you pass it over your face, wiping away the red markings on your face. Ella frowns as her artwork is removed from your face, her pout quickly being kissed away.

Leading Ella to your bed, she quickly gets under the covers and then gestures for you to get in with her. She quickly forgets all about getting you under the covers when she sees you unbutton your shirt, mesmerized by the muscles of your stomach and arms. 

She gets up from the bed to run her fingers over them again, seeing goosebumps forming under her nails. But just as quickly as the naked skin appears, it gets covered back up again by a t-shirt, the shorter girl seemingly very disappointed with that.

She grumbles all the way until you’ve slipped in behind her in the bed, pulling her frame into yours. It fits yours like a puzzle piece, nothing more, nothing less.

Like always, Ella falls asleep in your arms rather rapidly, her drunken state impairing her ability to stay awake.

In the end, Ella’s mum had been completely wrong, she had found someone who willingly put up with her princess attitude.