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tenpintsof-sundrop · 1 year ago

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Some Kind of Disaster - Preview

Gally (TMR) x Fem!Reader

Concept: You saw Gally take a spear through the chest, and you are more than shocked to find him alive and well, in front of your eyes.

Preview Word Count: 970

If you like this preview, follow my writing blog @sundrop-writes and turn on notifications there as the full fic will be posted there sometime within the next few months when I have the time and energy to edit it. I may or may not make a TMR taglist, I'm not sure??

A/N: This is based entirely on the movie version of Gally, as I haven't read the books and don't plan on doing so. The title comes from an All Time Low song of the same name - which I would highly recommend listening to in order to get the vibes for this fic. Also apparently this is the same concept as a dozen other Gally fics, but I don't really care right now - because I got inspired to do it and it's entirely self indulgent, and this is my take on the concept lmao. I am currently on hiatus, but I've been working on fics as a form of stress relief during this time - but I haven't been editing fics. This fic will be posted after its edited sometime within the next month or two. (And there is already a sequel in the works, shhh.) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, and feedback is much appreciated!

Warnings: the full fic will be smut, but this is more of a tease of that; the reader character uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; spoilers for the films if you haven't seen them; arguing that turns into kissing; Gally has a self-deprecating/insecure inner monologue; mentions of Newt x Reader (it's one-sided in this fic, but may be something more later on ;)); Gally being possessive, Gally being rough (but the reader likes it); mention of Gally masturbating to thoughts of the reader; implications of Gally being taller than the reader (which I think is likely for most people cause Will Poulter is pretty fuckin tall); technically virginity loss (but it's not a big focus of the fic) - it's more about two people naturally enjoying their first time together (and I wrote this the same way I would write a first time in a relationship with two slightly more experienced characters) - and also nothing majorly sexual comes up in this part; this section: heated kissing with intentions towards sex, and that's pretty much it.

...

“Look, I’m sorry I’m not like them, okay?”

He spat out these words bitterly when you didn’t speak, and this left you confused. “I’m sorry I’m not some dumb brave hero guy-”

You reached out and roughly shoved the middle of his chest again. Unknowingly, this aggravated the healed scar where the spear had gone through him, sending a dull ache through him at having the tender pink skin so roughly prodded without his chest armor on this time.

“You’re so stupid!” You barked back, utterly insulted by his words.

He thought this was par for the course, that you would begin hurling more insults before storming out. He thought that you would tell him his supposed ‘death’ had been the best thing that had ever happened to you, and the longing looks Newt had given you were truly something more.

“God, you’re so-!”

You choked on your own words and tears welled up in your eyes, and you took a sharp breath before you continued.

“You are that dumb brave hero guy!” You yelled back, speaking like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Gally gaped at you, and you continued.

“What do you think all that was?” You gestured vaguely behind yourself, obviously speaking about the events earlier in the day - when he had rushed into heavy bomb fire to drag you and the others to safety. “That was the dumbest hero guy thing I have ever seen.” You said, putting a stain of emphasis on the word ‘dumb’, pinching his own phrasing for it right in the ass.

“That was nothing, I just did that because you were in danger, and-”

“And that’s exactly what Thomas would have done.” You replied, quickly cutting him off. “You’re every bit as good as him. You are.”

There was a tense moment where you stared him down, deep contemplation knit across his features while you waited for him to agree with you.

“I wasn’t when you left the Maze.” He added on, quiet guilt floating through his voice. “I wasn’t brave then. I was a coward. I couldn’t be what you needed-”

“You have always been what I need, Gally. When will you get that through your thick shank skull?”

You were done rehashing the past.

You were done contemplating the details of what could have been. It hit you truly then - all that mattered to you now was the fact that Gally, your Gally was in front of you, somehow alive and well. And though it was something you never could have predicted, you wouldn’t let such a beautiful thing slip through your fingers.

You reached out and grabbed the front of his sweatshirt, pulling him forward roughly. At the end of that jerking motion, he was met with your lips, and he sunk into the kiss without a second thought, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh that shouldn’t have suited him so well. Adding to that softness as he reached up to gently cup your cheeks while you gnawed at him with a feral passion.

This is exactly what he had been waiting for. This was the reunion he had wanted all along.

In a moment, the touch, your desperate grip on the front of his shirt, the way you ran your teeth along his bottom lip, edging toward something more - it triggered something within him. A possessive streak over you that had long been dormant; something once fueled by rage and jealousy and fear over the bad things that might happen to you if he wasn’t constantly looking over your shoulder. Now, it came from something much deeper.

That immature love he had felt for you that had only grown and matured during your time apart, adding to a hungry passion for you now that he had you back in his arms - now that he could feel the heat of your skin, smell you, hear the whimpering patter of your breath and know that you were so damn real. (Not just another falsehood of his imagination with the details poorly filled in that he tried to soothe himself with, while he had a hand on his cock.)

He was the one who charged at you this time, shoving you backwards and walking tightly with you, crowding you back until you hit a wall. You hadn’t truly taken in your surroundings, and if you had half a mind to, you would have noticed that this was some kind of dingy store room - used for scavenged spare parts for the vehicles and old guns that needed to be repaired in order to be put into use.

But your brain didn’t take any of that in when your back made contact with the wall, Gally still kissing you fiercely, making you downright dizzy. You didn’t have time to think when one of his hands took a possessive hold on your thigh, hiking your leg up around his hip while his presence loomed over you, like the perfect protective wall you always felt that he was. He continued the heated liplock for a moment before he pulled away for air, and then, a particular query couldn’t be contained within you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked, half-teasing, still holding your death grip on his shirt.

There was a particular hum between your thighs - something hot and beating and alive, a calling that demanded to be answered. You knew that you would be devastated if Gally stopped too soon or didn’t rise to that call. So you had to know what his intentions were now to prepare yourself for the potential disappointment.

“Showing you how much I missed you.” He answered firmly, entirely certain, leaning in to capture your mouth again - pressing his whole body tightly against yours now.

It sent a thrill through you - knowing that he would answer that call and thensome.

#sundrop writes #tmr gally #gally x reader #gally maze runner #gally x y/n #gally tmr #gally tmr x reader #gally the maze runner #the maze runner #the maze runner fanfiction #gally tmr x you #gally tmr fanfiction #tmr fandom #tmr fanfic

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chvoswxtch · 2 years ago

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we got a problem

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you discover a shocking revelation about who's behind the defenders of freedom.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of guns & violence

word count: 4k

a/n: this chapter is a little on the shorter side, but it does contain a huge bombshell. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

If someone had told you six months ago that you would be going shopping with Frank Castle, you would’ve done more than laugh maniacally; you would’ve recommended that they get a psychological evaluation. Hell, even seventy-two hours ago you wouldn’t have believed it. But here you were, in the women’s section, sifting through hangers and stacks of clothing with Frank following you closer than your own shadow, listening to his quiet grunts of irreverence and faint hums of approval when your fingers wandered over different items.

“I don’t get what the big deal is ‘bout this place. It’s just a store.”

All at once, your palm paused over a dark blue pair of jeans, and you looked up at Frank in a mock expression of horror while clutching your hand over your chest.

“Target isn’t just a store, Frank. It’s a way of life. And we happen to be in a Super Target, which means not only do they have literally everything you could ever want, but there’s a built-in makeup store and a Starbucks.”

Frank rolled his eyes in exasperation and grumbled under his breath as he lifted the white grande cup up on cue, which looked comically tiny in his large hand, and brought it up to his lips to take a sip of the black coffee he had gotten.

“Yeah, don’t remind me I paid seven fuckin’ dollars for one goddamn cup of coffee.”

“Technically you paid eighteen because you were kind enough to buy my iced latte.”

“Is it even still a latte when you ask for fifteen extra fuckin’ shots of espresso?”

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you arched one of your brows and placed your hands on your hips while looking up at Frank.

“I asked for two extra shots-“

“When it already came with four-“

“I don’t need to explain my caffeine intake to you. Now, if you’re finished with your interrogation, can you tell me how long we plan to be on the run for?”

A slight crease nestled between Frank’s brows while his features twisted into a look of incomprehension. Shoving one of his large hands into his jean pocket, he pursed his lips slightly in conjunction with shrugging his broad shoulders.

“However long it takes to figure out who’s behind this shit.”

“And…exactly how many outfits and tubes of toothpaste does that translate into?”

“Just get whatever ya want.”

Pinching at the bridge of your nose, you inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath before crossing your arms over your chest and staring up at Frank.

“I don’t know how much you think journalists make, but I can’t exactly-“

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, I’m buyin’.”

Those words were certainly not what you were expecting to come from Frank’s mouth, and the shock was evident on your features. While you stared up at him, completely stunned, Frank gave a light shake of his head with a miniscule charming smile and took another sip of his coffee.

“You can’t use any of your credit cards. They could be trackin’ your bank accounts to figure out where you are.”

“I could pull out-“

“You use an ATM to get cash, they’ll know which one you pulled it from, and that gives ‘em a location. As far as they know, you’re dead somewhere. The longer they think that, the more time we got to figure this shit out.”

“Frank-“

“Just put the goddamn stuff in the cart, and finish your liquid heart attack. We got shit to do.”

Realizing that Frank was serious about his offer, a part of you felt guilty for all the items currently in your cart. You weren’t high maintenance by any means-okay maybe a little, but a girl has needs. You couldn’t get by with three shirts, two pairs of jeans, and a three in one bath product like Frank could.

On the other hand, you were curious to see exactly how much you could get away with, and the urge to press his buttons was oh so tempting. A devious grin stretched slowly across your lips, and Frank narrowed his eyes at you in suspicion when he noticed the mischievous twinkle in your gaze.

“Well, if you insist.”

Dropping the jeans into the cart with a satisfied smirk, you pushed the cart over towards the makeup section in the middle of the store and could hear a disgruntled Frank muttering an ‘aw hell’ under his breath as he followed right behind you, much to your amusement, which caused laughter to bubble up from your chest.

Shopping with Frank was your new favorite activity.

»»———　　———««

“How them sheets feel?”

A faint smirk curled at the edge of your mouth as you glanced at Frank over your shoulder from where you were laying on your stomach on one of the comfortable beds. He had managed to find a decent hotel outside the city, and got a room with two beds much to your disappointment, but anything was an upgrade compared to the seedy motel the two of you had camped out in the previous night.

“Like clouds.”

Frank raised one of his dark brows in silent amusement while looking over at you from his spot at the desk by the window. He let out a quiet grunt in response before his features morphed back in pure concentration while he averted his gaze back down to the gun he was currently cleaning. For a moment you completely forgot what you were doing and just watched him, completely mesmerized. His large hands moved methodically, but so fluidly as he cleaned each piece and re-assembled the weapon, like it was second nature and something he could probably do with ease in his sleep. The way his fingers were gliding over the pieces had your mind suddenly wandering to what else Frank’s hands might be good at.

“Find anythin’ yet?”

Frank’s gruff voice tore you out of your impure thoughts, and your cheeks burned with heat realizing you had spent the past three minutes gawking at him. Clearing your throat, you turned your attention back to the documents in front of you, willing the black and white text to come back into focus as you found the paragraph you had left off on.

“Um…it seems like all the permits and the deed for the land are registered to a company called Fortis Allied. I can’t find a name attached to it, but all the paperwork is fairly recent. Everything looks like it was filed within the last year.”

“You say fortis? Like f-o-r-t-i-s?”

“Does that ring a bell for you?”

“It’s Latin.”

Scrunching up your brows, you turned your head to look at Frank again in a mixture of puzzlement and surprise.

“You know Latin?”

Frank had leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, his legs spread slightly making his lap look like an extremely comfortable and inviting seat. He held onto the handle of the gun in one hand and the rag he had been using to clean the pieces in the other, his dark brows knit as he stared over at you with his eyes squinted slightly in curiosity, like he was deep in thought about something.

“Marines’ got a motto, Semper Fidelis. It’s Latin, means always faithful. Navy’s got one kinda similar; Semper Fortis.”

Frank clicked his tongue against his cheek as he let out a dry and humorless scoff that only fueled your confusion further.

“And why is that funny?”

“Cause it means always courageous. And if these are the assholes we think they are, that’s pretty goddamn ironic.”

Staring down at the slew of papers spread on the bed in front before you, Frank’s Latin lesson presented more questions than it answered, and your lips pursed slightly.

“Defenders of Freedom and Courageous Allied. Their creativity is astounding.”

Frank snickered quietly behind you hearing the dry sarcasm seeping from your voice. Letting out a sigh of frustration, you reached for your phone that was charging on the nightstand. It had been dead for the past seventy-two hours, and as soon as it turned on, you had an overwhelming amount of missed calls and texts from people who thought you were either missing or dead, or both. About eighty percent of the missed calls and frantic voicemails were from Ellison, but to your surprise, there were quite a few missed calls and texts from Billy as well.

You had made sure to turn off your location so that your phone couldn’t be tracked, and Frank had been adamant about you shutting off your imessage. Deciding you had raised your boss’ blood pressure enough for three days, you sat up cross legged on the bed and grabbed one of the paper’s from the bed that had all the company’s information on it.

“I’m gonna call Ellison and see-”

“No.”

Looking over at Frank in surprise, you let out a quiet scoff of incredulity.

“Frank, I have to tell him I’m alive. And he can help us-”

“The less people know you’re alive right now, the better. I told you, we can’t trust nobody right now.”

Dragging your palm down your face slowly in irritation, you shook your head in a show of defiance.

“I’m pretty sure my boss isn’t one of the people trying to kill me-”

“You don’t know that-”

“Yes Frank, I do. Ellison is practically the closest thing to family I have in this city, and considering that his best friend, and my mentor, was murdered by Wilson Fisk, I can say with absolute certainty that he is not involved in this shit.”

Frank’s hardened features softened slightly hearing the slight twinge of grief that resonated in your tone, and he was looking at you with those big brown puppy dog eyes of his that normally made your knees weak. But right now that infatuating sight was no match for the heaviness of guilt that filled your entire rib cage like raw cement every time you thought about Ben.

You swallowed the pebble that threatened to swell into a boulder in your throat and stared down at your phone screen, your thumb hovering over Ellison’s contact.

“Fisk was never charged with murder.”

Frank’s voice sounded almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should be saying that, but it was clear he was looking for an explanation behind your accusation, even though he wasn’t outright asking. It was almost eerie how he always seemed to know when to explicitly ask you something, and when to craft an open invitation to let you come to him.

“Ben was writing a story about him. He was going to expose him for who he really was. He got too close, and Fisk killed him for it. He broke into his home and strangled him to death, but he didn’t leave any fingerprints or evidence, and his hard drive was wiped clean. Ben’s d-his case is still considered an unsolved homicide.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Frank slowly stand up from the chair he was sitting in. He tentatively took a few steps towards you and sat down on the edge of the bed next to you, his eyes searching your avoidant gaze.

“What makes you so sure that’s what happened though?”

“Because I pushed him into doing the story.”

The way your voice slightly broke off towards the end of your sentence broke Frank’s heart. The remorse you felt was evident as it rose along your waterline.

“He didn’t wanna do the story. He told me to let it go, and I didn’t. If I had just left it alone-”

Frank wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you in closer towards him, cradling your head against his chest as he held you close and kept his voice soft.

“Hey, hey…don’t do that. Don’t put that on yourself. Whatever happened, it ain’t your fault, you got that? Don’t take the blame for somethin’ that someone else did. He did the story cause he knew you were right, yeah? He believed in you, sweetheart. And that piece of shit Fisk is rottin’ in prison where he belongs, gettin’ exactly what he’s got comin’ to ‘em, trust me.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head as he slowly carded his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

“I just feel like it’s all my fault. Like I…I could’ve prevented it.”

For a moment Frank was silent. Eventually he let out a heavy exhale through his large nose and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“I know.”

The deafted way he spoke those two words made it sound like Frank was telling you that he knew exactly what you were feeling, and an ominous thought crossed your mind as you found yourself wondering if he felt that way about his wife’s death.

He let go of your head and reached into his pocket, pulling out the burner phone that he used. Frank handed the flip phone to you, and you lifted your head to stare up at him curiously.

“Let ‘em know you’re alright, but make sure he knows it’s important no one else knows nothin’ ‘bout you, yeah?”

“You can trust him, Frank. He’ll help us.”

»»———　　———««

Forty five minutes later, you managed to calm an absolutely hysterical and pissed off Ellison, changed his mind about firing you once you were no longer considered missing/dead, and caught him up on everything that had happened since the night you were attacked three days ago. He agreed to help you and Frank do some digging into the company listed on the permits for the warehouse that burnt down, and in addition to emailing you everything he could find about the company, he also sent you copies of the reports on the two men that had attacked you.

“You were right.”

Frank’s head instantly snapped over in your direction, and his thick brows rose up his forehead slightly in bewilderment.

“‘Scuse me?”

“Cavella and Walker were in the Navy.”

Holding out your phone for Frank to see, you showed him the article you were currently reading on your phone that had a picture of the two men in their Naval uniform. Frank seemed to completely ignore your comment and was looking at you instead of the screen.

“You mind repeatin’ that?”

“I said Cav-”

“Nah, what you said before that ‘bout me bein�� right.”

As you caught the delighted smirk that tugged at the edge of Frank’s mouth, you rolled your eyes playfully and shook your head with a soft laugh, returning your attention to the article.

“Shut up, I tell you when you’re right.”

“Yeah, only after I gotta fix that bratty attitude of yours. The other ninety nine percent of the time, you gotta fight with me ‘bout every goddamn little thing.”

“Don’t be so fun to argue with, and I’ll stop.”

Lighty shrugging your shoulders with a faint mischievous grin on your lips, Frank shook his head and let out a dry scoff in response.

“Ya’know, you remind me of another hot-headed smartass I know.”

“Your other favorite person?”

“He’s the fuckin’ Devil, and a goddamn pain in my ass. Hell of a lawyer, though. You oughta think ‘bout switchin’ professions and arguin’ for a livin’. Think you could give even him a run for his money.”

For some reason that made you laugh loudly. The kind of carefree laugh where you throw your head back like a little kid, eyes crinkling, stomach aching with pure joy. Frank was the first person to make you laugh like that in a long time.

“I’m perfectly happy where I’m at. Besides, I’m pretty sure I would be disbarred within the first hour. I don’t think you’re allowed to tell the opposing court to go fuck themselves when they say something out of pocket.”

“Pretty sure you ain’t allowed to throw shit at ‘em either.”

Turning your head to glare playfully over at Frank, he returned it instantly with a challenging arch of his dark brow. You couldn’t fight the grin that slowly stretched across your lips seeing the faux serious look on his face.

“I threw a pillow at you.”

“Two pillows. Hard as hell, too.”

“I had no idea you were so sensitive.”

“I’m fuckin’ delicate, goddamn it.”

The mock expression of offense on Frank’s face coupled with the serious tone of his voice made you double over with laughter. He couldn’t seem to keep his composure either, and he began to laugh along with you. Shaking your head slowly, you waved your hand at him dismissively and turned your attention back to your phone.

“Okay, I’m trying to solve a case here. Stop distracting me. I have more than two pillows in my arsenal right now.”

“That a threat?”

“It’s a promise, Castle.”

“I had no idea you were so ruthless.”

Frank grumbled quietly under his breath as he looked through the stack of papers with the ghost of a smile on his lips while you softly laughed, his dark eyes scanning the pages for anything either of you might have missed.

As you looked through the documents Ellison had emailed you about Fortis Allied, perplexity creased in the middle of your forehead the more you looked through each page.

“It’s not a real company.”

“What?”

“Fortis Allied. It’s…it’s like a shell company. It’s just a front. And it’s owned by…”

As you read the signature on one of the forms you were looking at, your confusion melted into an expression of cognizance. Enlarging the signature, you turned to show your screen to Frank, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he read the letters, before his face shifted into a look of indignation.

“Son of a bitch.”

Owned and operated by Nicolas Cavella.

Before either of you could say anything, Frank’s phone started to ring. He glanced down at and read the name flashing across the screen, giving you a quick glance before flipping it open to answer.

“Yeah?”

He stood up and walked over towards the window, leaning against the wall with his back to you. Curiosity got the better of you, and your eyes fixated on him as you watched him intently.

“Been takin’ care of somethin’. What do ya need?” His voice sounded a little rougher than usual, and you caught the way he tensed slightly and watched as his eyes flickered over at you over his shoulder. You arched one of your brows silently, as if asking him who he was talking to and what was going on.

“Yeah…I know. Cause I turned ‘em off. You know why, Bill. Yeah, she’s fine.”

Billy.

It abruptly dawned on you that you weren’t sure if Frank had told Billy what happened. He was technically supposed to be with Steven right now. Where did Billy think Frank was? What had Frank told him? Why wasn’t Frank letting him help?

In the midst of your chaotic inner monologue, Frank’s head dropped between his shoulders for a moment and he let out a heavy exhale before turning to stare over at you with an unreadable expression.

“She’s with me.”

The way Frank said that sent a shiver cascading down your spine, and the room suddenly felt twenty degrees hotter. You watched as he lightly clenched his jaw and nodded, as if Billy were in the room and not on the other end of the line.

“Be there in an hour.”

Without another word, Frank snapped his phone shut, and you watched him inquisitively.

“What was that about?”

“I gotta go check in with Bill. That trustfund asshole is throwin’ a fit ‘bout me not bein’ ‘round.”

While Frank started to gather his wallet and his gun, you quickly got down from the bed, feeling your pulse start to quicken at the thought of him leaving.

“Wait, I thought Steven didn’t want you around?”

“And I didn’t wanna be ‘round, but I guess you gettin’ kidnapped and two cops gettin’ shot spooked ‘em. I won’t be gone long.”

Before Frank could take another step, you grabbed your bag and started to gather up all the paperwork back into the folder.

“I’m coming.”

Frank paused while reaching for his black denim jacket. He let out a deep exhale as she shook his head and motioned towards the bed for you to sit.

“It ain’t safe for you to be in the city right now. Just stay here and I’ll be-”

“Frank, we already talked about this. I’m safer with you, okay?”

“It’s only an hour away-”

“I don’t care if it’s five minutes down the street, I don’t want to be without you.”

Alone. You had meant to say, ‘I don’t want to be alone’. But the words had already left your lips, and Frank was already staring at you with that one look in his eyes that you could never seem to decode. He didn’t hesitate like he did when you asked to come on the stakeout with him. He walked over towards the door of the hotel room and opened it, gesturing with his head for you to follow him, and before you knew it, the New York City skyline was coming into view.

»»———　　———««

When Frank pulled up to the Anvil office and put his truck in park, he turned his head to look at you with a somewhat stern gaze.

“Just stay in the truck, alright? Won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

For a minute, Frank’s thick brows knit together before they rose up his forehead an inch, like he was shocked you simply agreed instead of arguing with him about coming in. He eyed you warily for another moment before letting out a quiet grunt and getting out, closing the driver side door behind himself. While you watched him march up the front steps of Anvil, it was incredibly amusing to see how many people rushed to get out of his way. You weren’t sure if it was because they knew him and knew to stay out of his way, or if it was because of his physical stature and the permanent broody look etched onto his sharp features. Either way, you couldn’t help but laugh.

While you sat there in the truck looking through your phone, you noticed that there was a red notification dot lingering over your voice notes app. Clicking on the app curiously, you were met with an error message that read “Failed to capture full recording”. Immediately you were puzzled, and then you noticed that your last recording was over four hours. When you checked the date and saw it was from three days ago, a soft gasp left your lips.

You had never stopped the recording with Walker and Cavella.

Your phone must have just kept recording until it eventually died. With everything that had happened the past three days, you had almost forgotten about the recording entirely. Pressing the play button, you turned up the volume and listened to the playback.

The sound of glass shattering and bullets flying along with your own panicked scream had you wincing and pulling the phone away from your ear. The sounds of one of the most traumatic nights of your life had your stomach twisting into anxious knots, and you felt the phantom pain in your bandaged hand of glass slicing it open all over again. But just as you were about to turn it off, something caught your attention and made your ears perk up.

Rewinding the recording a few seconds, you pressed play again.

“Pr…we…ot…fuc…lem.”

The sound of bullets being fired in the background made it difficult to make out the words. You rewound it a few seconds and played it again, furrowing your brows as you listened intently.

“Pr…we..got..fuc…problem.”

After quickly downloading one of those music recording apps on your phone, you imported the clip from the voice memo and tried to figure out how to isolate the audio to where you could hear it better. As you pressed play this time and listened, you could hear Cavella’s frantic shouting clear as day, and his words made your blood run cold.

“Price, we got a fucking problem!”

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charles-leclerc-official · 16 days ago

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There are so many reasons speaking against red bull. The operational side this year is falling apart in the wake of Wheatley leaving for Sauber, their technical department has suffered from both Aston and Mclaren poaching from it. And Pierre Waché may have remained but he is so incompentently narrow minded and unable to take driver feedback onboard that now even Max is having a hard time with the car every other race. This team has chewed through young driver talents and blamed them for their own short comings time and time again. It goes beyond the 2nd seat curse it's foundational in how they treat their drivers. That aside Red Bull is said to have the worst wind tunnel of the big teams that has been described as a cold war era relict, how are they supposed to develope a new car for new regulations next year under these circumstances when the team is actively crumbling. I am sure once the Audi money kicks in Wheatley is only gonna bring more of his trusted guys over to their Switzerland operation and Milton Keynes will be floundering to replace the losses which will inevitably lead to even more fuck ups like the slow pitstops and fucked up procedure we have seen out of RB so far this season.

I am off the opinion that Charles will stay with Ferrari. But if he truly does leave why the fuck would he leave what people perceive as an unstable ship for one that is actively sinking in front of our eyes this very season. You wouldn't leave the rickety lifeboat in order to hop onto the Titanic and let it drag you into the depths with it

Exactly. I think what happens heavily depends on how the field looks at the start of next season. If Ferrari do have a competitive car relative to the rest of the field that's a very different story than if they have not produced a competitive enough engine to make the drivers believe things will be seriously competitive in the coming years.

But Red Bull is the worst option just from a career standpoint like you've said. First there's Max, the team is not going to give priority to anyone above Max so long as he's there. They have a very clear 1-2 structure there so it would be a second seat position which is not what he'd be looking for. And if Max is not there then that is the most damning thing about Red Bulls competitive chances. If he leaves that's a very clear sign the team is a sinking ship and it will not recover any time soon.

Red Bull also clearly want to promote within their own talent pool, I don't think they would even do this.

But aside from that their 2026 engine is looking the least promising thus far out of the top teams. The management is worse than at Ferrari, especially if you are an outsider.

There is nothing for Charles at Red Bull.

I said it before, but if he does ever leave Ferrari it will be for a highly competitive car and some promise he won't be made to play #2. Red Bull cannot offer those things. I think Merc and Mclaren are better positioned to offer that.

I don't think it's as dire as all that yet. But if 2026 comes and the car is nowhere this starts looking more realistic.

#anons

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tathrin · 2 years ago

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Writing Year Wrapped (2023)

Ooh, thank you for the tag @sallysavestheday!

3 Favorite Fics You've Written This Year:

Of course we have to go with my current obsession, And In The Darkness To Unmake Them, an as-canon-compliant-as-possible Fellowship-AU that asks, what would happen if Celebrimbor got himself re-embodied and came back to Middle-earth to try and make up for his mistakes by helping to destroy the One Ring (and brought all his unhealed trauma with him)? Plus a slow-burn romance for Legolas and Gimli, a whole lot of delicious world-building for Mirkwood, and a more active role for Arwen too!

Five Times Gimli Died (and One Time He Didn't) is, I think, despite the simplistic and trope-y title, one of the most elegant things I've ever written, and I am very much in love with it. It's the story of Gimli and Legolas's romance, from beginning to end (well...not really end, because the joy of them is that they're a story that doesn't end—Gimli Immortality Agenda, you can't stop me!—but the story ends with the beginning of their happily-ever-after, which is a sort of end, no?), told in a series of scenes that takes place from Moria to the Undying Lands, and could almost slip right in between the pages of canon if you squint enough to overlook a little bit of meddling from Mahal on behalf of his new favorite dwarf (don't tell Durin).

To Live In Undying Lands is a series of snippets set in Aman after Legolas and Gimli cross the Sea, focused on both their new life there and that of our beloved Hobbits who went over before. And I went back and forth several times deciding whether to swap the placement of this one and Last Temptation... below, but I ultimately think that was a bit more of a stretch than this one, despite the fact that I Never Write Hobbits and am writing quite a lot of Hobbits for this one, and also I Never Write Snippets Without An Overarching Plot—and because I'm such a sucker for Gimleaf that if I have to pick a favorite between any two comparable stories, it's always going to be the one with them in it! (Also: Gimli Immortality Agenda, always!)

3 Fics That Stretched You the Most:

Dead Faces In The Water; Dead Faces Everywhere - I don't write present tense, I don't write modern AUs, and I don't write zombie stories...but here I am, writing all three at once! (Thanks, @katajainen! This story is 1/3 your fault, 1/3 @roselightfairy and @deheerkonijn's fault, and 1/3 Mira Grant's lol. And you were the inciting incident, so you get first blame!) And somehow having a great time doing it! (So much world building! I'm in paradise!)

The Last Temptation of Narvi of Khazad-dûm - probably one of the most overtly ambitious stories I've ever done. It's likewise in present-tense, although that's considerably less daunting now after almost forty chapters of zombies; but there were a lot of other balls to juggle on this story, including my first time properly writing both of the main characters as well as anything set in Ost-in-Edhil; and of skirting right up against the line of how close it came to all ending differently and making that (hopefully) feel almost like it could have gone differently and avoided all that tragedy in a way that, hopefully, both satisfies and distresses the reader.

And (I suppose this is a bit of a give-away, but it's not like I tried very hard to hide anyway; the anonymity is mainly designed to make people feel more comfortable offering con-crit, which I have no idea if it actually helped or not but I did get some lovely and helpful feedback on it, so I'm going to say the tactic has been a success) definitely Cliffside Revelations, which has the honor of being my very first explicit smut fic...even if most of the smut is an excuse for world building, which I'm sure shocks all of you lmao!

(And sneaking in an honorable mention of On The Far Side of the Sundering Sea, because my name isn't on the previous one so it probably doesn't technically count...which means I can slip in an extra story as a technicality, right? Right. Shhh, it's fine!)

3 Favorite Lines You've Written (loosely interpreting "lines" as sallysavestheday has cleverly demonstrated):

Oh this is difficult. Most of my best lines are only their best because of the context around them; and it's hard to remember them as distinct lines after their sections have been finished and posted. But this does at least save favorite and not best, so that helps; let's give it a try, then.

First, from Five Times Gimli Died (and One He Didn't) we have a moment of a revelation on Gimli's part, as he discovers that his heart might not be as alien to his Maker as he feared it was:

He stood in silence, staring at the unseen form of he who had made all Dwarves; of the Maker of stone and rock and mighty mountain. Mahal, who had made the Dwarves…Mahal, who loved the green.

This is one that definitely needs the context to make it work, so we're including the whole preceding paragraph from Blows Uncounted, a little AU-take on Helm's Deep where either the uruks are stronger or Gandalf is slower, and the battle has a darker ending.

For Legolas was not simply any elf: he was an elf of Mirkwood. Taur-ne-Fuin, the forest under nightshade; Taur-e-Ndaedelos, the forest of great fear. These orcs and uruks of Isengard, used to preying on earnest horse-lords and forthright farmers, had never met an elf of his sort before. Their northern kin could have told them stories of what befell orcs beneath the black boughs of Mirkwood…but orcs did not often come alive from those dark woods, not at least without Nazgûl to guard their travels.

And there were no Nazgûl here.

And taking a complete one-eighty in tone from the previous, I am quite inexcusably delighted with this one from Honeysuckle and Cider, and still giggle to myself whenever I re-read it:

"Uh," says Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King of Gondor, first of the House Telcontar.

(The line after it definitely qualifies as a runner-up, but I do think this one beats it out. Sorry, Faramir!)

Actually there's one other line I really wanted to put in here, even more than the one about the Nazgûl, but I'm not going to, because it's the very last line of the story it appears in, and reading it before you read that story would suck all the wind out of its sails, I think; so if you want to know what that is, you'll have to go read The Last Temptation of Narvi of Khazad-dûm for yourself.

3 Characters You Enjoyed Writing (that surprised you):

Anntar (Sauron), actually! I got to play with him as more than just a Menacing Presence in The Last Temptation of Narvi of Khazad-dûm and oh, he was so much fun! This was Sauron in full-on seducing-the-Gwaith-i-Mírdain mode, with maybe just a hint of how he actually wanted to be stopped, so that he could let the schemes for world-domination go and just be happy here with his smith-lovers...or maybe that was all wishful thinking on Narvi's part. Regardless, it was great fun to play with both failed and successful manipulations here, as well as to actually write something with my new favorite OT3.

Boromir may have come as even more of a shock to me, actually. I very quickly went from "distant fondness but very little interest" in Boromir to taking great delight in him, thanks in largest part to Dead Faces in the Water, Dead Faces Everywhere (and a little bit to Two Fell Into Shadow, although most of that was written or at least sketched-out earlier; but I'm counting it, because I don't think I realized how much fun he was fifteen years ago or so when I was writing it initially). Also, of course, his part in And In The Darkness To Unmake Them, although I haven't gotten to the point of posting any of his Grey Company chapters yet (shhh). He's such a wonderful sort of "I did not sign up for any of this; I have no idea what's happening; but I Am Participating Anyway!" sort of character, dragged out of his element commanding Minas Tirith's armies (where he's an extremely competent and confident fellow) and tossed into this baffling world of weirdness full of elves and magic and nonsense, for which he is so ill-equipped and ill-prepared. And yet he gamely goes along with it, because it needs doing! Whatever the fuck it is! He has no idea!

And last but certainly not least: Gimli, although this one may be less of a surprise; but it was a surprise to me how often I ended up writing from his perspective. I did not expect that, because I'm much more interested in elves (especially Mirkwood elves) than I am dwarves in general, and I've done a lot less world-building (a lot less) for Erebor than I have Mirkwood; but it's so much fun using Gimli as "the sensible perspective" (as well as an excuse to get really flowery with my wording sometimes, shhh!), not to mention an extremely astute and observant one, that he makes for a very addictive viewpoint character. I actually ended up having to make a conscious effort to switch to Legolas's pov sometimes, in fact, because it was so easy and charming to fall into Gimli's head and stay there! That was definitely a surprise to me.

3 Unexpected Inspirations:

This fucking dream! I still don't know what the hell happened to me that night, but it sure was unique and extremely unexpected!

And quite startling was the time where seeing the Legolas-always-looks-back-for-Gimli gif-post from the LotR movies cross my tumblr dash right to an Orpheus-and-Eurydice poll basically popped this whole-ass story fully formed into my head in one big rush of inspiration. Although the same thing happened with this post and And His Hands Ran With Gold and Shadow, so maybe I should stop thinking "random post on tumblr" is unexpected inspiration...

And uhhh....this XD

3 WIPs You're Excited About in the Upcoming Year:

And His Hands Ran With Gold and Shadow which I swear I will get back into working-on as soon as I get some of my other ongoing stuff finished, because I absolutely adore it! and I definitely want to write more on it! very much so! but the vibes required for writing it are so different from the other stuff that it's hard to switch back-and-forth between it and them (same goes for the zombie-fic).

An As-Yet-Untitled story set many, many, many years after the end of the War of the Ring in the Undying Lands, where our three beloved Hobbits (and one Dwarf) living on those timeless shores discuss their mortal lives, and decide when and whether to let them end.

The sequel to The Dark Reborn, because I am at some point going to drag my brain back into the galaxy far, far away enough to start reading and writing Star Wars fic again, and I fucking will finish this fucking awesome sequel trilogy fic I started, kriff it!!!

3 People Tagged to Share Theirs:

Tagging with zero pressure: @babybat98 @bifuriouswaterbender @katajainen

#if you've already done this and i just tagged you again forgive and ignore me #i haven't had a chance to look at my dash yet today (i was at work and then reading the new murderbot ahhhhhhhhhh so good!!!!)#or! if you'd like to take the opportunity to talk about even MORE stories! feel free to make a second post with the runner-up fics lol #writing year wrapped #my writing #my stuff #ask meme #lotr fanfiction #gigolas #gimleaf #silvergifting #legolas #gimli #celebrimbor x narvi #silverdoorsgifting #that's right i'm MAKING UP MY OWN SHIP NAME for this ot3 and NOBODY CAN STOP ME

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commander-gloryforge · 6 months ago

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rambles over some original characters and my writing that i'm putting here because nobody that follows me here reads my original stuff so i dont set false expectations and i also dont wanna spoil my friends on discord. i just need to gush a little because i really like where the thing im writing rn is heading

HONESTLY. if we ignore the fact that my writing style has really taken a hit lately, i think story wise im doing so well with my new project. the characters are still a bit tricky to properly pin down, but its going into directions i really enjoy, and its kind of doing that on its own? there are a lot of themes that just fall into place almost on accident, reminds me a lot of A Certain Sentence that accidentally shook the whole fandom when i was writing fanfics still.

im loving whatever happened with "less pressure" and how its coming from dev out of all people, the guy with the most pressure in the world ever, and i love how quinn started applying it as a general philosophy to kind of calm down and focus on something, change something actively.

i feel like quinn and devs dynamic feels pretty good in general already? i still struggle with the whole "enemies to lovers" thing without making it feel too annoying and "a single conversation could solve this all", but i honestly dont think a single conversation could solve anything, because they don't know eachother enough to actually understand the others view point. it makes sense for them to hold grudges that are super vague and kind of really stupid but theyre fuelled by genuine fears and even if they sat down and talked it through it wouldnt help much for now, so i think its realistic enough

AAAH im just liking. The Themes. sometimes i worry im a bit too heavy handed with certain things and some stuff, especially the more emotional scenes, feel like theyre too abrupt and out of place but like. the sentiment is good i think. idk i think the frame of this story and its progression is pretty decent, my technical writing skills just arent great but thats fine i think.

i love my characters and honestly they just feel really good to write. working with quinn is hard because he tends to get more emotional than hes supposed to be and hes seriously so much more of an asshole as i had planned him to be but he's so much fun. and dev is so interesting to explore and get to know as i write him. i love him so much and i keep swooning for him likE!!!!!!!! I LOVE HIM!

dev is so fun because theres just pressure coming from all sides, theres so much jealousy, its so hard for him to keep his shit together. he hates this school but feels like i cannot possible disrespect it and what it means to attend, he acts like attending is such a special privilege he has, something hes worked towards, when really it doesnt matter, his work doesnt matter, his passion and talent DO NOT MATTER because he wouldve gotten in even without a scholarship.

dev treats the things/people he hates like a religion, his father, the school, even nicolas to some extent... i love how he is turning out to be. i love how much he is hurting for quinn and how much he hates that.

all these little things and details that have fallen into place during the writing process feel so nice. dev being the "golden boy" instead of felix being a thing that makes so much sense in every way. dev being a scholarship student and nobody knows. the whole thing about dev teaching quinn handwriting because dev was literally forced to perfect his writing with his right hand, while his left hand is more comfortable yet more messy. the LESS PRESSURE THING. writing becoming such a prevelent theme in general. the whole nickname thing.

its going pretty well id say.. eheheheh. im still hesitant to get into some chapters because id like to get some feedback and reactions from my readers first, ESPECIALLY how they react to nicolas/oakwells finest. chapter six is coming in a WEEK which annoys me a bit but once thats out i hope u can get a bit of an impression of what ppl think about all the important characters.

man. the writing process of this story has been so much fun tbh. and very healing in a way.

im still not a good writer but at least im having a good time

#dios wisdom

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sister-lucifer · 2 years ago

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Comfort From a Monster

Eyeless Jack x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Angst, comfort, fluff

A/N: been goin through some stuff lately, so i wrote some fluff about it

Summary: Your beloved Jack notices that you’re upset, and comforts you the best he can

Content/Warnings: Technically angst, but mostly comfort/fluff, cuddles with Jacky, the reason reader is upset is left vague so please feel free to project /gen, tooth rotting fluff, Jack is non verbal but makes animal noises and it’s CUTE ok

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

There had been something off about you since the moment your feet hit the floor that day. Jack was freakishly observant and incredibly intuitive; it wasn’t hard for him to pick up on your odd change in attitude. Even the most minuscule things caught his attention.

You forgot to put on your house shoes when you got out of bed this morning, and it made your footsteps sound weird. You didn’t put back the cereal box after you were done, he had to put it up for you. You left your hairbrush out on the bathroom counter, but you always put it away when you were done.

Small things. Mundane things. And yet, they piled up like snowflakes coming together to form an avalanche.

His pointed ears perked up when he heard your bedroom door click shut.

You never did that.

Something was very, very wrong.

Jack’s padded paws were silent on the wood floors of your shared cabin as he slowly approached your room. His tentative ears flicked about in all directions as he listened closely from the opposite side of the door.

For a very long while there was silence, and for a split second Jack doubted his instincts. Maybe his suspicions were just an overreaction, maybe you were just having an off day…

Maybe it’s best that he doesn’t bother you.

Jack shrugs to himself, brushing off his worries. He turns on his heel and is about to walk away when—

He hears that first little sob.

It’s so quiet, it’s clear you’re trying to hide it. A sound so meek that only a creature like Jack could hear it. It stops him in his tracks, the only thing that could ever still such a hulking beast. He turns his head back towards the door slowly, all of his senses on high alert.

The second choked noise is clearer, harder to stifle, loud enough for a nearby human to hear. It only gives way to another cry, and Jack can nearly pinpoint the exact moment you give up on holding back your emotions. Before he even realizes it he’s back at the door, ear pressed to the wood as he listens. There’s a split second where he thinks that maybe, just maybe he can hear your tears falling onto your blankets.

For a moment he’s at a loss. Emotional support has never been his forte. He’ll gladly fight for you, hunt for you, protect you with his life, but comfort you?

Even his best attempt would probably do more bad than good for your relationship.

He ponders for a long few minutes, soundlessly pacing back and forth in front of your door. He hugs himself with a tight grip, claws digging into his upper arms through the fabric of his hoodie. His mind is racing as he wonders what to do.

Should he simply leave you be? That could backfire easily. He didn’t want you to feel ignored, and he’d feel guilty about just leaving you to suffer on your own.

But he what if he goes in and tries to help? He’s bound to screw that up. He could just make things awkward, or maybe even make you feel worse.

How is he supposed to figure out what you need? He’s not a mind reader, and it’s not like he can just walk up and ask you!

…Oh, he…he actually can do that.

Jack could kick himself for his stupidity. The answer was staring him in the face.

And yet, he hesitates when he lifts his fist to the door. He has to shake off that last bit of doubt before he can bring himself to knock.

The sound makes you jump, and for a second you wonder if you simply imagined it.

“J…Jack…?” You call out with a rasp. The animalistic chitter from the other side of the door answers your question.

“You can come in, Jack.”

You quickly wipe your tears as he slowly creaks the door open, as if he’s giving you another chance to change your mind. When you don’t, he carefully shuts the door back behind him before approaching you where you sit snuggled up in countless blankets on your bed.

A deep sound reverberates quietly in the back of his throat as he crouches by your side, head tilting curiously from side to side. He doesn’t say anything, but you know exactly what he’s asking.

“I’m okay, Jack. Just some…personal stuff. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

Your voice is broken and strained, and it makes Jack’s brows furrow behind his mask. He lets out another inquisitive chitter, but you don’t quite understand this time, and it’s your turn to tilt your head in confusion. Jack’s clawed hands come up to briefly sign:

‘Wanna talk about it?’

You think for a moment, then shake your head.

“No, Jacky, I don’t think I want to talk about it. I appreciate it, though.”

He nods, taking in the information and mulling it over a bit before he proposes something else:

‘Can I touch you? Hug you?’

You scoot over a bit, patting the space on the bed next to you.

“Yeah, thats okay. C’mon up, Jacky.”

He quickly crawls in next to you, wrapping his strong arms around your smaller frame. His movements are cautious, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted to. You don’t, though; you gladly accept the gesture and return the hug.

Jack pulls you down to him, bringing you to lay down. He tenderly rubs up and down your arms in the most soothing manner he can manage. You sniffle a bit as you cling to his hoodie, tugging on the fabric. The feeling of the worn material against your palms is familiar and comforting in a way that nothing else has ever managed to be. The remaining tears finally fall down your cheeks, and you watch as they soak into the hoodie.

You don’t realize that Jack has slipped his mask off until he’s purring into the crook of your neck. Your hand slides up to lay flat against his chest, and you can feel the soft rumble beneath his skin. Something about the sound sends a wave of calm through you, the volume crescendoing and quieting subtly as Jack breathes in and out.

Slowly you find your own breathing leveling out as well, allowing yourself a few purposeful, deep inhales that enter through your nose and leave through your mouth. Jack’s hand moves from your arm to your back, scratching up and down slowly and being careful not to hurt you with his razor like nails.

You pull away from Jack for a moment to slide down, resting your head against his chest and feeling the vibrations of his purr against your temple. You know he doesn’t have a heartbeat—not anymore—but you could almost swear you hear a few thumps behind his ribs.

Your eyelids begin to flutter when Jack affectionately strokes the back of your head. His hands are so massive they nearly engulf your skull, and yet you can’t help but be reminded of how safe you feel in his arms. Every little thing he does reminds you.

The caution he uses with each move is subtle enough that only you would ever see it; it shows you that he knows his strength, and that he’d never risk hurting you in even a minor way. He’s not warm like a human would be, but he’s been more than effective at calming your shivering body. He smells like your freshly cleaned sheets and the pine trees surrounding your cabin in all directions, with a hint of the dirt that never seems to fully wash out.

Small things. Mundane things. And yet, they spoke volumes of Jack’s feelings towards you.

In the arms of no other would you ever feel so welcomed.

You lay there together for such a long while that Jack doesn’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until he looks down at you again. He’s not sure how long your eyes have been shut, but he can tell you’re sleeping well. You probably needed it. He wouldn’t be surprised if your stress was taking time from your rest.

He adjusts his position just a bit, making sure he’s comfortable before deciding he may as well catch some shut eye too. He plants a lingering kiss on your forehead before tightening his hold on you just a bit, and before he falls asleep there is one last thought that rings in his mind:

There was a time when he thought he’d never be able to have this. There was a time when he was convinced he would simply have to tough it out on his own until his last day. The idea that he ever believed such a thing is almost surreal as he lays here with you, his precious human, his mate.

Jack could gladly spend the rest of his life in this quaint little cabin with you, and he wouldn’t hesitate to say he was perfectly fulfilled.

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta fluff #gender neutral reader #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack fluff #eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack x y/n #fluff #comfort #angst #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #tooth rotting fluff

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stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 2 years ago

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Hey, Mickey!

University AU TW: Language, Alcohol Consumption, P w/out P, Hook-Up Culture, Y/N's a bit promiscuous but so are her friends lmfao Smut Warnings: Sloppy Make Outs, Penetrative Sex, Degradation, Name Calling, Oral (Giving and Receiving), Fingering, Overstimulation, San's a meanie (translated: soft dom ish), Unprotected Sex (contraceptives are sexy guys), Creampie, Cockwarming(ish), Manhandling, Multiple Orgasms Genre: Romance, Smut, Exes-to-FWB-to-Lovers, Minors DNI Pairing: Choi San x Reader YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her) Word Count: 4.3K

[Other Groups Masterlist] [Ao3 Link] | [Wattpad Link]

Notes: I'm in my choi san era and the hey mickey you so fine audio has been stuck in my head all day so oop here we go Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

"Oh, yeah, he's my ex-boyfriend," you shrugged.

"He's your ex?!" Your friend shouted and you flinched back. She whips her head back and turns your head gently for you to follow her gaze.

"Way to be subtle..."

"Look at him! He's sculpted like a god!" She whispers harshly. San, meanwhile, shakes his hair with his hand while talking to two of your other friends. Sure, you could see why your friend found him attractive, all the surface-level bull shit at the very least. Good build, strong figure, killer jawline, etc. etc. Hell, sometimes you swear he'd subtly flex on purpose just to get his admirers swooning. He's so fucking pretentious for that. But his looks are where it ends.

"You're overreacting," you rolled your eyes and pulled away from her. Cocky and good for nothing, whenever you'd spend any amount of time with San you'd always get worked up in some shape or form. Once your friend saw how much of a shitty person he could be she'd definitely run the other way. Choi San was basically a walking red flag.

"(Y/N), how the fuck did you fumble the bag with him?! He's so damn fine," she chews on the tip of her thumb.

"Okay, hold on," you defended yourself, "first of all, I broke up with him, and second of all, it was a mutual agreement to break up," you explained. Your friend groaned and slumped against her chair.

"So he's off limits then?" She asks sadly.

"Off limits? Far from, by all means take him," you waved your hand absently. "San and I agreed to go back to being friends, we worked better that way anyway," you shook your head. Just friends, you weren't really lying, you were just cutting around the truth.

"How long did you date?"

"Two years."

"Fuck... How long has it been since you broke up?" She asks.

"Three years."

"Oh, shit, okay then!" She tucks her hair behind her ear. "How do I look?"

"Stunning, go get him, tiger," you said with a chided tone. Yeosang breaks his conversation with San as soon as he spots you. Your friend brushes past him, bumping into his shoulder on her way over but sparing no other interaction. Yeosang side-eyed her until he finally reached you.

"What's up with her?"

"He got her," you laughed without sparing a glance.

"He has that effect," Yeosang takes the now spare chair. "You're still on for tonight, though, right?" You looked up from your computer.

"Of course, I am, when have I ever said no to a party?" You asked. Yeosang throws his hands up.

"Just asking! Last time we went out you bailed!"

"I didn't bail I ended up hooking up with someone so I got busy!" You explained. Someone who just happened to be talking up your friend at the moment.

"Sure, (Y/N)! Ditch your childhood friends so you could go fuck around, we don't mind!" Wooyoung hops into the conversation. Technically you didn't ditch your childhood friends, considering he is one of them. "As long as you bring us, of course," he grins.

"Screw you!" You pushed his head away playfully. "I'm serious, I have to finish this before we go out tonight." You waved your hand to silence Wooyoung and continued typing away.

"You're such a killjoy, (Y/N)," Wooyoung sits on the other chair now. "What are you wearing?" He asks. You slid your phone to him to show him the picture and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Whoops, wrong one," you slid your finger across the screen to show the actual outfit.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Wooyoung swiped to the previous picture and leaned toward Yeosang, who shrugged and continued drinking his iced coffee.

"Saw that one already."

"Huh?!" Wooyoung's jaw dropped.

"Bruh, I told you to choose the other one!" Yeosang argues.

"I didn't like the other one!" You fought back. Wooyoung swipes to the previous picture.

"No, yeah, (Y/N)'s right, she looks better in the black one," Wooyoung agrees.

"The blue looks better," Yeosang swipes to the blue lingerie picture and Wooyoung responds with a shocked expression.

"He just doesn't get it," Wooyoung shook his head.

"(Y/N), thanks for watching my things," your friend bounds back and grabs her backpack.

"How'd it go?" You ask.

"He's taking me with him to the party tonight!" She couldn't hide her excitement. "Oh, who are your other friends here?" She looks between the two boys that joined you.

"Close friends."

"We're friends with San too," Wooyoung speaks up right on time for San to arrive.

"Oh... oh, (Y/N), wait, are you sure you're okay with me talking to San?" She asks with apologetic eyes.

"Yeah, go for it, I'm talking to someone new anyway," you shrugged. Now that caught San's attention. You tried not to look at him, memories of just last week resurfacing now.

"Right! The guy from orgo, right?" Your friend sneaks in a sly look with an even slyer grin. "Tell me how your date goes tomorrow!" She gives you a side hug before smiling at San. Then, she was gone.

"Guy from orgo?" Yeosang asks. You took a deep breath, leave it to her to spill a secret.

"He's nice, and his name is Mark, so don't be mean!" you defended him.

"Do we know him?" Wooyoung butts in. "Come on, we know basically everything about each other, tell us about this guy," he insists.

"Nothing big, okay? He's just a sweet guy who asked me out on a date, alright?" You shut your laptop, knowing full well that your essay won't be done any time soon.

"You guys fuck yet?" Yeosang asks.

"Holy shit, straight to the point," you grimaced at him.

"Hup, that expression says everything. And you said yes to going out on another date?" Yeosang presses. "Wait, wait, is this why you asked me what color of lin-"

"Shut up, Yeo, we're in public!" You shushed him quickly, just in time to catch San's glance. "But... yeah, alright? He's just sweet, okay? I want it to work out," you cleared your throat. "He got me flowers the other day..." your face began to heat up.

"Holy shit," Yeosang shakes his head. "The bar is set so low."

"The bar is you, my guy," Wooyoung laughs at San. "Imagine how shitty of a boyfriend you have to be for your ex to be blown away when she gets flowers."

"What kind of flowers?" Yeosang asks.

"Lilacs! Look how cute they are," you showed him a picture.

"Aww, good for you, (Y/N), you deserve someone sweet like that," he nudges you softly.

"Yeah, (Y/N), you're always into assholes, so maybe this will shake things up a little," Wooyoung jokes.

"Hey," San finally speaks up.

"You are an asshole!" You all respond.

"Yeah, an asshole who's DDing you two later so watch your mouth," San glares at Wooyoung and Yeosang, who only roll their eyes.

"We're not even going to get that drunk!"

"I am so drunk!" Wooyoung cries into your arms while Yeosang threw up in a trashcan next to you.

"Dear god, okay, it's okay, Wooyoung," you comforted him.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Wooyoung grimaces.

"Ew, no, no, share the trashcan with Yeo," you shoved him off of you and tumbled out of the bathroom. You slammed the door shut and the girl who was next line looked at you with pleading eyes. "You don't want to go in there," you waved your hand and she ran off to find another bathroom. You pulled your phone out and typed out a quick response to Mark.

"Sending your friend after me? That's a dirty trick, (Y/N)," San leaned against the wall, effectively blocking your way out of the hall. You shoved your phone in your bra and took a deep breath.

"Hey, I didn't send her, she went herself," you shrugged.

"Is that right?" He leans toward you, hand playing with your dress strap. "She's waiting for me in this room here, you know," he nudges his head toward the door next to him. Your eyes slid over to it, the stark image of your poor friend waiting for her hook-up to return crossing your mind. San leans down to your ear, pulling you closer with the aforementioned dress strap. "Why don't we go into the room next to it?" Your eyes met his in an instant. You swore you wouldn't do this again.

"I hate you," you pushed forward and pressed your lips to his. Instantly, he fell into rhythm, like he had many times before, and like he would in the future. You pushed him against the door, the weak thing rattling against its frame, and your friend's surprised yelp resounding despite the deafening music. San smirked against your lips, one hand tugging your dress down your shoulders while the other held the side of your face. Quickly, the kiss got messier, it was gross, almost. Teeth grazing each other and tongues swirling together, it was disgusting, but fuck were you both into it. San pulled you into the next room over and kicked the door shut. He pushed you down onto the bed and climbed on top of you, his hands were gripping the bottom of his shirt before you pulled him down to kiss him again. You tugged at his belt buckle while his lips moved down from your lips to your neck, and you were just barely pulling it off by the time he started to bite down on your nape, and your hands squeezed at the leather while a strained moan escaped you. San pauses before pressing his lips against the shell of your ear.

"Oh, come on, you can do better than that." His knee pushes up between your legs and they open near habitually. You pulled his shirt off right as he pushed your skirt up, his belt was clattering against the floor right next to your panties, and now your dress was pooled under his jeans near the corner of the bed. San's lips attached to your chest, inching closer to your nipples as his hand pushed against your thigh.

Then, it hit you. You had a date tomorrow. You had a date with a wonderful guy, someone who treated you with so much care that you didn't even know was possible, and here you were, about to get dicked down by your ex-boyfriend just like you had been for months now. You grabbed onto his wrist and he stopped. He pushed himself up so that he hovered above you now.

"We can't do this, we said we'd stop," you were out of breath. San didn't say a single word, no, it was like he was waiting for you to really think harder about this. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, ready to leave, but San kept you caged between him. "I... I'm seeing someone right now," you admitted this, but you couldn't meet his eyes.

"Talking or dating?" He asks. You still couldn't look at him.

"Talking," you muttered. With two fingers he pushed against your cheek to face him.

"Are we going to fuck or not?" He asked. "If you want to stop right now, then I'll stop and go next door. If not, tell me now." He said in a low voice. Hell... you can't say no to him when you're looking at him like this. Plus... you really didn't want your friend to have sex with him.

"What's one more fuck?" You shook your head. It was the same thing you said last time, the time before that, and the time before that. What's one more fuck? That stupid smirk that San was so good at appeared on his face again while he moved down.

"What's one more fuck?" He mocks you. "You gonna say that again tomorrow when you come running back to me after that date of yours?" His tongue traces up the inside of your thighs and your arms start to give in under you. "Are you going to say that to me again after he fucks you too? When you find out that he can't take care of you the way I do?" His tongue swipes up your pussy now and your thighs tense up. San's hands held them down now, the skin beneath them no doubt bruising. Then, when you felt the feather-light kiss against your clit, you knew what you'd agreed to. San ate you out like everything was on the line, his tongue practically scooped at your walls like he was trying to get every last drop into him. Your hips bucked up, but he kept you pressed down, and your hand that had found its way into his hair seemed to work on its own.

"Ah... fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum," you shook your head against the mattress and you bundled his hair into your hands. "San, fuck, just like that," your moans grew louder with every circular motion he made. He sucked on your clit and, like that, you were undone. Your thighs pressed against his hands while your pussy clenched around his tongue, but not once did he let up, no, instead he picked up the pace. You rode through your first orgasm with him already building up your second one, but before you could get there, he rose up, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand.

His hand presses against your pussy now, middle finger tracing the lips so gently. "Baby, I hope you weren't planning on enjoying the party, cuz you're in for a night," he chuckles. He kisses you again, with the slight bitter aftertaste of you on his tongue. He presses two fingers into you and your breath hitches again, then it's stolen by him, who deepened the kiss. You moaned against him, and you squirmed each time he pressed against your g-spot.

"San, ah," your voice shook and you pressed your head against the mattress again, trying your best to control yourself. He pressed his thumb against your clit and a high-pitched sound bubbled up your throat. He rolled it in small circles and your breathing picked up. His fingers plunged into you and your hands groped toward his cock. You gripped onto the waistband of his boxers, making small tugging motions that grew in intensity with each thrust. You finally pulled them down and he kicked it off. You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock and pumped it up and down. "Ah, wait, I'm cumming," your handjob slowed to a halt right as you felt your pussy clamping around him.

"Fuck, (Y/N)," his hand slows and he pulls his hand out. "Open." Your tongue lolled out of your mouth and San shoved his fingers inside your cheek, lipstick smearing under his thumb. His cock lined up at your pussy and he pushed into you.

"Oh fuck," you moaned. San gripped onto your chin now, his other hand holding onto the bedframe behind you while he worked his cock into you. Every time he'd pull out and push back in his cock went deeper into you, until finally, his hips hit yours.

"Made just for me, huh?" He grins. He nods your head up and down for you and you breathed out a shaky moan as he readjusted. "What's that new guy of yours gonna say when he finds out you're just a cock hungry slut?" He thrusts into you. "You're going to send him running." You tried to shake your head but he held you still while he pumped his cock into you. You held onto his wrist and tried to pull his hand off, but when you figured he wasn't budging, you grabbed onto the sheets under you instead.

"I... I'm going to cum," you choked out.

"Hold it."

"Ah... I can't," your hips rose to meet his. "I can't, please let me cum."

"I swear to god, if you cum, I'm going to send a picture of how fucked up you are to him." Every muscle in your body tensed. He released your face and grabbed your phone from wherever it had landed. He only paused for a second, just long enough for him to pull up the text conversation you had with your poor date. He raises the phone up and takes a picture, cock still inside of you and makeup messed up and all. He turned your phone around to show you, his thumb dangerously close to the send button.

"Don't, oh fuck, don't send that to him, please," you begged him. San placed the phone on the nightstand and started to pick up the pace. "San, don't send that to him."

"Don't cum then, easy as that," San leaned over you attaching his lips to your neck. "You can do it," he encouraged you, but his hand started to play with your clit and you could feel your head spinning.

"Fuck..." your words trailed off. You couldn't stop moaning now, and San grunting into your ear didn't help. You felt him bite down on your neck, leaving a trail of hickeys down to your collarbone. He lifts you off of the bed and moves under you. He grabs your hips and held you steady while he pistoned up into you. "San!" You grabbed onto the headboard.

"Say my name again," his thrusts started to get faster. "Say it!"

"San! Just like that, fuck, please let me cum," your head fell on his shoulder and your hands wrapped around his neck. You pressed sloppy kisses under his ear and San groaned. Then, to your horror and to his amusement, your phone started vibrating on the table. San stopped and you cried.

"Oho, who's that?" San's head turned and you grabbed his wrist before he could even think of reaching for your phone.

"Don't," you looked into his eyes and San's smile only grew.

"Oh, I won't answer it, that's fucked," he says. "You will, though."

"No..." you shook your head and he grabbed your phone, holding it up for you.

"Answer it, (Y/N). You don't want to break the poor guy's heart, do you?" He teases you. "Don't mind me, I'll just be here," he adjusts himself to be more comfortable. "We can continue after," he says. But you knew him, you knew that look in his eyes. You made a move to pull out of him, but he held your hips down. He slid his thumb across the phone, the call connecting.

"Hey, (Y/N)," you heard Mark's voice. "I hope you don't mind that I called out of the blue, like this." You held your breath and San looked at the phone. "(Y/N)?"

"Hi, hey, Mark," your voice was weak.

"Whoa, I call at a bad time?" San shook his head. "What are you up to?"

"I'm just," your voice hitched up when San started to lightly move his hips, "I'm at the gym, is all."

"Oh! No wonder, you sound tired!"

"Just a little," you answered. "Why did you call?" You tried to move off of San again, but he pulled you down. He leaned forward and kissed under your jaw while he placed the phone down next to you.

"No big reason, I just wanted to hear your voice, is all." San licked up your jawline and captured your lips with his before you could respond. "Sorry, was that weird?" You moaned quietly.

"No, no, I don't mind," you answered quickly. San began to thrust into you again. "Look, Mark, I'll... I'll talk to you later, you kind of caught me at a bad time," you glanced down at where your bodies connected and you bit down on your lip.

"Yeah! It's no biggie, I'll see you tomorrow! Pick you up at eight?" San hung up the call and flipped you down onto the bed, your breasts pressed up against the comforter and his hand on your head.

"You're joking, right?" His tone takes on a new sardonic one. "Mark, that nerd?" He laughs and pulls out of you, cock landing between your ass cheeks. "Come on, (Y/N), talk about a fucking downgrade, you two even fuck yet?"

"Yes," you answered.

"Wait, wait, let me rephrase that," you felt his cock prodding at your entrance. He places your phone in front of you, the camera turned on. You almost wanted to look away from it, but he stopped you from doing so. You noticed the red square at the bottom of it. "Has he even made you cum yet?" He asks you. You shook your head and San thrust into you again. You moaned and hid your face away while he fucked you into the mattress. "You really think he can get you as dumbfucked as I do?" You shook your head. "Cum." You did so, your throat was burning from all the times he left you screaming. Your pussy pulsated around his cock and he turned you around again so that you could face him. He grabbed your face with his hand and pressed a bruising kiss to your lips. He practically chewed down on your mouth now while chasing after his own orgasm. He grabs your phone again and your legs wrapped around his waist. "Look at that, look at you," he holds the phone over you and you wiped the trail of saliva from the corner of your mouth. He ends the video and tosses your phone aside. "Admit it, (Y/N), no one fucks you the way I do," he pushes into you and you felt his cock tense inside of you.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me harder," you nodded your head and he cummed inside of you. You saw white spots around your vision as you felt him filling you. You fell limp against the bed and he lifted you up, you were only being supported by his arms around you now while he continued to shallow thrust into you. You were just struggling to catch your breath while you were slumped over him. "God, I fucking love you," the phrase just slipped out. Your voice was hoarse and your mind blank, but somehow your words still held weight. San just responds by kissing you softly.

"Dammit, (Y/N), I never stopped," he mutters against your tender lips and somehow this still felt sweet. San lays you down on the bed, still kissing you and still inside of you. How he's still hard was beyond you, so you knew he wasn't going to stop just yet. He separated from you and you held his face to stop him from going further.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" He asks quietly. Your hand falls to his neck.

"I still love you," you pulled him down onto you and he moans against your lips, a newfound fervor in his movements. "Fuck, I love you and it's driving me insane." You chanted it like it was a mantra. It was true. In all of the dates you'd gone on and in all of the hookups you've had, you always found yourself comparing them to your first love, your first boyfriend. And here you were, still fucking him after breaking up with him so long ago.

"Say it again," he fucked you at his own pace, cum gushing out around his cock and spotting the bed.

"I love you," you repeated. "I know I shouldn't, but I love you."

"Fuck, (Y/N)," he said before kissing you. He cummed inside of you again, it was less intense than before, but it was enough to leave you spiraling. You pressed your hips down on him and he groaned. "You're insatiable."

"You're worse," you fired back. "You're worse because you keep making me come back," you held his face in your hands.

"You make it hard to leave," he pulls out of you, cum flowing out of your pussy. You caught your breath now while San rolled next to you.

"I'm about to break that poor boy's heart," you grabbed your phone and your heart stopped. "Oh fuck."

"Whoops," San glances over you to see the sent audio message.

"I'm dropping out of orgo," you turned your phone off and rolled toward him, your face against his chest. "I can never look at him again, oh fuck."

"Well, shit happens, (Y/N)," he wraps his arm around you and rubs your back. "You okay though? Not sore anywhere?"

"Not yet, I'll call you tomorrow to let you know."

"Call me tomorrow?" He looks at you quizzically. "Nah, you're coming home with me tonight."

"Huh?"

"No, I'm not letting you go home looking like that," he grabs your dress from the floor and places it on the bed next to you. "This is hot, by the way." He pulls his shirt over his head.

"Is it?" You pulled the dress on.

"Yeah, you look good in black," he picks up your panty and shoved it in his pockets.

"Hey, I need that," you toss him his belt.

"Not tonight, you won't," he tosses his keys in his hand.

"San!" You follow him out of the room just in time for Yeosang and Wooyoung to stumble out of the bathroom.

"Good luck getting home, assholes," San chides at them. They drunkenly looked between the both of you.

"Did you two fuck?!" Wooyoung shouts over the music. But his question ultimately went unanswered while you followed San out of the party.

General Tag List: @stopeatread @bat-shark-repellant @raeincitizen @umbralhelwolf @yangsrose @kazooms @sadcoffeecritic

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fics #ateez x you #ateez x yn #san x reader #san x you #san x yn #ateez smut #san smut #my writings #smut #choi san x reader #choi san x you #choi san x yn #choi san smut

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sluttywonwoo · 2 years ago

Text

instead of you [part ten] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, alcohol, mentions of sex (18+ mdni)

word count: 2.6k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

“Just that you’re not technically a chef yet,” Minho explained defensively. “You’re not certified.”

“A chef doesn’t need a piece of paper to call themselves a chef,” Leo countered. “Anyone can be a chef. But don’t tell the WAC I said that.”

“Yeah, Minho haven’t you ever seen Ratatouille?” you teased.

“Great movie,” Leo added. “Jisung, great job on your dough,” he reiterated.

Jisung stuck his tongue out at his brother across the table who rolled his eyes in response as Leo picked up his ball of dough and rolled it in his hands.

“Minho, yours is still a little tough. Keep working on it.”

He nodded and took his dough back to continue kneading it. You noticed his jaw clenched subtly in frustration, but he didn’t say anything else. You watched as he rolled the pasta dough with a little more force, maybe a little too much.

Leo checked yours next and gave you similar feedback to Minho’s, even though Jisung had helped you with yours. You didn’t want to think about what kind of feedback you would have gotten on your own.

Your dough was still flaking apart when you went back to working on it, and you tried desperately to hold it together with little success. Jisung had left your side to help his mom so you were on your own.

At least Minho was also struggling. You felt a little better knowing he was miserable too.

You were starting to sweat with effort, you were so out of shape that even cooking had you catching your breath. You had thought this was going to be fun, but instead you were having flashbacks to high school P.E. class.

Leo made his way down the rest of the table and checked everyone else’s dough before circling back to you and Minho. He took over for Minho and instructed Jisung to finish kneading yours so that he could move on with the lesson. It was embarrassing to be singled out, but Jisung assured you it wasn’t your fault. He wasn’t making much progress with yours either.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with yours,” Jisung whispered to you.

“I probably did it wrong,” you hissed back.

“I watched you do it, you did it the same way as everyone else.”

“Then why is it being like this?”

“Sometimes food has a mind of its own,” Leo interjected, making you realize the entire class had been listening to you and Jisung’s back and forth. “This is good enough, though. We can set it aside with the other balls of dough to let them rest while we make the fillings.”

You and Minho set your sad pasta balls on the counter with the others before moving to the sink to rinse your hands.

“I think they’ll still taste good,” Minho said thoughtfully as he offered the bottle of soap to you and pumped some into your hands.

“I hope so.”

“It’s pasta, it’s almost impossible to fuck it up.”

“Yet somehow we still managed to.”

“Some would say it’s talent,” he said and shrugged.

You bumped his shoulder with your own as you fought over the water stream. You managed to stick your hands in first and Minho put his above yours only for you to shove them away.

“Hey!”

“You’re completely ruining the purpose of washing my hands!”

“I have soap on my hands, you have soap on your hands, what’s the issue?”

“And you’re washing off your germs and they’re going on my hands now!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll wait my turn,” he seceded and let you finish washing your hands before he rinsed off his own.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Making the fillings for the pasta was a much simpler process than making the dough. All you had to do was mix certain ingredients together. It didn’t matter what order you added them, if you whisked fast or slow, the only important thing was that everything made it into the bowl one way or another.

You worked in pairs for this step. Jisung mixed together the pesto filling while you did the parmesan-truffle one.

“This is different than the pesto I make,” he said, looking at the mixture in his bowl.

You frowned. “But I like your pesto.”

“It’ll still be good, baby,” he assured you with a kiss to the forehead. “Don’t worry.”

When the fillings were done it was time to revisit the balls of dough and roll them into pasta. Jisung explained it to you like rolling Play-Doh, but it was far more difficult in your opinion. Play-Doh was nowhere near as stubborn as this. The pasta dough somehow retained tension, and would bounce back every time you tried to stretch it.

Jisung ended up having to help you and Minho because both of you were starting at a disadvantage with your fucked up dough.

“I never want to hear you say I have it easier than you ever again,” Jisung warned as he folded your strands of dough into raviolis.

The class had moved on to the final step, shaping and filling the noodles, but you had already tapped out. Jisung was done with his portion before you had even finished one so he had taken over for you.

“I’m sorry for saying that,” you said, remembering all the times you had teased him for stressing out over his ‘soufflé final’ or ‘crepe labs’. “I would much rather be writing a paper right now.”

He shrugged. “Everyone has their strengths.”

“I’m starting to think that Ratatouille movie was bullshit,” you groaned.

“How ironic,” Minho snorted across from you.

He was really starting to get on your nerves. But you let his comment go, not allowing your temper to get the better of you. He was still Jisung’s family, even if they had a… complicated relationship.

When the class finally settled in the dining room of the restaurant to eat you were sweaty, sore, and exhausted. You could feel your skin sticking to the leather seat, and you felt severely underdressed. Back in the kitchen you hadn’t been so self-conscious. But now you couldn’t stop thinking about your appearance.

The atmosphere was much more sophisticated. The lights were dim, and soft music played in the background. All of the other guests were following an unspoken black-tie dress code while the fifteen of you were still wearing your disposable aprons, only now they were covered in flour and egg yolk.

And to make it worse-

“Smile!”

Nikki held up her phone and motioned for you and Jisung to scoot your chairs closer together. You took a deep breath and complied, leaning your head against your fake boyfriend’s and managing a grin. You really didn’t want this moment to be immortalized, but you didn’t want to be difficult either.

The camera flashed once, then again. Jisung wrapped a hand around your waist and pulled your body against his, pressing a kiss to your cheek for another picture. You scrunched up your face as the flash went off, the tickle of his breath against your skin and the feather-light touch of his lips making you squeeze your eyes shut.

“That’s a good one!” Nikki complimented, even though you were sure it wasn’t as flattering as she was making it out to be.

The pasta was served with a glass of red wine for everyone. Jisung was right, the pesto was different from his, but it was still good. It was no match for his recipe, but the handmade pasta did give it a few bonus points. You were sure you hadn’t gotten any of the noodles you made because all of the ones on your plate were perfect. It didn’t feel fair that you got to enjoy somebody else’s hard work while they got your shitty excuse of a ravioli.

But as the wine dwindled from your glass the negative thoughts began to ebb away too. Your muscles, though still sore, relaxed slightly and you rested your head on Jisung’s shoulder as everyone else finished their meals around you. The conversation carried on without your contribution. Your social battery had died hours ago, but you were content to listen to the Hans chat with other students at the table.

You weren’t a huge fan of wine, but the one served with dinner was palatable, and to be honest you weren’t one to turn down complimentary alcohol anyway. It tasted more expensive than anything you had ever drank, like the equivalent of velvet on your tongue. You finished your glass and the rest of Felix’s.

The next few days in Florence passed in a similar fashion. You ate a lot of carbs, drank a lot of alcohol and let the business of the itinerary overwhelm you. It was getting tiring, living in an act. Trailing along behind the Hans like a dog, worn on Jisung’s arm like an accessory.

You had known what you were getting into, and you were trying your best to enjoy the experiences- because who the fuck knows when you’ll ever get to go on such a nice vacation again, but pretending to be in love with your best friend was a harder feat than you had thought.

It felt like being in a school play. Every move and phrase had to be intentional. You tread the lines of your relationship with rehearsed expertise. And you had to watch what you said, because everyone’s eyes were on you. At least that’s what it felt like.

Jisung’s parents were easy. They fully bought into your lie, seeing what they wanted to. They usually left you to your own devices, too. His brothers were the ones who needed convincing. Not even Felix, though. Minho was the problem. Minho was always the problem.

You were in Rome now, walking back to the hotel from the Colosseum. Jisung had his arm slung around your shoulders and was talking his twin brother’s ear off about the Gladiators and inaccuracies in films about Ancient Rome.

You didn’t think you’d seen him this excited the entire trip. It was cute, the way he talked with his hands and looked off into the distance whenever he was really engaged in something. Felix was also cute. He was trying his best to keep up with Jisung, nodding his head at all the right points, asking questions when there was a pause in conversation.

“Yeah, gladiators fucking unionized,” Jisung explained. “They put their lives on the line all the time, ya know? Might as well get benefits.”

“If I was a gladiator I’d join their union,” you said, adding to the conversation for the first time in a while.

“There were women gladiators too, babe! You totally could’ve been one.”

You laughed. “You remember my season on the intramural dodgeball team? I wouldn’t last a day. But I appreciate the thought, Ji.”

You had dinner in the restaurant attached to the hotel lobby. Nikki passed around her Canon for everyone to look through the pictures from the day while a bottle of limoncello was passed around the table.

You’d scarfed down your pasta and passed on dessert in favor of another shot of limoncello. Rookie mistake.

In the past the sugary drink had always tasted like cough syrup to you, but this batch tasted like straight-up lemonade. You were tipsy, bordering on drunk, but nowhere near blacked. Nikki and Dom turned in around shot three, leaving the tab open for the four of you. Jisung went upstairs next, having gone too hard too fast on the limoncello (he was on shot five when his parents went back to their room).

Then it was just You, Felix, and Minho. You told Jisung you’d join him in a bit after the pianist played a couple more songs. In all honesty, the music reminded you of Jisung. Back at school you could always find Jisung in the music hall if he wasn’t in the culinary building. You’d always hear him playing as soon as you walked through the double doors. You could always tell it was him at the keys by the way the playing sounded. He was self-taught, but still a genius in your mind. He didn’t need any formal training to make beautiful music, and that’s what you loved about it.

When he moved out of the dorms and into an apartment he bought a keyboard, and you’d spend nights together in his room illegally pirating sheet music for him to learn new songs. He’d play whatever you requested, and if he didn’t know how to play it he’d teach himself.

The pianist in the restaurant played with a little more expertise. The notes sounded refined, perfected. Jisung always told you that perfect music was restrained music, that real music had flaws, that a song should sound a little different every time it was played.

After an encore of Beethoven the man at the piano stood from his bench and took a bow, passing his hat around the room to collect tips. Minho dropped a bill into the hat and you did as well, handing it back to the man afterwards. He dumped the contents of the hat into a briefcase and closed the lid of the piano, thanking everyone in the audience for their donations.

“Well, I think I’m going to head up now,” Felix said, yawning for emphasis. “We still have to get up at the ass crack of dawn even though we’ll all probably be hungover.”

“Speak for yourself,” Minho said cockily, then turned to you. “One more shot?”

The bottle of limoncello was almost empty anyway. Might as well finish it off, it’d be a shame to let it go to waste, right?

“Hit me.”

“God, you’re both going to be so fucked tomorrow,” Felix groaned.

“We’ll be fine,” Minho insisted, rolling his eyes at his younger brother.

“Good night, Felix,” you sang, waving at him as he walked off.

“Yeah whatever.”

Minho wasted no time pouring you both a shot of what was left of the limoncello. The restaurant was beginning to clear out so he worked fast, filling the glasses up to the marked line. You both took one and clinked them together before throwing them back.

You winced at the burning sensation in the back of your throat and put the glass back on the table, searching for something to chase the shot with. Your eyes fell to Minho, lingering on his cheeks, his lips, both pink from the alcohol or something else. You flicked your gaze down to his neck, his collarbone that was peeking out from the neckline of his shirt. You thought about how it would feel to kiss him there, to run your tongue over a love bite you’d given him.

You forced your gaze back to his eyes, hoping he hadn’t caught you staring. You had to act uninterested, you couldn’t let on to- but he was staring back. His eyes were intense, and almost impossible to read in the darkness of the room. You knew you should look away, knew you had to keep up appearances, but you couldn’t.

Later you’d blame it on the alcohol, but in that moment you knew the limoncello wasn’t what was making your head spin, or your what was making your vision cloudy.

You were about to leave the table, about to rush to the elevator and back to Jisung but then suddenly Minho was kissing you. He cradled your head in his hand and tilted your chin up to meet his lips. It wasn’t desperate or messy like most drunk kisses were. Instead, it was delicate. You swore you could feel every line of his lips against yours, feel his heartbeat through his hands on your cheek.

It was only for a second, not enough time for you to react or reciprocate and then he was pulling away, eyes wide with panic.

“Please don’t tell Jisung.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

no taglist today bc my laptop is broken but if you’d like to add yourself to the taglist you can do so here!

#instead of you skz #iou skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x female reader #skz x female reader #lee know x reader #lee know x female reader #lee know x bi!reader #lino x reader #minho x reader #lee minho x reader #stray kids series #skz séries #stray kids fic

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years ago

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—𝟎𝟑 - 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮, 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭... 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

pairing: getou suguru x fem!reader

summary: anonymous musician, kogane, had been dropping non-hints of who they were since they first began releasing music to the students of tokyo metropolitan technical college nine months ago to the frustration of everyone ever.

getou suguru, long-time (arguably #1) fan and campus heartthrob with a reputation is determined to find out exactly who they are before he graduates, and he has no idea where to start. that is, until resident idiot and best friend and roommate, gojo satoru, points him in the direction of you, the musical genius behind kogane

word count: 3.4k

a/n: here is where it really begins, a follow-up to the previous chapter, it fills in the blanks of the messages. as always, leave some feedback/comments/reblogs! would love to read them :)

[11:48 AM]

To say Getou Suguru is not a lover is not entirely true. He loves his friends—probably more than is healthy—and he loves his little sisters. He loves life in that he romanticizes most aspects of it; the way the sun shines, how green the leaves are, the sound of people. When he was a kid, he had crushes, and always did that thing kids do where they imagine a future with their science project partner.

But that Suguru grew up, and, now that Suguru is a stranger.

A stranger who might’ve been scarred a few too many times in the past. Maybe his hand has been bitten and burnt, and his mind is overtaken by memories. Whatever it is, all he knows is he’s not interested in getting into a relationship any time soon, and it’s not because he’s afraid.

He just doesn’t want it anymore.

It really is that simple.

“And when I stand in your way again… will you walk right by and pretend I was never by your side…”

Humming to the melody of the song flowing through his earbuds, he glances at his phone to check the time. It’s just him and Satoru for lunch today, with Shoko stuck in a lab she’s being forced to supervise for some of the first years, so he’s in no rush. Besides, his two hour gap means he can take his time to digest lunch for once. That, and research who he wants to pair up with for the graduation showcase at the end of the year.

He’s never really mingled (in the proper sense) with the students majoring in music long enough to get a good idea of their personalities and production styles; half of him is crazy enough to find out who kogane is to see if he can partner up with her, but he knows that’s impossible. Without any way to discern who she is, it’d be a waste of his time. Even if he does itch to find out who owns that brain of hers.

Suguru sighs. Whatever. He’ll just pair up with whoever he sees first when they have that class to meet the roster. It’s not like other dancers know anyone in the music major, although he did hear Utahime found someone already, not sure who, but it isn’t any of his business.

Stopping by the vending machines, he pays for his iced coffee, waiting as it makes his drink. Freeing his hair from its bun, he runs his hand down his neck, massaging the muscle running into his shoulder. The morning had been long—waking up late, rushing to class just in time for a full three hour repetoire class.

“I wish we could’ve stayed in our playful cloud for just a bit longer…”

God, he needs an ice bath.

Grabbing his coffee, he spots two others in line, and he gets out of the way just in case one of them recognizes him or something for fucking with their friend, which has happened more than once, heading out into the sunshine to see Satoru lounging at a table by himself. He’s got his lunch out, but he’s not eating, too busy texting whoever he’s entertaining.

“Good afternoon,” he says, sitting down with his coffee, and Satoru perks up, flashing his grin.

“Hey. How was class?”

“Exhausting. You looked like you just rolled out of bed,” he observes, eyeing Satoru’s messy hair spiking out in all directions. “Did you remember to clear out the dishwasher before you leave?”

“Yeah.” Tossing his phone onto the table, he sits upright and eyes the coffee. Suguru nudges it towards his best friend before reaching into his backpack to retrieve his lunch.

“What is it?”

“Just a normal iced coffee. Not in the mood for anything fancy.” Cracking open his container of pasta salad, he eyes Satoru warily. “You didn’t make coffee at home?”

“No.”

“Why did your parents even give us that espresso machine then?” he shoots back, stabbing a fork into the Tupperware and glancing into his food. It’s unappetizing despite his grumbling stomach, and he slouches into his body, grimacing. He’d been looking forward to this since last night. Why can’t he just eat it?

“To earn my forgiveness and convince me to come home for the winter,” Satoru answers, nudging the coffee back towards him. “What’s up with you? You texted that you missed breakfast.”

“I don’t know. I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Nearly impossible,” Satoru declares. “Did someone reject you on the way down here?”

“Nearly impossible,” Suguru mocks. Forcing himself to take a bite, his stomach roars greedily for more and he takes another forkful before taking a sip of his iced coffee. “i just feel gross.”

“Did you at least make any progress on that dance cover you want to post?”

“A tiny bit. I’m listening to it right now for ideas,” he says, gesturing at his ear.

“You’re hopeless when it comes to her, dude.” Satoru’s eyes trail over Suguru’s shoulder, and that’s the moment the latter decides to ignore his best friend, continuing with his journey of consumption. It tastes cold, which is something Suguru needs, and he scrolls his phone, catching up on what he’s missed since he’s been in class. He just wants his brain to shut off for a moment. “Hey, Suguru.”

Distracted: “Hm?”

“You know Megumi?”

“Yeah.” Looking up from his phone, he can already see the kid’s scowl in his head and he tilts his head when he notes Satoru’s focus lays elsewhere. Waving his fork in front of his face, he moves his head into his best friend’s line of sight. “He’s that high school kid you tutor. What about him?” No answer. “Yo, Satoru. Are you even listening?”

Satoru raises his head, nearly rising from his seat, and his fingers hovering over his phone screen makes Suguru literally resist the urge to punch his best friend. If he invites a girl to sit down with them after the morning he’s had, he’ll have to be charged for murder.

“Dude—”

“Shut up for a second. I’m trying to see something.”

“You asked the question, dickhead. If she wants to sit with us, fine, but I’m getting up and leaving.”

Satoru’s eyebrows knit together, and Suguru, exasperated, follows his best friend’s gaze to see what’s caught his eye.

At a table pretty close to the one they’re sitting at, only two people are sitting there—a girl with a ponytail and glasses, leaning against another guy who’s searching up something on his phone. They seem pretty obviously together, and Suguru tries to hide a wry smile working its way onto his face.

“What, you know her or something?” he jokes, but Satoru quickly shushes him again, gesturing to his phone. Picking it up, he frowns as a text pops up in the group chat and when he looks up at Satoru to find a sly glint in his eyes, he can’t help but think that the upsetting feeling in his stomach is taking the shape of whatever Satoru is thinking.

No coffee. No coffee. You can’t be running on coffee.

At least, that’s what Toge keeps signing to himself as he thinks about the rest of his schedule. You watch, smiling to yourself as you offer to take the bag containing their food they’d picked up from a Chinese place on campus, but he moves his hand away, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Toge, you know it’s fine to take a sip and just slowly wean yourself off right,” you tease, but he only shoots you a look, and you sigh, adjusting the grip you have on your laptop bag. “Decaf, then. I’ll pay and it’ll be me doing my part on your road to recovery.”

Toge rolls his eyes but leads the way to the vending machines, and you fish out your wallet as he pulls out his phone to text the group chat. A guy bends over to grab his drink and moves on before you shuffle forward to the keypad. You find the decaf iced coffee at the very bottom, inputting the number before swiping your card, watching as the machine chugs out a cold cup of decaf, the stream filling the silence. You watch the screen displaying the progress before remembering their destination.

“Does anyone else want anything?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder as the machine beeps. Toge shakes his head. You retrieve the drink just as your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and you return your wallet to your bag, grabbing your phone. You’re sure it’s going to be just the group chat as all of your social media accounts for kogane are muted, but you’re surprised when it’s a preview for an email from the head of the music program.

Quickly pocketing your phone again and jotting down a mental note to check your emails as soon as you get a free chance, you and Toge begin to continue their walk to the outdoor area Yuuta told them about. The sun’s still strong, and you squint against its golden rays as they walk by the tall windows of the hall that takes them past the bookstore.

It’s hitting the glass just right that it refracts a rainbow, and you step through each beam, hand fishing through your bag for your notebook containing the scribbles you reference for songwriting. Juggling the spine with the decaf clutched in your palm, you write down what you can in the moment before slipping it back into your bag, and you continue on your way through the cafeteria. Toge signs for the door, and you nod, following him.

Outside, there are students milling around the lawn, more sitting on the sun-warmed steps. Stone tables underneath an overhang filled with more students seem to be your destination based on Yuuta’s text. You and Toge cut through the stream of students as soon as you spot a dark ponytail gleaming in the sunlight slanting into their shade.

Finding your seat next to Maki, you let your bag slip off your shoulder, dropping your phone onto the table as Toge slides in across from her, and she looks up from where Yuuta is showing something on his phone to toss a greeting their way. Popping your other earbud out, you slide it back into your charging case and grab your water bottle from your bag instead as Toge sets down their lunches.

“Thanks.”

He smiles, signing back a quick “No worries” before taking the decaf off your hands.

“How was class?” Yuuta asks, and you shrug noncommittally. Maki takes his phone from him to watch the video and he surrenders it instantly to her. It’s so habitual it makes you grin. Picking up his chopsticks again, the poor guy fights back a yawn as you open your takeout. You and Toge had walked to the Chinese restaurant after your respective classes to grab boxes of fried noodles as a treat, and at this moment, your stomach cannot thank you enough after you skipped breakfast.

“They finally mentioned the end of year project, but I still don’t know what it is,” you say as an offer to break the silence. “The prof sent an email, but I have a new assignment to focus on so I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Yeah?”

“Is it that one about the apple and the tree and whatever? Metaphors… something about meaning behind everyday objects,” Maki says, handing Yuuta’s phone back to him and straightening up to focus on her own meal that’s mostly gone besides the remaining apple slices. Picking one up, she points it at you. “You better not be slacking off because you promised you’d come to Yuuta’s showcase on Saturday.”

“Of course I’m going.” Pulling apart your wooden chopsticks, you begin to eat. “It’s just a paper and a photo. It’ll be done Friday.”

“Homework on a Friday night. Just when I thought you guys couldn’t be more boring,” a new voice interrupts and Maki’s shoulders go stiff as two shadows fall over their table. Your eyes slip away from Yuuta to find a pair of guys standing at their table, grins slinging off their faces. They’re mostly unfamiliar to you, but you could recognize that white hair anywhere.

“Gojo,” Maki greets stiffly, glancing up at the standing man with the bright shock of white hair. Gojo tilts his head to peer over his sunglasses and you don’t resist the urge to let your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline as Toge starts on his decaf iced coffee, sticking his metal straw in and taking a loud slurp. “Can I help you?”

“Thank you so much for asking, but actually, I’m here for someone else.” Blue eyes meet yours, and you frown. “You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. And, actually, you can’t help me, but you can help my friend here,” and Gojo gestures to the tall man beside him. Your eyes drift to the friend, and you realize it’s the one who’d been listening to your new song, dancing to the beat as he tried to familiarize himself to the chorus. You blink, not quite sure what to say. His dark hair is hanging freely, most of it pushed over his broad shoulders, and he smiles at you despite the warm blush painting his face.

“What does he want?” Yuuta asks cautiously. Standing, you feel a hand immediately grab your wrist, and you look down at Maki.

“She’s not sleeping with either of you,” your friend says emphatically.

“That’s not what’s always on our mind, Maki,” Gojo says sourly, tossing a glare in her direction before allowing his grin to grow again. “Getou Suguru, meet… you.” He sweeps an arm grandly, before frowning inquisitively, squinting at you. “What’s your name again?”

“Shut up,” the other guy says, and your eyes dart to him. His eyes, dark but fond, roll before he meets your gaze. “Ignore him. My name is Getou Suguru. I’m a fourth year dance major.”

“Good for you,” you say, and his eyebrows shoot up, squinting as a smile curves his lips. “What do you want?”

“So you know who I am?”

“She didn’t until I told her,” Maki derides under her breath.

“That’s not the point. I know who you are,” you insist, “but I dunno what you want from me.”

“I want to be your partner.”

The blood drains from your face and an icicle of dread spears into your heart. “Huh?”

“Huh?”

Toge drops his decaf coffee with a clack with an appalled expression and Gojo Satoru laughs.

“Would that be so horrible?” Suguru asks, nonplussed, and you try to rearrange your expression into something more acceptable. “I’m an excellent dancer. It’s not like I won’t do whatever you compose justice.”

“Dancer?” you repeat, confused. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You’re a music major, aren’t you?”

“What about it?”

“Aren’t senior music majors in charge of the grad showcase?” asks Getou, frowning, and suddenly, it clicks in your head. The email from the head of the music program. The year-end project.

Oh, for the fucking love of god.

“You didn’t think I was asking you out, did you?”

“For a second, I did.” And your heart had skipped a few frantic beats for it. You have no interest in getting with someone with the reputation of Getou Suguru, which, though you only learned of it recently, you can believe. His dark hair hangs freely around his face, and his eyes are piercing, set in a smooth face edged with a sharp jaw and sly lips. He’s got the voice of a charmer, and a body of a dancer, all lean lines and corded muscle, and you’re not surprised if Getou Suguru pulls.

You’ve seen this guy before, with a different name and a different face, and it makes you smirk. Meanwhile, Getou Suguru’s face drops and you raise an eyebrow.

“I know how to ask people out, and I’d never even date you,” he says, appalled, and you can’t help but be a little offended as he shakes his head rapidly, dark hair flying around his face. “You’re not my type.”

“Well, thank God for that,” you retort wryly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t exactly know you. How do I know I want to pair up with you for a big project like this?”

“Well, I can show you my skills and you can show me yours?” he asks, taking out his phone, and you run it over in your head. You don’t have a set partner yet, and this does save you the trouble of going out to find one during the forced meet and greet in the near future. He glances at you through his bang, and you meet his eyes, frowning lightly. “Give me your number. I’ll text you.”

“Sure.” Handing him your own phone, you take his. It’s a black one, with a clear phone case, and you can feel the heat of his hand lingering in the rubber as you input your contact info before giving it back to him just in time to see him fucking with your emojis by putting a dancing man beside his name. You fight back a smile.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m a dance guy,” he informs. “That’s how you know who I am.”

“I don’t know any other Getou Sugurus,” you say.

“Good. I don’t want you to know other Getou Sugurus. I want it to stay that way.”

“Why? Because I’ll find out they’re better than you?” You sit down. He arches an eyebrow and you turn off your phone, setting it down on the table. Mechanically, you manage to plaster on a smile and look up at Getou. “Thanks for your number. I’ll text you about a time I’m free and we can touch base or something about a real partnership sometime later?”

“Cool. Excited to work with you.” He turns to head back to his table, and in your head, you can’t help but think of the nerves biting at the tips of your fingers. Your heart, still pounding like thunder in your chest, wants to leap out of your body. What is up with you, Getou Suguru? And why did you single me out?

“Don’t take offense to what he said, by the way,” Gojo says before he returns to his table. Your eyes flit from the back of Getou’s retreating figure to blue eyes that are already keenly watching you and your frown grows deeper. Maki’s hand rests on your clenched fist on the table, and you force yourself to let your fingers go lax. “Suguru doesn’t date just anyone. Suguru doesn’t date, period.”

“Great,” you mutter sarcastically. “My dreams have been crushed and I’m inconsolable.”

Gojo only laughs, the retreating sound of him filling the silence as you look at your friends and just blink. They don’t say anything except stare back at you, and you look at your phone blankly, at the group chat open on the unlocked screen.

“I’m surprised he chose you and not a guy,” Toge signs beside you, brow furrowed.

“Maybe he wants to make you his next target,” Maki mutters resentfully.

Yuuta sets a hand on Maki’s hand, and she scowls at her, but he only curls his fingers over her hand in a solid grip. “But you heard him. She’s not his type.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to guys like him,” Maki insists, grabbing tighter onto Yuuta’s fingers as she turns to him. Your hand feels cold without her calloused palm atop your knuckles. “Guys like him go for anyone who looks at them long enough.”

Toge’s hand on your shoulder squeezes and it’s like your heart restarts. A rickety machine that whines to life. Yuuta’s voice again. “(Name), are you okay?”

Your fingers move over the screen, and you press send before you can even comprehend it, staring blankly at ten minutes ago when you were not in the position you are in now. At the table, your three friends glance at their respective phones when each one buzzes.

Because deep down, you already know your answer. You’ve seen Getou Suguru dance to a song you’ve composed, and he doesn’t even know it’s you.

And he’s perfect. He’s, frankly, excellent, and you’d be a fucking idiot to say no to him coming up to you for his grad showcase.

The problem is, you know Maki’s right, too. Now that you’ve seen and spoken to him, you know that he’s definitely gotten enough people under him just be existing in their space that he’s used to it, and you’re no one.

You’re no one, and he’s someone. A big someone. Someone with a capital ’s’.

Fuck me, you think. Every girl is about to hate my fucking guts. Fuck me. I’m fucked and I can’t help but say yes to it.

tags: @thelameless @lucyrocks86 @kentospet @id-rather-be-an-outsider

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tinybitsubby · 2 years ago

Note

You have described yourself as "NOT a masochist" but enjoying rough (often very rough) sex. You have described your Husband as not only a Dom but a sadist as well. This is very similar to my relationship.

How does one balance the desire to [consensually] inflict pain on someone who is not completely wired to receive it? Conversely, how far will/do you let him go before limits kick in? Is that limit based on your desire to please or your personal, physical limit?

I have been with masochists before and the flow was very natural and easy. But with someone who is also self described as "not a masochist" AND me being a sadist who would not want to hurt anyone outside of a BDSM consensual agreement, I sometime find myself treading especially carefully.

Any thoughts are appreciated.

Hi Anon. I’m glad you wish to tread carefully! I want to give a thoughtful answer. Before I get to your question, I feel I should define my husband and myself a little better for clarity’s sake.

I say I’m not a masochist because I don’t enjoy the actual sensation of pain. I do however really enjoy that my trusted partner is either turned on or finds some other positive from inflicting those sensations on me when he knows he’s making me uncomfortable . For whatever reason, it’s the ‘he likes that I don’t like this’ that I enjoy. Does that technically fall on the masochist spectrum? Maybe??? It depends on which definition you’re working with. I’m just not a pain puppy. I don’t dream of physical pain and I don’t get off from the actual sensations of pain.

Now for the Hubs. Another writer used the term “sensual sadist” on here before and I feel that applies to him. If there were a sadist spectrum he’d be Sadist Light. He doesn’t desire to push me to see how much pain I can/will take for him. He does enjoy taking his pleasure from me in ways that are emotionally complex for me (us?). I get the great subby feelings that feed my soul, he lets loose the sexual side of his dominance. He does seem to be growing and exploring this side of himself. I wrote in another post that he’d probably have trouble answering the question “Do you like face/throat fucking me so hard that it hurts me?”. I wrote that I assumed my sweet hubby would struggle with how he feels about it, but I asked him the question a week or two ago and he answered with “YES”. I must admit I really liked his emphatic answer.

Ok, now that you understand us a little better, I’ll try to answer your question. For us, the balance is struck from years of growing into this together. He’s not the kind of sadist that simply wants me to suffer more and more for him. (There’s no judgement here for other types of sadists.) He has studied my immediate and long term reactions to the uncomfortable and painful. We have awkward conversations about us each being happy I hurt for him. He cares about my pleasure a great deal and has done an AMAZING job at exploring what feels good to him, turns him on, fits inside my pain tolerance, feeds my subby heart, and brings us closer together.

In our situation, our desires just seem to line up. We lucked out on that one. He hasn’t expressed any interest to explore inflicting more pain on me. If he did, I’m sure we’d talk it out a lot. I’d do my best to give him whatever I’m capable of. In our relationship, he does have the freedom to explore and push a bit, safeword at the ready. I’ve told him many times that I’d rather be in a situation where we need to talk about maybe reeling in a certain activity or intensity level than for him to ever feeling unable to express himself and explore. I encourage him to try new things and he welcomes honest feedback. I guess that last sentence might be the takeaway here.

I fear our situation may not be of much help to you, sorry about that. We’re all so different when it comes to this stuff, but I suppose there’s always something we can learn from each other.

Again, it’s good that you know yourself and want to tread carefully.

#24/7 d/s #d/s marriage #d/s real life #real d/s #dom/sub #d/s lifestyle #d/s #submissivewife

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sunkissedpages · 4 years ago

Text

instead of you [part fourteen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption

word count: 2.6k

series masterlist

“Just that you’re not technically a chef yet,” Tom explained defensively. “You’re not certified.”

“A chef doesn’t need a piece of paper to call themselves a chef,” Leo countered. “Anyone can be a chef. But don’t tell the WAC I said that.”

“Yeah, Tom haven’t you ever seen Ratatouille?” you teased.

“Great movie,” Leo added. “Sam, great job on your dough,” he reiterated.

Sam stuck his tongue out at his brother across the table who rolled his eyes in response as Leo picked up his ball of dough and rolled it in his hands.

“Tom, yours is still a little tough. Keep working on it.”

Leo checked yours next and gave you similar feedback to Tom’s, even though Sam had helped you with yours. You didn’t want to think about what kind of feedback you would have gotten on your own.

Your dough was still flaking apart when you went back to working on it, and you tried desperately to hold it together with little success. Sam had left your side to help his mom so you were on your own.

At least Tom was also struggling. You felt a little better knowing he was miserable too.

Leo made his way down the rest of the table and checked everyone else’s dough before circling back to you and Tom. He took over for Tom and instructed Sam to finish kneading yours so that he could move on with the lesson. It was embarrassing to be singled out, but Sam assured you it wasn’t your fault. He wasn’t making much progress with yours either.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with yours,” Sam whispered to you.

“I probably did it wrong,” you hissed back.

“I watched you do it, you did it the same way as everyone else.”

“Then why is it being like this?”

“Sometimes food has a mind of its own,” Leo interjected, making you realize the entire class had been listening to you and Sam’s back and forth. “This is good enough, though. We can set it aside with the other balls of dough to let them rest while we make the fillings.”

You and Tom set your sad pasta balls on the counter with the others before moving to the sink to rinse your hands.

“I think they’ll still taste good,” Tom said thoughtfully as he offered the bottle of soap to you and pumped some into your hands.

“I hope so.”

“It’s pasta, it’s almost impossible to fuck it up.”

“Yet somehow we still managed to.”

“Some would say it’s talent,” he said and shrugged.

You bumped his shoulder with your own as you fought over the water stream. You managed to stick your hands in first and Tom put his above yours only for you to shove them away.

“Hey!”

“You’re completely ruining the purpose of washing my hands!”

“I have soap on my hands, you have soap on your hands, what's the issue?”

“And you’re washing off your germs and they’re going on my hands now!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll wait my turn,” he seceded and let you finish washing your hands before he rinsed off his own.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You worked in pairs for this step. Sam mixed together the pesto filling while you did the parmesan-truffle one.

“This is different than the pesto I make,” he said, looking at the mixture in his bowl.

You frowned. “But I like your pesto.”

“It’ll still be good, baby,” he assured you with a kiss to the forehead. “Don’t worry.”

When the fillings were done it was time to revisit the balls of dough and roll them into pasta. Sam explained it to you like rolling Play-Doh, but it was far more difficult in your opinion. Play-Doh was nowhere near as stubborn as this. The pasta dough somehow retained tension, and would bounce back every time you tried to stretch it.

Sam ended up having to help you and Tom because both of you were starting at a disadvantage with your fucked up dough.

“I never want to hear you say I have it easier than you ever again,” Sam warned as he folded your strands of dough into raviolis.

The class had moved on to the final step, shaping and filling the noodles, but you had already tapped out. Sam was done with his portion before you had even finished one so he had taken over for you.

He shrugged. “Everyone has their strengths.”

“I’m starting to think that Ratatouille movie was bullshit,” you groaned.

“How ironic,” Tom snorted across from you.

He was really starting to get on your nerves. But you let his comment go, not allowing your temper to get the better of you. He was still Sam’s family, even if they had a... complicated relationship.

And to make it worse-

“Smile!”

Nikki held up her phone and motioned for you and Sam to scoot your chairs closer together. You took a deep breath and complied, leaning your head against your fake boyfriend’s and managing a grin. You really didn’t want this moment to be immortalized, but you didn’t want to be difficult either.

The camera flashed once, then again. Sam wrapped a hand around your waist and pulled your body against his, pressing a kiss to your cheek for another picture. You scrunched up your face as the flash went off, the tickle of his breath against your skin and the feather-light touch of his lips making you squeeze your eyes shut.

“That’s a good one!” Nikki complimented, even though you were sure it wasn’t as flattering as she was making it out to be.

The pasta was served with a glass of red wine for everyone. Sam was right, the pesto was different from his, but it was still good. It was no match for his recipe, but the handmade pasta did give it a few bonus points. You were sure you hadn’t gotten any of the noodles you made because all of the ones on your plate were perfect. It didn’t feel fair that you got to enjoy somebody else’s hard work while they got your shitty excuse of a ravioli.

But as the wine dwindled from your glass the negative thoughts began to ebb away too. Your muscles, though still sore, relaxed slightly and you rested your head on Sam’s shoulder as everyone else finished their meals around you. The conversation carried on without your contribution. Your social battery had died hours ago, but you were content to listen to the Hollands chat with other students at the table.

The next few days in Florence passed in a similar fashion. You ate a lot of carbs, drank a lot of alcohol and let the business of the itinerary overwhelm you. It was getting tiring, living in an act. Trailing along behind the Hollands like a dog, worn on Sam’s arm like an accessory.

Sam’s parents were easy. They fully bought into your lie, seeing what they wanted to. They usually left you to your own devices, too. His brothers were the ones who needed convincing. Not even Harry, though. Tom was the problem. Tom was always the problem.

You were in Rome now, walking back to the hotel from the Colosseum. Sam had his arm slung around your shoulders and was talking his twin brother’s ear off about the Gladiators and inaccuracies in films about Ancient Rome.

You didn’t think you’d seen him this excited the entire trip. It was cute, the way he talked with his hands and looked off into the distance whenever he was really engaged in something. Harry was also cute. He was trying his best to keep up with Sam, nodding his head at all the right points, asking questions when there was a pause in conversation.

“Yeah, gladiators fucking unionized,” Sam explained. “They put their lives on the line all the time, ya know? Might as well get benefits.”

“If I was a gladiator I’d join their union,” you said, adding to the conversation for the first time in a while.

“There were women gladiators too, babe! You totally could’ve been one.”

You laughed. “You remember my season on the intramural dodgeball team? I wouldn’t last a day. But I appreciate the thought, Sammy.”

You’d scarfed down your pasta and passed on dessert in favor of another shot of limoncello. Rookie mistake.

In the past the sugary drink had always tasted like cough syrup to you, but this batch tasted like straight-up lemonade. You were tipsy, bordering on drunk, but nowhere near blacked. Nikki and Dom turned in around shot three, leaving the tab open for the four of you. Sam went upstairs next, having gone too hard too fast on the limoncello (he was on shot five when his parents went back to their room).

Then it was just You, Harry, and Tom. You told Sam you’d join him in a bit after the pianist played a couple more songs. In all honesty, the music reminded you of Sam. Back at school you could always find Sam in the music hall if he wasn’t in the culinary building. You’d always hear him playing as soon as you walked through the double doors. You could always tell it was him at the keys by the way the playing sounded. He was self-taught, but still a genius in your mind. He didn’t need any formal training to make beautiful music, and that’s what you loved about it.

The pianist in the restaurant played with a little more expertise. The notes sounded refined, perfected. Sam always told you that perfect music was restrained music, that real music had flaws, that a song should sound a little different every time it was played.

After an encore of Beethoven the man at the piano stood from his bench and took a bow, passing his hat around the room to collect tips. Tom dropped a bill into the hat and you did as well, handing it back to the man afterwards. He dumped the contents of the hat into a briefcase and closed the lid of the piano, thanking everyone in the audience for their donations.

“Well, I think I’m going to head up now,” Harry said, yawning for emphasis. “We still have to get up at the ass crack of dawn even though we’ll all probably be hungover.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tom said cockily, then turned to you. “One more shot?”

The bottle of limoncello was almost empty anyway. Might as well finish it off, it’d be a shame to let it go to waste, right?

“Hit me.”

“God, you’re both going to be so fucked tomorrow,” Harry groaned.

“We’ll be fine,” Tom insisted, rolling his eyes at his younger brother.

“Good night, Harry,” you sang, waving at him as he walked off.

“Yeah whatever.”

Tom wasted no time pouring you both a shot of what was left of the limoncello. The restaurant was beginning to clear out so he worked fast, filling the glasses up to the marked line. You both took one and clinked them together before throwing them back.

You winced at the burning sensation in the back of your throat and put the glass back on the table, searching for something to chase the shot with. Your eyes fell to Tom, lingering on his cheeks, his lips, both pink from the alcohol or something else. You flicked your gaze down to his neck, his collarbone that was peeking out from the neckline of his shirt. You thought about how it would feel to kiss him there, to run your tongue over a love bite you’d given him.

Later you’d blame it on the alcohol, but in that moment you knew the limoncello wasn’t what was making your head spin, or your what was making your vision cloudy.

You were about to leave the table, about to rush to the elevator and back to Sam but then suddenly Tom was kissing you. He cradled your head in his hand and tilted your chin up to meet his lips. It wasn’t desperate or messy like most drunk kisses were. Instead, it was delicate. You swore you could feel every line of his lips against yours, feel his heartbeat through his hands on your cheek.

It was only for a second, not enough time for you to react or reciprocate and then he was pulling away, eyes wide with panic.

“Please don’t tell Sam.”

logging off before i get yelled at but lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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#instead of you #iou #tom holland x reader #tom holland x bi!reader #tom holland x fem reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland series

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spaceorphan18 · 3 years ago

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Hi! Are The Land of Stories books any good? I usually don't read books by celebrities (I know at this point Chris is more an author than an actor but still) or children's books but I'm going through another Glee phase and I'm very curious to read Chris' books. I just want to prepare myself if the writing is bad😅

Do you want the short answer or long answer? Lol

The short answer is this: The Land of Stories series is a perfectly adequate and enjoyable book series for the intended audience of middle grade readers.

I think if you go in understanding that it's a fun adventure meant for 9yos, I think you'll have a good time. I think it holds up better than a lot of celebrity-turned-authors efforts.

The Long Answer (under the cut in case people don't want to read it.)

Instead of going to college, Chris got famous first, and I think it shows. While I don't think you need a college degree to write well, I think he was a bit exploited by the system -- his publishers (and possibly editors?) wanting to get his book(s) out in order to make money off his name instead of helping develop his skill.

And to be fair - it's not the publishing industry's job to make you a better writer. It's a business, and a business that wants to make money. Is that cynical? I suppose. But, it is also the reality of the industry.

I think Chris does well with ideas. He has a great imagination, and a lot of fantastic elements of world building and characters. The problem is that the actual writing is limited -- I can tell that he was probably a very creative high school student, with people at the school (or in his life) encouraging him to take it further. I think he's funny and entertaining, and a really good storyteller. But it's a shame that his education seems to stop at the high school level.

I've never heard him ever discuss any writing development he's had at a higher level (though I have heard rumored that the first drafts of TLoS had to be heavily edited into something readable), which I think is a shame. I think with some good education or a good mentor -- anyone who will be able to give him honest and trustworthy feedback would be a good choice. Because I think he has the potential to be a great writer.

The problem with his writing is that the great ideas aren't developed all that well on the page. He often has pacing issues and is overly expository. His wording is often clunky and lacks the finesse and nuance of a really good writer. He's often too preachy and on the nose with some of his themes. And while he is definitely a funny guy, sometimes his inclusion of comedy is awkward.

That said - for middle grade readers, they mostly don't mind as long as their being entertained, and I think the novels work on their level. They''ve been highly popular (though, they're in decline). While they won't have the staying power that Harry Potter has (or even Percy Jackson) I do think Chris will, long term, especially if he continues to stay away from acting, might become more well known as an author.

Personally - I did enjoy the original TLoS novel. Despite my issues with the technical side of the writing, I thought it was a lot of fun. The second one was a lot of fun, too. The third and fourth ones were cute and had some good elements, but even though I think Chris's writing did improve, I wasn't as invested as much. The fifth and sixth ones were not good. The plotlines were too stretched out -- and I have a theory that the publishing industry pushed him to take his ideas and expand them so he they could make more money off the popularity of the series.

Most of the add on books (like the picture book and the supplemental material) aren't really worth the time, unless you've really fallen in love with the world or you really feel like you need to check out all of Chris's writing.

I honestly haven't gotten around to reading his sequel series - A Tale of Magic, though I've heard it holds up better than TLoS, so I will get to that at some point.

I do have plenty of thoughts about his two YA novels, Struck By Lightning and Stranger Than Fanfiction, but since you didn't ask about those, I'll won't get into that.

I'll end by saying, I'm some what fascinated to see where Chris goes with his writing at this point, since TLoS series seems to have come to a close.

I think it's somewhat of a shame that Chris has married himself to the middle grade reader, and hasn't tried, really, branching out. I think he had (has?) a lot of potential as a screen writer/tv writer -- though my theory is that he's shied away from it after his film, Struck by Lightning, and his episode of Glee (both of which I liked - even if I recognized there were flaws) were panned critically. And I would love to read his take on a full adult novel, one where he doesn't have to feel limited by his audience.

But, I think Chris either seems to be aware of his limitations or comfortable with staying in his lane, because I don't think we'll see either of those things happen. (I'm always happy to be proved wrong.)

#that's how s.o. sees it #chris colfer

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little-lee-froggie · 3 years ago

Text

I will always be here for you

I got a lot of positive feedback on the last fic I uploaded, so I thought I’d post another one that I made! This one is for MHA instead of DSMP, so sorry if you don’t like MHA. This is technically the only MHA fic I’ve finished! I’m working on plenty, but never seem to finish them, lol! Anyway, here it is:

warnings: gender dysphoria (from a person who has experienced it, and still does), Mineta being absolutely disgusting, swearing, tickling (if I’m missing any warnings, please let me know)

Ler: Kirishima

Lee:Reader (enby masc)

You and Kiri had been friends since the moment you had met each other and your personalities just clicked. The two of you were finally in your third year of UA, and you barely ever left each other’s side.

He had immediately accepted you as trans nonbinary (female to nonbinary) and as soon as you came out to him a year ago he said “Wow, you’re so manly! So, they/them, right? Do you want to go by a new name? Y/N? That’s an awesome name! Hey, don’t cry! I’ll always be here for you and except you for who you are Y/N”, so to say it went well would be an understatement!

Over a year had passed, but some days, dysphoria just came to bite you in the ass, and today was one of those days.

You hadn’t had a hair cut in a while, so your hair was longer then you would’ve liked, plus you had to wash your binder, and you couldn’t find your spare, so you couldn’t have a flat chest like you wanted, and in top of that, Mineta was being repulsive about the fact that you had boobs, just staring at them and making discussing comments.

Kiri could tell you we’re having a shitty day, but he couldn’t think of anything to do to help you without you worrying that you were burdening him with all your problems, so he just offered as much physical support as you wanted, knowing that emotional support would make you feel like he pitted you, and he knew that was the last thing you wanted.

However, even with all the hugs and carrying you around that he could offer you, nothing seemed to take your mind even slightly off of your dysphoria.

All day your normally upbeat and positive personality shifted to a glumey and quiet one, and it reminded Kirishima of after you first came out to him.

He was the first one you told, and so you got deadnamed and misgendered all the time because he was the only one who knew for half a year, and he didn’t want to correct people so that he wouldn’t out you, which also meant he couldn’t call you your preferred name and pronouns around the class because he was the only one you were okay with knowing. Your dysphoria was also the worst it had ever been because you knew what was happening now, but you hadn’t even started socially transitioning, let alone physically, and it hurt Kiri to have to see you so upset and not able to do anything to help you other than what he was already doing, which wasn’t helping you much. He hated seeing you so sad, but he wasn’t able to help, and he hated that more.

All of today, class 1A (besides Mineta and Baukugou) was trying to make you feel better as well, but nothing was working. About half way through the day, Momo made you a new binder that you went to put on in the bathroom, but since you were “so lucky” to sit next to Mineta, once you came back he started to pester you about why you would want to flatten your chest and about how weird it was that you didn’t appreciate the fact that you had a “free show of tits whenever you want” as he put it (ew).

After almost twenty minutes of enduring his harassment and gross comments, you finally lost it and with all the strength you had, you punched him in the face, giving him a broken nose and a black eye, to which Aizawa had to pause class and speak to you in the hall.

After you explained everything and how gross Mineta was being all day and why you just lost it, Aizawa said “Well, first of all, I’m sorry that’s been happening to you, and I assure you that Mineta will be punished SEVERELY, second, I will move you to a different seat so you won’t have to deal with him anymore, but third, you did still punch him, and as much as I applaud you for standing up for yourself, this school has no tolerance for violence outside of training, so I’m afraid that you will have to go back to the dorms and miss out on training today and will be under house arrest tomorrow. However you don’t have to do any chores like Baukugou and Midoria did, just try to get some rest and work on your mental health”. You nodded and went back to the dorms.

After Aizawa had spoken to you, he heard yelling coming from the class, and when he came in, he saw Kiri yelling and tackling Mineta, and pulled Kiri off him. After yet another conversation, Kiri got the same punishment as you, and went back to the dorms where you already were.

You had been crying on your bed for about 12 minutes when you heard a knock and your door open.

“Are you okay?”, said Kiri’s voice behind you, making you sit up and look at him. He came and sat next to you, wiping your tears away and rubbing his thumb over your cheek. “Why do I have to feel like this? Why can’t I just be cis and not have to worry about it? Why the fuck is Mineta like this? Why me? Just why?”, you sobbed as Kiri pulled you in for a hug.

“It’s okay. I’m here, I have you, your safe. Just focus on my heartbeat and don’t think about anything else. Let yourself let go and forget about everything for a minute” he said, letting you hide your face in his chest as you took some deep breath’s and just focused on his heartbeat, just like he told you to. After about five minutes, he asked “Better?”, and you nodded, looking up at him, calmed down, but still sad.

What he said next made your stomach fill with butterflies.

“Good. Now let’s see a smile, hmm?”, he said as he pinned you arms above your head using one of his forearms to hold them in place, and lifted your shirt, skittering his nails all over your stomach, getting sweet giggles and a wide, tickle induced smile on your face.

You started to wiggle slightly, trying not to giggle, but failing miserably, making Kirishima smile at how cute his best friend was, how ticklish they were.

“There we go, there’s the smiley Y/N I know and love! Good to see you back!”, he lovingly teased, making you smile wider, genuinely happy. “Kihihihirihehehe!! Dohohohon’t tehehehease mehehe!!”, you giggled as you blushed, secretly loving it, but you’d never admit that in a million years.

Tickling was a common way for him to show affection for you, waking you up with tickles, tickling you when you were sad, or just to have fun with you, it didn’t matter. As long as it meant he could be the cause of your laughter, he was happy, and so were you.

No one else knew about you liking being tickled or even the fact that you were ticklish, it was just a you and Kirishima thing, just for you two to enjoy together and have fun with, and you liked it that way. Since you both got up earlier then most people in the dorm, it was easy to wake you up that way without being caught, but it was harder to do it just in general, so you were both glad that it was just the two of you in heights alliance, free to have as much fun as you wanted, as well as tomorrow.

“Don’t teases you? But it’s so fun, especially when you’re this ticklish! Tickle tickle tickle~”

He continued to tease you, making you giggle louder. “Nohohoho, yohohou’re beheheing mehehean!! Ahahaha!!!”, you accused, completely forgetting about everything that happened today, just like how Kiri hoped you would.

“Oh, so me helping you smile is mean now? If that’s the case, then I’ll show you what’s REALLY mean!!”, he threatened, as he took in a deep breath and blew the biggest raspberry he could manage, making you scream in laughter, now in hysterics. “KIHIHIHIHIRIHIHIHAHAHA!!!”, you yelled as he slowed down a bit to let you catch your breath, but never stoping the skittering to keep that cute smile on your face as you continued with your sugary sweet giggles.

Once you had completely caught your breath, Kiri moved his hands to your armpits, letting your arms free and allowing them to trap his fingers as they continued to playfully tease your nerves, as he started nuzzling in the crook of your neck and letting his hair drift over your cheek, adding to the ticklish feeling.

He knew from experience that this would make you squeak and make your giggles higher, which he found absolutely adorable.

Because you skipped a grade, you were pretty much a year younger than him, and he thought of you like a younger sibling to protect and make happy as much as he can, so he has a lot of experience tickling you over the past two and a half years he’s known about your sensitivity, so he knows what spots tickle the most and the least, the ones that you like and the ones that you don’t, and the ones that made you laugh loudly and which ones made you giggle and squeak. He knows every place to target to get the best reaction and where to avoid. So when your giggles went from sweet and airy to high pitched and squeaky, it came as no surprise to him, making him smile.

“Aww, is little Y/N’s neck a little ticklish~? Hmhm, we’ll that’s to bad, because I’m neeeeeever going to stop! Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle!”, he teased, speaking into your neck making your giggles even more high pitched from the feeling. As much as he teased you about how he wasn’t ever going to stop, you really didn’t want him to. You had a shit day, and it was good for you to just laugh with nothing holding you back. Plus, you loved it when he tickled you, and he loved that you loved it!

“Hey Y/N~, don’t think for a second I forgot to get your armpits better~…” he teased, as for most of the time he had been tickling your armpits, he was going very lightly so he could focus on your neck for a little while, but now he started to speed up and get a bit rougher (but not to rough so he doesn’t hurt you), which makes your light squeaky giggles turn into a confused mixture of laughter, giggles, squeaks and broken sentences, making Kiri smile wider and laugh with you a bit. You could hear his chuckles next to your ear, the vibrations making you squeak even more, which in turn made him chuckle more, and the cycle continues.

After what felt like forever, he finally stopped, but it was far from over… as he let you go, you were to tired to move, plus the ghost tickles were still making you all giggly, which gave him enough time to pull you down by your ankles a little bit, and move up to your head, pinning your arms above your head again by sitting on them.

You knew what happened next, and your giggly state tried to muster out a plead, but nothing but giggles came out, not that you minded.

Kiri smirked at you, his shark-like teeth showing as he moved his hands to your hips, resting them there for a second. “One…” he started counting down as you closed your eyes. “Two…” he continued as the ghost tickles were gone and it was just nervous giggles coming out now. “Three!” He yelled, but nothing happened.

In confusion, you opened your eyes and met his, and you could see the mischief in them, as he finally started, catching you off guard.

“KIHIHIRIHISHEMAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!” You screamed as he was squeezing your worst spot, just looking right at you, not that you could see it through closed eyes.

“Hey Y/N! How bout we play a little game~?”, he teased, making you blush. “AHAHAHAHA!!!”, was all you could say, so he took it as a yes. “Good! It’s called shapes! How it works is I’ll draw shapes on you stomach with my nose, and you have to guess what it is! Guess correct and you get a reward, but guess wrong and you get a punishment! But here’s the twist… both the reward and the punishment is raspberries! Doesn’t that sound fun~?”, he teased you as you just laughed.

Even if you ignore the clear rigging of Kirishima’s game, it was still completely unfair, because he knew for a fact that you were failing geometry and he was actually quite good at it, so he would probably do shapes that you could never remember the names of, regardless of weather or not he would give you a raspberry either way. On top of that, you would be moving around, so it would distort the shape a bit, plus it was hard to tell what he was drawing in the first place.

“Okay, first one! What shape is… this~?”, he said, drawing a parallelogram, which you knew, just not the name, not that it mattered.

You knew from experience that when Kirishima tickled you with his nose, it tickled a fuck ton, but whenever it happens, you can never remember it being THAT bad. As soon as his cold nose made contact with your warm skin, you squeaked and started to giggle hysterically as he continued to squeeze your hips, lighter then before, but that didn’t matter.

“Ahahaha! Trahahahapehehehezoihihihihid?”, you guessed as you opened your eyes, making direct eye contact with a smirking Kiri, making you blush. “Incorrect~!”, he sang as he inhaled, and before you could start begging for mercy, his lips made contact with you stomach, letting all the stored up air out, making you scream and pound your feet on the bed, laughing uncontrollably.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”, you shrieked, as Kiri just laughed into your stomach, sending unbearable vibrations through out your stomach and ribs. “Next shape!”, he said sounding far to happy about it.

Just to tease you, he decided to draw a trapezoid this time to see what you would say. As soon as his nose touched your stomach, you went back to hysterical giggles, and he moved his hands from kneading your hips to poking all over your ribs and sometimes going up to tease your armpits, making your hysterical giggles even louder.

After he finished drawing the trapezoid on your stomach, he spoke into your stomach this time

“Okay, what shape was that?”.

“Squahahahare???”, you asked nervously, not that it would change anything if you got it wrong. “Wrong again!”, he sang as he inhaled.

“NonononoNOHOHOHOKIHIHIRIHIHAHAHA!!”, you screamed as he blew on your stomach, laughing at you as you tried to escape, clearly not seceding. “Ohokay! Last one! I’ll do my best to choose an easy one~” he said as he thought for a moment, never stoping the pokes on your ribs and stomach to keep you all giggly and melting.

“Got it!”, he exclaimed excitedly as he bent down, once again making contact with your skin. You squealed, all smiley through out the drawing. “Okay, done!”, Kiri chirped, once again picking up the pace of the pokes while he waited.

“D-dihihihiahahamond??”, you giggled out, excepting your fate.

“Well, I was looking for rhombus, but I guess they’re the same shape, just different names, so I’ll give you a pass on this one, since it’s the last! Ready for your reward~??”, he teased, putting his face back on your stomach, preparing to attack.

“G-gohoho fohohor ihihihit” you said, anxious, but excited. “Okayyy! Three… two…” he started to count down, then inhaling, not ever getting to one, and letting it go, digging his fingers into your sides as you screamed from the feeling.

“AHAHAHAKAHAY!!! DOHOHONE!! DOHOHONE!!!”, you said right before falling into silent laughter. He chuckled slightly, lifting you up and pulling you into a close hug, helping you calm down, letting you giggle from the ghost tickles left on your skin.

“Feel better Y/N?”, he ask, stroking your head to help you calm down. “Yeahah, thahanks Kihihiri” you said as you caught your breath. “Good. And remember that I’m always here for you! Your never going to get rid of me” he said lovingly. “Nooooo, you’re so annoying!”, you teased as he smirked and started to poke your sides and ribs again. “Oh really? You up for round two then~?”, he teased as you started giggling again.

Needless to say, your laughter when on for awhile after that.

꧁༺The end༻꧂

#t word #t word community #mha #ler!kirishima #lee!reader #ticklish!reader #gender identity #fluff #mha fluff #mha fic #this is more recent so I hope it’s better then the last one lmao #kirishima x trans reader #kirishima x ticklish!reader #Kirishima x reader platonic #Mha tickles

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venomous--fics · 4 years ago

Text

Anon asked: maybe a continuation of the peter b parker kid thing where they finally confront the mom and get the readers things back 😩💞💞

a/n: ask and thou shall receive! this spent so long in the drafts bc i felt so insecure about it tbh, so any feedback is appreciated! I love seeing messages about what you guys think! really keeps me motivated! also, requests are open

Warnings: mentions of past abuse

Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, constantly looking at the clock. It was almost 5pm, you were supposed to be home an hour and a half ago. Yes, he keeps track of everyone's schedules, yes he knows the exact second you should be walking through the door. He's already texted you, but maybe you had detention. Nah, you were a good student, he highly doubted you'd have to stay after school.

His phone finally rang, and he was way too quick answering it.

"You okay?"

"I need some help."

"What is it?" he was already out the door.

You sighed, knowing he was probably going to give you an earful later.

"Well, it's a really long story, right.. But my mom showed up after school-"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I think. Anyways, we got into it on the way home, which is no- Not normal." you adjusted how you were sitting, "And since she was dragging me back to the house, I figured I'd just get my crap and come home, right? Makes sense, saves us the tri-"

"She took you without permission?"

"Technically she is my m-...Parent. I guess, y'know, legally she can do whatever- But..Okay." you began to feel bubbles of anxiety and pain and even resentment form deep in your core, "She locked me out." You rubbed your neck.

"Are you," he paused, looking around at all the faces passing by him, "Still there?"

"Yeah. Unfortunately. I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for? Don't apologize, you didn't do anything."

"I keep causing problems for everyone."

"Not for me. Or Mj."

It was quiet on your end.

"You still there?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be there in like ten minutes."

"You probably shouldn't."

"Nah, nah." He said, having a sudden wave of anger rush over him, "Let me take care of this."

And true to his word, Peter was there in ten minutes. You hopped up from your spot on the porch as he made his way up to the door and knocked on it as hard as he could. He gave you a reassuring pat on the back.

The door swung open, and your mother seemed awfully surprised and confused to see some random man just standing there. Peter held no emotion has he looked her dead in the eye, "Can we come in."

She opened the door wider so that way you two could step in.

"Go get your stuff." is all Peter said to you.

Wasting no time, and not wanting to be in the middle of a potential argument between the two, you skedaddled to your room. It almost felt like too much to be in there. It looked so empty and barren compared to your room at Peter and Mjs place. Seems really dull. Lifeless, almost. Dust covered every surface, which meant that nobody had ever even bothered to see if you were even still in there.

You heard their voices from the living room, but they seemed so distant, seeing as all you could focus on was every shitty thing that woman put you through.

You remember the day that you got bit. It made you deathly ill, and you just thought you were dying from some sort of allergic reaction to the spider bite. You tried to get her to take you to any doctor or anywhere that could help because all you could seem to see were stars.

Everything then was so loud. Everything was so bright. It was all too much, and you were certain that the reaper was waiting for you. What did she say?

"Suck it up and stop pretending. Everything has to be so dramatic with you."

Or that time you forgot a single item on the shopping list. You got this whole speech about how stupid you had to have been. To forget one item. It was the world's most useless item.

Everything else seemed to play all over again, all at once. Like a waterfall. It should've made you sad. It should've made you cry, or scream.

You recounted all the times you wanted to fight back, or just run away. Leave everything behind and just run until your legs gave out. But you never did. You always found some reason to linger.

The conversation was growing louder where Peter was.

"You aren't going to do this to them ever again. Sign the papers."

You nearly dropped your last belonging on the floor as you scrambled to your door. Papers? He wasn't serious. Well, obviously he was. He just said it.

"Fine. It's not like the-"

"Zip it. Sign the papers."

"Who are you anyways? The law? If so, whatever they've told you is a b-"

"Listen, lady. I didn't ask for any attitude. I told you to sign the papers." he seemed to huff in annoyance, "That doesn't require talking."

"I'm a good mother."

"And I'm the king of France."

"Really. I gave them a good home. I have fed them and kept them warm-"

"Really? You think you did all that? Or are you convincing yourself that you did all that?"

"I am-"

"Can I be honest with you?"

"Ye-"

"I've never said this about anyone, ever. I don't like speaking to or about anyone like this.. Ever, but, you? I think you're a piece of shit."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, look. You finished signing the papers. I'll take those. Thank you."

Realizing that it was your time to go, you stuffed your blanket into your duffel bag and rushed out the door and down the hall. Peter looked at you, expecting to see at least three bags. But he only saw the one.

"Where's the rest of your stuff."

"Uhm," you shuffled around, pretending as thought you dropped some, "This...This is all my stuff."

"That can't be ri-" He laughed a little, and noting the expression on his face, you saw that he was NOT happy. "That? That single duffle bag is all you have? That's it?"

"Yes..." you took a step back, "This is all.."

"I can't believe it." he said, "You're joking! One bag worth of stuff?"

He turned his attention back to your mother, who, for the first time in your life, actually looked like she got caught red handed, "You're pathetic. Absolutely pathetic."

"But they're so u-"

"No! No, you don't get to talk anymore. You've done enough."

You awkwardly shuffled behind him, in the event that you two had to make a mad dash out the door. That and you needed to not be seen as you tried to hide your almost evil grin.

"The hell is wrong with you? You have this amazing kid, and THAT'S all you've ever gotten for them? And you sit there and call yourself a mother? Absolutely, without a doubt, bullshit. I'd be ashamed of myself to call myself a father if that's all I've provided for my kid. Don't even get me started on you as a person, we made that clear."

It almost felt cursed to hear him swear, seeing as he made it a point to tell you to not swear. Every time you did, you have to give a quarter to the swear jar. Mj was always on your side, though. She'd say a swear that was much worse and have to pay a dollar. Each word had a value.

"Maybe we should just go." you suggested, tugging on the sleeve of his arm, "She's not worth it anymore."

"She was never worth it, it seems."

You finally made eye contact with her, and the look in her eye. It's like she understood, but was choosing to not do anything about the situation. She could look sorry all she wanted, but you knew she wasn't.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. You know that right."

"That means nothing to me."

"I can change."

"If you can change now, that means you could've changed then. You just chose not to."

"But I'm your mother, you should realize how I feel. You should want-"

"You're not my mom. You stopped being my mom the first time you-" You turned towards the door and started walking towards it, "Whatever. You mean nothing to me."

You practically kicked open teh door just to leave, and Peter was right behind you, shouting about how he'd make sure to egg her house everyday, just to piss her off.

"Do you really think I'm amazing?" you asked, the walk home feeling rather quiet.

"I think you're more than that. Just can't put it into words."

"Did you really mean it...That we could egg her house?"

"You want to? There's a store right on the way home."

"How about tomorrow."

"I'll have to clear up my busy schedule. See if I can work in a drive by egging. Well, swing by egging."

"You promise?"

"You kidding? I haven't egged anyone's house since college."

You had so much more you wanted to get off you chest, but you opted to just talk about it at home, with everyone present. You wanted to talk about how you felt about everything, and the papers. Whatever those were. But you were, for the moment, busy laughing about Peter's story about how he used to Egg this one reporters house. Someone named Jonah.

You wonder if Jonah ever put two and two together.

#marvel imagine #marvel x reader #into the spider verse x reader #into the spiderverse imagine #peter b parker imagine #peter b parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader

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