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reiderwriter · 10 months

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Margaritas and Mistakes

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff, suggestive, smut coming in the next part (it's already written it just felt best to post them separately lmao).

Warnings: Suggestive language, dirty talk, some heavy petting and mention of sexual arousal. 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: On a group night out, you get a little more drunk than you want to, and when Spencer shows up looking like the love of your life and not just your coworker, you realise that the margarita’s are having more of an effect than they should be.

A/N: Welcome back, it's my week off currently so I've been writing a copious amount of smut, so please enjoy this 3.6k word build up to more smut coming soon. Requests are still open, and you can find my masterlist here!

PART TWO!

You truly made all of your worst decisions when under the influence of alcohol. You blamed it on the fact that you really didn’t get the chance to go out all that often now that you were a full time member of the BAU Team. But the job was sometimes rewarding, and considering you’d been working on consultations all week and not a full time case, you were really looking forward to stretching your legs this friday night and getting some much needed relaxation in before you had to stare evil in the eye one more time.

“Girls’ Night Out! No male detectives, partners, Special Supervisory Agents, Unit Chiefs, OR Doctors!” Penelope cheered as you arrived at her apartment that night prior to your eventful outing.

“God I needed this,” Emily sighed, taking a sip of her drink. “I can’t remember the last time I got to kick back with a glass of chardonnay.”

“You sent me a picture of your drink two days ago, and it didn’t exactly look like water,” JJ laughed.

“Ah you see, my dear JJ, that wasn’t kicking back. That was therapy.”

“Honestly, though, it’s going to be good to get out of the house. I swear, the only places I’ve been for the last month have been my apartment and work,” you sigh, downing the last of the drink Penelope had handed you on the way in.

“What happened to that guy you were seeing, Y/N? Was he that bad?”

“Don’t even mention it. He took me back to his place and he didn’t even have a mattress on the floor, wanted us to do it on his couch,” you groan. “The couch that was also housing all of his laundry. And I’m not positive it was even clean laundry.”

You really had been having the absolute worst luck with men recently; other than your aforementioned tinder date, the only men who had shown any interest in you being serial killers who wanted to murder you and married cops looking to fool around with an FBI agent. Not the most auspicious of dating pools.

“Okay, operation get Y/N laid is a go. Ladies, your jobs tonight, should you choose to accept it, is to become the best wing-women this town has ever seen!” Penelope joked, and you found yourself giggling at just the idea, thankful that they were taking the time to try to cheer you up.

“Oh I’m all in. I’m warning you now, Y/N, my wing-woman success rate is pretty high. I’ve helped multiple couples achieve not only orgasm, but also marriage and kids.” Emily boasted.

“Emily, next time you might want to think about the wording of that one,” JJ laughed. “But I’m in too, you could use a little unwinding.”

“Not you too, JJ. You were supposed to be our voice of reason tonight.” You giggle into your cup, feeling the effect of your starter alcohol already.

“Nope. We’re having no responsible adults in our midst tonight. That’s why I’ve already arranged for our favourite Doctor to come and pick us up when the last of us falls tonight. He’s at a screening of some Indie Russian flick until 2am which is probably about perfect for our plans.”

This is the first you’ve heard of Penelope’s plans, but you’re not against it. With a solid escape route, you can let loose as much as you want tonight and know that all of your friends are fully able to have as much fun as possible tonight.

“Well, that’s the plan for us, sweetcheeks. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” Penelope winked at you with a nefariously innocent look on her face. And suddenly you weren’t quite as sure you trusted her…

–X–

After your first margarita at the bar you were still feeling fine. Sure, you were talking a lot louder than you usually did, and if you saw yourself in the mirror you’d probably start giggling instantly at the stupid, semi-permanent grin on your face, but you were feeling so relaxed that it was of no consequence.

You’d moved swiftly from Penelope’s apartment to the nearest downtown bar. It looked pretty seedy to you, and the lighting was so low you could barely make out the faces of your friends in their seats at the same table as you, but you were sure some of that was just the alcohol blurring your vision.

Your hearing though was still in top shape, which was why when Penelope asked her next question, you almost spit the drink out of your mouth, rushing to laugh.

“Okay, fuck, marry, kill, Hotch, Morgan, Reid.” She giggled as she posed the question to her teammates.

“Oh come on now, that’s not fair.” Emily laughed at the question posed.

“You’re right, I don’t know a woman alive that doesn’t want a ride on my chocolate thunder.” Penelope let out a faux dreamy sigh and took another swig of her drink.

“And marrying Reid just seems wrong. He’s like our brother at this point.” JJ points out, just shuddering at the thought.

“So we’re all in agreement? Fuck Morgan, marry Hotch and lovingly bury Reid six foot under?” Emily laughs and the other two nod.

“Nope,” is all you manage to get out before going for another large gulp of your drink.

“Well, well, well, Y/N what would you be doing differently?” Emily snaps her head around to look at you, eager for the juicy details.

“None of you are curious what the doctor is packing?” You reply, almost innocently, unaware of the many plots culminating in the minds of your friends at that very second.

“Not at all. “Nope.” “That’s pretty gross, actually.” They all seem to reply at once, but Penelope pushes another drink into your hand as soon as you’re done and gets ready to launch a counter-attack.

“Are you curious about it?” She leaves it at that, and if you weren’t so drunk, you’d have seen them all lean into you, desperate for your answer and ready to hang off of your every word. "Do you think about you and him… You know?"

“Every night,” you sigh dreamily. And you’re telling the truth. In the recent months, you’d found yourself waking up a little hot and bothered after some rather steamy midnight encounters with the Good Doctor. You’d become close to him over the few months you’d worked with him as a member of the team, but it wasn’t like you’d had a crush on him or anything. It was more like your body had an unconscious appreciation of his body. Or at least for certain parts of his body.

“His fingers are really nice, you know. And they’re big, too. Just makes a girl curious, s’all.” You down the proffered drink, hiding your remaining shame behind the glass.

“No, no, no babycakes, we’re gonna need more details than that if you’re gonna claim that you want to fuck Reid more than Morgan.” Penelope insisted, more forceful now than before.

“And what exactly does every night mean, Y/N? Something you should be telling us?” JJ wiggled her eyebrows at you and you lost it for a few seconds having a giggling fit.

“Okay, okay, it’s just… You’ve seen how he looks, right? And there was that one case three weeks back. He confronted that accomplice, and when he was about to bolt he slammed him against the wall and held him there like he’d barely broken a sweat. And you know how it is, we see Morgan kicking down doors on the daily, so I thought I wouldn’t be that interested in feats of physical strength, but my only thought in that moment was that I’d rather like him to slam…me…against that …wall.” You slowed down your speech at the end, looking up to see what looked to you like the grinning faces of three wolves staring down at their prey.

“And now I need another drink, anyone up for another round?” You squeaked out, changing the topic before any of the others could make their own comments.

–X–

Your second round of margarita’s was probably where things went irreversibly wrong for you. You’d returned to the table with two rounds of shots for all, having queued up four songs on the ancient jukebox you’d seen in the corner, hoping to entice the girls away from conversation, and it had worked.

After you’d bought the first two rounds, JJ had bought you another, and then Emily had splurged on another three, and then Garcia had rounded the hour out with one more shot, this time with sparklers attached.

So by the time you got back to your table and took a much needed swig of a drink that didn’t have to go down all at once, you were feeling well past drunk, to say the least.

But with the free-flowing alcohol came the lack of inhibition, so you really didn’t care. True to their word, the girls had been doing their best to convince you to dance with some of the guys in the bar since you’d gotten up, but truthfully none of them had enticed you.

But now, the night was running out, and the alcohol had you a bit hot and bothered, so when you felt a nice, hard body press up gently against yours, you decided to take advantage of the situation. Without looking back, you wrapped your hand around the one of his that had grazed your hips and held in there, moving your hips back and forth and beginning to grind back into your mystery man.

He was a little bit still at first, but eventually began making some slow movements along with you, and you could see the others cheering for you from a distance, Emily especially whooping from her perch at the bar.

You felt the voice lean down to your ear after a minute or so, and you tilted your neck up to hear the tall man a little better.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” He whispered against your skin, still letting him guide you through the music. Had you been sober, you’d have realised the voice was more than familiar, especially since he’d said your name, but you were not, and so you did not.

“Well, if you’re lucky, tonight I’ll be doing you?” you giggled back, looking up at the man quickly. But with the hazy lights of the bar and the copious amount of alcohol you’ve ingested, you don’t catch a good enough glimpse of the man to realise he’s your coworker.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” he says, when you start to pull him towards the bar, his grip on your hips tightening, accidentally pressing you back into what you expect to be his semi-erect cock, straining against your clothing.

“Oh, what, wanna take me home right now? That’s okay with me, mister.” You giggle, grinding back into him more intentionally this time. You grip his hand and try to force it up to touch more of you, utterly carefree about throwing yourself on what you presume to be a stranger in the middle of a bar.

Before you manage to, however, he lets out a frustrated groan and turns you around by your hips, forcing you to look him in the eye for a little bit longer, and all of your senses finally start working once again.

“Yes, Y/N, we’re going now. Penelope called me 15 minutes ago and said you were ready for that ride home and I can see now that she was right,” Reid leant down so you could hear him enough, but your brain was short circuiting.

You’d been grinding on your coworker. The one that had been the cause of so much of your sexual frustration for the past god knows how long. Spencer was right in front of you, and he hadn’t loosened his grip on you that much. Spencer was right in front of you and his erection was poking into you.

Really, your following actions shouldn’t be held against you in the slightest given the situation.

“Are you going to take me home, Doctor? Lay me down in bed and get me nice and comfortable?” you giggled up at the man, now enjoying the way your insinuations were making him blush.

“Y/N, you’re not being fair. We need to get the others and go,” he shot back, irritation dripping from his tone.

“Oh I’m sorry, am I being a bad girl?”

“You’re certainly being very difficult- what are you doing?” He jolted as you moved your hands to his fair, beginning to play with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“It’s softer than I imagined it would be,” you giggled again, pressing yourself forward to press a kiss against his neck.

“Okay, we need to get you home,” he panicked, grabbing both of your hands, pressing them against your sides, spinning you around and walking you back towards the other girls.

“Hello Spencer~” the girls all giggled as you approached. You struggled against his grip a little, but he kept you firmly in place, man-handling you slightly, and you practically melted into his touch.

“Who let Y/N drink this much? Don’t answer that, you’ve all been drinking the same amount, right?” He left out a frustrated breath, and ran one hand through his hair. You attempted to move again, but he’d practically pinned you to the table. Your hips were pressed into the edge of it, his hips pressed against you, forcing you up against the table in a way that should have been uncomfortable. His other hand was resting near your discarded glass, caging you in almost entirely.

“Cars out front, lets go,” he said, his jaw twitching with anger now.

“No need, lover boy, taxis are coming to pick myself, Penelope and JJ up as we speak,” Emily slurred the words, but got the idea across well enough. “You’ll just be needing to take this little kitten home and you’re done for the night.”

They were all giggling now, as you let out a childlike yay, your excitement evident on your face.

“We’ll wait and see you all off together at least, so outside now. She needs some fresh air or something,” he was practically talking to a wall at that point, but after a few repetitions, the women acquiesced and moved outside.

“Ooh, that’s my taxi, gotta go,” Garcia practically runs from you the moment you step outside, and you wave at her whilst wrapped around one of Reid’s arms, stumbling with each step.

“Use protection my sweet babies,” she shouts as she slams the car door just as her car drives away, leaving a spluttering Spencer unable to respond that he’s not touching you tonight while you’re in this state.

The taxis for Emily and JJ arrive swiftly as well, and the two soon depart with similar messages and soon you find yourself alone with Spencer once again.

“So, your place or mine,” you smirk, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes in the sweetest way you can manage.

“You’re drunk, Y/N, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Drunk I may be, Doctor, but I absolutely know what I’m saying. I’m saying I want you to shove me against a wall and finger fuck me until I don’t know how to walk anymore.”

“Goddamnit, Y/N, someone’s gonna hear you.”

“Oh you want me to be quiet? If you take my panties off and push them into my mouth maybe you could shut me up for a few minutes.”

“Get in the car, now.” You stick your tongue out at him, but hop into the passenger seat. He slams the door in your face and takes a few deep breaths before moving around and getting in himself.

–X–

Despite having the window open the entire car journey, hoping that the fresh air will do you some good, you’re still on top form when Spencer pulls up to your apartment.

“I didn’t even give you my address,” you pouted, as you tried, unsuccessfully, to remove your seatbelt.

“I memorised your file, now let’s get you into bed,” he unclasps it for you, and you use the close proximity to drop a kiss on his cheek.

“Only if you get into bed with me, hot stuff,” you wink at him and make for the door. “You know, you’re going to remember everything I said in the morning, right?” You asked him.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he muttered under his breath as he caught you just as you were about to teeter into the hedge on the shared green space. You wrapped your arms around his neck for the second time that night and stopped him in his tracks. Looking deep into his eyes, you took one of your hands and traced it gently over the side of his face and down his neck, your eyes following your fingers. He gulped involuntarily when you hit his adams apple, and you snapped your eyes back to him.

“Chances are that I’m probably not going to remember any of this, right?” You smiled up at him.

“Alcohol induced memory blackouts tend to occur in binge-drinkers whose alcohol levels have hit at least 0.16%, and further studies show that 50% of adults will experience some kind of alcohol-related memory loss in their lives, so yes, I’d say you’re probably not going to remember any of this.” He shot back, almost entirely still in anticipation of your next move.

“Good, then I might as well enjoy the moment while it lasts right.” As soon as the words were out of your mouth, your lips crashed into his, and after a beat, his reciprocated, moving over yours just as hungrily. He moved now, walking you back to your door, lips still locked in a ferocious battle for dominance, until he pinched your arm slightly. You gasped a little, ready to pull back and complain about the pain, but suddenly his tongue was in your mouth and you were back at it all over again. He tapped your legs, signalling that he wanted you to jump into his arms, and you did, wrapping your legs around his centre tightly as he finished making his way to your apartment door.

Pulling away for the briefest of moments, he pulled your keys from your back pocket, and made quick work of your door.

“Bedroom, now Spencer, please I need you,” you whimpered in his arms, pressing kisses against his jaw and neck. Unfortunately, he had other ideas.

“No. We are going to the bathroom, where you’re going to wash your makeup off, brush your teeth and change your clothes, and then you are going to get in bed and sleep.” He unceremoniously dropped you at the door of your bathroom, and you slid to the ground.

Pouting up at him, you felt the tears well in your eyes.

“No! I don’t want to go to bed yet,” you sounded like a petulant child and Spencer cursed a little under his breath when he looked down at you.

“Y/N listen to me very clearly, you’re not thinking straight. You’re way past the legal limit, you can’t consent to any of this and I’m not going to sleep with you and then have you forget it in twelve hours.” His tone was harsh, but you listened to him.

Picking yourself up off the floor, you followed his instructions and got yourself ready for bed.

“Okay, I’m all done now, Doctor,” you grumbled once you were done. You half expected him to have left you there, choosing to retreat whilst you cleaned yourself up, knowing that he’d already done what was asked of him by getting you home. But he was still there perched on your bed, and you made one last attempt to get what you wanted.

As he made his way to stand up, you used the last of your strength to push him back down again and climbed into his lap. This time though, you made no attempt to take anything further, just wrapping your arms and legs around him and burrowing into his shoulder. You had to admit, you were getting particularly sleepy now.

You let out a small yawn and burrowed further into his neck just as he opened his mouth.

“Y/N, please, what are you doing?” He sounded tired now, but didn’t attempt to push you off again.

“You said I was probably not going to remember this in the morning. That’s not going to fly with me. So you’re gonna sleep here with me and tell me everything I forgot in the morning.” You informed him.

He scoffed at you, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he replied.

“So you want me to just sleep here next to you? No pushing you against a wall? No panties in your mouth?”

“Nope. Like you said, ‘s getting pretty late and it’s been a long week, so it's probably for the best if we…” You tried to finish but your tongue was so heavy in your mouth that you just couldn’t use it anymore. You felt the warm rumble of his answering laugh of disbelief as he manoeuvred the two of you under the covers, taking the time to kick off his shoes and remove his coat and shirt.

“Sleep well, Y/N, because when you wake up I’m going to make you feel all of the torment you’ve put me through tonight tenfold.”

And he held you there against his chest as both of you fell deeper and deeper into your slumber.

PART TWO

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ellecdc · 2 months

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Hi darling, maybe you have this request already, but I just found it funny that I literally woke up at 2am with thoughts of how did Poly!moonwater and reader got together and typed this on my phone half asleep

Marauders taking over every part of my life now, ngl. Your writing especially, I'm literally in here morning, noon, and night the past weeks just enjoying your fics 🥹

Love you, please take care always 💜

LOL Mimi you are so stinking cute, waking up in a panic because you NEED to know how poly!moonwater came to be 😭😭😭😭 I love you

I can't really think of a one shot of this because I think it would be a slow progression, so I'm going to make it headcanons!

the origins of poly!moonwater x reader headcanons

you're totally right, they would have absolutely met in the library - perhaps tutoring group? Remus was tutoring in DADA (obvs), Reg maybe potions and reader....you can choose?

And I always picture tutoring like, in the library with the textbooks, discussing the concepts (not actual physical practice which would require them to actually duel, cast, mix potions etc)

I do imagine reader x reggie being friends first, though Remus was always friendly with them

I picture Reggie and reader to be same age/year so they would have classes together and such

I think perhaps Remus would notice lingering glances between reggie and reader and would decide to befriend them in an attempt to play match maker for the notoriously stand-offish Black and the very quiet you

Regulus would have at first been VERY confused, startled, and generally concerned when his brother's friend started sitting at his table in the library

I think this would be because he was a) slightly worried something was wrong with Sirius, b) convinced this was a prank, and c) shy because he definitely found the werewolf attractive and really (hated that he) liked how calm and assured the older boy seemed to be

"To what do I owe this....pleasure...Lupin?" He asked cautiously

Remus would have been all smiles at that. "Oh, I assure you that the pleasure is all mine, baby Black."

Regulus hated that

"So...you and L/N, hm?"

Regulus turned a beautiful shade of pink in Remus' opinion

"I assure you I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Hm. So I guess your lingering glances and shy smiles mean nothing?"

"Nope."

"And hers? Do they mean nothing as well?"

That caught Regulus' attention.

"What do you want, Lupin?"

"Is it a crime for me to want my best friends little brother to be happy?"

Regulus scowled. "As you so eloquently pointed out, Lupin, I'm a Black. I don't deserve happiness."

Remus sighed sadly at that. "I disagree. Besides, there's worse things to be, Black. Trust me."

"What, like a Gryffindor?" Regulus muttered what he thought was quietly, but Remus let out a hearty laugh.

"Exactly"

So Remus decided to be a scheming little menace and mediate conversations between you two

"Hello baby Black!" Remus called out joyously one day, dragging you behind him by the crook of your elbow - you looked horrified. "Look who I found!"

Remus bodily sat you down at Regulus' library table and sat in a chair beside you near the exit, almost daring you to try to flee.

"Hello Lupin....hello, L/N." Regulus offered, knowing exactly what Remus was doing, but he couldn't pretend he wasn't at least a little pleased that you (and he) had joined him

You offered a small smile and a quiet hello in return

Remus looked between the two of you with the biggest smile on his face like he was watching two of his 1st year DADA students internalize a lesson they'd been working on for far too long

"How are your tutoring sessions going?" Remus asked, which seemed to spark some conversation and allowed the two of you to relax a little

you shared stories of some of the silly feuds of the first years, mistakes they made, crushes they had on each other - "oh that's good to know! I'm going to make them partner up next week" - and such

"Were we ever that small? they all seem so little" you commented.

"I don't think Lupin was ever that small." Regulus commented unintentionally which horrified him. He vowed to never say another thing to the two of you ever again. But that vow was broken the second he heard the sweet sound of your laugh at his comment, and Remus couldn't help but laugh too - watching you like this version of you was perhaps the most beautiful he'd ever seen you.

"I'll have you know I was average height in first year." Remus defended

"Yeah." you agreed disbelievingly, "average height for a fifth year - what do they feed you in Wales?"

Remus decided he actually really liked hanging out with you and Regulus, never mind his role of matchmaker.

hanging out with the two of you was like finding shelter in the middle of a thunderstorm - you dulled the sound of rain pouring down on him, offering him a safe, warm, dry place to recuperate from the chaos

Regulus was funny in a way that seemed to surprise even Regulus himself - so used to keeping his thoughts to himself. It was refreshing for Remus to see a personality come out so innocently and effortlessly - not performative in the slightest

you were very comfortable to let silence linger - never feeling the need to fill lulls in the conversation that didn't require it

and for being so quiet, Remus was very happy to discover how excited you got about things

"Reg! Remus!" You called (albeit quietly) one day as you came running into the library to show them a copy of some first year's essay on [insert subject you tutor]. "Look! Little Archie got an outstanding on his essay!"

Regulus and Remus were equally as enthusiastic as you (which would have looked very strange to anyone watching from the outside), both far more proud of you than either were of 'little Archie'.

But it was when Regulus noticed you blushing when Remus gave you a 'celebratory' hug that lasted far longer than strictly necessary that an idea of his own was formulated

"You know that Lupin has been trying to play matchmaker with us?" He asked as he approached you at the end of one of your shared classes.

You looked at him oddly.

"Disappointed?" He asked, mistaking your look for disappointment.

You were a little disappointed, albeit not for the reason's Regulus was suggesting

You had always had a little crush on Regulus throughout school, but you found that you really liked Remus too. And you liked spending time with Regulus and Remus - you looked forward to your little 'study/tutoring dates' as you'd taken to calling them. You were equally as excited when sharing a hello with Regulus in the halls as you were Remus, and...well...you kind of perhaps hoped they felt the same way. You were also certain Remus and Regulus felt that way about each other which didn't completely upset you.

"Really? I thought he just loved our company." you deadpanned instead, ignoring the subtle tightness in your chest.

Regulus' face morphed into a devious grin, however. "Oh...but I think he does. And I think you do too." he said, taking a chance and straightening your school tie, gently pulling you slightly closer to him. He swore he could feel the heat radiating from your cheeks as you swallowed thickly.

"What do you want, Black?"

Regulus smirked as he made eye contact with you. "You? Him? Both."

Your pupils dilated as your eyes flit between both of his, chancing a glance down to his lips as he licked them.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Remus was really looking forward to your study date today. He'd been trying to keep track of James all day who was on day four of no ADHD medication, talking Sirius off a cliff (aka, convincing him not to hex Mulciber at every given moment) and his only support through all of this was Peter (which was not very much support at all). He was very much looking forward to the calm oasis the two of you provided him

He was very embarrassed and ashamed when his heart plummeted to see the two of you walking in hand-in-hand, looking particularly infatuated

"What's this?" He said in faux excitement, only having to clear the lump in his throat once.

You smiled shyly while Regulus smiled victoriously.

"Your plan worked, Lupin. We've decided to give this a try." Regulus explained, holding your joined hands up and pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

Remus chuckled but it sounded manic even to his own ears.

"Well! Wonderful!" he shouted about 4 octaves higher than usual. "I guess my work here is done." He admitted as he slowly and dishearteningly packed his things.

"Hey, not so fast." You chided softly, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. "What about you?"

"What about me?" He asked quietly, pretending your hand on him wasn't throwing him for a frenzy.

"We'll return the favour." Regulus explained. "Tell us who you like, and we'll make sure you get them."

Remus let out a humourless chuckle. "I don't think that's possible."

"No?" You asked innocently. Too innocently if you asked Remus.

"Come on. Tell us about them." Regulus said as he sat on the table to look down at Remus, body facing him in his chair. "Perhaps she has....beautiful eyes...." He said sultrily, looking pointedly at you. "Or lovely hair...." He added, twisting a lock between his fingers. "Or a smile capable of convincing you of just about anything."

Remus' heart was beating frantically. They were on to him. They saw right through him, surely, but not because they were missing half of it.

"Or..." You carried on. "Maybe he has black curls that fall disturbingly perfect....or grey eyes that make you feel so vulnerable yet build you up.....or has constellations of freckles lining him that you want nothing more than to memorize."

Remus let out a pained groan. He was caught.

"I'm sorry." He admitted into his hands.

"For what, Remus?" Regulus asked quietly, and Remus nearly sobbed. That was the first time he ever referred to him with his given name.

"I didn't mean to." He admitted. fall for both of you he admitted quietly in his mind

"Mean to what, Remus?" you asked, causing him to groan again.

"What do you guys want from me?"

"Just you." You admitted shyly.

He looked at the two of you dumbfounded. You had the grace to look slightly abashed at the request. But though Regulus sat with an air of casualness, Remus could see the slight dusting on his cheeks giving away his nerves.

"You're not serious?" He asked dumbly.

"No, thank goodness. I'd look terrible in red." Regulus joked, surprising a manic bark of laughter from him.

"Both of you want me?" He asked disbelievingly

"Do you want us?" You asked, still shyly but unbelievably brave in your vulnerability

"more than anything..." Remus admitted

Regulus' face morphed into a cocky grin as he stood from the table and walked around it. "Then it's settled." he said plainly as he sat at his place.

"And what exactly is settled?" Remus asked, looking between you as you sat in your place beside him and Regulus as he took out a book.

"You're both mine, and I'm both of yours, and you're each others. We're together, Remus. Do keep up."

Remus knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He accepted this new reality and never looked back.

AN: (I wrote this during my lecture so I apologize for any errors)

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ideaofheaven · 11 months

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— after 2AM (choi minho x reader)

Synopsis: Choi Minho and you never see eye to eye. After countless troubles you two caused in class, the professor pairs you for a group project as a form of ironic punishment… Which brings you to a heated night of push and pull, hours before the deadline.

Pairing: Choi Minho x fem!reader

Genre: university!AU, enemies to lovers-ish, smut, then it gets kinda fluffy at the end??

Word count: 9682

Warnings: alcohol, they’re in uni, profanities, they are HORNY, mutual masturbation, video call sex, domsub undertones, explicit dirty talk (implied exhibitionism, breeding, and a tiiiiny bit of degradation kink), panic attack - reader experienced post-coital dysphoria for a bit :(

AN: sometimes your thirsty hours turn into a 9k mutual masturbation fic - jk, I really enjoy writing this one, especially the dialogue. I hope you like it! [06/30: did some minor edits on typos and whatnot]

Mini part 2 here

+++

"Out of every topic, you picked this? Are you mad?"

First and foremost, Choi Minho and you never get along.

There are abundant reasons why you can't stand him. You don't share too many classes with him, but when you do it always ends up with heated and pointless arguments. During each one of your presentations, Minho will raise a hand and play the role of devil's advocate, earning intrigued whispers from your classmates. Until one day, the professor had enough and paired you up in a project, much to your unheard protests.

Quite inevitably, it ends up in half-hearted discussion through the Zoom Meeting, only two days before the presentation.

"What? Got a problem with that?" You snap while still uploading source data into your shared drive. Then, a bark of mocking laughter pierces your ears, positively grating your nerves.

"A problem? There's no theory that correlates to it. Guess we're not having any presentations are we?"

You roll your eyes at the sight of his irksome sneer. It twists his usually bearable face into horribly displeasing. Minho's eyes spark alight with mockery, and you wonder why your classmates keep saying Minho "has the most tender eyes ever." Sounds like a different person altogether to you.

"We can find connections through other eras." You push through.

He rolls his eyes. "Which means you're doubling our work."

"Check the drive." You say through gritted teeth, barely holding yourself to spit harsher words. Minho does as instructed, albeit still murmuring curses under his breath and hand rustling his gelled hair, quiet but purposely audible, perhaps just to push your buttons more. But you choose to wait.

As expected, his eyebrows raise in surprise before he scoffs, "someone did their homework."

"And someone's a useless ass." Minho whips a glare at his own laptop camera - at you. Before he can say anything, you mute him. And you can see him biting his lips, holding back more words, solidifying your win.

"Shut up and get to work, Choi."

Then, his mic icon goes on.

"Fuck you."

You smirk. With a finger on your lips, you speak to him like one to a child. "Shhh. Be useful for once, will you?"

Both of you are petty and nothing sort of professional, but you have no intention to be the bigger person, not for Choi Minho. Begrudgingly, he turns away, and an icon with a familiar photo appears in the google docs.

That should motivate him to work.

His voice suddenly rings. "Hey."

He hasn't typed a single word on your shared google docs, you note with cynicism.

"What?"

"Your vocabulary sucks." Then in a douchebag way you know only Choi Minho can manage, he deletes most of your bullet points as you stifle a scream. He did not - "Let me be useful and change it up for you.” He ends with a cruel smirk.

This is not going to be easy.

+++

After a short-handed discussion, both of you decide to work in the student center. The next day, grudging and rather worn out from your last class, you force yourself to go. As you rise from your chair, a voice calls you out.

“You look like you’re gonna have some fun.” Kibum snickers and Jonghyun stifles a laugh on his own as well. You pout at your classmates.

“And you know exactly why.” You mutter with a roll of your eyes.

“I paired up with him last semester and got a perfect score, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jonghyun shrugs, gaining glares from both you and Kibum.

“Easy for you to say, he’s like a puppy around you.” Kibum scoffs, his platinum-dyed hair covering his eye, which must be rolling with annoyance. He then turns to you, “I’d like to say I feel you, but Minho really is worse with you.”

“Like, in comparison, he actually tolerates you all this time.” The shorter man adds to Kibum, perplexed.

“Right?!” He shouts, all dramatic and making you groan. “Seriously though, it’s a dick move from professor Lee.”

“To be frank, I can’t see myself finishing this assignment in one piece.”

“You should tell Minho to drop the class.” Kibum says mischievously, only to get pinched by the male with short brown hair, who’s impatiently shushing him. “Ouch, I’m just saying.”

Clutching your bag strap, you think about it for a second before waving the idea off. “Not happening. Professor Lee will still kill me.”

Your two male friends give off different reactions, Kibum is still finding ways to alleviate your pain (or to add more trouble), but instead, Jonghyun moves closer to put his arms around you.

“Listen, (Y/n), he’s not that bad. You’ll see.”

Chuckling at the positivity, you pat his arms in response. “Not sure about it, but okay.”

After arriving at the end of the hall, you go on separate ways with the boys. While they can go grab some dinner, you drag yourself to the meeting spot. The student center is quite empty, and to be expected because the facility is not too popular in the evenings. You find a table to sit at, and wait for your project partner.

You already have your laptop set up when Minho appears. Unlike you, he seems rather refreshed. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie and trousers for his long legs. In his hand is a large plastic bag which he dumps unceremoniously onto the table.

"What's this?"

"No 'hi' or something?" The male starts, rolling his eyes, with a hand on his hip. "Some snacks, in case we need it."

Oh. Resisting an urge to rummage through the colorful packages inside the plastic bag, you throw a doubtful look his way instead.

"Um, thanks."

As if not sensing your hostility, he shrugs in resignation, mumbling "sure" before sitting down and grabbing his own laptop from his bag.

Without much preamble, you both start working. Minho manages to focus on his screen, and the momentum breaks only when he calls your name to confirm a thing or two. At some point, he grabs a bag of chips for him to munch on, not forgetting to nudge the plastic bag in your direction. “Have you taken any?”

“Oh. Right.” You mumble, picking some chocolate stick that catches Minho’s attention for a split second.

Once in a while, your gaze drifts over to him, almost anticipating a weird movement or him slacking off. However, the only strange action you find is Minho blowing air towards the dark strands of hair covering his eyes.

In all actuality, you expect the atmosphere to be more sour and less productive. Yes, there's a strange vibe in the air, but it's more similar to awkwardness to cause discomfort.

Until suddenly, an insistent cursor on your shared google docs starts typing words that don't match your work. What the hell, anonymous tiger?

Growing exasperated, your fingers clack on the keyboard, furiously erasing the latest paragraph.

"What the fuck - I just wrote that!" The familiar voice shouts, and there's a split second when you think you should just kick him out, then do the presentation alone in class. That wouldn't be so bad.

"It's all wrong. And where are these photos coming from? Don't just put the bullet points there, they're meant to be the conclusion."

Minho takes a deep breath, shoulders visibly rising until he channels out his frustration with a noise that almost sounds like a growl. That sort of thing unfazed you, but you're still glad the student center is mostly empty.

"Listen, we can make a better statement than that." His eyes are like flames, and you can’t help but stare back and, as he wants, listen.

He pulls a chair, nodding to you in a silent gesture. Initially, you hesitate but you go over to him anyway. Minho clicks on the laptop and a new window pops up, showing a detailed page from a book.

"From this theory, I found a connection that can help us." With that, the temperamental male turns into a whole different person. He briefly explains the information he’s gotten from the book, all the while giving you the room to take it in. Then, with unmistakable excitement, he begins his train of thoughts he wants to implement into the assignment. With every sentence he says, your anger subsides, turning into something akin to awe. Not that you will admit it.

One thing for sure; for the first time, you think this project might work.

As he finishes, you blink rapidly. Minho leans back with his elbow on the desk, relaxed and undeniably proud of himself. You send a glare his way.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

His face scrunches, as if that was not the words he expected after the successful presentation.

"First, I wasn't done with the research." He says, eyebrows furrowing, then he points a finger at you. "Second, you muted me every time I said a goddamn word."

Oh, here we go again. Your two hands shot in the air, feigning a defense in front of the frowning man.

"Not my fault I don't want to hear your complaints."

There's a flash of something wild on Minho's face which you identify as his troublemaking expression. But as he leans closer, you realize it too late.

"This is why you should listen, (Y/n)."

In a snap, there's a pulling on your ear. Minho pinches your ear and pulls like you were a 5 year old with tantrums. The low level of pain causes you to winch, but it's the electricity from his touch that makes you jump back.

"Ow! What the hell!" You sputter and he snickers like this is elementary school, going with the theme in your head.

Satisfied, Minho releases you. But his hand lingers and it brushes the side of your neck, prompting you to hold a shiver from the ticklish sensation. It would be a drag to deal with more of his antics, so you get up from the chair to glare at him pointedly.

"You're a freak."

He challenges, fire in his eyes, "Care to say that again?"

Because you're not a university student who's not petty, you smirk and take the bait.

"You're a freak - hey!" His large hand pulls at your sleeve, halting your step. The sudden momentum startles you and you lose your footing. Ultimately, your body stumbles and falls with a yelp, and your bum hits the chair.

Grumbling, you shake off the shock before you attempt to get up once again. Then, a groan comes from beside you, too close, freezing you on the spot. A hand holds the side of your waist, and your suspicion is confirmed. Of course you did not land on the chair, you end up sitting on Minho's thighs, your back pressing against his.

"Getting comfortable?" Minho asks, his deep voice brushing your ears, and much to your dismay, you can imagine the leer that accompanies his voice. In panic and confusion, you attempt to leave his lap in a rush, only to be stopped.

"Can you get that hand off of me?" You ask, turning on him.

"I don't know, can I?"

His dark eyes clash with your glaring ones, gleaming with mischief and something else you can't quite decipher. All you can feel is his hand tightening its grip on your side, and the warm air of his breath, clouding your mind.

But this is Choi Minho, and you do not like Choi Minho, whatever the situation is. With a renewed willpower you push yourself off of him and be on your feet.

"We're wasting time." You declare. "Send me all your notes, we need to get going."

Minho only smiles sweetly, a one eighty degree difference from the man before, which only leaves you more frustrated. As he dives back into his work, you hide behind your laptop, calming your racing heart and ignoring the surge of familiarity you feel.

+++

The crowd was growing in number and in anger, too. The boys from the EXO house became more agitated with every word Minho said, filled with provocation and mockery. Jonghyun and Jinki were nowhere to be found, probably looking for chances to steal the mic. Taemin and Kibum were definitely loitering around the drinks bar.

You had no choice.

“Whoa, is that Jongin puking?!”

As expected, your shrill voice was enough to distract them before you literally dragged Minho by his jean jacket.

“Let me go,” he grunted, but his alcohol-induced state prevented him from doing it himself. Your smaller stature managed to pull him towards an empty room, which later you figured out to be the storage.

He tried to wrestle out of your grip, muttering curse words at no one in particular and you finally had enough. With both your hands, you slapped his cheeks, which were damp with sweat.

“You wouldn’t be able to win that fight.” You said sternly.

Minho froze, and while he was in that state, you quickly went out to get a glass of water. When you returned, he’s already blinking his eyes a few times, a sign of his returning sobriety.

And a sign you should leave the premises soon.

You handed him the glass, urging him to drink as you murmured, “I should go. This party sucks and, godammit, I just wanna go home. Drink this and… I don’t know, stay safe, I guess.”

The taller man drank slowly, but his eyes kept gazing at yours. When he finished, there was a soft look in his visage, and he suddenly smiled. Sleepy and tired, but sweet nonetheless.

Flustered, you left the glass in his hands, and ran away from the storage. The day after, Minho grumbled about his headache and loopholes in his memory from that party to Kibum and Jinki, and you sighed in relief.

+++

Sorry for the late reply! Was watching the campus baseball team

I added a few slides right before the first conclusion

Tell me what you think 🤔

These are okay.

But don't add more on that. We're almost reaching 40 slides.

Who said I'm gonna add more? 🙄

Idk, you seemed ready to add 10 more just to spite me.

Oh.

Why didnt I think of that

Are you free tonight?

Lets review the whole thing

Duh, tomorrow's the presentation

Do you think I'm that stupid lol

Unlike you I care about my grades

Yeah?

And you think I don't?

You don't seem to care if you get me into trouble

Right. Whatever.

Unlike you I'm not petty

Idc who I work with I can get my job done

I didn't mean it like that.

I'll join you at 11 pm

+++

There's a discomfort that can't be spoken.

You scroll through the slides, apprehensive not of the contents, but of the author, the one that finally snapped at you. Perhaps you deserved it. On the other hand, Minho should stop basing his mood on sports game results, it's stupid as hell.

Five minutes to eleven, the preparation is done. You could just text Minho there's nothing left to do, and both of you could catch some needed rest.

Suddenly, a loud beep rings in your ear. And you don't think twice before admitting Minho into your Zoom meeting.

"Hey, sorry for the wait." He speaks, voice crackling from the signal before it becomes more stable. "I just took a bath."

"At this hour?" You ask, disbelieving his decision, but trying not to stare for too long.

"Yeah. I just got back from a soccer game. Jonghyun's invitation." He shrugs, letting the towel drape against his broad shoulders, which may or may not be distracting.

Faster than a cat on a mouse, you force yourself to stop staring at him, and when you see Minho, there's an inquisitive expression on his gaze. He dismisses it quickly, relieving you.

"How's our work going?"

You clear your throat. "I'd finished checking them, maybe you want to see it first before we decide on the parts distribution."

"Sure."

And everything is awkward again.

Granted, it's not the most amicable atmosphere. Minho mumbles to himself, reading each point with focused eyes and not even minding your existence. After what seems like forever, he mentions a few slides that need to be double-checked, which extends your work time.

As the night heightens and the cold intensifies, you wish you were brave enough to break the ice.

Then, a loud yawn echoes in your ear.

"Can we continue this later?" Minho asks through more yawns. "It's like, almost 1 AM right now."

The time reminder doesn't quite surprise you. "Do you have morning classes?"

Minho checks his phone. "No."

"Then we're still doing this."

Your work partner groans, prompting you to hide a tiny smile at his antics. But suddenly, Minho raises his voice, startling you.

"Why do you hate me so much?" He snaps.

Something clenches in your stomach, and you force yourself to look into Minho's face on the screen. His eyebrows are furrowed, demanding answers which you are not sure you could provide.

"I don't."

"Then," he stops to hide a yawn. "Why?"

"I don't know." You pause. "But I don't hate you. Not at all."

His eyebrows shoot up, then he sighs.

“You’re just confused.”

“Yeah.” You pause. “I think I am… Like, really confused.”

Minho smiles in response, almost in relief. His eyes crinkle softly into crescents, like a drowsy pair of moons, and something within you softens at the sight. He should smile more often.

You quietly let out a relieved sigh on your own.

"Good. I'm taking a nap," he declares all of a sudden, standing up from his chair and ignoring your belated complaints. The camera view changes into something similar to a found footage movie, all shaky and blurry. Once it stabilizes, a sight of Minho clears up, showing him leaning back against a mountain of cushions and pillows on his bed. Then he sighs contently, the sound a little too soft in your ears.

But, he seems more comfortable on the soft bed. Unfair.

"Choi Minho, get back to the google docs or I'll - "

"You'll what? Mute my microphone?" A sleepy laugh. "I'm taking a nap. You and your ugly pajamas can suck it."

What the fuck.

"Excuse me? This is loungewear."

"Let me see." He laughs and you waste no time before adjusting your webcam to pan from your short sleeved top to the pants, all having the same pattern. They're cute, but from the way he frowns Minho doesn't seem too adoring of them.

"They're pajamas."

"It's loungewear, you caveman." You pout.

His full lips curl in a sneer, then he speaks with a voice surprisingly lower than before.

"Well I do prefer sleeping with no clothes."

Your mouth shuts. After a moment too long of trying not to imagine your classmate in his choice sleepwear, you grunt, exasperated.

"Whatever gets you off." You sigh, but internally cursing at your choice of words. Minho grins.

"You mean whatever gets you off."

"Shut up."

"Then mute me."

You let out a sarcastic laugh. "Mute yourself."

You stare at the pixelated image of Minho on the screen and he mirrors your actions, with a gaze more intense and drowning. It's as if he's not going to let this go easily. You are expecting more snides, but instead, with relaxed stretches and sighs, he leans back against the mountain of pillows.

"Okay." He shrugs. "Wake me up in 10 minutes."

The effort to speak fails as your throat tightens and you wish to go out, visit his dorm and strangle him in person. But Minho's already closing his eyes, tiredness taking over the man fast. And finally, you can relax.

If you're in a better state, you would have raked your mind to see how the fuck you let Choi Minho affect your this much.

At some point, you check Minho's camera, and sneak a time to take in his features. You won’t deny his handsome face and glorious physique. A small face, doe eyes, plush lips, broad shoulders, long legs that’s just unfair - okay yeah he’s hot. But it never occurs to you he'd look this calm even while sleeping. Gone are the angry lines on his eyebrows, and the tense clench of his jaw, all that’s left is a serene face that you don’t mind talking about for hours - okay yeah he’s still hot even when he’s sleeping.

If only he weren't such an asshole when he's awake.

Returning to your work, you never notice the rustling noises from Minho's mic. So when you see the Zoom window, you let out a yelp, surprised at Minho's face on your screen, peering with inquisition.

He laughs, and oh, his voice is huskier now after a short amount of sleep. "Surprised?"

"Uh, has it been 10 minutes already?"

"Not yet, but I can't sleep. Not with you staring all the time."

"Says the man who’s been staring at me for god knows how long." You respond, because the best thing liars can do is turn the table on others.

And Minho doesn't even deny it.

"Oh, yeah, about that."

"What?"

"Nothing." The quick response combined with his avoidance doesn't convince you in the slightest, and one wary look from Minho says he's well aware of it. After a few awkward seconds, he relents.

"That top, it's kind of…" he trails off, fingers touching his own t-shirt hem to emphasize a point. You look down, and - oh. The top button had slipped off, hence the generous view of cleavage that caught Minho's attention.

But you're in no mood to be embarrassed.

"That's the way you style it." You spit the lie with oozing confidence on a high level of bullshit. "You got any complaints?"

Minho's eyebrows furrow, obviously not buying it, but more amused. He’s holding back a mischievous looking smile, and despite not liking it, you have to suppress a bubbling excitement. Excitement of what, you have absolutely no idea. Or rather, you refuse to acknowledge you have fun teasing Choi Minho.

"No, not at all. And (Y/n)?"

You only move your eyes, not enjoying the apprehension because what now? As he finds your gaze, he smirks.

"That loungewear does look good on you."

You’re out of words to respond. As you ignore the jolt in your stomach, you let him be smug, satisfied, and winning. You don’t care.

However, minutes later, a small part of you relents and basks in the compliment in private, sharing little smiles to yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Minho doesn't have his eyes on the presentation anymore.

+++

As late night approaches, your productivity wanes.

Minho is back on the pillows, playing on his phone while you both take a break. Swayed by the night air and your sore back, you're now sitting on the bed too, but still facing the desk which is right by the mattress. After the pajama accident, you decided to wrap yourself in blankets, and when Minho saw your cocooned form he laughed, voice like crackling fire. Truth to be told, your blankets turn cold in comparison to the warmth he exuded.

The train of thoughts grinds to a halt when Minho chimes.

"Done for tonight?"

The honest and spontaneous answer would be a yes, it's done and we can now sleep and rest. But the hazy night lulls you further into a state of daze, making you wonder of the unthinkable.

"I still want to look something up. You can leave though, it's fine." Hook, line -

"Let me hang out with you for a bit."

Sinker.

What are you doing?

Silence stretches, and you're positive Minho is doing that stare again, the one that is construed as smoldering.

"Not too feisty late at night, are you?"

Minho has left his pillows, now sitting upright and staring directly at the camera - at you. There you decide confidence looks fucking good on Choi Minho.

"You know what they say, nothing good happens after 2 AM." You avert your gaze from his burning ones, and it's bold of you to assume you could escape.

"Oh? Any cautionary tales?"

"Not exactly." You hum, "Maybe unfiltered conversations?"

"That can be fun, though. It's like you're drunk, but with no alcohol." He rambles. You take notice of the sway in his sentence and open the Zoom window to check your partner. Despite the dim light, you can see the way his eyes droop with sleepiness, along with his messy mop of dark hair, and it's rather adorable.

"I think someone's guilty of that."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, there's no booze here." He offers a crooked grin and the expression turns into a thoughtful one. "Do you drink?"

"What's it to you?"

He shrugs. "Just curious."

"Sometimes." You finally say.

There's a moment of silence before Minho rustles in his bed, sitting with crossed legs and scooting closer to the camera. When he speaks again, the volume is louder, startling you.

"Do you remember Kibum's party? The one on the weekend after Valentine's Day?"

"Oh God, that one was a bit too much."

"Agreed." He chuckles, low and nostalgic. He scratches the back of his head. "Thanks for helping me out back then."

You're barely able to hide the surprise on your face, and Minho answers the unsaid question for you.

"I remember. I was drunk, but I remember you dragging me off." From the tone of his voice, he sounds sheepish, but so are you, because the revelation throws you off guard.

"No worries. Just… Don't do that too often."

He laughs. "You hate parties, don't you? I remember you were so grumpy before you left."

Hiding your face in your hands, you groan. "They can be too much."

"You don't sound like you always have a good time."

"Sorry if my dull life offends you."

"It's not dull, per se.” He waves his hands around as a gesture. “But it's why you're such a bummer."

"Again, sorry if you're not having a blast with me."

"Forgiven." A pause. "But, you know." A longer pause, and the silence starts to test your patience. "You can just ask me. I provide spectacular good times."

Respectfully, you give him a side eye.

"Right now I can give you a whole different testimony."

"To be fair, we're doing homework. But… I can do better." He leans in closer, pupils dilating with an emotion you are afraid to iterate, furthering your confusion.

"What are you on about?" You minimize the Zoom window, an effort to return to your task at hand. From Minho's side, there's nothing but the sound of breathing, but when he speaks, his voice deepens.

"I can do better than this. I can make you feel good."

You freeze, throat tightening as you're lost for words. There's no way to stop your mind from wandering uncontrollably. Afraid to see him, you avoid checking his face on the screen.

After a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, voice husky and more true to what he said.

"Like I said, all you have to do is ask."

Afraid to cross whatever line he's teetering on, you take one for the team, inhale, and take a step back.

"Then, can you shut up and let me do my work?"

Minho lets out a condescending laugh in response, like he's asking 'are you for real?' "Fine then. Let me know when that cursor starts moving."

Warmth rushes to your cheeks. It's tempting to blame the alluring night, but you know better than that.

And you should know better than to assume Minho would let this slide.

The awkwardness hangs in the air, blanketing the both of you with tension. You suppose this could push him away, making him sign off and do his thing - which, you don't want to imagine. But no. Instead, Minho is now lounging on his bed. And now you know, the more comfortable Choi Minho is, the more forward he becomes.

"Why won't you let yourself loose?" He asks all of a sudden, five minutes of silence brings him to the edge of his new found glory. Minho scratches his dark hair like he’s frustrated.

You snap your head towards him in disbelief. But before you say anything, he continues with a slightly raised tone.

"Like, come on, (Y/n). We're in university. You can have some fun."

"Doesn't seem worth my time."

"I can be worth your time, if you let me."

"This again?" You sigh. "What do you want from me, Minho?"

Another silence, and this time, you regret the question. From the corner of your eyes, Minho is getting up from his position on the bed to lean in, face uncharacteristically serious.

“I know you know exactly what I want.” He begins. “And I see the way you look at me.”

There's no teasing, just a plain observation. Those words alone kick your heartbeat into a stuttering mess. Despite the urge to confirm, there's still hesitation. You don't want to give in. Not to him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You internally curse when your words come out too breathy, and Minho definitely notices, judging by the crooked smile adoring his lips.

"Aren't you tired of teasing yourself like this?" He asks, languid and all knowing. "Why are we still here? Our work is done. You stopped typing ten minutes ago."

"Okay, that's it. We're done for today." You cut him off, closing your docs to prove a point. But it doesn't deter him in the slightest.

"No, we're not." He says with a finality, sleep gone from his voice.

Because without the presentation and all other student responsibilities, you're just two young adults who forget nothing good will come out this late at night.

And, despite the virtual presence, he still manages to corner you, and string you along into his game.

Perhaps, you let him do so.

"You don't know how tempting you look right now." He whispers, making shivers run down your spine. Checking your camera view, you find out your blankets had fallen off, now sitting on your lap while your skewed pajamas look rumpled and, once again, revealing too much of your skin. With your messy hair and dazed eyes, you can understand why Minho would say that. You look fucked out. And there's no action - not yet.

So you try again, "Minho - "

"I like that look on your face."

You scoff, then try again. "Like I want to strangle you?"

"No. Like you want me to strangle you."

And that's when you know you can't try your way out of this situation. A jolt of arousal unwittingly shocks your body and Minho sees enough of your expression before flashing you a knowing smile. "What's on your mind?"

"...Nothing." You answer a beat too fast.

"You're thinking about me, aren't you?"

"That's - that's enough. Aren't you tired?"

"Not really. Why don't you tire me out?"

"If doing a presentation with me didn't do shit, I don't know what will."

"You just won't back down will you?" Minho's form on the screen shuffles, adjusting his position to lean back against the headboard. "Can't say I don't like it though." Then, a low sigh startles you, and your eyes grow wide.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Helping you out."

Unfortunately, he's not. He's laid on the bed, leaning back with his legs stretched out, a hand lazily stroking his own thighs. And it's a sight you can watch forever.

"How does touching yourself help me out, Choi?"

"You're too tense," he says in between grunts, earning more reaction from your traitorous body. "Be thankful I'm showing you how to relax."

"You're a goddamn pervert."

"And you like it."

"Fuck, why would I - do you actually think your naughty little words will work on me? Try again."

There's blazing confidence in his eyes, as if he's holding all the cards and you're left in the dark.

"Challenge accepted, beautiful.”

He continues to tease himself as he stares at your form in the camera, hands getting closer to his crotch.

"You can tell me to stop."

Before you can say anything, he reaches low and begins to palm himself through the sweatpants. Even on camera, you can see the sizable tent. You unconsciously lick your lips, earning a mocking laugh from his end.

"You're drooling."

You throw a glare at him. "Fuck you."

"We can get to that later. But right now, can I continue, (Y/n)?"

The question surprises you as it offers your ticket to the way out, despite the expectation visible in Minho’s pleading eyes. You take a deep breath, sealing the deal.

"...You said you accepted the challenge."

And that's all Minho needs to exhale harshly, sounding more like a moan.

"I did, but can't you just - ah - do something?" The husky voice alone sends a wave of arousal to your core, and you instinctively snap your thighs together. A cloud of lust starts to muddle your brain, and you can't think straight anymore.

Of course Minho notices immediately.

"I saw it."

"You see nothing."

"You're a fucking menace." He grunts, and it sounds way more sexy than angry, like really sexy. With a hand still touching and exploring, he continues to sigh.

"A menace that makes you jerk off while zooming with me?" You can't help but tease, in which he moans in response instead of answering.

"Listen, we're both tired and I need this. So, fuck it."

In one swift movement, his hand dives into his briefs and grabs his cock by the hilt, at least from what you guess through the fabric. His mouth falls open in pleasure.

"Godammit, Minho, you shouldn't - "

"Shhh… Let me have this." His hand speeds up and he closes his eyes, face scrunching in pleasure as he lets out sensuous noises that tempt you more until a whimper escapes your lips. You hear him chuckle.

"Care to join me? I bet you're already wet."

You force a laugh. “I don’t think so.”

"Then prove it."

“Do it yourself then.”

"Oh baby, if I were there, I would do more than that." You're frozen on the spot, anticipating his words. As he hears no complaint from you, he continues. "I could pull you down on my lap, just like that night in the library - "

"It was an accident." You protest, voice small and unsurprisingly ignored.

"- put my arm around your waist, and then I'd slip a hand underneath those pajama pants - loungewear." He laughs while correcting the words and you can’t help but join him incredulously.

At this point, you can only hear Minho's heavy breathing, or perhaps they were your own. You have no idea anymore, your brain muddled with desire and anticipation. His brown eyes slide to the camera, right at you.

"I wonder how wet you are beneath all that?"

For some reason, you still try. "Dry?”

"Wrong. You'd be soaking wet, and I just know you'd instantly jump as soon as I touched your panties." He explains nonchalantly, but then the haughty tone is replaced by something mocking and exaggerated. "But I guess I am the one who’s wrong."

"What?"

He ceases any movement on his part, and you find yourself disappointed. "If you're really not into this," he begins, voice breathy but there's impatience there that comes from the built up frustration. "Tell me to stop."

Everything halts in your brain. The erotic display gets to you too much until you can't even say a word. Instead, you zoom in on his arms, and how the muscles rippled when he stroke himself. The way his neck tenses, pronouncing his collarbones more. You even wonder if you would be able to see droplets of sweat on his temples if he was in front of you. As Minho grows more impatient, his eyebrows furrow.

He's absolutely gorgeous.

"Tell. Me. To. Stop.”

You swallow, helplessly and undeniably holding yourself back.

“What do you want, (Y/n)?” He focuses on you, chest heaving with each pant. Only now you see how desperate he is.

"Minho…" You let out, brain short-circuiting with lust.

“Yeah, baby? Tell me. You want the same thing as I do?” Whatever he sees on the screen makes him start moving again. His hand finds his shaft again, and he moans loudly. "You want to feel good? I can make you feel good, I can help you out.”

With every word, you wish you can say yes, yes, and yes. Instead, with a sharp intake, you finally say meekly, “Tell me what to do.”

You hear Minho murmur some curses before turning to you.

“Get that blanket away. I want to see you.”

Nervously, you reposition yourself, taking the blanket aside and you hold the urge to sigh as the scratchy fabric grazes your hot skin. You're already oversensitive and you haven't even started yet. Minho is staring at you through the camera, shameless with his want and impatience.

“Touch yourself, baby. Start with your tits.”

With shaky fingers, you start by caressing your chest. Online video meetings are peculiar because there's always a delay before the other party reacts to what you do. In that short window of time, doubt arises. You wonder and think how this happens. But then, Minho lets out a guttural moan, the sound akin to someone who's about to reach his climax.

And the surge of confidence crashes to you like a wave.

"I'm just touching my tits and you're gonna cum already?" You ask with a smug smile.

Minho pays no mind to your comment, instead he scoots closer to the laptop. "Shit, you're actually doing this. Now we're talking."

"Just this one time." You hurriedly find your hardening nipples through the thin fabric of your clothes, wincing with pleasure. "I need this too."

"Yeah? Show me how much you need this. Take off that shirt.”

God, now that you're not lying to yourself and to Minho there's a relentless urge to seek more pleasure. And the thought of Minho seeing you masturbate lights a fire in your stomach.

So you unbutton your top, slow and deliberate to tease the man on the other end of the application. Because that's what he deserves. You hear an exasperated "Hurry up," before a smirk graces your lips for a change. As you shrug off the shirt, you already know his eyes are glued to the sight of your skin.

"God, that body…" He trails off. "You're so fucking hot."

"Likewise." You sigh as your hand slips under the waistband of your pants. "Dammit, I can't believe this."

He chuckles, delirious but still tantalizingly sexy.

"You know what to do. Go and touch that pussy for me."

His assertiveness flicks a switch inside you. Letting out a shuddering sigh, you move backwards further, making sure everything you do will be captured with your web camera. Then, you pull open your legs at a traitorous slow movement, pulling more curses from Minho.

"Touch it." He orders.

You obey him and tug your panties aside to touch your core directly. The contact makes you moan, and Minho knows he's getting what he wants. And so are you.

"See, that wasn't so hard."

"S-shut up."

"You're drenched, I just know it."

He's right, and your head spins with relentless want. Imagining that voice speaking directly to your ear, soft lips grazing your skin as his hand travels south, leaving fire in its trail.

Like your hand is his, you continue rubbing your body, even spreading your legs more, as if he's right there as your audience. You pull your pants down, letting it pool on one of your ankles, before raising one leg slightly to find the angle that gives you the most pleasure.

As you hear wet sounds in your ear, you return your gaze to the screen to enjoy the sight. Minho had his pants removed properly as well, and he has one hand gripping his stiff cock, which has a sheen from what you assume is his own precum. God, the whole visual on your screen is such a sin.

"Shit." You can't help but say, and Minho only laughs in response.

"You're allowed to imagine me fucking you, don't worry." He teases, lips curling into a sneer, and considering the situation, it looks devilish and way too seductive.

With a shaky breath, you scoff.

"Is that what you're thinking? What, fucking me from behind?"

"Not from behind, baby. I want to see your face as my cock pushes in you for the first time."

You hiss as you slide your fingers in your pussy, scrunching your face with ecstasy, and fuck, Minho's into it, because he even stops to take a proper look at you and the way you pleasure yourself.

"Enjoying the view, Choi?" You challenge, and he gulps.

"I wish I could be there, watching you fuck yourself with your fingers."

"Are you sure - ah - you can just stay there and watch?" Your fingers already feel so good dragging against your walls and you want to know how it feels to have his thick cock inside you.

He smirks.

"I can be patient, baby. I can watch you all day."

"Why don't you help me out?"

"Oh? What do you want me to do?"

You groan. "You know…"

"What? Use your words, (Y/n)." Minho stops only to look at you straight from his camera, eyes almost begging. And you fall for it.

"I want your fingers in me."

He hums, a silent encouragement for you to continue.

"Mmhm. Keep touching yourself, baby girl. What else do you want?"

You groan at the nickname, feeling more wetness now inside you. In a daze, you manage out in between gasps.

"I need you to fuck me."

"What was that?"

"Minho, fuck me, please." You say as you add another finger, pushing inside your drenched pussy, making you moan your words.

"Oh baby, you're so cute begging me like that. I'm gonna fuck you hard, you hear me? You will be shaking and crying when I'm done with you."

You're whimpering, hands still furiously sliding in and out of your wet folds as you watch Minho throw his head back in immense pleasure. He's loud - groans and moans fill your ear, and the sounds coming from him are so lewd, and wet.

He's going to be the death of you.

There's a moment when you soak in each other's voices, each moan and squelch increasing your pleasure instead. Minho, dark eyes so clouded with lust it's clear even through the screen, demands another question to you.

"What do you want, (Y/n)? Tell me what you want to do to me."

Oh, you don't even know where to start. Flooded with many scenarios, you answer him with the first thing that comes to mind.

"I want to ride your face." You admit sheepishly, only to earn a low chuckle from the other side.

"Shit, that's hot. I wish you were here. I - " another low grunt. "I would have you sitting on my face, my tongue lapping your cunt as you scream out my name. I bet you taste like honey. You're going to grab my headboard, my fingers stuffing your mouth because I know you're going to be loud, aren't you baby?"

As if following his command, you whine out a "yes", voice high pitched and it sounds utterly pathetic.

With two fingers pushing in and out of your cunt deliciously, your other hand joins to rub your clit, and you hiccup a moan.

"Minho, please I want your cock inside me," you cry out, drowning in the euphoria of lust. All because of him, only him.

"Me too, baby, me too. I want to fuck you all day long. I want to take you in our classroom. Would you like that, huh? After class ended, I could just bend you over the desk and have my way with you."

You won't even deny how much wetter you get after imagining all his words. Public sex doesn't usually excite you much, but this is Minho, and everything with Minho sounds exhilarating and turns you on like hell. Your breath becomes shakier, and everything is intense. You can't feel your hands anymore.

"I'd like that. Hell, you can take me at the student center for all I care."

Minho, ever the sadist, sneers. "I knew it. You like having an audience huh? How about the next time we visit you sit on my cock? I bet you're going to have a hard time shutting up."

A gasp. "Like you're any better, you're freaking loud."

"Don't blame me, I bet your pussy will be so tight around me." He groans, enjoying his own imagination as he continues to pump his cock. "God, this feels so good. Touch your tits for me, baby."

You do as he says, enjoying the jolt of pleasure coming from pinching your nipples. As Minho keeps encouraging you, your breath quickens, tensing up as your climax approaches fast.

"Keep going - shit I need to taste you when you cum. Are you close? I'm so close."

"Minho," you moan, words slurring. "I'm so close, too. Fuck, I need your cum inside of me."

"Shit, (Y/n) - "

"I would hold you with my legs and I wouldn't let you go until you fill me up." There’s no more filter so you keep rambling, and before you know it you hear Minho groaning loudly. You check on the screen to see him cum, ropes of white getting onto his bed sheets. Not expecting him to cum first, you let out a delirious laugh. Minho catches you, still panting from his afterglow. He looks gorgeous -

And dangerous.

"You want to be filled, don't you?" He begins, voice still stuttering, but low and immediately freezing you in place. "You want my cum so bad you actually beg for it."

Your breaths pick up in pace.

"I don't think you're done yet. Get that hand working."

You grumble a word or two before resuming to touch your body, hands shaking with heightened pleasure. You hold back a hiss as you touch your stiff nipples, and continue to push in two fingers in your pussy.

"Faster, (Y/n). Rub that clit for me."

Biting your lip, you do as he says and feel the approaching climax. As you gaze at the screen, Minho has a hand propping his head as he looks at you with a challenging expression, like he's waiting for you to fall.

"What else do you want, baby? You want more of my cum? Want me to fill you up until you get knocked up?"

"Ah!" You slip, hands pinching your swollen nub too hard, but that's all Minho needs. With half lidded eyes, he peers at you, like he’s proud of the new discovery.

"Oh, look at you. You're enjoying this."

"N-no, I'm not," you breathe out, sounding too much like a moan.

"Yes you are."

The humiliation burns but not in the right place, it ignites a new flame inside your belly, and you can feel yourself clenching on your own fingers.

"I'm - I'm so close."

“Yeah? You wanna cum? You wanna squeeze my cock with that tight pussy, and make me fill you up?” He presses and presses, voice low as a whisper but all the words shoot straight to you like an arrow. Your breath grows more shallow, and you’re starting to see white behind your eyes.

“Yes, please. Please Minho, please - “

"Go on, cum for me, (Y/n)."

Like a tight string that is cut, you snap and release with heightened senses, all pleasure that washes over you.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful." He murmurs with eyes looking at your panting self.

Your chest heaves with short breaths, and you let it slow down as you lean back into the pillows in your bed. You take a peek at your wet and shiny fingers in disbelief, giggling at the sight.

At the sound of your laugh, Minho joins in. "Damn, that was fun." Minho grins, the adrenaline seeping through the way he smiles. He leans in closer to the camera, eyes going all over. “I think we need to clean up, huh?”

You hum nonchalantly, but you notice your breath is not getting any slower. The thought hits you hard. You just masturbated with - in front of -

“Thank god I have no morning class, I need some good sleep after that.” He yawns, but then he gives another soft smile. “I wish you were here though, a cuddle would be perfect.”

The vision of both of you cuddling on your bed soothes your mind for a bit. You just know he’d be a great cuddler, and for some reason, it sounds nice. Lovely, even.

“Hey, after class you wanna grab dinner?”

After class. You will be meeting Minho, the person you just masturbated with, only in a few hours. Then you will present your work together.

Like a freight train, the embarrassment slams you in the face. You can't even say a thing, mouth only gaping open soundlessly, but you notice your heartbeat kicking abnormally in your ribcage, the sound starting to invade your senses.

"(Y/n), you okay?" Minho’s voice cuts through the racing thoughts in your mind. Gosh, he really does have tender eyes. He looks so worried, and genuine.

But your panic wins.

“I - I need to - I need to go - “

“Hey, tell me what’s - “

You never hear him finishing his sentence, because you already leave the meeting without saying another word.

+++

Despite knowing how much this presentation is worth for your grades, you want nothing more than to bury yourself in the nearest soil. And obviously, it’s not because you lack sleep. Because surprisingly, after that incident, you manage to sleep.

Probably because orgasms can make you that tired.

"Oh my, look at her, she's still alive!"

Barely, you think as Kibum walks to your seat, a sleepy Jonghyun in his trail, looking like he just woke up from a nap. Afternoon classes can either grant you extra nap time, or give you the most unfocused study time in the whole day.

In your case, without your morning classes, you can catch up with your needed sleep.

"Hey there, Kibum, Jjongie."

"You shouldn't be here. One of you must've dropped the class." The male with platinum hair gasps. "Minho dropped this class, didn't he?"

"What? No one's dropping the class." You groan, to which Jonghyun shouts in victory, startling you but not Kibum.

"You owe me 10 bucks."

"Whatever," Kibum rolls his eyes. "We still have one more run."

"Yeah but that's - "

You glare at them both. "You made bets?"

"Taemin put 30 on you dropping the class."

"Me? Dropping classes?” You almost shout, which makes Jonghyun cringe in understanding.

"Yeah he's not the brightest."

"See? It's more probable to have Minho leave." Kibum insists.

"Listen, Minho and I - "

"Me and (Y/n) are what?"

You freeze, recognizing the voice that lulls you to the peak of pleasure only a few hours prior. The blurry images of last night resurfaces in your mind, just like on the screen. You keep staring at the other way, not knowing how you will keep your expressions in check as soon as you see Minho.

"She’s not lying, you're still alive!"

Minho raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Of course I am, what would she do to me, kill me?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Jonghyun chimes in, getting a laugh from Minho. The latter suddenly takes a seat beside you, and though you still hesitate to face him, you can smell his cologne that almost immediately makes your brain short-circuit.

“So you both actually managed to finish the assignment?” Kibum asks, his head turning from you to Minho. You have no choice but to turn to your partner, and he’s already smirking at you.

“We did. Not without sacrifices, though.” The taller male answers, looking at you with unmistakable fire in his eyes. You hold the urge to glare at him but only nod and force a smile in agreement.

“Huh.” Jonghyun murmurs, almost like an encouragement for both of you to elaborate more. But Kibum already cuts him off.

“Man, professor Lee will have a field day - “

"I probably will.” The said professor chimes in, making Kibum shout and the class laugh. “That's enough, Kim Kibum. Now let's start the class. Today's the presentation day, yeah? Let's begin with Sungjae's group."

Minho stays sitting down on your left side, leaving Kibum and Jonghyun bickering over some badly designed presentation slides from the others. As your eyes meet Minho's dark ones, the noise around you fades away, and you're left with a tight feeling in your stomach.

"Are you ready?" He asks and you jolt in surprise at how calming his eyes are to you. So you just grin, letting yourself relax. Because despite everything, you know you’ll get the presentation part right.

"Of course." Your smile grows wider as you find the need to push his buttons further. "I hope you slept well."

He smirks. "Couldn't ask for a better rest."

In the end, despite Minho keeps bumping into you, or his hand lingering on yours as you click on the next slide, or him giving you that weird stare publicly, the presentation goes surprisingly well.

Professor Lee compliments the presentation you both give, even mentioning how this might be the first time the two of you are on the same side, and it creates great results, detailed and insightful. Minho manages to look smug and say, “She just took control of the situation, that’s all we need.”

You almost choke.

As soon as the class is dismissed, you know exactly what Minho is going to do.

“Hey, (Y/n) - “

“I need to talk to you.”

Minho’s eyes widen in surprise when you say it at the same time, then the surprise look melts into a goofy grin, like he’s relieved. You mirror it unconsciously.

“Sure, wanna go somewhere?”

As you both bask in each other’s presence, you don’t notice Kibum and Jonghyun staring intensely when you leave the class side by side. Kibum nudges the brunet curiously.

"They seem different, don’t they?”

"But did you see? Minho is clearly eye-fucking her."

Kibum smirks. “I win.”

“Fuck you.” Jonghyun groans in realization, preparing his wallet.

+++

The walk back to Minho’s dorm room is in silence. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, but you still prefer a lighter situation with the tall male by your side. He seems to understand the hesitance, or rather, he prefers to wait until you start.

So when you sit down on his couch, shoes, and bag discarded neatly, you know the ball's on your court.

As you will yourself, Minho only stares at you longingly. He can’t believe you’re here in his room, although not in his bedroom but his common room instead (he internally cheered when he opened the door and saw no roommate to be found). Yes, he has questions regarding your actions on him last night, but he has a strong guess, and he just can’t wait to have it confirmed.

You always drive him crazy, and it makes him mad that you shared such a moment last night but it doesn’t guarantee him to get to know you more. Or having you more.

“So.” Your voice interrupts his thoughts, perking him up.

“Yeah?” He immediately pushes. Patient, Choi.

“I think we did great just now.”

Minho can’t help but bark a laugh. “Seriously? We fucking did, though.” He begins proudly, earning a pretty smile from you. “Never heard him compliment students so bluntly.”

“Right?” You scoot closer to him, now your knees touching. “I guess something good comes out of this.”

He takes the chance and puts himself on your eye level. “Only that?”

Your eyes widen, shyness taking over as your reply, “Well, not only that.”

Realizing now you both are on the same page, Minho presses even further. "Mm-hm?"

The girl beside him finally sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Minho replies truthfully. “But what happened?”

“I just panicked, you know. Dysphoria and all.”

And with that, his worries are confirmed. He understands that more than anything because those kinds of reactions after reaching climaxes are not uncommon.

“Hey,” he begins, hand reaching out to touch your knee. “I get it, it happens.” A pause. “I had it once, too.”

From the way you stare at him, he knows you’re surprised by the information. But he’s still teetering on the edge, so maybe next time he can indulge you in the story.

For now, he has more things to confirm.

“But did you regret it?”

“No!” You answer a tad too fast. “No, I didn’t.” You finally look him in the eye. “I really loved it.”

“Did you now?” He pushes, a smirk gracing his lips, and his anticipation grows rapidly.

You nod, slightly leaning in closer to his face. “And I’m also wondering if all you said were just words.”

Minho’s breath hitches, “Fuck. Should I prove you wrong again?”

Exceeding his expectations, you grab his hand which is sitting on your kneecap, then move it higher up your inner thigh. Then, you smile mischievously, the sight making Minho dizzy because damn, you’re way prettier in person than in those Zoom calls.

“If you want me that bad, sure.”

He groans. “Oh come on, you’re the one who suggested visiting my room.”

You laugh, and the sound is way too husky to be considered playful. Suddenly, but not surprisingly, you lean in to capture his lips in a kiss, which makes Minho groan immediately.

Minho takes control of the kiss as soon as it starts, cupping your cheek in his palm, and holding your waist with his other hand, gripping them tightly and making you gasp. His tongue immediately invades your mouth, and god you taste so good -

“I’ve wanted to do this since forever.”

“Really?” You pant.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to finally have you all to myself.” He dives back in, devouring your lips and swallowing your whimpers. All his imagination from last night pales in comparison to this, to you actually being in his arms, making the sweetest sounds for his ears.

“I suggest - “ You begin with stuttering breaths after parting so suddenly, “We move to your bedroom.”

Minho smirks. “On it, baby.”

#choi minho #shinee #shinee scenarios #shinee smut #choi minho x reader #minho x reader #minho scenarios #choi minho scenarios #choi minho x you #choi minho smut #choi minho fic #kpop smut #kpop scenarios

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morallyinept · 6 months

Text

A Loving Ode To The Writers (And A Big 🖕🏻 To The Haters)

Friends,

I want to take a moment to talk about writers.

The amazingly talented writers, here in this Pedro fandom collectively (although it applies to all writers in any fandom really).

Whether you're an established writer here, or just starting out, I love you. You all rock. You're all incredible. Keep going and doing your thing, because you're so amazing at it. 🖤

No matter what anyone else tries to tell you...

Yes, I also want to address the idiots who feel entitled to send anon messages to you giving you tiresome grief about your work... sigh. 🙄

Think about this for a moment, if you will...

When you go into a bookshop, or choose to purchase a book online, do you have several tags listed on the back cover?

No.

Do you have the author of that book listing every single possible trigger/smut warning?

No.

Do you have the author writing an extensive author's note explaining their thought process, or how it came to be that Joel got with Reader, or stating that they're not sorry for this brain rot they produced at 2am whilst high, or apologising in advance if they spelled something wrong, or whatever?

No.

All you have is a book, a singular book, with a cover and a small paragraph with a basic plot blurb, that alludes to nothing juicy or that will spoil it. Because if the book gave away the full plot on the back cover, all the warnings and triggers etc... what's the point in even buying it, right? You already know the story. Job done.

Generally, readers will buy a book for these reasons:

1) The cover looked awesome and drew you in to read the synopsis.

2) The synopsis drew you in, or a review.

3) It's by an author you already love, so you read everything they release because you're a fan of their work.

4) It was recommended to you.

5) You brought it/were gifted it on a whim.

None of these reasons give you any prior knowledge to the outcome or ending of the story. You haven't met the characters yet. You don't know what's going to happen. Unless you actively look for spoilers...

That's the joy about reading stories. You're left surprised, not knowing.

With posting fanfic, there are slightly different "rules" (and I use quotation marks here because strictly speaking, there are no rules; it's just decades and decades of assumption and expectation that writers follow out of respect and care for their readers) in that the writer provides you with adequate warnings, or tags, for you to make an informed choice about whether this fic is something you want to read or not.

But, they don't have to do that.

The writer, also might offer a pairing, or mulitple. The writer might also warn you of triggers, or if a particular chapter is smutty, heavy, angsty etc...

Again, they don't have to do that.

No published book out there does this.

So, if that's the case, that writers here on Tumblr, and in fanfiction in general, not only spend hours of their free time in their personal life, dedicating themselves to writing a story, that you get for FREE, they also provide you with adequate warnings and pairings to cater to your particular tastes.

Again, they don't have to do any of this.

Remember that book in the bookshop? It does none of what fanfic writers do for you before you even get to the story... They've done all this for you before you get to the first sentence on your screen.

So you can make a choice, that is your own, on whether you want to read this story or not.

Your choice.

So, if you then choose to read it, are you really so entitled to then send an anon message telling the writer you didn't like it? When it was clearly signposted with all the possible warnings, outcomes, troupes, pairings... and was for free??

Imagine that, free stories that you can read as often as you like, for FREE... wow. What a fantastic concept!

☝🏻And that's not sarcasm. It's truly fantastic that there are thousands, upon thousands of stories here for you to trawl through and enjoy to your heart's content.

All. For. Free.

Catering to every Pedro Boy, every Reader type, every kink going. Fluff, smut, angst, romance, horror, thriller, crack fic. Multi-chapter series, one shots, drabbles. Happy endings, open endings, no endings... you name it.

You have it all here at your fingertips, whenever you want.

All. For. Free.

A lot of time and work goes into writing any kind of story, not just fanfic. Depending on a writer's skill level, it may take them longer than you may realise to complete a story from initial conception to birth.

English may not be their first language, for example. Or they may be dyslexic so have to spend additional time editing several times over so you can read their words coherently.

They may have spent weeks, months, maybe even years, planning, gathering and summoning the courage to write this story.

The story doesn't start on the page, oh no. It starts as a spark in their brain that ravages and spreads like a fire.

It's consumes them. Causes sleepless nights.

Causes stress and tension in their personal life because they've spent more time in front of their computer typing, than they have walking the dog, hugging their partner, socialising with their friends... remembering to feed themselves.

You may think that's a dramtic or romantic notion of being a writer, but I assure you, it's not.

It might not apply to all writers, but for some, writing IS their life. They live it, breathe it, far more than you care to imagine.

Far more than you give them credit for.

They've poured their heart and soul into this and are proud that, finally, fucking finally! It's on the page for the world to see. To read. To enjoy.

To pick apart scathingly... to critique. To compare. To belittle. To mock. To diss.

To demand.

You think writing is easy? That writers just bash out 10k words on a whim? Sweet delusion I hardly knew ye.

Even the most published and revered authors in this world will tell you it's anything but easy, bub.

Imagining a story in your head is the easy part. Getting it on paper to translate your thoughts into captivating words? Not so much.

And writer's block is certainly a real thing, FYI. Made all the more worse by pressure being piled on.

Pressure from readers who have the choice whether to read or not. Who have all these stories for free...

☝🏻And I'm not talking about readers in general. No. There are so many amazing and respectful readers here who are an incredible and integral part of this community. And I, for one, thank you, dear readers, for doing just that; reading.

Without you, no-one would read or share our words. You guys are the main cog in this clock, and as writers we want to keep you greased up so you keep ticking. We love your enthusiasm for our work. We love that you share it, shout about it, want to see more of it. You guys deserve all the love. 🖤

But sadly, there are also a select few individuals who crawl out of the woodwork, scittering around and shitting over things like the insects they are.

Respect. I've said it before, I'll continue to say it. Respect costs nothing. And yet, some readers find that to be an alien concept.

Think about the stories you really love.

Think about the one story you couldn't get out of your head for days. The one story that made you cry into your pillow. The one story that gave you hope when you really needed it the most.

The one story that made you fall in love. That one story you've read a hundred times, a thousand times, because you love it so fucking much and it changed you in some way.

Somebody wrote that.

Writers bend over backwards for you until their spines snap. Writers give so much of their heart into their work, their blood.

Writers give you the books you love, the shows you enjoy. The blogs you follow, the films you go to see. The fanfiction you consume.

Without writers, entertainment would not exist.

🤔 Ponder that for a second... you'd have nothing. No internet, no TV, no books, no magazines.

No imagination.

Writers give you chills, make you smile, make you cry, turn you on, excite you with their words. They lead you into unexplored lands, take you to new heights.

Writers hand your idol to you on a page, naked and panting for you, and say "here, this is my gift for you, dear reader. Have him."

Writers give you an escape.

Writers give you something to do on your commute to work. Writers offer an extension on your inner fantasies.

You want to have Joel Miller hug you and never let you go? Carry you out of the apocalypse as you cling onto his broad shoulders? Fuck you so hard into the mattress you're screaming for him?

Writers can give you that, bub.

Hell, writers will give you anything you ask for, within reason. All you have to do is simply ask.

Writers pull you into a world where anything, literally anything you want, is possible.

And fanfic writers give you all of this. For FREE.

You don't have to go to the bookstore and part with your hard earned cash.

You paid no money for this. The writer made no money from this either.

Writers don't ask you for anything except for you to enjoy their work, their creation, and to consider re-blogging it, so others can enjoy it too.

They ask you for nothing else in return except to show some basic respect.

R E S P E C T

All they want from you is your enjoyment.

They give it to you from the goodness of their heart, from the stem of their creativity.

And yet, some of you piss all over it.

Some of you have the termerity, the gall, the ignorance, to send a message anonymously - cowardly - to a writer claming that their ending wasn't good enough?

Wasn't to your liking? That Joel, or whichever Pedro Boy, didn't do this, or didn't say that? That their view is wrong because it wasn't canon, that their story didn't live up to your expectation, despite them giving you as much advance information as possible. Even when they don't have to...

And yet, you still chose to read it.

How dare you be so offended by a story that, was never written for you to begin with. The writer wrote it for themselves. They then decided to share it with you. For free, remember?

Are you for real?

If you think it's rubbish, or not to your taste, or boring, or lacks passion, or didn't end the way you would have wanted it to, that's fine - you're entitled to your opinion. Difference of opinion is what makes us unique as individuals.

But the writer, who gave you this story for FREE, and with plenty of upfront info for you to make an informed choice, does not want, or need to hear your self-righteous bullshit or negativity.

Move on quietly and find a story that fits your needs.

Or better still, put your money where your ungrateful mouth is, and write your own ending that you covet so badly.

I guarantee you, it'll be a lot harder to do than you think...

You didn't pay for this story, therefore your passive-agressive opinion, your cruel words, your whole mantra of being a dick for dick's sake, isn't worth a dime.

SUPPORT YOUR WRITERS.

Don't drag them down if you can't, or don't have the balls or talent, to do any better.

To every writer: You are incredible. You are what makes the world go round. Your imagination never ceases to amaze me and I will forever have your back and sing your praise from the rooftops. You deserve to be here, or wherever it is that you write and share your words. THANK YOU for sharing a piece of you with me, with all of us. 🖤

To every disrepectful anon who has ever sent a hateful or hurtful message to a writer: respectfully, go fuck yourself.

#pedro pascal #fanfic writers #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier pena #joel miller #support your writers #don't be a dick #jett has spoken

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agendabymooner · 8 months

Text

about names: an amazing boy with an amazing name || cl16 scenario (1)

dad!charles leclerc x mom!ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

EXTENSION OF OF LONG LINES AND NAMES AND THE LECLERC DAYCARE

Summary: The Leclerc boys and their names go hand in hand. OR times when Charles and his wife Aimee had to explain that their children’s names are meaningful.

Scenario summary: Charles and Aimee wondered what Hervé meant when he said that his name was silly and that he hated it. Thank goodness, Pascale Leclerc was the one that the boy cannot refuse as she comforts her grandson.

Content warning: Kids teasing kids, possible use of explicit language, fluff, dad!Charles content, the Leclerc family (Pascale and Leclerc brothers) content, briefly mentions Charles' dad, crappy French translations by Apple, sad kids being comforted, fluff, what is beta reading we write things at 2am and post it after lol

Note: One more before I dash out of my dorm for the day lmfaoo

masterlist

Aimee Leclerc was no stranger to chatty kids and pick-up schedules, so it was no wonder why she immediately found herself in front of the elementary school that stood gloriously in the middle of Monte-Carlo as she waited for her two children to be dismissed from the class for the day.

It was a routine of hers now that her work in McLaren had become remote. Five children took up all of her time and between them and her work— she would’ve immediately left the company if the team made her choose. She’d rather be in Monaco while Charles continued to pursue his career as a racing driver.

Zak Brown was empathetic enough to understand that a set of children wouldn’t be able to have a stable routine should they continue to travel around the world just to be with their parents who worked overseas, offering Aimee a chance to work at home and adapt to a better routine as she took care of her children.

She could wait patiently if anybody ever asked her. She had no problem, knowing that she was able to finish her work long before she could pick up her eldest children.

But the energy that her children had shown merely told her enough: they might have been either excited to see her or they thought that she was rushing them. She caught a glimpse of her twins as they stepped out of the elementary school, their uniforms somehow tidy and less wrinkled despite their busy day.

“Maman! Devinez quoi?” Guess what? Jules jumped excitedly as he wrapped his arms around Aimee tightly, still jumpy and giddy as he spoke in English, “We did our quiz in maths!”

“Oh? Is that right, J?” Aimee asked with a smile, her fingers running through her son’s wavy hair. It was surprising how her children’s hair continued to lose its volume as years passed— it was becoming more like Charles’ hair.

They were mini Charleses, indeed.

“Yes, Maman! I also— uh…” It seemed like Jules ran out of English immediately as he said, “J'ai fait si bien! Je n'ai perdu qu'un point!” I did so good! I only lost one point!

Aimee was merely thankful that she could understand French and Italian, or rather, she was thankful her private teacher taught her how to speak those languages; otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to understand her multilingual-speaking children.

She primarily spoke English and had grown up practicing a standard accent in her Received Pronunciation. She never adapted to her husband’s speaking style, but learned to understand it nevertheless. Their children were being raised in Monaco, after all, and most people spoke in French or Italian. She was only thankful that she was able to teach them to speak English to preserve that part of them. Most of their cousins are raised in England and this gave them the opportunity to converse in that language.

Anyways.

Aimee beamed at her son and exclaimed, “A good job done, Jules!” Then she turned to look at her other son, who was unusually quiet for such a normal day. Hervé, as Aimee learned while nurturing her ever-growing children, was never quiet — he was one of the boys who would often cause ruckus inside the Leclerc home. If he’s silent like this then Aimee knew he was feeling something along the lines of upset.

Hervé was never upset. He was so much like his grandfather— his namesake. So joyous. Why was he feeling so down? Aimee didn’t know.

“Hervé, my love,” Aimee called softly, but he couldn’t hear. Jules turned to look at his twin and noticed the boy disassociated, giving his brother’s shirt a tug as Hervé finally looked up. The Leclerc matriarch (2.0) smiled gently and asked, “Is it a long day for you?”

“Oui, Maman,” he replied quietly, offering her a nod and nothing more.

Aimee had led them to the Aston Martin family SUV as soon as he answered and drove off to head home. Jules was chatting Aimee’s ears off and it somehow defeaned her. It wasn’t because Jules was loud, no; Hervé wasn’t even talking, and his silence defeaned her.

“Herb,” she called as she looked at the rear view mirror, noticing how his jaw clenched before crossing his arms. “Hervé?”

“Stupid, silly name,” Jules hadn’t seen Hervé mutter those words beneath his breath but Aimee certainly had, leaving the mother confused. What the hell was happening?

“H,” Aimee called once more. Hervé’s angry eyes finally looked up to meet Aimee’s worried ones. Even if she wanted to remind him to calm down, she knew that it would lead to his outburst so she avoided it and asked, “Da’s home? Do you want to tell him about your maths quiz today? Maybe you and Jules can show him the art you made for Mademoiselle Blanc?”

“Hmp,” the eldest Leclerc twin huffed, turning away from his mother and looking out the window.

Jules’s eyes narrowed as he gave a brief glimpse at Aimee, turning towards his twin, “Are you okay, H?”

“Oui,” Hervé muttered, acting as some sort of assurance, but this only made Jules look at his mother with worry. Aimee flashed a smile at her son before continuing to drive on the way home. It was another thing that the Leclerc boys had gotten from their father; they were bad liars.

It only got worse when Aimee pulled up to their driveway, and the boys made their way inside. Jules dashed out of the car with his backpack to navigate his way around the house, trying to find their father before he gasped, “Da!”

Aimee watched her other son carefully, trying to read Hervé’s behaviour as he walked past Aimee. She still wasn’t sure what was going on.

“Oh! Hello, Jules!” Charles Leclerc, a Ferrari driver who had just returned from a doubleheader, grinned gracefully at the sight of his son. In his arm was one of his young twins, Anthoine — or Tony, for most people — while the other half of the pair, Alain, sat on the playmat with his book propped open. “Comment va l'école aujourd'hui?” How is school today?

“Very good, Da!” Jules grinned toothily, “Madame Hurst m'a donné une étoile pour mon quiz de mathématiques!” Mrs. Hurst gave me a star for my maths quiz!

“Ah, really? Cela signifie que vous avez fait un excellent travail en étudiant avec maman alors,” it means you’ve done a good job at studying with Mummy, then. Charles glanced past Aimee’s legs, seeing the other pair of his twins as he greeted the quiet boy, “Bonjour, Hervé. Comment allez-vous?” Good afternoon, Hervé. How are you?

“D'accord, Da,” Fine. Hervé muttered, his irritation noticed easily by his father as Charles scowled lightly. Every adult in their family knew that it meant trouble if Charles gave this look.

At first, the Ferrari driver tried to make a light of the situation, “Why the long face, Hervé? The more you do that, the more you’ll look like your Uncle Toto. Give Da a smile?”

“No,” but Hervé wasn’t having it as he snapped at his father firmly, the tip of his ears turning red as he stomped off.

“No?”

“Don’t call me that!” Hervé snapped, his eyes turning dark as he got angry and upset.

“What? Hervé—“ Charles tried to reason out, but the 7-year-old was anything but reasonable at the moment.

“I’m not Hervé! Don’t call me that! It’s a stupid name!”

Charles could have sworn that he, too, was seeing red as he placed the toddler in his arms before marching off the playroom. He followed after his son and exclaimed, “Hervé Louis Sebastien René Mathieu Leclerc! Come back here!”

“No! No more talking! Leave me alone, Da!”

Thud. The boy had just slammed the door on his father’s face, and Charles— Charles was fuming.

He loves his boys dearly; he does. But it was moments like this that somehow made him different from the loving father that he is. He wasn’t even sure why he was so upset— was it because of the fact that his son just yelled that he didn’t want to talk, or did he just hear his son say that his father’s name was stupid? He wasn’t sure.

He was just… upset and confused.

Charles wasn’t sure where he’d gone wrong with becoming a parent to his sons. He did everything he could despite being a busy driver— he took care of them whenever Aimee was out, he taught them how to be kind to other people and he taught them how to love. Hervé had never been this upset before and it bothered Charles and Aimee to no end. What was he genuinely upset about?

Then they both recalled what the boy said. Hervé wasn’t his name. He thought that the name was silly, from what Aimee had told Charles. Where did that even come from?

“I— truthfully, I don’t even know where that came from, Charles,” Aimee admitted as she sat with him on the couch that night, sighing heavily while the driver rested his head against his hand.

They tried asking the boy, from asking him to come down for dinner (with Aimee giving up and leaving a bowl of rice and chicken in front of his door) to Charles asking to come into his room (with Charles not receiving any form of response). But alas, Hervé had no response. He didn’t even respond when they tried to ask if he’d like to come over to his Uncle Lorenzo or Arthur’s place.

No luck.

“He didn’t mention anything at all,” she continued, keeping her voice down to avoid waking any of their children up. “He was muttering to himself, I’ve no bloody clue he was upset.”

“I didn’t know either,” Charles murmured, grabbing a hold of her hand and kissing the knuckles of it. “He isn’t normally like this— he’d tell us if there’s something wrong.”

It was true. Hervé, much like the other Leclerc children, never got into a fight with a friend before. He was upfront about his feelings and would tell either his parents or playmate about being upset. There were some instances when he almost snapped but otherwise managed to control his emotions— he was so much like his brothers and mother in a sense. Aimee always approached them with the five-finger solution before they could even burst into tears or anger.

So, for Hervé to keep quiet?

Even Aimee couldn’t get an answer from him. What did he mean by his name was a stupid name? Charles asked himself this a couple of times.

His name was Hervé— that was a typical French name, no? What made Hervé think that his name, his late grandfather’s name, was silly? Charles tried approaching his son about the matter every minute since the boys got home from school, but much to his dismay, the boy evaded him.

But there was only one person that Hervé wouldn’t refuse to answer. Much like his late grandfather, Hervé never refused his Mamé.

So the next day, Pascale Leclerc — the grandmother of the Leclerc boys — took the liberty to have a day off with the upset boy. Jules felt incomplete without Hervé in the school but went nonetheless, and the five-year-old boy PJ went to kindergarten while Aimee, Charles and the youngest twins went out. Pascale stayed at home with Hervé and baked cookies with him.

After putting the cookie dough into the preheated oven, Pascale served the boy some tea, to which Hervé gratefully drank as his grandmother sat across from him.

She sighed and placed a hand on his knee, “Est-il vrai que tu t'es fâché contre ton père, Hervé?” Is it true that you got angry with your dad, Hervé? She asked, her question leaving him frozen as he looked at Pascale guiltily.

Hervé carefully sat his mug down on the table and nodded solemnly, not uttering a word. Pascale asked, “Has it been a rough day for you? That’s why you got angry?”

Hervé shook his head as Pascale suggested, “Veux-tu dire à Mamé ce qui t'a mis en colère? Peut-être pouvons-nous trouver une solution ensemble?” Will you tell Mamé what has gotten you angry? Maybe we can find a solution together?

The longer the silence lasted, the more the tears flowed out of Hervé’s eyes as his lips pursed and trembled. The poor boy couldn’t help but stammer, “Mon nom est tellement silly et stupide, Mamé!” My name is so silly and stupid! He continued to cry out, “Kylian a dit que mon nom venait de «Herbe et fromage» et c'est très stupide! Je n'aime pas mon nom, Mamé!” Kylian said that my name came from ‘Herb and cheese’ and that it’s stupid! I don’t like my name, Mamé!

Pascale’s eyes nearly teared up at the confession that Hervé made. He hated his name because someone made him feel like it wasn’t worth appreciating. Her poor grandson was subjected to this kind of behaviour, which felt so… disheartening.

“Oh, Hervé,” Pascale immediately reached out to soothe the boy, shushing him quietly while he sobbed. His eyes shut as tears continued to flow down, soaking Pascale’s cardigan in the process. “Your name is not stupid or silly; did you know that?”

His crying lasted for several minutes, with Pascale patiently soothing him in the process. When his sobbing quietened, Pascale took this as an opportunity to tell him about his name.

She sighed shakily, not wanting to shed a tear or two as she explained, “Da, Uncle Lorenzo and Uncle Arthur had their own Da— you have seen him before in the pictures, oui?” She felt the boy nod through her chest as she hummed and continued, “That was your Papy. Do you know what his name was? His name was Hervé.”

“Her—“ the boy hiccuped. “Hervé? Like me?”

“Oui, mon amour,” Pascale replied with a soft smile, “Hervé like you.”

“You are sooo much like your Papy Hervé, that is why Maman and Da named you after him,” Pascale continued, “you are as funny and happy as him. When he was still alive I used to call him Herb. I loved him so much, mon chou.

“And when he was gone, your Da and your uncles filled the rest of the space in my heart that you and your brothers soon took over,” Pascale smiled, “and I think that your name is beautiful like it is with my Herb’s.”

“It is?”

“Oui, my love,” Pascale replied, “your name is what keeps your Papy’s memories alive for your Da and your uncles. Do not let anyone think that it is a silly name because you are an amazing boy with an amazing name. Your Maman and Da love you so much, and your Da? He loved his Papa so much that he decided to name another person he loved after him. That’s you, mon cœur.”

Ever since then, Hervé learned how to embrace his name and would often explain to everyone where his name came from, even in the grid and paddock.

Nobody needed to ask where his name came from— after all, he is Hervé Leclerc. He was just as joyful and enthusiastic as his grandfather.

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essentiallyleaf · 8 months

Text

day 04. blood play. with. heejin.

1587 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, switch reader, switch heejin, pretentious writer, i don’t know what’s in here, blood play, blades, lots of blood, blood licking, blowjob, blood exchanging kisses, fingering, standing sex, i’m pretty sure this is how you get AIDS, so don’t try this at home, maybe some teeny angst/horror undertones, but that’s your call, writer gets really pretentious towards the end, uncalled for, given that it’s 2am as i write this.

notes.

this took too long i’m going to bed byeee. tiredly, leaf.

“You said you’d teach me how to use scissors one day, ssaem,” she points at the pair you’re holding right now after finishing her shoulder length bob (which looks gorgeous, by the way - i mean, you did your job, it wasn’t your best and far from your worst, Heejin just makes anything look otherworldly when she’s wearing it, with those perfectly fitting gray contacts, nonetheless; the scissors were your first and only pair, you treat them with white gloves, like an athlete treats their shoes, always make sure they’re not getting dull, clean them thoroughly at the end of each day, or whenever you get any downtime, really; you were just cleaning them moments ago as the two of you, left alone in the shop, were having goodbye small talk), and turns from looking at you through your reflection in the mirror to staring directly into your black eyes. “How about today~?”

What you hear in her inflection, and see in her expression as you reciprocate her gaze, is a smile right in the middle of inquisitive and complicit. You hope that it’s just a trick of your brain, that you’re just not very good at interpreting faces, that you simply misunderstood what she was implying, because you must not let what she’s implying happen.

But you have to play it safe. You need to make sure your customer is not offering what you think she’s offering, though when she averts her gray stare from you to your station’s countertop and starts casually playing around with just about any random object she finds on in while still keeping her metallic, cold yet so magnetic aura, you’re already doubting that.

“Heejin,” she doesn’t turn - she doesn’t need to, the ball is in your court. “We can’t. Not here. Not now.”

The more you open your mouth, the more that doubt starts to resemble a certainty. And the fact that she stands up and heads to the front door without picking her black overcoat clearly doesn’t help.

“I’m your last customer today. We have the whole shop for ourselves. For as long. As we. Want.” Heejin locks the door with a loud click. A certainty, you think. Then she walks back towards you and takes the pair of scissors from your hands, the rhythmic sound of her heels hitting the marble floor almost Mesmerically hypnotizing you.

“So, can I practice on you?” She asks with a now much more clear and explicit sultry gaze. Either that, or the hypnosis worked, and you’re now solely responding to her wants and needs. Regardless, the only thing you can think of right now is how her lustful expression fits with her appearance, from the new haircut, down to her cropped black turtleneck and black pants, and how they frame her milky white abs, and those cuts at the sides, showing off her perfect white hips, and how you wanna hold them while- “Fuck it”

You hurriedly sit down on the chair your customer was on mere seconds ago, at your own station, and stay still, eyes to the mirror in front of you. You hate it when the ball is in your court, so you give it back to her. Heejin chuckles. Now she only has to choose whether she wants to see you struggle (needless to say, that’s her element) or she wants to make her own play.

“Well, how do you use these, ssaem?”

The girl steps before your chair and holds the scissors up in front of her delicately-featured white complexion, looking at her own reflection on the blade, trying different angles like she’s taking a selfie. She then opens your scissors at the widest possible angle, the fingers of her right hand wrapping around one end of the edgy surface (“Like this~?”), and brings the opposite end of the blade closer to your face. She plants her knees on each side of your thighs and lifts herself up on the chair, now basically sitting on top of you.

“Do you ever feel like the world is so, black and white?” For the first time, Heejin sounds simultaneously vulnerable and grating, like her metallic coating is rusting, bit by bit. Her gray eyes look shinier now. “How about, we paint it a little red?”

The edge of the scissors draws the underside of your cheekbone, a comma-shaped cut now marks your visage. Drops of scarlet dye present themselves at the opening, a couple of them leaking out and trickling down your cheek. Heejin wastes no time and captures them in her mouth. Then follows up towards the slit, and starts gently licking around it, carefully fetching any ruby bead that was to escape your rift.

It doesn’t hurt. It stings a little, but the sweet sensation of her soft tongue on your skin somehow overpowers that. You notice the girl’s hips started rocking back and forth on your lap slightly, brushing against your dick with each passage. Your hands instinctively hang onto the curve of her hips. As you close your eyes, her grinding gets faster, and with it, your erection harder.

She gets off of you (“You’re not bleeding anymore”) and on her knees, then helps you, rather, you help her, take your pants and boxers off. She’s still gripping those scissors unbelievably tight - how has she not cut her own fingers yet? - like they’re her savior, the one thing that can help her paint the world, and in a way, they are.

“Just a little more~” Heejin traces a short straight line on the inside of her thumb, tastes it for good measure, then coats your shaft with her crimson hue, careful not to miss any spot. Maybe an odd thought to have, given the situation, but you find her concentrated face to be quite endearing.

An endearing face you want to drill, and when she wraps her lips around you, not before she’s had her own couple laps and trips with her sweet, smooth, moist tongue, that you do.

You place your palms around her head and start fucking her skull at frenzied pace. She, on her part, enjoys the combined taste of your precum and her blood. Not that she doesn’t enjoy getting deepthroated by you, just, it’s not an easy thing to appreciate when you’re being pierced through.

You give Heejin a little time to breathe, and she does; she needed it, but somehow she looks more interested in the leftover crimson paint she finds on her thumb, and not wasting any of it (she licks it clean, until she’s sure none will come out anymore, at which point she shows you her now shiny digit with a proud smile). You decide that her efforts deserve a reward.

You help her up, make her lean on the countertop, and gently - finally - take your now ruby-marked scissors from her hands. You look at them for a second. Then look at the girl in the eyes.

“I’m gonna use these, okay?”

You hold her chin up with one hand and draw the tiniest crevice on her lower lip. She looks back at you as you kiss her. Heejin tastes like cherry, no, like wine, like the sweetest fruit on Earth, she tastes like she wants you and who are you to deny her that?

When you retreat from her mouth she immediately comes looking for you.

“One second”

You rid her of her pants and underwear, then lift your hand with your index and middle finger up. You swipe them on her lower lip and make her stare at them as you bring them downwards towards her (lower) slit. She spreads her legs a little to help.

As you insert two digits in her, her eyes roll back into her head. You start pumping blood in her as if you’re her heart, and her heart drums faster and faster for you like the rhythm of your fingers.

Overwhelmed by your stimulation, she completely forgot how your kiss was supposed to resume, so you’re the one finding her mouth for a second time. Once your tongues connect again, she goes back to tasting you, as well as her own crimson-colored dye staining your lips.

It doesn’t take long for her to come. A transparent waterfall, that you notice has a tinge of ruby in it, hits your hand and wrist, and you retreat your digits as she comes down from her peak.

This time, you’re the impatient one and she can’t get a break before you lift her leg and insert yourself into her now flooded pussy. She can’t do anything but scream her lungs out at your overstimulation, just as you can’t help but keep up your ferocious pace as your cock slips so effortlessly in and out of her tightness. You grab one of her perfectly sized tits through her turtleneck, then decide you need to pull it, and her bra up and see those beauties bounce uncontained.

No. You need something more. You notice the girl’s right hand, now open and hanging off the counter, spent, is covered in blood. You knew she was going to hurt herself holding the scissors so tightly. So you take her hand and hold it for a passing moment, then rub it on yours. With your crimson hand, you palm Heejin’s soft boobs and coat them in the same hue. And that’s your cue.

You quickly (and easily) pull out of her, one hand on your dick, one on her hip.

It’s white scrapes on a red fruit.

footnotes.

i know the ending is probably not everyone’s cup of tea. which is a terrible euphemism to say that it sucks. but i wanted to experiment. and to be completely honest, i was running out of time, so if you think it’s rushed, that’s factually true. hopefully i can learn from this. learn what, i haven’t the faintest. hurriedly, leaf.

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whxre-bxby · 1 year

Text

Period Oneshots: Quaritch, Mansk, Wainfleet

How I think these 3 (big) men would react to you having your period.

Masterlist

I don’t know whether Na’vi women get their period but since they would probably be mammals, I assume so. Either way, I’m going to write this how I imagine it goes for them. Since this fandom decided that they have mating seasons and heat cycles, the period is a 2-3 day period once their mating season is over. Meaning they get it only once a year ( I wish that was me )

Also, choose whether you are human or Na’vi. Doesn’t matter, both go for this one.

Also, yes I am on my period while writing this. Credit to @jinx14 for the idea. I apologise for any typos, it's almost 2am :)

Quaritch:

Now Miles is a man who, back when he was human, knew everything he needed to know about the woman’s body. Of course, his memories are still with him now, but his old normal life seems more distant to him now that he is focusing on one mission only.

Either you are on his squad team and are a part of project Phoenix or you work in the lab as a scientist or doctor/nurse.

Miles knows you as a colleague and has grown unintentionally closer to you in the last month. He found you interesting and liked that you were helpful with missions, polite and knew your place, and loyal to him. Those aspects were very important to him as a person.

One day he sees you working on something, whether it be working out or filling out lab reports. He notices you look worn out and agitated, which is unlike your usual upbeat mood.

He comes over to question you and make sure you’re okay. He won’t mind bringing you something if you need it, as long as you ask politely. Asking polietely is one of the least important things on your list if you are fighting cramps, headaches or other pains. It doesn’t help that you may not have slept well.

You’re too tired to dance around the subject. You know you look tired as shit and you know he can see that, so you just cut down to the chase.

“I’m on my period, Miles.” you groan out frustrated, stopping your workout or dropping your pen on your lab report.

He freezes and shuts up. It doesn’t get him embarrassed or anything like that, the answer just takes him by surprise. He was expecting you to say that someone was getting on your nerves or that you had too much to do.

He had almost forgotten that that happens to women. Then again, your answer had refreshed a few old memories and he understood what you were going through, from the biological view. He knew how it worked and why it happened and for how long etc.

He didn’t want to make you feel worse so he silently left the room and returned with a hot drink in his hand for you. He will let it slide once. Then, you will have to ask politely again.

“Do you want company?” he asks, not wanting to get on your nerves.

You are unable to answer and you nod your head, groaning again before taking the cup into both hands and just holding it for a while.

He doesn’t start small talk, you both just sit in peaceful silence. He might scan over a few of your reports without understanding them or might take a look at the equipment you were using to workout.

Miles enjoys your company just as much as you do. And he was ready to help you if you needed anything. He was also happy to be spending time with you.

He knew you were quiet when it came to personal things so he felt a sense of pride in his chest when you felt comfortable enough to just tell him what’s going on.

Mansk: (sorry for the low quality gif)

You would both be outside on a mission. The whole team was out but you were divided into groups to cover more ground. He was focused on his surroundings, eyeing every tree and listening to every noise.

You were both advancing through the forest pretty quickly and after a while, you started to feel bad.

Mansk was walking ahead of you when he heard a groan behind him. With quick movements, he swung around and aimed his gun right at you. He relaxed his body and let his ears perk back up when he saw that you were not being attacked.

“What are you doin’?” he asks, lowering his weapon and slowly walking back to your hunched-over figure. You were leaned against a tree, one hand clutching your stomach and wrapping around your waist tightly.

Mansk noticed your odd position and started to think about what was happening. He stood next to you, eyes scanning over your body before he looked around again to ensure both of your safety.

“You good?” he asked, leaning down to try and read my facial expression.

“Just- give me a moment.” I say, biting my lip. This cramp was almost unbearable and it hit me without a warning.

He nodded, standing up-right again but in reality, this man had no idea what was going on. His first thoughts were food poisioning or maybe you got sick from the helicopter ride here.

I stood up again, the feeling gone.

“All good, let’s go.” I say, my normal self back again. Mansk was confused as shit. He stood still, watching you start to walk again. His mind was like a television without signal. After a few moments, you gasped and bent over, clutching your abdomen again.

While he was still oblivious to your period symptoms, he was more worried and jogged over to you, resting a hand on your back.

“Do you need-” he started to ask but my moody self interrupted him.

“Shhhh… I need quiet.” I mumble. He ran out of ideas. He was about to settle on the hypothesis that you had just lost your mind until you mumbled something that made his ears perk up.

“I’m on my period, it’ll be fine in a sec.”

Right. Periods. He forgot about those.

His eyes glanced at your shorts and he was relieved to not see any blood. Mansk had no idea what to do, how to help you or just how to deal with the situation himself.

“You want water?” he genuinely asked, offering me his bottle. I look up at him, showing clear signs of discomfort and he doubts his question, leaning his ears back. He felt a little stupid for not knowing what to do. Usually in missions, he was the one to have the best ideas on how to do whatever. Now, he felt useless.

“Yes, why not.” I say, grabbing it from him. My answer surprised him.

“Thank you.” I mumbled, wiping a few drops with the back of my hand from my mouth. He nodded, smiling to himself that he had managed to do something in your favour.

“We can keep going again.” you softly say, straightening your posture and turning around again.

Mansk isn’t a very talkative person, therefor you both walk in silence most of the way again. But neither of you mind. You are distracted by your discomfort anyway.

From now on, he will always offer you water.

Water obviously doesn’t help against pain, you were just thirsty from walking, but Mansk doesn’t know that. You weren’t going to tell him either. Looking at him, you saw how he was holding the bottle ready in one hand, so he could give it to you again. It was sweet that he wanted to help, even if he didn’t know how.

He makes sure to stay close by your side, incase you need to stop again. Mansk is slightly more cautious now because he knows your attention is elsewhere. That is also why he suddenly feels very protective of you.

When you return to the others he doesn’t spill that you are shedding blood as you speak. If you weren't there and it would be his buddies, he would though. Just to brag about how well he thinks he handled the situation.

Upon arriving, he pretends as if nothing happened and that it was a normal situation, trying to forget the little panic moment he felt before.

Mansk also pushes anyone sitting next to you away, so that he can be by your side.

Lyle Wainfleet:

You and Lyle work out regularly together. It started off when you would just run into eachother at the gym room. He started conversation with you and it formed a friendship. Now you meet up and both do your workout together. You help spot him while he helps to ensure that you keep a stable form and stuff.

Anyway, right now you and him are competing against each other, trying to see who can hold a plak the longest.

You’re going 2 minutes strong and you were ready to hold it longer. Lyle was keeping his posture obtained too.

Suddenly you started to feel a light pressure in your lower abdomen. Within seconds, it became more intense and then it struck you like an arrow from hell, causing you to fall flat on the ground. Immediately, you turned to your side, scrunching up and hugging your waist as you experienced discomfort.

Next to you, Lyle cheered.

“Ha, told you so. You almost had 3 minutes. I can go for another 3, just watch and-” he started bragging until his gaze landed on you all curled up into a ball.

“Okay, don’t you dare trick me into thinking you’re hurt just so I can’t break my record.” he chuckled, focusing on his plank again. After you hadn’t moved in a few seconds he glanced back at you.

He was starting to get worried.

“Y/N quit playin’.” he said but already, you were able to pick up a hint of worry in his voice.

“Y/N.” he repeated, hoping you would turn around smiling. But you stayed still. Something felt off to him so he decided to stop. He got out of his plank position and knelt beside you. Lyle looked down and noticed your facial expression. You were in fact not messing with him. He felt slightly relieved by that but then again worried for you.

“You okay?” he asks, slightly shaking your arm. You nod but stay in your position. Lyle is confused now. What are you doing?

Did you get a cramp from the workout? Even the word ‘cramp’ didn’t ring a bell in this soldier's head.

“I think I just got my period.” you whined. You were dreading it but it had to come eventually.

Lyle’s eyes went wide. “Oh…” he said, almost sounding like it was a whisper. “Right…”

“Just give me a moment, I’ll be fine in a few…” you mumbled, keeping your eyes squeezed shut.

“Yeah, sure. Of course. Take as-as long as you need…” he started rambling. “We are in no hurry, just- yeah take your time. You know, relax.”

“Lyle.” I warn him.

“Yep, I’ll be quiet. I’ll just sit here and wait with you until you feel better. Which you will, right? Like, this thing won’t-”

“Lyle!” I snap at him. I was short-tempered at the moment and I couldn’t deal with his long string of words.

He sat in silence, watching me to make sure I wouldn’t pass out or die. While he did still find himself fascinated with how the female body worked, it scared him to a certain extent. If he would see blood on your leggings, he would definitely freak out.

Once the cramp fades away, you sit up, taking a few deep breaths. Lyle continues to watch you patiently and you smile and apologise for snapping. He isn’t upset. Lyle is an overly friendly angel and just wanted you to feel better. If you had asked him to, that man would have sat next to you for a few hours. Even if you fell asleep, he would not leave your side.

Since you were in a vulnerable state, he was happy he was the one looking out for you. And look out for you he will. He will get you absolutely anything and will make sure you are comfortable. If someone would need to talk to you he would handle it, sending them away. If you would get cold, he would cover you in his jacket or hoodie, etc. Wainfleet was just a big friendly giant to those he cared about.

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littlebluespoon · 8 months

Text

Nightmare ~ Captain John Price au

oh my god. okay. here it is. my first fanfic/piece of writing in years. thank you @ohbo-ohno for the inspiration and for letting me borrow your truck driver au <3 it is very much appreciated.

Please leave likes, comments and feedback its all welcomed. And my ask box is open!

Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, all plot, unedited and written in like 4 hours

Without further ado, truck driver John Price

~~~~~~

Price had been driving for what felt like an eternity that night. He could feel himself drifting off to sleep so when he spotted a sign for a 24 hour diner he decided to stop, it was the first sign of any civilisation in miles, was probably the only thing around for another couple of hours and it was already 2am. As the building came into sight he could see that it was an older greasy spoon type diner that probably hadn’t been deep cleaned in a decade, the car park was mostly empty, a few bikes and a single car out front and he spotted another couple of cars, probably employees he thought, around the back.

Walking in, the door let out a little chime alerting the place to his presence but no one looked up. The small group of bikers were too involved in a game of table hockey and a couple sat by the door seemed to be arguing about where they should spend their holidays. Prices walked further in towards the back, choosing a table that gave him a good view of the door and the whole of the diner. He glanced at the menu but from experience he knew most of these places had similar menus so he settled for people watching. And that’s when he saw you for the first time. Dressed in the diner uniform, a little greasy from your shift, obviously tired and sore from being on your feet with a glum look on your face as you kept yourself busy cleaning tables. It wasn’t until you walked up to his table and he saw the beaming smile that slowly spread across your face that he felt something stir in him.

“Good morning, evening, night. Welcome to John’s Diner, what can I get you?” to him your voice was like a melody, it took him a moment to answer,

“Whatever passes for steak in this place, love. And as much coffee as you’ve got.” He winks as he replies, trying to be charming and catch your attention but you just smile and confirm his order before walking away, the smile falling from your face as you turned your back.

He doesn’t say much more on that visit but he watches you. The smile never coming back to your face for the rest of your shift. You fill his cup with nothing more than a “Heres’ your coffee sir”, you make non-committal noises with the arguing couple and you brush off the bikers with a practiced ease. He watches you leave an hour later, wearing a jacket far too thin for the weather, waving a hand to the chef and nodding at the server who comes in to take over from you. As he’s no longer falling asleep and with nothing else, John gets back on the road and decides that he’ll stop here again on his way back. He convinces himself it’s because the coffee is decent and it’ll always be available to him but he secretly hopes he’ll see you smile again.

He stops at the diner several times before he sees you again. Its midnight and he hasn’t eaten all day, he notes the empty car park as he walks in and the now familiar door chime almost comforting to him. He sees a server with their back to them but doesn’t realise it’s you until you turn at the sound of the door. He falters for a moment before offering a smile and a small wave, in return he gets the beaming smile from you that he’s been waiting for. As he sits at his usual table he keeps an eye on you, seeing you pull a notepad and pen from your pocket, he notices the pen has a turtle on it,

“Steak and coffee right?” you ask him and it makes him giddy because you remembered him.

“You remembered? Yeah, steak and coffee” John can’t stop himself from staring at your hands as you write down his order,

“You like turtles?” He asks you, trying to keep as much of your attention as possible and taking advantage of the fact there’s no other customers around.

“Oh, uh, yeah but they’re not my favourite,” your smile turns shy as you glance between your pen and him, “My best friend bought me the pen, she’s very into environmental campaigning.” You explain, before going to put his order in.

As you pour him his coffee John once again tries to keep you by his side, he wants to know everything about you now,

“So what are your favourite animals?” he asks you,

“Sharks, and orcas even though they’re dolphins.” Your eyes light up as you talk the night away about everything you enjoy and John commits everything to memory, not willing to forget anything about you.

Eventually he has to get back on the road so he bids you goodbye with a bright smile and the biggest tip you’ve ever received. As the door chimes signalling his departure it was like it was the signal his brain was waiting for. The thought of having to leave you became thoughts of never having to leave you. The times he’s spent driving and thinking about you, become thoughts of what if you were there, net to him? Every time he imagined your smile became thoughts of getting to see it whenever he wanted. John stood in the dark car park just imagining ways he could make his fantasies real, listening to the devil on his shoulder before the angel could remind him that what he was thinking was wrong and would hurt you. But before he could convince himself that the angel was right it was like the universe intervened. A large group of bikers pulled into the diner and distracted you and at the same time the lights over the employee car park went out. That wasn’t unusual for the lights and it would never take you long to notice and reset the breaker but with the bikers being rowdy inside, John knew you wouldn’t have a chance and so he listened to the universe, seized the moment and changed your future.

It took him less than a minute to break into your car. In under-five he had your address, a copy of your keys and had stuck one of the trucks GPS trackers under your seat. It took five minutes for John’s mindset to change, he went from wanting to see you because your smile brightened up his long, boring nights to making sure no one else ever saw your smile again. In less time than it took for you to make his pot of coffee he went from the friendly regular that you enjoyed chatting with, to the thing that haunts your nightmares.

For months his routine seemed the same to you, he would show up at the diner a couple of times a week and you would spend a few hours chatting in between other customers. It was friendly and you looked forward to it. They became the highlights of your weeks especially with what was happening at home.

It started with things being moved. They weren’t where you remembered leaving them, drawers that you left open were closed and vice versa, trinkets were turned around from their normal positions. It was all things that you blamed on yourself. When things went missing you continued to blame yourself, a hoodie, underwear (blamed that one on the dryer), your favourite book, it was all things that you figured you’d left in work or at a friend’s. But as time went on you couldn’t find them, instead you’d find open windows, flowers on your table that you didn’t buy, missing food and leftovers. You’d even once found man’s underwear in your laundry. You couldn’t explain any of this anymore and it terrified you.

For months John’s routine became driving for work and picking up things you might like, seeing you at the diner and getting to know more things about you, pretending to go back to work but instead camping outside your house, watching you until you left and then letting himself in. When you were gone all day he would enter your house like he lived there, he would watch your tv, use your washing machine, eat your food. He lived in a fantasy of being your roommate. He took notes on your favourite foods to buy, what you watched on Netflix and how you decorated your bedroom. When work took him further away and he didn’t get to see you that week he would spend the time making sure his truck was ready for you.

He upgraded the bed, added more blankets and even some lights similar to ones you had. He stocked up on your favourite snacks, bought you books from your wish list and built a plush nook in the back of the truck for you to read in. It took him months but eventually his truck was ready for you. Your nook was filled with only soft things and books and it was painted your favourite colours. His bed was bigger and had a new mattress just for you, along with the softest bedding he could find. You would want for nothing in your new home and if you did, he would bring it to you so you never had a reason to leave. All John was waiting for now was an opportunity to bring you home.

The day he brought you home started out awful for him. Part of the load he delivered was damaged, there was an accident that left him several hours delayed and he thought for sure he would miss your shift at the diner because of it. He had missed your shift, he pulled in just as you were walking out the door but you spotted him and practically skipped over to say hello,

“I thought I wouldn’t see you this week!” you were shouting to be heard over the wind and he looked fondly at you

“As if I would miss a chance to see you,” He tugs at the sleeve of your coat and tuts, “You need a warmer jacket love, the winter storms are starting.” He points up at the rainclouds that are threating a downpour as he watches you pull your jacket tighter around yourself.

“I know, but I’m only going from the door to my car so it’s never that bad” you explain to him, pointing out your car a few feet away.

Taking the chance John puts his arm over your shoulder and walks you to your car as the rain begins to fall,

“At least start bringing an umbrella?” He suggests, ‘I’d hate for you to get sick and be all alone in that house of yours.” He says the second half of the sentence so softly that you don’t hear him but it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d shouted it as you were too distracted by the flat tyre on your car,

“Fuck off!” you kick at the tyre and John’s shocked at the language, he’s never heard you swear, “Last week it was the radiator, before that the exhaust and before that the brakes. I don’t even have a spare because it’s on the front left already.” You cry out and stare dejectedly at your care as John moves closer to hug you and protect you from the weather. Seeing the chance he’s been waiting for he moves in,

“Come on love, I’ll give you a ride home and you can sort a mechanic in the morning.” He tugs you away from the car and towards his truck and you let him. Why wouldn’t you? John’s a friend, right?

He helps you lift yourself into his cab before getting into his own seat,

“Stick your address in the maps love and then you can choose the music, how’s that sound?” he gives you a toothless smile in an attempt to comfort you and he’s pleased when you do as he says.

“Thanks John, you’re a good friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Picking a soft rock station you sit back, resting your eyes and taking a moment to decompress from the bad week.

It’s not long before John notices that you fell asleep but he contains his excitement and drives around a bit longer, making sure you’re in a deep sleep. Once he’s sure you wont wake, he pulls over to the side of the road and moves you to the bed. He makes sure your comfortable. Taking off your shoes and changing you into a pair of sleep shorts and one of his t-shirts. He’s not completely delusional, he knows you’re going to freak out on him so he takes a moment to secure your ankles to your shared bed before taking off his own shoes and climbing in beside you. It’s what he imagines his heaven to be like, it’s even better than his fantasies. He lies there beside you, stroking your soft skin, smelling your strawberry shampoo and cuddling you until the sun rises.

He forgot to pull the curtain over before he got into bed with you so you wake at sunrise. Waking up slowly you go to stretch your legs only to realise you can’t. Opening your eyes and trying to sit up you realise your still in John’s truck,

“John, what happened? I thought you were taking me home?” You look up at him with the biggest puppy dog eyes you’ve even seen and he melts at the sight,

“You are home love, this is our home now.” The words that come out of his mouth are sickly sweet and he enjoys the look on your face as you realise you’re looking at the face of your nightmares.

#call of duty fanfic #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price x you #bluespoonswriting #cod fanfic #john price x reader #captain john price

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wannaeatramyeon · 11 months

Note

helloo! i've read your previous work for Gun, where you made a oneshot inspired by taylor's cardigan. i was hoping if you could write one inspired by "you're losing me" for Gun again or any other character from lookism that might fit the song. (can it be hurt no comfort?)

Hi anon! Thanks for requesting my fellow swiftie. Uhhh. I'm a little Gun-ed out right now. I've written a few angst Gun fics here, here (the cardigan one) and here. What I will give you, as inspiration randomly strikes at 2am is Eli. Me? Voluntarily writing for Eli?!?!

Eli Jang x Reader: You're losing me

You tolerated a lot, stretched your patience thin, with Eli. Took his issues and baggage on the chin, bonded with Yenna and love her like your own.

What you cannot tolerate is his reasoning, his logic.

The hypocrisy.

Making himself a martyr trying to protect his own family and ruining countless others.

Leaving behind a trail of tears and heartache within Hostel and ruining Warren too.

The Fifth Affiliates is bullshit. You ask him to explain it to you. Explain what he's doing, to help you understand. Each time he tries but you can't make sense of it. The fog just gets heavier, denser; you're lost and trapped without an exit.

You don't know who he is anymore. This isn't the Eli that you fell in love with. Who you followed from J High back to Hostel.

This is someone that you regret dulling your shine for.

Resentment growing each morning as he wakes, avoiding him and pretending to sleep. Even as you watch through half-closed lids the uniform that he puts on, the badge that he pins.

The Workers logo that you can't bear to look at. That stands for everything you hate. Your love dwindles each time he wears it.

For countless nights you pleaded with Eli to reconsider his cooperation with Workers. To actually choose his family. To choose Yenna and You, to choose Sally and Warren and Max and Derrick.

Eli tells you he already is, spitting fire with his words and daggers with his eyes. This is all for his family, for Hostel.

And it feels like a lie you've heard one too many times.

The hardest part, which tells you everything you need to know, is leaving Yenna. The thought of her growing up without you breaks your heart, causes sleepless nights and months of indecision.

You prolong it as long as you can, just for another day with her. To see her grow up a little more. Become the person you always thought she would.

In the end, you know you can't do it anymore. You've given this everything you had and more. You'll be gone by the end of today.

You watch Eli pin that badge on for the last time this morning and you realise you can't even bring yourself to hate him.

You're completely indifferent.

#this fits jake too but im too soft for jake to give him angst #lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism x reader #lookism hc #lookism fic #lookism fanfic #eli jang #eli jang x reader #jang hyun #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #wannaeatramyeon

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kyojurismo · 1 year

Note

Tengen takes pity on a poor, abused woman who her parents locked up in the basement. She’s quiet, scared and constantly compares herself to his wives. But after a bit, she opens up and ends up being part of the family

▸ ANSWERING. thank u for the request & i apologise for taking this long to write it ):

▸ FANDOM. kimetsu no yaiba

▸ CHARACTERS. tengen uzui, hinatsuru, makio & suma x fem!reader

▸ WORD COUNT. 862

▸ RATING. sfw

▸ WARNINGS. tengen marries r but it’s super rushed, i hope none of them is out of character help, also i wrote it at 2am so i deeply apologise + not proofread byee

tengen was able to find you because a demon attacked your family. he saved them and when he learned about you, uzui felt a strange feeling in his chest. he asked your parents to marry you, he was sure it was the only way to take you away.

“all i ask for is to marry your daughter.”

that’s what he said. you feared he would treat you like garbage, using you and probably get rid of you the moment you were no longer useful.

tengen took you with him as soon as possible and once you reached his big house, you met his other wives. you were truly surprised, not only because they were beautiful and stunning women, but because he got four wives now.

“oh, tengen-sama! you’re finally back!” suma cheerfully ran to hug him, hiding her face into his uniform. makio and hinatsuru welcomed him home too and then got closer to you, noticing your status.

you instinctively flinched back when hina tried to touch you, checking if you were injured or something. “who’s that?” makio asked, glancing at her husband. “this sweetheart right here is y/n, she’s part of the family now. let her feel at home… or maybe not, i imagine,” tengen got a bit lost in his thoughts in the end, but then suma appeared in front of you.

“hello! i am suma!” she smiled at you and once again you found yourself putting as much distance as possible between you and them. tengen noticed you were scared and that the only words he heard from you were ‘thank you’ and ‘i’m sorry’. he frowned at that.

“don’t be so loud, silly!” makio scolded suma, raising her voice too. hinatsuru tried to calm the two down before they started discussing in front of you and then tried once again to get closer to you. “i’m hinatsuru… why don’t you come inside to get a bath and change your clothes?” she gently asked, not sure about grabbing your hands or not. “tengen-sama, makio-san just hit me!” she cried, pointing at her. “stop screaming!”

“do what you gotta do, hina. i’ll take them away,” tengen glanced at hinatsuru and then grabbed both makio and suma, lifting them off the ground, and walked away, ignoring their protests.

“i’m sorry about the commotion, suma-chan gets excited easily but she’s totally harmless, i swear,” she smiled and guided you inside. “well, makio does hit her sometimes but she’s alright too.”

hearing hina laughing relaxed you a bit. you glanced around the house, before being taken to the bathroom. hina helped you bathing and then gave you a fresh and clean kimono, then she combed your hair.

“thank you,” you whispered, surprising her. it was the first time she heard your voice. “oh, i’m glad tengen-sama helped you and brought you with him. you’re very welcome and this is your home now,” hinatsuru’s words warmed up your chest and you nodded slowly.

after that, things started getting better. you weren’t scared about them anymore, but still you found yourself comparing yourself to the three of them. you wondered what pushed tengen to free you and take you with him.

you were quiet most of the time, choosing to listen to them chatting instead of actively taking part in the conversation. they tried to not spend too much time all together to avoid making you feel overwhelmed, and you silently appreciated it.

tengen never forced you to stay with them though, he said that you were free to leave them if you weren’t happy or if you simply wanted to wander around free, without being held back by others. but truth is, you grew fond of them all. you actually loved your new family, you enjoyed living together and they all noticed you were finally opening up.

“the food was amazing as always,” you complimented hina, who smiled. “suma-chan helped me,” she tickled suma’s side and you smiled. “y/n, do you want to go to the village for shopping later? we can buy you some new kimonos too,” makio offered, waiting for your answer. “oh, i… i would like to go, makio-san,” you nodded slowly, a bit uncertain.

“that’s a very flashy idea!” tengen’s voice filled the room, getting your attention. “i’m sure you will enjoy yourself,” he gently caressed your cheek and you felt your skin heating up. “ooh, i want a caress too! tengen-sama, tengen-sama!” suma got closer to uzui and pleaded him, making everyone chuckle.

he patted her head, making her smile, and caressed her hair. “i have the most beautiful wives in the world. i don’t deserve you,” he muttered, making you all frown. “don’t say that. you’re an amazing person, you’re kind and nice, you help and protect the innocent… and you saved me. we are lucky to have you.”

your words surprised them and filled tengen’s heart with pure adoration for you. he loved you all equally and would willingly sacrifice his life to protect the four of you.

“okay, it’s time for a big ol’ hug,” hina pulled you all together and you almost got squished between makio and tengen’s side, but you all laughed happily together.

▸ BEFORE LEAVING. reblog and comments are super appreciated. thank you for reading as always, have a good day / night ♡

#📂 — writing !!#tengen uzui x reader #tengen uzui x y/n #tengen uzui x you #hinatsuru uzui #makio uzui #suma uzui #tengen uzui drabble #tengen uzui blurb #tengen uzui imagine #tengen uzui one shot #tengen uzui #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic

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gabessquishytum · 9 months

Note

Hello Again Friend,

I wanted to thank you for your kind response to my last submission - it has given me the encouragement to actually start this outrageously large fic that I have going on in my head. We shall see if at least part of it will be ready for AO3 by the end of the year😅

I have been considering sending you a snippet I was working on but it’s not nearly as flushed out as the first scenario (emotional Dream kneeling fic idea, just to confirm) I submitted to you. (read: I haven’t had a 2am anxiety-induced writing frenzy over it lol). But seeing your reblog of deviantly-inspired’s post made me feel like I could share it with you no matter how unfinished. The concept in my mind is similar and is also inspired by multiple fandom headcanons/fic readings so here goes nothing~

*****

Before Dream begs Hob not to love him, before he kneels at the power Hob’s love has over him, and even before he allowed their relationship to slip unacknowledged past “just friends” into “what are we?,” territory, Dream had ignored his growing feelings for Hob. They had been friends seeing each other quite regularly for the better part of a year when Hob invited him upstairs to get away from the rambunctious new college graduates swarming the inn. Dream blamed their drunkenly hopeful and untamed dreams for the excitement he felt at following Hob to his private quarters. Of course, it was just a friendly invite considering Dream’s dislike for crowds and it was just a regular apartment for all intents and purposes. Except that it wasn’t. It was Hob’s apartment filled with Hob’s things and it was cozy and welcoming just like The New Inn. So how could Dream resist when Hob suggested they move future meetings there. “For the convenience, ya know? Less bothering the staff and saving money eating out ya know?” Hob is only rational so why disagree. “Not that you ever were an expensive date, ha! Seeing as I don’t think you ever ate at one of our meetings when I think about it. Hmm, do you even eat?”

Dream meets his eyes from where he sits across the couch: “If you mean do I need to consume sustenance for energy than no I don’t need to eat. But I usually abstain because like all things I consume I can sense the dreams of their creators which is unsatisfying in most cases.”

Hob’s eyes widen, “Unsatisfying because the dreams are bad or…?”

“Some. Often, the wishes are for riches or fame in cooking and sometimes they are dreams of being delicious or fulfilling which I find gratifying. But usually they are simply wishes to go home and rest which I believe you could see my hesitance for eating them in your company.” Dream smiles that tiny one-sided smile of his and Hob brightens up because he has a new goal based on what Dream said. He’s going to cook him a meal to enjoy just for him.

*Spongebob meme voice: Three Weeks Later”

Dream smells everything before he even knocks on the door of Hob’s flat. Hob has a bright smile despite the sweat on his face and he bows mockingly to say: “Your highness, dinner is served.”

Dream arches an eyebrow ready to decline the invite but even he knows it would be rude to deny as a guest. Especially when he can see Hob put a substantial amount of effort into the steaming pot he is currently scooping from. The drone of the oven fan fills the silent camaraderie of the moment as Dream sits at the small table set with two spoons and two glasses of wine. ‘How intimate,’ he thinks and is glad his embarrassed flush is covered up by Hob placing a gently steaming bowl in front of him and sitting across the table. “It’s just some beef stew but I hope you’ll like it. And it’s a totally odd companion dessert but I made some chocolate chip cookies to go with it. I’m just preheating the oven now.” Hob gives Dream a blindingly kind smile before he starts to eat and launches into a story about his Tuesday class.

The lack of pressure to eat or even talk is one of the things Dream appreciates about his friend. But to return this kindness he chooses to at least politely take a few bites before outright denying the cookies. On sight the stew is nothing more than dark gravy with hefty chunks of tender beef, soft carrots, fluffy potatoes, and translucent onions. A good hearty stew to be sure but nothing crazy for the palette and definitely not anything worth writing home about.

Dream scoops a single spoonful into his mouth and freezes. His natural stillness allows the moment to go unnoticed by Hob but the entire collective unconsciousness comes to a halt. The simple stew resonates with a multitude of wishes that coalesce into one overarching dream. The single most important dream of its creator imbued into every molecule and Dream can more than taste it. Run his human tongue over it, crush it between his teeth, and swallow it into the empty cavern of hunger too large for this human form to possess. The oven beeps so Hob excuses himself to quickly shape some cookies and get them into the oven. In the meantime, Dream is allowed to continue being overwhelmed in private.

He stares at where his spoon disappears into the comforting brown stew until his vision starts to blur. Tears are starting to well up in his eyes and though he has not been breathing this entire time his hands begin to shake. Shake with want, he wants to eat the entire bowl stew and all. The dream buried within that bowl begins to call to him and the intense fervor with which he wants to consume it all almost scares him. He wants to grab the still simmering cast iron pot and absorb it’s entirety into his being. Is it rude to eat Hob’s remainder? Could he lick the remaining flavor from within Hob’s lips so that he may always know it’s flavors? Is it too much to feel this way for a friend’s kindness? Is it too much for him to beg Hob for more sustenance? Is it too much to admit to Hob he is starving and only this will nourish him? What taste will his longing tears add to the broth? What more would Hob give him when he had nothing to offer in return?

The oven door shuts and suddenly the thought of an even sweeter food causes Dream to take in a lungful of air in fear. It would be too much to bear. It would be too much because he is too much.

“Are you okay, Dream? You look a little shaken.” Shaken? Yes, he is shaken to his core. The stinging tears threaten to fall but Dream blinks them back with immeasureable control because he cannot lose control. Not here.

“It is of no matter. My apologies for your efforts but I do not believe I could partake in your dessert. Thank you however, for the stew.” Dream carefully says only the truth. He does not say that it was ambrosia and the only reason he does not gorge himself on it is fear that there will be no more left. That’s not true, he fears acknowledging it would mean no more would come. Better to take this single bite now and have many singular bites in meetings to follow than to choke it all down now and never be able to feast again. He returns the spoon carefully to where it was initially set and puts his hands into his lap to hide their trembling.

“Of course, it’s totally fine, Dream! I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want. Besides, I’ll eat all of this myself eventually,” Hob smiles and tries not to let it be strained. He had hoped pouring all of his emotions into this meal would show Dream that he wanted to have more than just friendship with him but he must have misunderstood. It’s just plain soup after all and the cookies are the Tollhouse recipe so what was he expecting? A dramatic and mutual love confession? Was he thinking Dream would fall to his knees and rejoice in Hob’s regard? No! Of course, he would only stare at the soup with his starry eyes and take a singular bite before denying more. Maybe eating was painful and that’s why he had a pained expression on his face. Maybe Dream did know what feelings Hob put into the stew and was kindly ignoring them to allow Hob to save face and for that he was grateful. For that, he could continue their friendship without shame and choke down his soup and two cookies while still trying to play that he wasn’t bothered. He knew once Dream left the food would be thrown away.

Dream waited patiently for Hob to finish his stew and eat his warm cookies a little too soon after pulling them from the oven. Hob barely avoided choking on the burning dough through a series of undignified swearing about the temperature and blowing puffs of hot air from his open mouth. If Dream weren’t so caught up in his mind he would have done more than laugh his braying laugh. When Hob finishes they retire back to the perfectly worn out couch and Dream takes a last glimpse at the pot on the stove.

In that pot was a stew filled with unfathomable care and gentle regard for Dream. Every morsel flavored with warm feelings of positivity and each piece a wish for nourishment. The time taken imbued every spoonful with a wish for happiness. The mixture of textures and wishes gave the stew a singular flavor, a singular dream that Dream could not ignore. The stew, because its creator created it so, dreamed of comfort for Dream. A dream so beautiful and heartfelt it filled him with tears to be so cared for. It would be torture then to taste the cookies and know he could never have Hob. To know that he should not have Hob.

They said their goodnights and Hob packed away the stew because he couldn’t really bear to waste a perfectly good few meals. He did however, throw away the remaining cookie dough because it felt wrong to eat them or give them away when he made it for Dream. When he imagined Dream’s laugh with every scoop of flour, when he imagined the stars in Dream’s dark eyes for every grain of salt, the baking soda his smirk, the egg yolks his sunny small smiles, the white sugar his pale human skin, the brown sugar his dark unruly hair, the vanilla extract his unique scent, when every stir was a loving caress he longed to give and with every chocolate chip a sweet kiss. He would throw this declaration of love away if only to keep their friendship.

Dream returned to the Dreaming in a sweep of sand and he was glad to be away from Hob. From his flat’s intoxicating warmth and his easy smiles if only so he could think. He had to stop this from going further. He could not love Hob. It would ruin him. He would not let himself do that to his dearest friend…his only friend. He would not love Hob and it would be okay. Because they could be friends! Because it would be enough.

It will be okay because Hob does not love him.

****

You know, I am so sorry for coming to you a second time and just dropping my long ass scenarios on you lol. I just can’t get the imagine of Hob making Dream something yummy and it being so full of care that it makes Dream well up with tears. He has never been loved so quietly before, so patiently, so unobtrusively and I just want that for him. Hopefully, this will get worked into the same fic and hopefully one day we’ll all be able to read it lol. Once again, my apologies for dropping this on you but I hope you have a good day!!!!!!!!!!!!! ❤️

Sincerely,

🧶Anon

Oh beloved 🧶 anon!!! I'm so glad to hear that you felt encouraged by my last response, I'm absolutely thrilled and so excited by the prospect of reading what you create! Even if it takes some time, I promise that the effort will be worth it.

I'm absolutely obsessed with what you've done with Dream and food and love here. It's so beautiful and it's one of my favourite things to think about. How does Dream interpret love, as an Endless being with access to the entire collective unconsciousness of humanity? He seems very much to feel emotions in the same way that we do - perhaps even in a more heightened way. I'm so interested in the way a home cooked meal imbued with all of Hob’s thoughts and good intentions and love would make him feel. How overwhelming would it be to have those things directed at him specifically for once? Hob’s love is not overwhelming, in itself. It's an ember that's burned softly for many years, and nothing can put it out. But even though it is so gentle, Dream just can't... hold it. Not without coming apart.

And Hob, oh bless him. I'm totally in the "food is Hob’s love language" camp. I'm so emotional about the idea of him sadly throwing out the cookie dough, respectful of Dream’s wishes but still feeling a little bruised that his love doesn't seem to be enough. I think that he won't stop trying, though. That little ember isn't going anywhere.

So, once again: thank you for sharing this. You are wonderful and you're going to make a wonderful fic. I hope you have a great day, my friend!

#🧶 anon #the sandman #dreamling

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edensbuttercups · 1 year

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Is this a joke? Pt. II - Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

Read part one here!

Summary: As the Uranium mission unfolds, Jake deals with his feelings and the knowledge that he'll have to talk to you once he gets back.

A/N: Finally here with part two! It's been an up and down week in terms of writing motivation, but the love this fic has received honestly warmed my heart. So, here we go with part two! I hope you all enjoy ♡ Has this been proofread? Absolutely not, in typical me fashion 😌

(also, half thinking of a part three with how the date would actually go, maybe a shorter part but 👀 I am open to ideas and/or suggestions 😌)

Words: 3.5k

As always, requests are open and comments are very much appreciated! Thank you for reading and hope you're all having a good day ♡

He could hear it all.

Waiting, hands gripping the controls, ready to takeoff if he was needed.

Daggers descending below radar.

Hangman sighed when he heard Maverick’s words, feeling the tension rise. It was the quiet before the storm, waiting and knowing that even shit hit the fan, he’d have to be in standby until deemed necessary. Unwillingly, he let his mind slip back to you. Your words echoing in his brain just as much as the ones on the radar had. I have a crush on you.

Now, that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, because he had a crush on you. And as much as he should’ve been happy, should’ve jumped for joy, wrapped his arms around you, kissed you like he had craved so many times before, he couldn’t be, because it was real now. It wasn’t something he could dream about before bed anymore, resting his head on the pillow and thinking of what it would be like to tell you how he felt, hold your hand and call you his, no, now he had to face it. He had to choose words that he knew he’d be terrible at choosing, to tell you something that he’d be terrible at conveying. And the worst part of it all was that he had left you there, after such a revelation, and you probably hated him now. And he deserved it.

Sir, dagger two and four are behind schedule.

He listened in, cursing under his breath. “C’mon Rooster. You can do it.” he whispered to himself only, no one there to hear him. It felt small, the space around him, unbearably warm while on ground, beads of sweat slowly running down his brow, feeling like he needed air, needed space, needed time, while also feeling safe there, feeling useful.

You woke up that morning with a knot in your throat, the memory of what had happened still very much vivid in your mind, along with the knowledge of what the dagger squad was probably facing right now. Plucking your phone from the bedsheets, you looked at Rooster’s message again.

Roos 🐓: leaving now. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll text you when we get back, and drinks are on me!

You smiled at his words again, chuckling at his ways, always leaving with a smile even if you knew how much these missions stressed him, having told you the way he felt sometimes, the air not quite enough when things could go wrong so easily, when he thought about his dad while up there.

And then there was Jake. Confident in every way, except for that time he came knocking at your door at 2am after Bob and Natasha got hit by a bird strike and Coyote G-locked. Pretended he was fine, pacing in your living room, apologizing and trying to keep his jokes going, shaking his head in a silent laughter when you approached him, seeing the way his eyes softened when you stopped him in his tracks, a hand on each shoulder. “Are you okay?” That night stayed between the two of you, and even between you there had been no more talks of it. It lived in your mind, though, the way Jake had wrapped his arms around you, the height difference making it seem like he was the one comforting you and not the other way around, and if he cried then it was never mentioned, never acknowledged. He fell asleep by your side, far enough to not feel like he was overstepping, close enough to hold your hand through the night. The next morning he left with a soft smile, thanking you when you handed him his coffee, as if that was what he was thanking you for, ready to put on his usual front in front of the squad. And that was how Jake was. He was a mocking, teasing type of friend, one that you could joke with and pretend to hate as much as you wanted, but that ultimately won your heart by showing you those sides of him that were truly him.

You sighed, setting the phone down again and sitting up, letting your feet dangle off the bed. Radio silence would await you until they were all back, and even if that didn’t help with the incessant static in your mind, you moved on with your day, pretending that you weren’t worried, or hurt.

Hearing Rooster call bombs away had been the first part that caused Hangman’s nerves to grow, the tension in his hands making them tighten as he listened, following each word coming from the radio with a forced attention, ready for his signal. Then, bullseye was called, a smile growing on his face, a silent cheer shared with, once more, no one but himself, but the knowledge that they had made it, not him specifically, but the team. Barely the time to celebrate went by before tension rose again, the enemy missiles getting launched one by one, a mess of voices and screams over the radio, and then, just when things couldn’t get worse, they did.

Dagger one is hit! Maverick down. Dagger one status!

A jumble of words before the order to go back.

Recommend dagger flow south.

Hangman heard the panic in Rooster’s voice, understood the history between him and Maverick, knew what losing someone felt like. “Dagger spare, request permission to fly air cover” He spoke quickly, concisely, ready to takeoff. He had probably messed up his chances with you, but that didn’t mean he had to lose Rooster as well, seeing now just how much of a dick he could be with the people he deep down cared for. “Negative, spare.” he heard back, sighing in defeat. There was nothing he could do. Nothing. Useless, waiting for them to come back, a celebration bound to happen only on paper, one of them lost.

Dagger, you are not to engage.

Hangman almost did engage, but didn’t. His job was to follow orders, and that’s what he did. Yet dagger two did not. Rooster hadn’t followed directions, flying right back to where Maverick had fallen, ignoring everything and everyone else and heading straight back into danger. After all, he had more courage than Hangman had.

Dagger two is hit. Dagger two, do you copy?

There was nothing more painful than that silence. They couldn’t lose someone two people in one mission. Couldn’t lose Rooster. If Hangman was to come home to you, hoping you’d at least listen to him, how could he come back without your best friend?

Hangman let out a low chuckle when Rooster signal was traced again, and fully laughed when it had been clear Maverick was along. Soon enough, no matter how good they were, he got the all clear to help them, flying out to save their asses just in time. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is your savior speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts and return your tray tables to their locked and upright position and prepare for landing.” He wasn’t hiding the smile he was brightly wearing, adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he flew side by side with Maverick and Rooster, never happier to see both of their faces. They were okay. “Hey Hangman. You look good.” He could only see Rooster’s eyes, but it was evident that he was happy to see him, and god was he happy to see them. Alive. “I am good. I am very good.” He did feel very good indeed. This was the part of his job that kept him going, the adrenaline all the more intense when something bad almost happened, and while he never wanted to lose anyone again, he welcomed the feeling.

Celebrations done and hugs shared, everyone dispersed, preparing to go home again, each member of a team talking to someone while they still buzzed with adrenaline while Maverick talked to the Admiral. All except for Hangman. Everyone noticed, but no one approached him, knowing he had his times and not minding the silence his absence brought, yet Rooster eventually walked towards him, sitting by his side with a loud huff. “So what’s up, Hangman?” Rooster finally asked. He had been thankful of Hangman saving him, and despite not having had the best of relationships with him, his reaction to your words only adding to that, he seemed to have gotten over that once they landed, seeing a truthful relief in the aviator’s eyes. Hangman took a sharp breath in, looking down with a smirk on his lips. “You sure you want to talk about it?” He asked, looking up at Rooster. It felt weird, after so long of teasing and mocking to just open up to him, even if he was the only person he could open up to, considering that he was the only other person, besides you and him, to know about what had happened. “Hard to pick sides when you only know half the story. And realistically, I’m not going to pick your side, but you know.” Rooster shrugged, smiling nonetheless, glad to see the blond man relax, taking a seat by his side as he let out a breath he had been holding, glad for the mission to have gone the way it had, but still nervous to make his way back home. “She told me she’s got a crush on me.” Hangman muttered, letting his head fall back. “Yeah, and you just cut her short with a we’ll talk when I get back.” Rooster mocked, raising the pitch of his voice in mock-tone, rolling his eyes. “She told me.” He then added, noticing how Hangman’s eyes were back on him. “Was she upset?” He asked, and Rooster hadn’t always been the best judge of Jake “Hangman” Seresin, but if he had to judge him now he’d say the blond man was actually genuinely concerned.

And he would be right.

Jake had spent the night before the mission falling in and out of sleep, words left unsaid ghosting on his lips, along with worry in his chest, even if he hadn’t technically been chosen to fly, if not for backup, but the team he had warmed up to was, and he had grown to care for them, even if he didn’t always show it. “She… was… fine?” Rooster spoke after a moment of thought, glaring at Hangman when he rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t answer my question.” He said, letting out a frustrated groan. He hadn’t want to make you upset. He knew he had, and that wouldn’t change that he was mad at himself for it, but still, he didn’t like hearing it. “Do you like her back?” Rooster asked instead of fixing his prior sentence, letting that go. “Clearly.” “So why did you leave?” Hangman sighed, closing his eyes and trying to find some words that wouldn’t earn a That makes no sense, Hangman, or something along those lines.

He knew it didn’t.

It didn’t make sense to run away when the person he did like told him they liked him back, and yet he did. It didn’t make sense to crave your touch even when he had never felt it like he wished, especially not when he’d never get to feel it now that it had messed up. And it didn’t make sense to be here, confiding his secrets and feelings to Bradley fucking Bradshaw, and yet. “I was going to tell her that I have a crush on her.” he said, grimacing at the way the words felt as he pronounced them. He raised a finger when he saw Rooster move to speak, not wanting him to chime in just yet, not having said enough words to potentially save his reputation, or what was left of it. “I had time. Not telling her meant I could choose the moment, be in control of the situation, see how it played out, say it was a joke if she happened to reject me.” “What a way to own up to your feelings.” Rooster mumbled, rolling his eyes but letting him go on. “But she told me, now. Power’s in her hands. I’m the one that has to answer, and I can’t hide behind anything if…” Hangman stopped mid-sentence, frowning as he thought about what he was afraid of. “If she doesn’t like you? She said she does. That’s solved. And power being in her hands…” Rooster sighed, shaking his head, “this ain’t about power. It’s about liking each other.” He waited for Hangman to add something, anything, but he was just looking ahead, studying the floor with particular interest. “Hangman, you know about it. People flirt with you, you flirt back-” “Yeah, but they don’t like me. They like the idea of the confident Navy man that could easily swoop them to bed and rock their world.” He said smirking, before his lips fell back down. “She doesn’t.” Rooster hummed, understanding where he was going with his words. “She likes you.” “I don’t know when last time someone actually liked me.” Hangman revealed, knowing he’d regret being this open with Rooster, but allowing it to happen for now. “Okay, listen. I hated it, trust me, before today you were probably my least liked person.” Hangman scoffed and Rooster’s words, but nodded at him to go on. “But she made me change my mind about you, in some small stupid way. She likes you because of the way you are when no one’s looking. She sees something more, something I don’t see, and arguably, maybe she’s the only one that does, but either way, she likes you.” Rooster went on, not allowing the blond aviator to add anything else until he was done. “She went on about you every time we were together, asking about how you were doing, how you were, yet openly bickering with you when you were around. It was, and is, infuriating. But what’s more infuriating is you letting this chance go, breaking your heart alongside hers just ‘cause you’re afraid.”

Rooster didn’t add anything other than that, didn’t give Hangman the chance to reply, just stood and left, walking back towards Bob and Fanboy, clapping his hands over their shoulders and pulling them into a hug. Hangman knew he’d join them in a few minutes, put on his smirk and go back to his usual self, but he allowed himself a moment to consider his words, his fear. Rooster was, ultimately, right, and he was being scared of something that he shouldn’t have been scared of in the first place.

Time seemed to slow down when they landed back in Miramar, everyone still chattering and bubbling with energy, leaving him sitting in the back until most of them had risen to their feet, eager to get off. Hangman descended the stairs slowly, having, for once, allowed - and insisted - for everyone to go ahead, getting to the tarmac before he did. He saw Rooster turn back to him and ignored him, trying to prepare himself for the conversation he was going to have with you, clenching his hands into fists. He gave Rooster the chance to walk up to you, keeping his steps slow as he walked towards you, weighing his words. I’m sorry for leaving without saying anything. I like you too, I’m just afraid to give you the power to break my heart. I’m not good at relationships. He cursed under his breath, knowing that as much as there words echoed the truth, there was no way he’d actually be able to speak them.

Rooster knew Hangman was approaching when your eyes left his to land on the blond aviator behind him, a small smile on your lips, expression softening, before you let it go back to a more distant one, smiling only when you met Bradley’s eyes again. “I’m so glad you’re back.” You hummed, ignoring the man that was now steadily approaching. “You should listen to what he’s got to say.” Bradley said in reply, reaching to hold your hand, then letting it go when he saw your nod. You were going to listen, yes, but seeing him there, okay and alive, you felt the emotions you had felt on that night bubble back up, buried by the worry and rising once it had gone, and you weren’t sure you could do much more than listen with the sadness and anger taking over again. “Need me to stay?” He asked before leaving, nodding once again when you muttered a no, thank you, watching him walk towards Hangman and pat him on the back as he went to join the others, leaving the two of you alone. “Can we talk?” He asked you when he reached you, expression pleading for something, anything, when the stare you gave him was colder than it had ever been. “Drive me home?” You asked instead, not wanting to be around the others in the off chance you’d end up crying. Drinks at the Hard Deck had already been planned, but you had a few hours before that, and could easily pull yourself back together when he told you that he didn’t feel the same way. Hangman nodded,

You walked in, keys jingling until you left them by the door, closing your eyes when the door shut behind you. “I’m sorry.” Hangman mumbled, voice low and raspy, and you hated it. Hated it because had it been any other word, it would’ve had you blushing, but this made you feel bad, for you more than for him. “I should’ve known. I pushed it.” You said instead, sitting on the couch with a huff, grabbing one of the pillows and holding onto it. He paced the floor, much like you had that first night, going back and forth and back and forth until you stopped him by throwing a pillow at him, laughing when he lost his balance and almost fell. “Fighter pilot and yet a pillow takes him down.” You teased, smirking. “Not my fault, you’re an excellent shot.” He answered back effortlessly, a smile making its appearance back on his face. “Am I?” Hangman nodded, smirking as he picked the pillow up, setting it at the foot of the couch and sitting on it, looking up at you from there. “I’m angry with you.” You added, shaking your head when he tried to speak. “Not ‘cause you don’t like me back, that’s fine. It’s not something I expected from you, anyway, it was just a secret I couldn’t carry anymore. But I’m angry ‘cause you left with barely a word, and you didn’t text before leaving, and as much as I know why you didn’t… I was still worried. I care for you, and I knew there was a chance I wasn’t going to see you again, and I just-” “Stop.” You looked down to see him, eyes closed and cheeks red, his eyebrows drawn together. Shifting slightly, you waited, not sure as to what he was going to say, but hoping his next words wouldn’t be the ones telling you that your whole friendship was over. “Kiss me.” “What?” It takes you a minute to respond, expecting to hear anything but that. You smirk, rolling your eyes at your next words, but go on anyway, quoting him. “Is this a joke?” “I’m not good with words.” He hisses, rolling his eyes too. “Ah, but you’re good with kisses, you sl-” Before you could mock him he reached for your arm, yanking you down so that you fell in his lap, his lips easily finding yours in a bruising kiss, letting go of a shallow he wasn’t aware he had been holding, groaning when he felt you melt against him, your hand reaching to rest over his shoulder, slowly trailing up into his hair, tugging on it slightly. “Don’t tease.” He hums, smirking as he pulls away, lips red and pupils blown, a completely different image from the one that was pacing in front of you a few minutes ago. “Wasn’t.” You say innocently, leaning your head into his hand as if comes up to cup your cheek, a softness taking over his features you hadn’t seen often, not with anyone but you, anyway. And you realize, then, that it had been foolish to think he’d want to end your friendship, his looks always different from the ones he reserved for his friends. “I promise I will find words to tell you how I feel, but for now just know that I like you too.” He whispers, watching you closely and pecking your lips again, happy to finally be able to. “You owe me a date.” You hum, running a hand in his hair again, loving the way his perfect strands get messed up under your touch. “I owe you a lot more than a date, but how does tomorrow sound?”

Taglist: (For those that didn’t explicitly ask me to tag them, I hope you don’t mind being tagged, but I thought you might like to read part 2!♡) @alana4610 @bookaholics-stuff @addietagglikesbands @asshlyyyy @malfoysqueen54

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman angst #hangman fluff #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman fanfic #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick #hangman

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