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geminiwritten · 13 days ago

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dirty laundry (one) ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: after a couple months of living together, you're still completely oblivious to how you affect jake and he's starting to spiral because now he's... feeling things

notes: i know it's long but i promise it's fun!!! it's so juicy, i had so much fun, i couldn't stop (clearly)! i'd like to formally apologise to all jake girls (and jake himself, because damn, he gets put through it)... please, please, please let me know what you think! i absolutely love hearing all your thoughts! also, tumblr wouldn't let me post it all at once, so there's two sections...

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, reader can drive, a little angst, jake is a bit of a perv and a massive f*ckboy, italics, country music, and VERY HORNY with smut-ish? (masturbation, sex through the wall?) so 18+ ONLY MDNI!!! (please let me know if i've missed anything)

word count: 22046 (section one, 10136)

your callsign is valkyrie

You first met Jake Seresin at the Academy. He was fresh-faced, full of himself, and grinning like the sky belonged to him. Gorgeous—but he knew it. And there was absolutely no part of you that wanted anything to do with him.

The second time you met him was at flight school. He was a little less fresh, a little more cocky, and somehow—even more gorgeous. Because life clearly wasn’t unfair enough already. This time, he was harder to ignore. But still, you managed.

The third time you crossed paths was in the TOPGUN program. And by then, Jake Seresin had become the single cockiest man you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. He was loud, smug, aggravating—and, annoyingly, still so goddamn hot. Almost impossible to ignore. So you bit your tongue, played nice, and kept your reactions locked down. By the end of the program, your disdain had softened into something closer to... indifference.

His abs, though? Those you could—objectively—appreciate.

You figured that’d be the last of him. But then you got tapped for a special detachment on North Island and—of course—there he was. Grinning like you were old friends. Because according to him? You were. So you humoured it at first, and then somewhere along the way, it actually started to feel true—not just with him, but with the whole squad.

After the mission, the choice to stay on as a full-time, elite unit wasn’t really a choice at all. It was a hell yes.

Once the reassignment came through and you were officially under Maverick’s command, you figured it was time to get out of the barracks. Find a place off-base. Something with a kitchen, a door that locked, and—ideally—no bunk beds. Somewhere you could finally feel like a functioning adult.

“Are you sure about this?” Natasha asks, hiking the box in her arms a little higher.

You lean yours against the wall and wrestle with your keys. “Yeah,” you huff, “why wouldn’t I be?”

You finally get the door unlocked—only for it to stop a few inches in, blocked by something heavy.

Natasha raises a brow. “Because you’re moving in with—”

“Jake fucking Seresin,” you shout through the gap. “Move your shit before I break it!”

There’s rustling from inside, then footsteps.

“Not my middle name,” comes the reply, that smug grin practically audible. “But since you asked so nicely…”

You let the door fall shut again. There’s a thud, some shuffling, and then it swings open.

“Phoenix,” Jake greets with a nod, before turning to you. “Roomie.”

You roll your eyes and shove the box into his chest. “There’s more stuff in the van. I helped you yesterday, you help me today. Get moving, Bagman.”

He doesn’t even get a word in before you brush past him and make a beeline for the kitchen.

Natasha trails in behind you, laughing under her breath as she sets her box down by the half-assembled sofa. She watches with amusement as Jake—very obediently—carries the box toward your bedroom.

“Maybe I should be more worried about Hangman,” she mutters, brows raised.

That was exactly two months ago. And since then, you’ve learned a lot about Jake Seresin.

The first thing you learned was that he’s a morning person��because of course he is. Always up at ungodly hours, ready for a run or a workout, bouncing around the kitchen like a five-year-old on a sugar high. You’re convinced he wears his gym clothes to bed.

The second thing you learned was that he hates horror movies, and can’t even handle the fake, ketchup-level blood in the older ones. A week after you moved in, he walked in on you and Natasha watching the latest Scream. He screamed louder than the film, then disappeared into his room, convinced Ghostface was stalking the apartment for a full week.

Halloween is still months away, but you know Nat’s already planning to dress up as Ghostface just to scare the shit out of him.

The third thing you learned—and this one you kind of already knew—is that Jake Seresin has a wildly active sex life. His hamper? Overflowing with dirty laundry. You now know more than you ever wanted to about his… extracurricular activities.

And unfortunately for you, it didn’t take Jake long to realise just how useful having you around could be.

The first time it happened, you were innocently making coffee, minding your own business in the kitchen, sipping fresh brew from your favourite mug.

“Um, who the fuck are you?”

You startle and whip around from staring out the window above the sink, watching lazy waves lap at the shore of Coronado Beach.

There’s a woman standing at the edge of the kitchen. Her hair’s a mess, her clothes are askew, and she’s looking at you like you’re a big, fat bug splattered across her windshield.

“Uh—I’m the… roommate,” you say hesitantly.

You knew Jake had someone over last night, but when you heard him get up for his usual morning run, you assumed he’d kicked her out on the way.

You also have no idea what Jake has told this woman—or any of them, really—about you. Or if she even knows he has a roommate. Because last night, you stayed holed up in your room with noise-cancelling headphones, watching reruns of your favourite nineties sitcom.

“Oh—” the woman says, her frown softening into realisation. “Oh, I’m sorry. Jakey did tell me about you. I’m just really out of it this morning.”

You nod slowly, holding your coffee cup up to your chin like some kind of shield.

“You’re totally not what I expected,” she says, running a judging eye over your fluffy robe. “But Jakey told me what you’re going through, and can I just say? You’re so strong.”

You blink once, steadying your expression so you don’t blow Jake’s story—though you have no idea what it even is.

“If my husband went to jail,” the woman goes on, “I’d be lost. Don’t know if I’d even stick around. But honestly, you’re lucky you’ve got a cousin like Jakey looking after you.”

Cousin? Jakey? Husband?

You clear your throat, struggling to keep a straight face. “Right,” you mutter. “My husband.”

She nods, plastering on a fake smile over smudged lipstick.

“And my cousin,” you add dryly, taking a long sip of hot coffee. “Thank God for my cousin.”

An awkward silence stretches between you, neither of you quite sure what to do next. Maybe you’re supposed to break down in tears over your jailed husband, or gush about how kind and generous your cousin is.

But then she clears her throat and straightens her misbuttoned blouse. “Anyway, is Jake… around?”

You shake your head. “No, he’s volunteering at the animal shelter today. Won’t be back until late.”

You don’t know how she misses the sarcasm dripping from your voice.

“Aw,” she coos, “he’s such a dream. God, I’m going to miss him so much.”

You press your lips together, biting back a sardonic laugh clawing its way up your throat.

“Well,” she sighs wistfully, “tell him I said bye, and that last night was the best night of my life.”

You nod, the smile on your lips painfully forced.

Then she turns, picks up her heels from where they were kicked off by the door, and glances back to give you one last sympathetic smile. “Oh, and good luck with your husband. Jakey said he’s up for review for conjugal visits, so… fingers crossed!”

Then she was out the door, and you were frozen in place—part shocked, part amused, and fully questioning all of your life choices.

So that’s how it started. That’s how you became Jake Seresin’s unofficial bouncer. His getaway car. His get-out-of-jail-free card whenever one of his many conquests overstays their welcome.

Sometimes you’re his cousin with a tragic backstory that makes Jake look like a hero. Other times you’re his sister who just can’t keep out of trouble, so big brother Jakey had to step up. One time, you were even an at-risk youth, fresh out of rehab—thanks, of course, to Saint Jake and his endless patience.

Mostly, though, you just feel like an underpaid housekeeper. Always taking out the trash, doing his dirty laundry, and making sure he doesn’t get himself hung out to dry. If he hadn’t somehow wormed his way into your heart, you’d probably tell him to suck it up and deal with his own poor life choices. But unfortunately, you’ve come to care for the smug womaniser—and you have to admit, sometimes it is kind of fun to put on a little show.

There’s a soft knock on your bedroom door. So soft you’re not even sure it was real—until it comes again.

You sigh, drag yourself out of bed, and rub at your tired eyes as you swing the door open, already knowing exactly who’s on the other side.

“What do you want?”

Jake stands there in all his glory—tight gym clothes, a day’s worth of stubble, and a backwards cap that is so infuriatingly hot you want to knock it clean off his head.

“Need you to get rid of her,” he says, flashing you a soft smile.

One upside to this whole arrangement is that Jake is almost too nice to you now. He knows he owes you—big time—and you’re not ashamed to admit you’re enjoying it. These days, he pretty much does anything you ask.

“What’s her name?” you ask, folding your arms—only just realising you’re wearing a very thin shirt with no bra.

He’s realised it too—and that you’re not wearing any pants—his sparkly green eyes trailing slowly over your body like they have every right to.

“Uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I don’t know.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. That tracks. Do you want to see her again?”

He shakes his head, almost violently. “No way. She was a talker. Basically narrated the whole thing.”

You snort. “Okay, good. I’ll tell her I’m your wife or something.”

You step back, holding the door like you’re ready to shut it. But he doesn’t move. He stays right there in the doorway, a hand braced on either side, that hungry look still in his eyes.

“Do you want to be my wife?” he asks, lips curling into a cocky grin.

“Fuck no,” you say, voice laced with laughter. “Now get out of my room and stop looking at me like that before I slap you.”

His eyes stop roaming your body and lock onto yours—still hot, still shameless.

“Go to the gym,” you say flatly. “I saw the empty cookie box in the bin.”

His brows shoot up, and a soft chuckle escapes his lips. “Wow. That’s rude.”

You roll your eyes and swing the door shut. He steps back just in time for it to click closed, and then you turn and collapse face-first onto your bed with a groan.

You’d be a big, fat liar if you said living with Jake Seresin wasn’t absolute torture sometimes. Especially when he looks at you like that. But you have dignity. Self-respect. Pride. You’re not about to debase yourself and sleep with your hot roommate just because he looks—and sounds—like he could fuck you stupid.

Which, unfortunately, is something you sorely need. It’s been way too long since you’ve been fucked in any capacity, and living with a Greek god is doing an absolute number on you.

After wrapping yourself in your favourite fluffy robe and collecting the empty dishes from your bedside table—the ones you were too scared to return to the kitchen last night—you step out of your room. Jake is gone, but you can hear the shower running in the main bathroom. His bathroom.

You busy yourself making fresh coffee and fixing a plate of toast, humming the annoyingly catchy theme song from the show you binge-watched last night. You’re about to head to the living room when Jake’s latest guest rounds the corner.

“Oh,” she says, blinking. “I didn’t know Jake had a roommate.”

You smile, but it isn’t friendly. “He doesn’t.”

She frowns. “Oh. I mean, he said—”

“I’m his wife.”

Her eyes widen, jaw twitching like she’s trying to decide whether to cry, scream, or vomit.

Silence hangs thick in the air—buzzing with the kind of awkwardness you’ve come to enjoy during these little charades.

Then you sigh, long and theatrical, tilting your head to stare off into space. “I’m not mad. Not really. Jake is… well, Jake. He’s got a kind heart and terrible boundaries. He just loves making everyone feel special.” You pause, giving her a deliberate once-over. “And I’m sure last night was very… meaningful.”

She makes a garbled sound that might be an apology, but you cut in before she can gather a full thought.

“I’d offer you breakfast,” you say, sipping your coffee, “but I think it’s best if you leave before I change my mind and start throwing things.”

She scurries to the front door, grabbing her shoes so fast one heel smacks the wall.

“Oh, and sweetheart?” you add, just as she yanks the door open. “You might want to get tested.”

The door slams shut behind her, and you let a slow, satisfied smirk stretch across your lips as you take another sip of coffee.

By the time you’ve finished your breakfast, showered, and changed into fresh clothes, Jake finally strolls in—flushed, sweat-damp, and glowing that obnoxious post-hookup high. He looks like sin and satisfaction wrapped in gym clothes, radiating the smug confidence of a man who ruins lives for fun.

“She gone?” he asks, not even looking at you as he heads straight for the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Scared her off. If you do hear from her again, it won’t be pretty.”

He chuckles, low and unbothered. “Don’t have to worry about that. Already blocked her number.”

“Such a gentleman,” you mutter, digging through the key bowl by the front door.

He cracks the cap on a blue sports drink and downs half of it in one go, watching you from the corner of his eye as you gather your keys, wallet, and sunglasses.

“Where you going?” he asks, a little breathless from the chug.

“The same magical place I go every Sunday,” you say flatly. “The grocery store.”

“Oh.” He caps the bottle and sets it on the counter. “Can I come? I need stuff too.”

You sigh. “Dude, I hate when you come. You’re so indecisive.”

He doesn’t answer—just jogs down the hall toward his room. You hear his door creak open, the spray of deodorant, and the rustle of clothes.

“Too bad,” he says as he reappears, pulling on a hoodie. “I’m coming.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door, not bothering to hold it for him as he hurries to follow.

The grocery store is only ten minutes away, but Jake still manages to test every ounce of your patience on the way. He flicks through the radio like he’s searching for a signal from God, adjusts the AC a dozen times, and plays with the window like a bored kid stuck in traffic on the way to Grandma’s house.

By the time you pull into the parking lot, your jaw aches from how hard you’ve been clenching it—white-knuckling your temper like a babysitter who’s one tantrum away from driving into a tree.

Then, as you try to ease the car into a spot while an elderly couple inches a trolley across your path, Jake is still at it—humming off-key to whatever’s on the radio, fiddling with the window, and letting the AC blast straight into your eyeballs like some sort of cryogenic torture.

“Stop!” you snap, slamming your foot on the brake and smacking your hand onto Jake’s thigh.

The car jerks to a halt, halfway into the spot. Your fingers tighten on his leg, feeling the muscle twitch beneath your palm—taut and warm under the thin fabric of his gym shorts.

Jake’s breath catches. His eyes drop to your hand.

“Would you please just fucking stop?” you grit out.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.

You inhale deeply, then slowly release your grip on his leg. You dial down the AC and the radio, look around to make sure the elderly couple is out of the way, and then ease the car into the spot.

Only once you’ve shifted into park does Jake stir. He presses one hand to his leg where yours had been while the other slowly unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Sorry,” you mutter, unbuckling yours. “You’re just such a pain in the ass sometimes.”

You glance up—and find his dark green eyes already locked on you. He doesn’t look annoyed. Or smug. Or hurt. Honestly, you don’t know what the hell that look is, because you’ve never seen it before. Not from him.

His fingers curl into the fabric of his shorts as he takes a slow, uneven breath.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, voice low. “Didn’t mean to annoy you.”

Then he opens the door and practically falls out of the car.

“Okay...” you mutter, climbing out on the other side of the car.

When you glance over the bonnet, he’s already gone—halfway across the parking lot, pulling a trolley out of the bay and guiding it toward the store’s front entrance.

You frown, noticing how close he’s holding onto the cart while waiting for you to catch up.

“We can get a cart when we get inside,” you say, not missing how tightly he’s gripping the handle.

He shrugs, trying to look casual but it’s too forced. “I want this one.”

You tilt your head, eyes flicking to the bent wheel at the front of the trolley. “It’s got a janky wheel.”

“Don’t care,” he says, turning toward the doors. “Still want this one.”

He walks through the automatic doors, clutching the trolley like it’s a lifeline as he steers it toward the produce section just inside.

You shake your head and follow, pulling your phone out to check the grocery list you made this morning.

“Okay,” you say, reaching for the cart and holding out your phone. “Here’s the list.”

“No,” he says quickly, knuckles turning white on the trolley handle. “I’ll push the cart.”

You frown. “Dude, you hate pushing the cart. You literally whine every—”

Then it clicks.

The way he fell out of the car. The rush to grab a trolley. How he’s clutching it like a shield.

“Oh my God,” you giggle, smacking a hand over your mouth. “Jake, are you hard—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, brow furrowing, eyes narrowing. But the bright blush spreading across his cheeks betrays him.

You can’t help the laughter spilling from your lips, muffled by your palm as Jake pushes you aside to avoid other customers.

“Would you stop?” he hisses, turning his cap the right way around to hide his red face.

“I—I’m sorry,” you say between giggles. “I didn’t—I mean, I barely touched you.”

“It wasn’t you,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “I was thinking about last night, and—”

You cut him off with another burst of laughter, drawing a few odd glances from passersby.

“It’s really not that funny,” he growls, folding the brim of his hat. “You’re being childish.”

His words barely register. You’re too amused picturing Jake popping a boner after you grabbed his leg and told him off. You knew the man had some kinks, but you hadn’t pegged him as the submissive type. Or maybe it's the humiliation that gets him.

You bite your lip, narrowing your eyes. “Still hard?”

His eyes go wide. “What the fuck?”

You try to shrug, but the grin tugging at your lips gives you away. “Just asking. Trying to figure out which kink applies—”

“Stop,” he mutters. “Just fucking stop, please. I’m begging you.”

You arch a brow. “Begging?”

He tips his head back and groans, which only sets you off laughing again.

It takes a few minutes for you to catch your breath, wiping tears from your eyes as your grin finally starts to fade.

With a soft sigh, you lift your phone and open the grocery list again.

“Still want to push the cart?” you ask with a small smirk.

He simply nods, pushing it forward despite not knowing what’s first on the list.

“Hm,” you hum, “maybe it’s the humiliation.”

“What?” he asks over his shoulder.

You lift your brows, feigning innocence. “I said horseradish. We need horseradish.”

He frowns. “What the fuck is a horseradish?”

You’re not entirely sure yourself, but you can’t admit that. So you roll your eyes like he’s asked something stupid and start walking toward the radishes, silently hoping you can figure out a dinner idea this week that actually uses horseradish.

After a few minutes of browsing produce and arguing over which apple is the best, Jake seems to have remedied his little situation. And to your surprise, he doesn’t try to pass off the cart. Instead, he leans his forearms on the handle and follows you around like a well-behaved puppy—occasionally offering advice on what you’re picking, but quickly shutting up the second you tell him to.

“Do not put that in there,” you warn, waving a bunch of spring onions at him.

He frowns, holding up a misshapen tomato. “What? They all taste the same.”

You scoff. “They absolutely do not. Put that down. Pick the nice, plump, red ones.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “You like ‘em plump?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Seresin. I like them plump. Now focus up—we’ve been here almost ten minutes and we’re still in produce.”

He chuckles softly, then turns back to the tomatoes, setting down the ugly one and squeezing each perfectly round, red fruit, searching for the right one.

You bite back a smile, because for all his whining, he’s still doing exactly what you asked. And damn, if the way he’s manhandling those tomatoes isn’t giving you ideas... ones that have no place in a grocery store. Or in public, for that matter.

“Excuse me, dear,” a woman says, gesturing to the mound of bell peppers you’re standing in front of.

“Oh, sorry.” You step closer to Jake, instinctively wrapping an arm around his waist to edge him away so the woman can have her pick.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says with a soft smile, her grey eyes flicking between you and Jake. “You two make a gorgeous couple, I must say.”

Your cheeks flush instantly, words catching in your throat as you try to pull away from him. But he’s faster, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you against his side.

“Why thank you, ma’am,” he says, turning that Southern drawl up to eleven. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

You blink slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

The woman smiles again before picking out two bell peppers, giving you both a nod, and turning to walk away.

You pull away from Jake, wrinkling your nose. “Don’t know what you’d do, huh?”

He chuckles, twisting the top of the tomato bag.

“Probably have to deal with your own bad choices and crappy one-night stands,” you mutter, shooting him a pointed look that says, Yeah. You’d be hopeless without me.

Then you turn on your heel, grab a sack of potatoes, and drop them into the trolley as Jake meets you at the end of the aisle.

For the next half hour, you stroll up and down the aisles, checking your list and tossing things into the cart. Jake mostly stays quiet, only occasionally arguing that name-brand cereal is always better and that all milk tastes the same, so why not just pick the one on sale?

You start wondering if he really needed to come along—he hasn’t added much more than a few protein bars to the trolley—but regardless, you’re enjoying the company. Besides, you hate pushing the cart, so it’s nice to have him helping you out for once. God knows you do more than your fair share of helping him out.

“Oh no,” he mutters suddenly, ducking closer to the trolley and angling himself behind you.

You glance at him, brow furrowed. “What? What’s wrong?”

“That girl from last week,” he says, voice low.

You blink. “Which one?”

His eyes flick nervously toward the end of the aisle. “You know, the one with the red lipstick and the high-pitched laugh.”

You cast your gaze over your shoulder, trying not to seem conspicuous as you squint. Then you spot her—laughing way too loud with her headphones in, clearly on an obnoxious phone call that the whole grocery store is hearing.

“Oh,” you mutter. “That one. It took me like two days to get that lipstick off your shirt.”

Jake freezes, turning slowly to look at you with a curious frown. “Wait. You did that? I thought it just—”

“Came off in the wash?” you ask, snorting. “Yeah, sure pal. Same as those grease stains on your white shirt.”

He blinks—confused or surprised, you’re not sure. All you know is that his nightmare of a one-night stand is heading this way, her shrill voice getting louder.

“Just trust me, okay?” you mutter quickly.

Then you reach up, grab the back of his neck, and pull him toward you until his face is buried against your shoulder, his hat shielding him. You giggle softly and wrap your other arm around his waist, pulling your bodies flush as you listen for the click of her heels against the vinyl floor.

The clicking gets closer, louder, then slows to a stop. She clears her throat, but you don’t move.

“Baby,” you whisper, your breath hitching as Jake’s lips brush the curve of your neck. “Come on, you can wait ‘til we get home.”

There’s a breath. A moment. You wonder if this woman really has the gall to interrupt a couple in public, but then—

The clicking resumes, her voice slowly fading as she walks away.

“There,” you say, clearing your throat as you shove Jake off you. “And for the record, you’d be hopeless without me.”

You quickly turn back to the shelves, willing your body to calm down as heat floods your face. But you definitely don’t miss his reaction—pupils blown wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed, breath coming quick and shallow.

Nor do you miss the way he holds the cart close again, just like when you first arrived—pressing his body against it as he follows silently behind you, blushing like hell.

A tiny smirk curls across your lips.

Maybe it’s an exhibitionist thing...

After another half hour of perusing the aisles and creatively avoiding the red-lipped woman, you finally head for the checkouts. It doesn’t take long for the woman behind the counter to scan your groceries—but in even less time, Jake manages to ask for her number.

She hesitates, eyeing you curiously while you pack the bags into the cart. Jake puts on the full show, flashing a panty-melting grin and swiping his card with all the country charm he can muster.

But you can see it in her eyes—she’s trying to figure out who the hell you are. And why you’re grocery shopping with this man if you’re not together.

With a sigh, you turn to him, deciding—for some unfathomable reason—to help. As if Jake Seresin needs any help getting a woman’s number.

“Come on, dude,” you say, cutting off one of his tired pickup lines. “My girlfriend’s coming over soon and I told her we’d go somewhere nice for lunch.”

Jake looks at you, head tilting slightly—then you see it click. “Right,” he says smoothly. “Your girlfriend. Because you’re gay.” He turns back to the cashier with a winning smile. “Sorry—my housemate’s getting impatient. So... about that number?”

That’s all it takes.

The cashier giggles, flips her ponytail off her shoulder, grabs a pen, and scribbles her number on the back of the receipt.

You roll your eyes and turn away, pushing the cart toward the doors without waiting for him. But he catches up quickly in the carpark, falling into step beside you with that annoyingly gorgeous grin stretched across his face.

“Thanks for that,” he says. “Didn’t realise why she was being weird.”

You scoff. “Seriously? What did you think she was wondering about two people our age buying groceries together?”

He shrugs, taking the trolley from you while you dig around in your pocket for your car key. “I don’t know. I guess I just don’t think of you like that, so I didn’t think anyone else would.”

You snort, stopping at the boot. “Right. I’m just a sexless goblin to you because I’m immune to your absurd charm and annoyingly perfect face.”

You pop the boot, stepping back as it lifts, and Jake positions the trolley to start unloading the groceries.

“You think I have a perfect face?” he teases, eyes gleaming with mischief.

You shoot him a dry look. “You know you do, Seresin. You don’t need me to validate your ego.”

He laughs, lifting two heavy bags into the boot. “Wouldn’t kill you to say it every once in a while.”

“Oh yeah?” Your voice drips sarcasm. “Well, it wouldn’t kill you to thank me for being not just an incredible roommate but a phenomenal wing-woman once in a while. Hm?”

Jake tosses in the last bag, chuckling softly. Then he moves the trolley aside and—without warning—wraps you up in his arms. Your body stiffens, eyes wide, but he doesn’t let go. He just hugs you tightly, cheek pressing to the top of your head.

“Thank you,” he says dramatically, “for being the best roommate in the world. And the greatest wing-woman a guy like me could ever hope for.”

Then he presses a kiss to your hair.

You let out a disgusted groan, flailing your arms until he lets go. Then you shoot him a withering look, sticking your tongue out like a child as you slam the boot shut and stomp around to the driver’s side door.

While he returns the cart to one of the bays, you take a moment to yourself, trying to remember how to breathe. Trying to remind yourself who you’re dealing with here—Jake fucking Seresin. Cocky, a womanizer, your roommate, and a total pain in the ass.

He absolutely shouldn’t be making you feel all warm and gooey inside. No way. His smile, his scent, the way his strong arms wrapped around you—that’s just… wrong. Definitely not something that should make your brain start asking dumb questions like, What if he did see you like that? Like one of those girls he actually wants.

Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen.

As if you’d ever want that to happen. Nope. No thanks. No way.

- Jake -

It’s been a long day for both of you—but longer for Jake.

After the usual run of flying, training, and debriefing, Maverick made him stay back to fill out maintenance logs as punishment for ‘clogging up the radio’. In Jake’s defence, you and Natasha were baiting him. But Mav didn’t care who started it—he just cared who was still talking when he keyed his mic.

So Jake ended up stuck in the hangar office for two extra hours, sorting paperwork with one of the grumpiest plane captains on base, regretting every single word he’d said.

At least it’s Friday. Two days off, two nights to himself—and, with any luck, some half-decent sex.

When he finally walks through the apartment door, he can hear your shower running. Great. Now he has to wait if he wants hot water.

With a heavy sigh, he unzips his flight suit and starts trudging toward his room at the end of the hall. Yours is just before it—on the right—door wide open as usual. He can hear the soft sound of your humming, light and off-key, which probably means your ensuite door is open too.

“Nope,” he mutters to himself, eyes fixed ahead as he strides past. “Don’t even think about it.”

Because Jake Seresin does not think about you like that. He can’t. Not seriously.

Sure, he flirts. Of course he flirts. He flirts with everyone. It’s easy. It’s harmless.

But you? You’re different.

You’re his housemate. His teammate. One of his closest friends in this whole damn place. Thinking about you—really thinking about you—is a fast track to disaster.

And yet… it’s always crawling at the edges of his mind. Quiet temptation. Soft and persistent, like a whisper he pretends not to hear.

The way your skin would look, slick with water. How that sweet little hum might sound if he had you pressed to the wall, mouth on your neck, hands on your hips. How easy it would be to step in behind you. Slide his fingers down your spine. Sink his teeth into your bare shoulder as you let out a soft whimper—

No. Hell no.

He slams his bedroom door behind him like it’ll help. It doesn’t.

Because the hardest part—pun intended—is that Jake likes living with you. He might even say he loves it. You make things easy. Fun. Comfortable. Like home. Which is exactly why he can’t screw this up. Not by fantasising about you. And definitely not by acting on it.

If he ever let himself go there—let himself think about what it would be like to touch you, to have you—he knows he’d fuck it all up. And he can’t afford to do that. He can’t let his inner-caveman win just because you’re ridiculously hot.

Because this isn’t about feelings. Oh, no. Jake Seresin doesn’t do feelings. This is about him being human—a man, no less—and you being sexy as hell without even realising it.

So he doesn't let himself. He won’t lethimself.

That’s why he keeps his bed full. Women in and out. Just enough heat and chaos to distract him. Just enough friction to keep the thought of you out of his head. So he doesn’t think about your lips. Or the way your body moves. Or the little smirk you get when you know you’ve outsmarted him.

He’s got it under control. Totally. Completely.

Except then you’re there—always there. Smelling like cinnamon and vanilla, wearing those stupidly oversized shirts with no fucking bra. Hard nipples and bare legs. And Jake is just about losing the plot because God, your waist would fit so perfectly in his hands. Your body beneath his as he—

“Jake!”

Your voice cuts through the fog like a gunshot.

He jerks, eyes snapping open, heart hammering. Then he looks down at the very obvious problem tenting the front of his flight suit.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face. “I need to get laid.”

Granted, it’s only been five nights since his last overnight guest. But five nights with just his hand—or worse, humping his pillow like a desperate virgin? Yeah. He’s not doing great.

“Jake!” you call again, louder this time.

He takes a deep breath and reaches into his flight suit, adjusting his now painfully hard dick into the band of his underwear before swinging his bedroom door open.

“What?” he shouts, stomping toward your room.

“I left my towel in the dryer,” you call through the apartment. “Can you grab it for me? I’m all wet.”

He stops just short of your door, eyes shutting tight as he tries not to picture that. You. All wet. Jesus.

“Sure,” he mutters, though he knows you probably can’t hear him.

He spins toward the laundry closet across the hall, yanks open the dryer, and pulls out a fluffy towel that smells just like you—vanilla, cinnamon, whatever intoxicating shampoo you use—and holds it away from his face so he doesn’t sniff it like a psycho.

“Are—are you covered?” he asks as he steps into your room.

“What? You’re not going to try and sneak a peek?” you tease, all playful and smug—and fuck if it doesn’t go straight to his cock.

You’re joking. You’re always joking. Because you love to tease him. But whether it’s on purpose or not, it still makes his dick twitch. Every damn time.

“‘M not the type to steal glances, sweetheart,” he drawls. “I prefer a good, long look.”

It’s just instinct. Flirting is wired into his system, hard-coded somewhere deep in his bones. He doesn’t mean to say half the shit he says—it just falls out of his mouth before his brain even has a chance to weigh in.

“Gross,” you mutter. “Just hurry up, I’m fucking freezing. My nipples could cut glass.”

He goes still. Muscles tight. Jaw clenched.

Cut glass.

Jesus Christ.

His eyes snap shut, but it’s no use. The image is already there—sharp, vivid, obscene—and his cock, already fucking leaking, throbs against his belly.

“Hello?” you call, completely oblivious.

“Yeah,” Jake croaks. “I—I’m coming. Just gimme a fucking second.”

“So’s Christmas,” you grumble.

He sucks in another deep breath, then moves through your room and nudges the ensuite door open—squinting like that’ll save him.

It doesn’t.

You’re standing behind fogged glass, barely blurred—one arm across your chest, the other between your thighs, wet hair clinging to your skin, and steam curling around you in lazy spirals. You look like a damn goddess. A naked, pissed-off goddess who could break him with a single look.

“Dude!” you hiss. “Don’t fucking look!”

His eyes snap open as he jerks his head the other way, blindly stepping toward you with the towel outstretched.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Not sure what else I’m supposed to fucking do.”

You sigh. “Just throw the towel, moron.”

He tosses it, hoping it clears the shower screen.

“Thanks,” you say, followed by the sound of rustling fabric. “Now get the fuck out.”

He clears his throat. “Gladly.”

Then he’s gone—back down the hall, back into his room. Slamming the door shut behind him like that’ll do anything to stop the visions in his head or the aching in his cock.

After a quick wank—very quick, given what he just saw—and a cold shower, Jake grabs his phone and texts the woman he’s been talking to for the past forty-eight hours. She’s been sending him nudes since last night, so with any luck, she’ll be keen to meet up tonight.

He’s already in the kitchen, rummaging through leftovers in the fridge, when you emerge from your room—and it takes everything in him not to do a double-take.

Your hair’s done, your lips are glossy, your dark blue jeans look painted on, and the top you’re wearing is doing downright criminal things for your tits. You’ve got a leather jacket draped over one arm and your purse slung over the opposite shoulder.

Jake frowns, keeping his gaze locked on the container of satay noodles in his hands. “Going somewhere?”

“Got a date,” you reply, voice smug.

He glances up, raising his brows. “A date?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Not surprised,” he says coolly, turning toward the microwave. “You just haven’t had one since we moved in.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, tossing your purse onto the kitchen bench to slip on your jacket. “I just haven’t been bothered. But… a girl’s got needs, you know? It’s been long enough.”

Needs. Jesus Christ. What he wouldn’t give to help with those.

If it weren’t for the fact that you also worked together, Jake might actually be tempted to suggest a roommates-with-benefits kind of deal. But he knows if that ever went south, it wouldn’t just screw up your living situation—it’d screw up your careers. Ones you’ve both worked your asses off to achieve.

He chuckles softly, eyes drifting toward you as you reapply lip gloss using your phone camera. “Do I need to borrow your noise-cancelling headphones?”

You shrug, that teasing smirk tugging at your mouth. “Maybe. I’ll let you know how dinner goes.”

Then you tuck the gloss away, sling your purse back over your shoulder, and turn toward the door.

“Don’t wait up,” you say with a wink.

He raises a brow. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Did you just give me the green light to commit a felony?”

He rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

You poke your tongue out, give him a little wave, and let the door swing shut behind you.

The second the latch clicks, Jake sighs and steps back from the counter, staring down—again—at the bulge in his pants.

God, he hopes he can get laid tonight. Otherwise, he might actually explode.

It’s late when Jake gets home. The whole apartment block is eerily quiet as he walks through the lobby, rides the lift up, and strolls down the hall toward your apartment door.

You haven’t texted him all night—not that it matters. The date was either too good for you to touch your phone or so bad you don’t want to talk about it. Either way, Jake doesn’t care.

Because right now, he feels good.

He’s loose-limbed, freshly fucked, and riding the kind of high that only comes from a solid round—or three—of no-strings-attached sex. His head’s clearer. Body lighter. And that itchy, restless frustration he’s been living with? Gone.

Hell, he might even sleep in tomorrow. Skip the gym. Make a big breakfast and tease you about your lousy date—which is what he’s assuming, obviously. Because surely, you would have warned him if—

A pitchy moan cuts through the apartment the second he steps inside. High. Breathless. Undeniably female.

He freezes. One boot off, the other still halfway on.

Another cry echoes. “Fuck—right there—don’t stop.”

The door clicks shut quietly behind him, but Jake still doesn’t move.

Then he hears it.

Smack. Skin on skin. A moan that breaks into a whimper. The creak of bedsprings. The wet, unmistakable rhythm of bodies moving together—fast. Rough.

“Harder,” you gasp, desperate.

Jesus Christ.

His brain short-circuits.

That’s you. In your bedroom. Getting absolutely railed. Loudly. Shamelessly. Obscenely.

He’s never heard you like that before—never heard anyone like that before. It's graphic. Filthy. Fucking hot.

Jake actually blushes. His face burning like some virginal freshman stumbling into the wrong dorm.

He should leave. Go out. Do anything but stand there like a depraved freak. But he can’t move.

Then—another moan. Longer. Higher. And something crashes into the wall. Headboard? Elbow? Doesn’t matter. What matters is the sound you make when it happens, a breathy, cracked little “Ja—ah—”

Wait. Jake?

His whole body jerks.

But then you laugh, low and wrecked. “Justin,” you pant. “D-Don’t let me cum yet.”

Not Jake. Just his idiot brain, short-circuiting under pressure.

Still, he swears all the blood in his body does a violent U-turn, hurtling south at breakneck speed. Because that voice, that pitch, that tone—

It’s everything he’s not allowed to think about.

And now? He can’t stop.

He kicks off his second boot, face hot, dick already hard again—and this time it’s worse. Because he’s not just turned on. He’s unravelling. He’s losing it. Caught somewhere between protective and pissed off and—

He’s not jealous. Of course not. That’d be insane.

He’s just... horny. Again.

Because all that post-orgasm clarity he walked in with?

Gone. Instantly. Obliterated.

And now all he can hear is you—moaning, begging, falling apart—and all he can think about is what it would be like to be the one making you sound like that.

Jake stumbles down the hall like a man possessed, yanks open his bedroom door, and kicks it shut behind him. He flicks on the light, grabs the first pair of sweatpants he sees, and starts tearing through drawers like a lunatic.

Headphones. He needs headphones. Where the fuck are his headphones?

They’re always in the top drawer. Always. Except tonight, of course. Tonight they’re nowhere to be found. Maybe he left them in his car, or at the gym. Maybe they’re buried in his gear bag or lost somewhere at work. Wherever they are, it doesn’t matter—because right now, he’s completely, helplessly, fucked.

Your voice floats through the apartment—soft and wrecked. “Oh, my God—yes, yes, right there—”

Jake groans, scrubbing both hands over his face before falling face first onto the bed. He drags a pillow over his head like it’s going to do anything, like it’s going to stop the sounds seeping through the walls.

It doesn’t.

Your moans crawl straight into his ears, into his bloodstream, settling hot and heavy in his gut. He presses his hips into the mattress, jaw tight, pulse pounding in his throat. It’s subconscious at first—barely even movement. Just friction. Pressure. Desperation.

Then you cry out again, all high and needy, and Jake grinds down without thinking. Just once. Just enough to feel it. His breath catches. His body lights up like a fuse. Because in his head, it’s all you. Under him. Around him. Crying out his name.

No. No, no, no—fuck, stop it.

He flips onto his back, trying to will the image away—but it’s already there. Burned into his brain. Your face, tipped back in pleasure. Your mouth slack, panting. Your thighs spread wide. Hands clawing at his back. Body arching into his.

He groans again, eyes squeezed shut, fisting the sheets as his hips jerk up into nothing.

And then—

A low grunt. Rough. Male. Clipped and stuttering. Followed by a choked-off, breathless curse.

Justin.

Jake’s whole body locks up.

Everything goes still.

Heat drains from his face, shame slamming into his chest like a sucker punch.

Because what the fuck is he doing?

He’s lying here, hard and sweating and grinding against his own goddamn mattress, getting off to the sound of you fucking someone else.

His friend. His roommate. His teammate.

Jake shoves himself upright, rage and humiliation sizzling through his veins like lightning. His body is still aching—still primed—but now it just feels gross. Wrong. So fucking wrong.

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face like that’ll wipe the whole moment away.

But it won’t.

Because the sound of you—wrecked, undone, beautiful—is still echoing in his skull. And for the first time in a long time, Jake Seresin feels like a goddamn mess.

Eventually—after what feels like an eternity—the noises stop.

Jake lies in bed feeling like a snapped powerline—buzzing with a dangerous current he can’t shake, muscles locked. nerves frayed. He hears your shower running, your voices—low and indistinct—then, at last, silence.

Sleep comes in useless fragments. Every time he drifts off, it’s only to be jolted awake by echoes of your voice. Whimpers. Moans. Soft sighs that somehow twist themselves into his name.

Each time his eyes snap open, his stomach turns. He needs his memory scrubbed clean, wiped of every sound, every image—because the longer it lingers, the more vividly he sees you. Blissed out. Fucked stupid. Completely undone in a way he’s never seen before.

God. Maybe Natasha was right. Maybe moving in together wasn’t the smartest idea he’s ever had.

Sure, it’s benefited him just fine for the past few months, but he hadn’t expected this side of things. He hadn’t considered what it might feel like to lie in bed, separated by a single thin wall, listening to you have pornographic sex with strangers. If he’d known that was part of the deal, maybe he would’ve thought twice.

How hypocritical.

By five a.m., he gives up. He rolls out of bed, changes into his gym clothes, and storms out the door—scowling at Justin’s shoes still sitting neatly beside yours.

He spends two solid hours at the gym, working his body until his muscles shake and his vision blurs. His headphones—found buried in his damn gym bag—stay on the whole time, music turned up loud in a pathetic attempt to drown out the sounds still ricocheting around in his skull.

Your moans are stuck in his head like an old favourite song, one he can’t stop humming even though it’s starting to make him go insane.

He sees a few familiar faces and stops for conversation, pretending everything is normal. Easy. Like he didn’t spend last night rutting against his sheets, imagining things he shouldn’t be imagining. Because seriously—what kind of freak fantasises about their friend getting railed by another guy?

At seven, he leaves the gym and stops for coffee halfway home. Then he sits in his car for thirty whole minutes, sipping it slowly while scrolling through his contacts like a man on a mission. Every female name gets a second glance—because he’s desperate. For a distraction. A good fuck. Anything to clear his head and kill this goddamn erection.

When he finally decides to head upstairs, he finds himself praying that you’re not home. Or if you are, that you’re alone. Because the idea of running into you—or worse, him—makes his skin itch.

Normally, he’d love a bit of banter over breakfast. But not today. Today, all he wants is to jerk off until he’s raw and numb and no longer at risk of letting something stupid slip out of his mouth.

He’s halfway down the hall toward your apartment door when he hears music. Loud music, accompanied by slightly off-key singing and jumbled lyrics. And the only reason he knows the lyrics are wrong is because this is one of his favourite songs.

A country song, no less. One you’ve sworn to hate every time he dares to play his music out loud.

He presses his lips together and quietly pulls out his keys, doing his best to stay silent as he cracks the door open.

And there you are.

In the middle of the kitchen, using a spatula as a microphone and swaying your hips like it’s the best morning of your life. You’re wearing one of those absurdly sexy oversized shirts, and he can’t even tell if you’ve got shorts on—or panties, for that matter.

Your hair’s a mess, there’s makeup smudged beneath your eyes, and your head is tipped back as you belt out the chorus with full, reckless confidence. Wrong notes, wrong lyrics, right attitude.

Jake’s heart lurches into his throat, beating way too fast.

You look so happy. Not just content or satisfied, but happy. Radiant. It’s the same expression you wore the first time you flew a jet—he remembers, he was there—and at TOPGUN graduation, grinning like you could take on the world. God, he’s never forgotten that smile. It’s too damn pretty to forget.

He swallows hard, trying to dislodge the weird lump in his throat, and shakes his head before pushing the door open all the way.

You don’t notice at first. You’ve turned your back to him, flipping a pancake at the stove, your head bobbing along to the music like you physically can’t keep still.

Jake clears his throat. “Didn’t think you’d be able to walk today, let alone put on a concert.”

You jump, whirling around with wide eyes and wielding the spatula like a weapon.

“Jesus Christ, dude! What the fuck?”

Dude. Sometimes Jake wonders if you’ve actually forgotten his name. Even his callsign would be better.

“I didn’t sneak in,” he says—only a partial lie. You would’ve heard him if it weren’t for the music. “Not my fault you’re off in your own world.”

You roll your eyes and grab your phone off the counter, turning the music down until it’s just background noise.

Jake lifts a brow. “So, Justin fucked you into having good music taste, huh?”

Your eyes go wide, heat crawling up your neck. “How do you know his name?”

Jake just gives you a flat look, folding his arms over his chest while he waits for you to figure it out.

“Oh—” you gasp, slapping a hand over your mouth, but you’re still grinning.

“Yeah,” Jake mutters, turning toward the living room. “Oh is right.”

He walks around the couch before flopping down into the cushions and pulling out his phone.

“Hungry?” you call out.

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes glued to his phone as he types a few quick responses to the women he messaged earlier.

A few minutes later, you appear in front of him holding out a plate stacked with two pancakes, a heap of blueberries, banana slices, Greek yogurt, and a drizzle of dark maple syrup.

“Pancakes are made with ricotta,” you say. “And it’s that organic syrup you like. So don’t bitch about carbs or refined sugar.”

He blinks, looking up at you with wide green eyes, wondering why the hell he deserves this. How the hell he deserves you. As a friend, of course. A roommate.

You nudge the plate closer. “Come on, dude. I haven’t got all day.”

He takes it, clearing his throat—again. “Uh, thanks.”

You smile and turn away—and he can’t help it. He ducks his head, eyes dragging down your legs, trying to see if there’s anything under that damn shirt.

“I’m hanging out with Nat today,” you call from the kitchen. “She wants the full recap on last night.”

Jake snorts. “Yeah? Want me to come? Bet I could give her a better play-by-play than you could.”

“Shut up, Seresin,” you mutter, but he can still hear the smile in your voice. “I’ve listened to you every second bloody night for the past two months. Call it payback.”

He rolls his eyes as he takes the first bite of pancake, summoning every ounce of self-control he has not to moan. Because holy shit, these are good.

“Yeah?” he calls. “Well, I know for a fact none of my sleepovers have ever been that loud.”

You appear again, almost startling him as you set a mug of coffee on the table in front of him.

“Well, maybe,” you say, eyes narrowed, “you should do better. Then your sleepovers might be a little louder. A little more... enthusiastic.”

Then you turn and stroll back into the kitchen.

Jake shuts his eyes, breathing slow and deep through his nose.

Do not get hard. Do not get hard. Do not—

He’ll be fine.

As soon as you’re out of the apartment and he can jerk off in peace.

Half an hour later, you’re showered and dressed, standing by the door, sliding sunglasses onto your head. Jake is in the kitchen, elbow-deep in warm water and suds, cleaning up after your breakfast concert—something he volunteered for, of course. A small price to pay for borderline orgasmic pancakes.

“I’ve got a heap of laundry to do before tomorrow. Can you make sure the machine’s free when I get back?” you ask, one foot already out the door, brows raised.

Jake glances over. “Want me to start it? I don’t mind.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’ll be here all day anyway.”

Your brows lift even higher. “Oh? No Sunday sex appointment?”

“Not ‘til tonight,” he grins.

You roll your eyes, a playful smirk curling your lips. “Okay. That’d be great, actually. You know where my hamper is?”

He nods again, and you flash a wide smile before slipping out the door, calling an airy “Thanks, bye” over your shoulder.

After washing, drying, and putting away the dishes, Jake wipes down the kitchen, vacuums the floor, then moves on to the laundry. He retrieves your hamper from your room, trying not to let his eyes wander too much—but even after all the times he’s been in here, it feels different now. Like the walls are holding onto something he wasn’t meant to know. Something raw. Something private. Something that would make the devil himself blush.

He shakes his head and forces his feet to move out of your room, taking the hamper with him to the laundry closet. He swings the doors open wide and pours your laundry into the plastic basket sitting atop the machine. Then he shifts the basket to the small bench on the left, opens the washer door, double-checks that it’s empty, and starts sorting through your dirty laundry.

He doesn’t want to be a creep—he really doesn’t—but some things just can’t go in the wash together. So he tries. He spots your work clothes and sets them aside, knowing they need a hotter wash—grease and all that. Then he picks up a bra and remembers you mentioning something about an undergarment bag...

With a clipped sigh, he drops the bra and rummages through the cupboard beneath the bench, quickly finding the spotted mesh bag he’s seen you use before. Whether you use it all the time, he isn’t sure, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

Working quickly now, he slips your bras into the bag and sets aside anything he’s unsure about mixing with the rest. And then—

Something catches his eye. Nestled between a pair of blue jeans and the top you wore last night lies a delicate matching set of lingerie—deep burgundy lace, silky and soft-looking, way too pretty and intimate for him to be seeing.

His breath hitches. His pulse spikes. He tells himself to shove the thought aside—it’s just laundry. Stop being a creep. It’s just laundry.

But he can’t stop picturing it—your skin wrapped in that delicate fabric, your most intimate places covered by just a whisper of lace and silk. God. He can’t fucking stop.

His sweatpants start to swell at the crotch, growing until there’s a prominent tent between him and the bench where that lingerie lies. Taunting. Teasing him.

Jesus. It probably still smells like you. He could almost—

No. Stop. Stop right now.

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

He shifts his weight, eyes locked on the burgundy lace. His fingers twitch, itching to touch, but he clenches them into fists at his sides, clinging to what little control he still has left.

His breath turns shallow, uneven. Each inhale sharper than the last. His head spins as blood rushes south—away from reason. Away from restraint.

His mind races, painting every inch of you in that fucking lingerie. How the lace would hug your curves, how soft and warm you’d be beneath it. Your scent. The slope of your hips. The arch of your back. How wet you’d be... just for him.

He can't take it anymore.

With a strangled grunt, his hand slips beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers trembling as they close around his hot, swollen length—already leaking into the grey fabric.

His hips twitch, breath catching, eyes squeezed shut. All he can see is you. That lace. The sounds you made last night. He strokes harder, faster—every thrust frantic, sloppy, desperate. He’s too far gone, lost to the hunger clawing its way through him.

It doesn’t take long. He’s too worked up. Too far gone.

He steps closer to the bench, bracing himself with one hand, his other still working beneath his sweats. His head drops forward, and—

His fingers graze the lace. Just barely. The faintest touch.

But it’s enough.

His whole body seizes—hot and tight—and he cums with a gasp, clutching the edge of the bench as pleasure crashes over him. His hips stutter, grinding through it, riding the wave until he’s shaking.

When he opens his eyes, his hand is slick and his sweatpants are soaked through, a dark stain spreading across the front of them. His shirt isn’t spared either—there’s a damp patch blooming near the hem.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathless.

He wipes his hand on his pants and forces himself to finish sorting your laundry, tossing the lingerie into the garment bag like it might burn him if he holds it too long. Then, without looking down, he strips out of his ruined clothes and shoves them into the machine.

He tosses in two detergent pods, taps a few buttons, and hits start—watching the drum begin to spin like that alone might be enough to wash away what just happened.

Then he heads for the shower, grabbing his phone on the way—because if he has any chance of pulling himself together before you get home, he’s going to need more than just his hand.

PART TWO

#top gun maverick #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #top gun x reader #oneshot #one shot #fanfic #fanfiction #glen powell #glen powell x reader #bradley bradshaw #rooster #phoenix #maverick #top gun

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k1mbe3rly · 2 months ago

Note

heyy can you do yeon si-eun x reader where he gets a bj for the first time ever?

the whc1 fandom on tumblr could fit in suho's helmet😭😭

First bj

Warning: light smut, blowjob, whimpering, sub?sieun, short

You and sieun never really officially did anything intimate, the most yall have done was just making out and groping each other, that’s how far it went but mainly because you both were taking it slow

It’s been awhile in the relationship and you were ready for something a bit..more next leveled, today was the one year anniversary of dating, and you planned on making it special which is by giving him his first ever blow job!

After hanging out and everything you waited for the moment, kissing him and sitting ontop of him, his hands awkwardly on the bed sheets kissing you back, your hands traveling all over his chest as you pulled back, staring into his eyes, his eyes basically telling you that he needed more.

You smiled at him, “Hey i was thinking..we could do something else other then kissing and stuff” you said, “Something more? like what..” he asked, he never really had an expression which made it hard to read his face but his eyes was everything you needed to be told

“I don’t know..maybe, a blow job or..you know?” you asked a bit shyly, he got flustered quick but didn’t dare show anything, he stayed silent for a moment, “Yea..we could try it..” he said lowly

You were quick to get everything off for him, taking off his boxers and staring up at him, his cock was already hard from the makeout + you asking him a sudden dirty question

You first started with a kiss on his tip which made him shiver a bit, grabbing his length and moving your hand up and down slowly and licked his tip, he opened his mouth slightly watching as you licked around his tip

You removed your hands and begin licking his length getting his cock wet with your saliva, finally taking him full in your mouth inch by inch, he gasped out feeling your warm mouth on him, he wasn’t sure what to do but his body was moving on his own, he throws his head back against the headboard, his hips bucking up to meet your mouth, his hips jerk up as you swirl your tongue around his sensitive tip

You pushed your head down and begin bobbing up and down, soft gags and slurps coming from your mouth, his eyes flickered back as he let out a low whimper, he back slightly arching as his hands gripped on your hair tighter, your warm mouth sucking him off was the only thing he could feel, your hands on his thighs steadying yourself as you begin deepthroating him determined to make him cum, he gasped when you suddenly take him deep, your nose pressing against his stomach, his orgasm building quickly

His cock deep down your throat as a loud gag falls out your mouth, keeping yourself there and shaked your head a bit as he let out a loud moan, his hips bucking up again as you lifted yourself for a breath and quickly went back on his cock, you continued sucking him trying to swirl your tongue as well, “A-ah!~ baby fuck i think i’m gonna cum!” he whimpered out his eyes squeezing shut, you continued and tried going faster feeling your jaw getting sore already

His cock twitching inside your mouth as he whimpers and whimpers, uncontrollably falling out his mouth, his hand gripping on the sheets, his back arched

He suddenly threw his head back, letting out a loud whimper as he suddenly felt a wave of pleasure hit him, he finally came in your mouth, you quickly tried to swallow it pulling back with a cough swallowing whatever you could

He panted staring down at you breathlessly, “H..how are you so good at that?” he asked you, you shrugged “Bananas.” you simply said

#weak hero class 1 smut #weak hero class yeon si eun #weak hero class 1 imagine #weak hero class x reader #weak hero class #weak hero class one #weak hero class 1 #yeon sieun smut #weak hero class 1 sieun #whc1 sieun #yeon sieun x reader #yeon si eun #sieun smut

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fairy-writes · 8 months ago

Note

Hi!! I saw that you write for Arcane and had a really cute idea for Vander. I don’t really see a lot of fics where you get to see Vander’s reactions to the reader either playing with the kids or comforting them, so I thought a fic centered around that might be cute? (I think also having a bit of slow burn would be sweet, like both Vander and the reader like each other but don’t do anything about it until getting a little push from the kids because they ship).

ONE LITTLE PUSH

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Bit of a Slowburn, Fluff, Getting Together, Reader is Smaller than Vander (but who isn’t?), Sibling Bickering

Notes: VANDER MY FAVORITE

(No, but seriously, contrary to popular belief, he’s my 1st favorite over Viktor)

JUST IN TIME (kind of) FOR SEASON TWO, LETS GOOOOO

__________________________________________________________________________

Vander wasn’t quite sure why you stuck around for so long.

In fact, he wasn’t sure why you stuck around in the first place.

But… As Vander watches you with the kids. His kids. He begins to understand why.

You were kind, unyieldingly so. Even as Mylo grew to start picking on Powder, even as they fought, you were kind and patient and offered them the unending gentle love they all so craved.

The love he couldn’t afford to give them because who could be gentle in the Undercity? Especially in the depths of the Lanes?

You could.

Vander was in the middle of pouring a drink when Powder tumbled into The Last Drop. She was covered in bruises and dust from something. Or someone. She barely met his gaze as she clambered to her feet and all but sprinted into the back where they all slept. Vander looked through the multitude of customers and spotted you.

You had obviously seen Powder go bolting, worry twisting your face as you glanced toward the bar and met his stare. You arched an eyebrow, and he shrugged. You rolled your eyes and sighed before smiling in jest and getting up from where you had been tinkering with the jukebox.

Vander finally manages to get away from his chatty clients and makes his way back into the back room nearly fifteen minutes later.

Only to pause by the door.

“—ylo hates me! He does, I swear!” Powder cries, and you hush her gently, dabbing what looks to be some of the antiseptic you have lying around on her cuts and bruises. Disinfectant was hard to come by, especially in the Lanes, but you were seemingly magic in the sense that you always knew who to talk to to get some. It seems you had worked your magic yet again.

“Did Mylo say that he hates you?” You ask gently, whispering a quiet “sorry” under your breath as she flinched with the sting of the antiseptic.

Powder pauses, thinking what had to be her earlier conversation over,

“Well… No…” She mumbles, and you hum,

“Can I give you my honest opinion?” You ask, and she stills, looking up at you with wide eyes before nodding.

“Aren’t you always honest with us?” She asks. You chuckle at that.

“I suppose I am. But I don’t think Mylo hates you. Does he find you a bit annoying? Maybe. But every big brother thinks that about their younger siblings. I know mine did.” You say, and Powder mulls your words over and over and over in her mind.

She always did overthink things.

“I didn't know you had a big brother.” She says eventually, and you let out a loud laugh at that.

“You are a silly girl for focusing on that. But yes, I came from a big family. And guess what? I was the baby of the family. Just. Like. You.” You say, emphasizing your words with a pinch to her side. Powder squeals with laughter and wriggles away to escape your dastardly tickling.

Vander hangs his head with a huff and a smile before turning to head back to the bar counter. He can hear your conversation continue as Powder escapes your grasp.

“Now, where did you get all these bruises from?”

“Um… Vi taught me parkour from Topside down…”

“Powder! You’re like seven!”

“Seven and a half! And she said I was ready!”

Ever since you began to stick around, you had become something of a parent figure to the four little children Vander had come into care for.

To Vi and Powder especially.

So when Mylo burst into The Last Drop with the words of a fistfight on his tongue, you were the first one out the door.

Vander was close behind.

Mylo led you and Vander deep into the Undercity. In fact, it was so far into the Undercity that Vander was worried they were getting into some dark territory.

Like… Really dark territory.

But soon enough, the sounds of a fight were heard, and soon after, you were deep in the throng of a multi-person fistfight. Everyone paused for a second when they saw you and then stopped altogether when they spotted Vander not far behind.

You began to pull people off and shoved them out of the way. You did this again and again, ducking under a few stray punches until you managed to unearth Vi.

She wasn’t looking too hot.

Her face was bruised and swollen, and the fifteen-year-old spat out a wad of blood as she bared her bloody teeth and prepared to fight again.

At least until she saw you.

It was as if the tension had been released from her shoulders.

She all but slumped into your grasp, and you stumbled back a step with the sudden weight. Vander yanked the last person away from you both and scooped up his adoptive daughter. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck and was obviously fighting back tears.

Mylo was hunched over, hands on his knees, and wheezed from all the sprinting.

“Vi? Violet, can you hear me?” You said as soon as you all returned to The Last Drop, and Vander set her down on the couch. Powder and Claggor had been found a block away, fighting off more thugs from whoever sent them after the literal children.

He would've pummeled them to a pulp if Vander hadn’t hung up his gauntlets years before.

Vi’s head lolled from side to side, and you shone a pocket flashlight into her eyes, watching as her pupils dilated and contracted. You were experienced at this, taking care of people, even more so than he thought.

Were you a doctor deep in your past?

As Vander thought about it, he realized he didn’t know practically anything about you. Your past, your likes, dislikes, he knew you were good with machines and medicine and that you came from a big family. But that was it.

And that hurt his heart.

You ended up ushering everyone out of the room while you worked on caring for Vi. Vander closed the bar early and was in the middle of putting chairs on tables when you emerged. Powder, Mylo, and Claggor dropped what they were doing. They scampered to your side, a chorus of “How’s Vi?” erupting from the kids. You offered them a tired smile and patted their heads.

“She’ll be okay. She’s resting right now. You can go in and see her if you’re quiet.”

And then it was the two of you.

Vander set the final chair on top of the table and meandered his way over where you were sitting at the bar, head in your hands.

You looked tired.

“Is she really okay?” He asked, and you grunted, rubbing at your temples.

“She has a broken nose, fractured left arm, some bruised ribs, and a concussion. Which, all things considered, she’s very lucky. It could’ve been a lot worse.” You say, and he sighs,

“Did she say why she got into the fight?” He replied, and you shrug,

“She was protecting Powder. Then, more people started showing up until it was an all-out brawl. That’s when we stepped in.” You say, and his shoulders sag.

Vi was going to be okay.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said it. But thank you. For everything you’ve done. Taking care of them and all that.” He says, and you just hum.

“You guys gave me a home after everything. I’m just repaying my debt. Well… that and I love those kids.” You say, and he arches an eyebrow,

“After everything?” He inquires, and you glance up sharply as if not realizing what you had said.

Eventually, your gaze casts downward, and you run a hand over your head and through your hair.

“I was a doctor in Piltover before the rebellion. I was caught trying to help the Undercity before they were officially citizens and cast out.” You say, and his arched eyebrow raises even higher.

“A doctor? Were you any good?” You bark out a dry laugh at that,

“One of the best!” Your voice cracks as you speak, and he feels his heart splinter into pieces.

Vander should’ve known that Claggor and Mylo were up to something when they came in with sneaky grins on their faces.

The Last Drop was all but desolate. It was the wee hours of the morning before the people of the Undercity awoke to begin their day. But the door was unlocked, and the kids were allowed to run in and out as they pleased.

Which they had been doing a lot in the last hour or so.

“Vander!” Mylor clamored for his adopted father’s attention, waving an excited hand as he scampered up to the counter. Claggor hung behind, ever the stoic young man. But there was mischief in their eyes and curling the corners of their mouths.

Vander slung the rag he used to wipe the counters down over his shoulder and leaned on the bar counter.

“What did you do now?” He teased, and Mylo all but squawked.

“When have I ever done anything?!” Vander just stared,

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He asked, and Claggor snickered at Mylo’s deflated expression. Mylo quickly spun on a heel and jabbed a finger at his adopted brother,

“Not a word outta you, Claggor!” He snapped before spinning back as something dawned on him.

“You gotta come with us!” He demanded, and Vander glanced between the two of them.

“Why?” He asked, and Mylo let out an exaggerated groan.

“No questions! Just come on!” He grabbed Vander’s hand and tried tugging him around the counter and toward the front door.

Vander relented, locking the door behind him as he followed the two boys.

Only to realize very quickly what was actually going on.

His first tip-off was hearing Powder and Vi’s voices, yours mixed in as you asked where you were going, why they were taking you, and what they were doing.

Vi answered no questions. Powder just chirped excitedly. “You’ll see! You’ll see!”

The six of you met in the middle of the street, Powder dragging you by your hand as you followed behind patiently. You glanced up from listening to Powder, and your gazes met. Vander felt his heart skip a beat as he took in your appearance. There wasn’t anything particularly new, but you looked like you had cleaned up some. Your hair was pinned neatly back, and your clothes looked ironed.

You looked… Really nice.

“Vander? What’s going on?” You asked, and Vi nudged you with her good arm. Her fractured left one was still healing carefully under your care.

“We’re setting you two up.” She teased, and you stared dumbly.

“Setting us up how?” You asked, and now it was Powder’s turn to blurt out an answer,

“On a date!”

Before the two of you could react, all four kids all but disappeared around the corner in a cloud of dust. Leaving you facing Vander and utterly alone.

It was safe to say he was panicking just a little bit.

“Vander? Do you have any idea what they meant?” You asked gently, and he scrubbed a hand down his face.

“My guess is they want us to go on a date.” He said, fully prepared to hear rejection. Because who would want to go on a date with him? A middle-aged man with a stained past. His lungs twisted as he heard you take a step closer.

A smaller hand slipped into his, and he looked down from where he had been staring at Topside.

Your eyes were lit up, not with disgust at the proposition he was proposing.

But they were filled with hope for the future this relationship would bring.

#vander x reader #vander x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #arcane league of legends #arcane: league of legends #arcane vander x reader #fairy writes

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chericos · 8 months ago

Text

BLOOD SUCKING FREAKS!

your faves as vampires— multifandom headcanons

fandom list— vnc (the case study of Vanitas), bsd, jjk, mha, one piece, aot, kny, csm, genshin impact (brings back memories…), haikyuu, soul eater, hxh + more!

cws: nsfw?, blood, biting, possessive/yandere themes, dark themes, bites can be used as a sort of aphrodisiac, overstim themes, mentions of bruising, chasing, “hunting”, mentions of being tied/chained up, some are darker than others due to the characters being more inherently “evil”, unedited, you can tell who my favs are, sorry if some are short... tell me if I missed anything!

MDNI

He’s so sweet and kind with you, always ensuring you’re fully prepared to take him. His big rough hands toying and prodding in such a gentle manner that you can’t help but cry out for more. Tears prick the corner of your eyes at his slow pace, you’re not sure how much longer you could keep going like this. His hands trail up and down leaving goosebumps across your skin. His eyes sharpen as he peers down at the junction of your neck. He tilts his head down, inhaling deeply as he drags his tongue up your collarbone. He hovers over your pulse point, sharp fangs grazing the sensitive spot and you shiver at the feeling.

“May I?”

His voice is thick and laced with lust. you feebly nod your head, letting out a small whimper. He hesitates slightly before biting down. It is weak, and only just pierces the skin enough for it to bleed. But what did you expect your hunk of a vampire is just soft.

Maybe a little too soft.

— Izuku, Tamaki, All might, Nighteye, Nanami, Higuruma, Ino, Rengoku, Gyomei, Kunikida, Fukuzawa, Jouno, Atsushi, Roland, Zack Fair, Armin, Shiro, Kunigami, Reo, Kurapika, Cyno, Aether, Gepard, Hinata, Sugawara, Yamaguchi + your fav

Your skin is already littered with bruises and teeth marks. Small beads of blood trickle down your chest and he carefully laps at them. He's been at it for hours, marking you up, making sure whoever dares to look at you knows you belong to him. But who could blame him

Your flesh is so soft and tender between his teeth he can’t help but want to take a bite. It's like you've put him in a trance. His gorgeous girlfriend, who's so eager and pliable to his touch. You were practically made for him. And the sweet sounds you make when he pushes deeper inside of you, it's not his fault your moans are so hypnotizing.

He doesn't normally get so worked up, but you've been riling him up all day. Teasing him with your touches, whispering dirty words into his ear, it's only natural he would break at some point.

He didn’t mean to get rough, but you just tasted so good he couldn’t resist. You won’t blame him… right?

— Xiao, Ayato, Zhongli, Diluc, Alhaitham, Aizawa, Shoto, Shinso, Bakugo, Gojo, Noritoshi, Vanitas, Uzui, Giyuu, Zoro, Akutagawa, Chuuya, Aki, Rin, Isagi, Shidou, Sae, Tobio, Suna, Oikawa, Reno, Leon, Eren, Jean, Levi, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan + your fav

He's so messy.

Spending hours in between your thighs, kissing the supple skin, and also leaving his claim in their place. he's basically eating you alive, bite marks indented in the flesh, and he hasn't even touched you yet. You're whining for him to stop teasing, pleading for him to give you what you want. And who is he to deny?

Arms hooked under your thighs, keeping you in place from thrashing around. He buries his face into you, his nose nudging up against your clit, and the sensation has you jolting. He gives a tentative lick, eyes shooting up to look at your reaction. Your hands nestle into his hair, tugging at the roots as a moan slips out from your lips. And after that, he's ruthless, eating you out like you're a 5-star meal (you are). He's kissing and licking and sucking, and god, whatever the hell he's doing it's making your mind blank.

You don't have it in you to care about how loud you're being, and he doesn't seem to care either. In fact, they seem to encourage him to rip those pretty pretty sounds from you.

“So sweet f’me baby,”

Slick is practically covering the lower half of his face, but he doesn't seem to care. His eyes are blown wide, giving you a dazed out stare as he continues to lap at your core.

This was going to be a long night.

— Noè, Choso, Connie, Luffy, Tighnari, Kazuha, Itto, Kaeya, Leorio, Ranpo, Techou, Tachihara, Cloud, Bachira, Chigiri, Nagi, Kaiser, Aiku, Kuroo, Tanaka, Miya twins, Hizashi, Mirio, Jin, Hawks, Tamaki, Sero, Denki, Kirishima, Sampo, Jiaoqui + your fav

You're such a brat.

You're lucky he still puts up with you after everything you've pulled. He glares down at you, the eye contact making you uneasy. Your mewling and whimpering did nothing to sway him. Your hands are still tied behind your back as his thighs continue to spread your legs open. His hands as roaming your body, squealing and pinching in places that make you jump, before he leaves them to play with your nipples.

His touch is light and teasing, driving you insane. Your nipples harden under his touch, embarrassing sounds escaping your throat as he continues to toy with them. You shove your face into the pillows next to you to muffle them. One of his hands leaves your chest to grip your chin, tilting your head back to stare directly at him. He wants to see every expression you make.

The tension between your legs becomes too much to ignore and you begin to discreetly hump his thigh, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you. At least you thought you were discreet. You don't far before his hands are off you and he's shoving you away. With teary eyes you stare at him confused, why did he stop you?

You're needy and sensitive and you want him to touch you again. You beg for him to continue, but all he does is let out a low chuckle. He doesn't plan on letting you off the hook so easily. He wants to make sure this stays ingrained in your head so that you'll never make the same mistake again.

Because you're his, and he'll spend every second reminding you of that fact.

— August Ruthven, Sanemi, Iguro, Akaza, Geto, Dazai, Mori, Fukuchi, Shigiraki, Overhaul, Blade, Reiner, (s4) Eren, Feitan, Chrollo + your fav

He doesn't know why you keep trying, why you continue to run away. He doesn't understand whatever false sense of freedom you feel when he lets you out. Did you really think you could outrun him? Oh, how idiotic. If he had it in him he would pity you, so dumb and naive. It seems like you still haven't learned your lesson.

Your wrists and ankles are bound together, chained up to the wall. Tears prick your eyes but you know he won't care. He's leaning over you, peering down at your small form as you keep yanking at the restraints in hopes of being set free. You and he both know it's futile, so why keep fighting?

He grips your arms, sharp claws pinching the skin. Without warning he hastily leans down to sink his teeth into your neck. You scream out and thrash at the pain but he holds you still, makes you take it.

It doesn't take long for the venom to enter your systems, an intoxicating feeling clouding your mind and a strange but familiar heat coursing through your body. Your body tensed, heart-beat picking up as you tried to deny what was happening.

He licked the wound closed before stepping back. his eyes never leaving yours as he watched you squirm as the aphrodisiac set in. You scream at him, curses getting mixed in with small yelps as your body becomes sensitive to your clothes. But he isn't too worried about that. He'll break you one way or another.

And then you'll see that there is no way of escaping him.

— Sukuna, Kenjaku, Muzan, Douma, Fyodor, Dabi + your fav

HAPPY HALLOWEEN FREAKS!

Anyway just another disclaimer: I don't romanticize the actions performed in the last one, idk it just doesn't do anything for me, I also (personally) think it's unhealthy but wtv floats your boat ig!! (I say this like it isn't the longest section) IDK, it was just kinda fun to write, I've been meaning to get into darker themes(I have a Douma fic I've been meaning to write) so I wanted to go all out and see how it felt.

I love writing heacanons, ahhhhhhhh, I probably won't edit these so hopefully they aren't too bad!

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arabella0001 · 16 days ago

Text

cn: explicit sexual content [nsfw / 18+]. aggressive sex. biting. slighty ehibitionism. aphrodisiac use. dirty talk, 4k+ words.

⟡ fandom: attack on titan | pairing: levi x reader

⟡ request

𓃠

To have feelings in times like these it’s such a selfish thought sometimes; it makes you want to scream into your pillow every chance you get.

And worse than that?

To have feelings for the captain of the recruitment division, the irreplaceable, cold, and strict Levi Ackerman was way worse.

You were one of the few left from the old squad. The camaraderie between you and your old comrades was cut off instantly after their death, as if it never existed. And sadly, it created a strange, clumsy distance between you and Levi. The only two survivors.

Not that he was the friendliest man, but the respect between you two was something admirable. Still, delusionally, you sometimes thought… maybe it was more than that.

Maybe he didn’t yell like that at everyone, so loud you’re sure it echoed to the other side of the world, when he thought you’d died on a mission two years ago.

Maybe he didn’t carry everyone in his arms, even when his own body was collapsing from pain, prioritizing your life.

Maybe not everyone got that subtle twitch of his lips that resembled a smile when you two shared tea now and then—and you teased him for being too strict, poking at his side just to get a reaction.

But those childish fantasies crumbled the moment Historia Reiss, the new queen, arrived at tonight’s gathering… and stood a little too close to Levi. The very same Queen who once slapped him—and he let her—and smiled back at her.

The gathering had been Erwin’s idea, a rare celebration after a successful mission. One of the only times there was plenty of food and wine without guilt along with it.

You sat at the table with Hange, who was talking with her mouth full, a mirror of Sasha doing the same. They both gulped down wine afterward, cheeks flushed red from the alcohol.

Though Hange was tipsy, she was still sharp. She noticed it. That quick, nervous glance you threw when Historia’s hand touched Levi’s arm. His gaze wasn’t detached like usual. He was leaning against the wall, engaged in conversation. Actively.

That alone made your fingers tap angrily against the table as you looked around, pretending you were simply bored. Hange gave you an amused look, tilting her chin toward the pair.

You rolled your eyes, but her eyes gleamed with some forbidden idea she wasn’t ready to say out loud yet. Instead, what came out of her mouth was:

“Hm. Did you know the air outside is way fresher in this season? Might be good to check.” Her double-meaning didn’t go unnoticed.

Sasha, unfazed, was more focused on a piece of pork on fresh bread.

“Maybe you should go. You both seem a little heated.”

Hange and Sasha laughed, leaning their heads together, grinning with the euphoria of wine-soaked joy.

“You got us. At least we’re not some bitter old lady who forgot how to have fun.”

You glared. “Hange.”

She raised both hands, mock-defensive.

“What?! I’m just saying, girl!”

But her plan needed to move faster.

“You know what? Follow me.”

Hange stood. Sasha glanced at her but didn’t care enough to ask. Hange didn’t wait—just started walking toward the exit.

You stood too, and you felt someone’s gaze on you from across the room. You ignored it.

But Levi watched your back a little longer than he needed to as you left. Then he returned his attention, somewhat distracted, to Historia’s strategy proposals. He was tired. Too much socializing for one night. Ten minutes of talking with Historia already felt like ten hours. She talked too much. Like everyone else here.

…Except you.

He always sensed the distance between you, one he blamed himself for. It wasn’t a priority, but sometimes, somehow, his thoughts always ended with you. The feelings inside him were small?, faint—but they echoed. He couldn’t name them. They were useless anyway. A weakness.

That’s how it should be. That’s how it must be.

You probably didn’t see him that way anyway.

And he understood. He wasn’t the warmest person alive.

┈─┈─┈─

When Hange saw you dragging your feet, she tugged you by the elbow and threw you into her chaotic, paper-filled office.

Then, from a box, she pulled out a dusty bottle sealed with a wooden cork and tied with twine.

“Let’s make some magic, shall we?”

You wrinkled your nose as she handed it to you, letting you smell it first.

“What the fuck is this? It smells awful.”

Hange waved her hand dramatically, a little wobbly.

“You don’t know what’s good! The old stuff is the best. Heals the body, solves your problems—I’m serious. I’ve tested it.”

“Just because you’re a research freak doesn’t mean I believe everything, you know?”

Still, you took a drink. Your emotions were buzzing too hot in your veins to think straight. The taste was awful but you didn’t stop at one sip.

Hange watched you with something close to admiration. She was happy—mission complete. But her face turned panic-stricken as you kept drinking. She grabbed the bottle out of your hands.

“ENOUGH! This wine is very precious. We should save it.”

You licked your lips. now stained wine-dark and your cheeks flushed fast. You looked at Hange, and your gaze made her grin.

Not me, pretty lady. I’m flattered, but not me.

“I’ll be back in a second. Gotta get some cheese to go with this wine.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

You collapsed into her surprisingly comfy chair and stared at the wall. But your thoughts turned—obscene. What the hell is happening?

You hadn’t drunk in a while, but this was something else. Your body felt too warm. Too restless. You shifted in your seat, fidgeting endlessly.

⸻

Hange rushed down the hall, nearly crashing into the door—right as Levi was walking out.

“Oh! Just the person I needed!”

“Spare me, Hange. I’ve had enough for tonight.”

Hange just planted a hand on her hip and the other under her chin, dramatically pondering.

“Hmmm. Then who should I ask to help Y/N?”

Levi was about to walk past her but stopped. Gave her a side-glance.

“Help? With what, exactly?”

“Well, let’s say… too much wine can make you lose control of your brain and body? Yeah, that definitely applies.”

Really? You? Drunk as hell? Since when?

“Where is she?”

“My office.”

She smiled far too innocently for Levi not to be suspicious. But he didn’t say anything. He just went straight to you.

┈─┈─┈─

When he opened the door, he found you waving your shirt like a fan, wide open—exposing your dark blue bra.

“Thank god. What the hell took you so long?! I’m dying over here!”

Your eyes shot to the door— And locked on Levi, standing there. His gaze was sharp. Angry. But also very much fixed on your chest.

“Fuck—? What the fuck are you doing here?!”

Your voice cracked, not angry—just embarrassed. You buttoned your shirt furiously.

“When did you become this irresponsible?”

“What? I had a few sips! Are you calling me a alcoholic or what?!”

Your words slurred slightly. Levi’s eyes flicked to the half-empty bottle.

“Looks like it.”

“Oh, shut up. Didn’t you have a conversation to get back to? Or are you just here to lecture me too?”

His thoughts faltered. Your tone… sounded accusing. Jealous? No. Can’t be.

“It’s over.”

You started fanning yourself with Hange’s scattered papers, your body feeling annoyingly uncomfortable—especially in certain areas.

“Nice. Maybe something good will happen.”

Levi froze at the double meaning.

“Something good?”

He picked up the bottle and took a slow sip.

It was disgusting. Weak. This got you drunk?

When you didn’t answer, which was unusual. Levi looked over. You were ignoring him, staring out the window with a sulky expression.

“I asked you something.”

You sighed. “You know… something. You and the bubbly new queen—what a ray of sunshine in this battlefield.”

Your sarcasm wasn’t subtle. Levi’s quiet, firm steps drew closer.

No. No, stay away.

Standing in front of you now, he looked down. Your expression—almost… embarrassed?

A strange wave of heat hit him. Unfamiliar.

“You find that funny?”

“Maybe. The bright little queen with the cold, sharp captain. What a pair.”

You snorted nervously, trying to mask it with a smile. Levi didn’t know why this stupid conversation was continuing. Why he was still standing here. You were fine. He should leave.

“You sound offended.”

The fact that he didn’t deny it almost made you want to push him from your face. But instead… the vulnerability in your body, his presence, pushed you in another way.

“Do you like her?”

Levi didn’t know what shocked him more, your question, or how red your cheeks suddenly were.

“No.”

You stared at him until you were sure he wasn’t lying. Then looked away.

“Why ask?”

“Curiosity.”

He stepped closer.

“Do I look like someone who doesn’t think clearly?”

“No?”

“Then why lie to me?”

You avoided his gaze. But when Levi’s hand gently tilted your chin toward him you froze. His fingers were shockingly gentle on your skin.

And just like that he knew something was off.

“What did Hange say before she left?”

You groaned.

“That she’d be right back. That traitor.”

Something was missing. Levi picked up the bottle, poured a bit onto his finger.

“Hey! You’re wasting precious wine—”

“Shut up.”

You muttered, “Mean.”

He didn’t answer, even though he should’ve.

You were talking too much. More than usual.

The liquid glistened faintly. Levi frowned. Aphrodisiac.

He looked at you again and slowly scanning from head to toe. You gulped.

“I think Hange tricked us both into drinking it wine with aphrodisiac…For… some unknown reason. That fucking psycho—”

But he cut himself off when he saw you sinking into the chair in shame.

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“No?”

“Y/N.”

A pause.

“No.”

“No, or you don’t want to say?”

He was being so persistent, it scared you. The fact that you both took it. That he was this close. That you couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful he was. How badly you wanted him right here, right now. You slammed your head onto the desk.

“Leave. Please.”

“Speak now, or I’ll go.”

“Why should you need to know? It doesn’t matter.” You muttered, head still buried.

“I don’t like lies. Or people hiding—”

You shot up suddenly, furious.

“OKAY. I fucking like you, okay?! For a long time…since we were…nevermind. She probably set me up!”

Levi’s ears rang. He didn’t hear that right.

But your heaving chest and the brutal honesty in your eyes said otherwise. And he couldn’t respond. Didn’t know how to.

He just stared.

Embarrassing. God, this was so embarrassing. You thought.

You stood up clumsily, ready to storm past him and vanish but Levi reacted instinctively. His hand grabbed your arm.

“W-what?”

Levi considered himself an idiot before making the most impulsive decision of his life. But all thoughts vanished when his lips pressed against yours.

┈─┈─┈─

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment when you moaned the second Levi tried to deepen the kiss. His veiny hand cupped your cheek while your hand found the back of his undercut curtain hair. When his lips left yours, you chased them, but his darkened gaze locked you in place, your breath irregular.

Fuck it, Levi thought.

He kissed you again, dominating the way his lips pressed onto yours, forcing you to open them. But you were far too happy to do it now, your tongue dancing with his in an aggressive competition over who wanted the other more.

He guided you backward until your ass hit the desk, lifting you by your thighs instantly so you were sitting on it. Returning between your legs and dragging them until they locked around him. He groaned in your mouth when he felt you grind on him.

How did it come to this?

He began to move slower until he tried to calm himself down, to regain control, his head dropping over your shoulder.

“This isn’t okay. We’re not in control.”

“You don’t want me?”

Levi’s head tilted back to meet your gaze.

“Don’t want you? I want to fuck you this second if I did what I wanted now.”

You gasped, chasing his hips.

“Y/N.”

“You only want me now?”

Your gaze was so convincing, lustful, that if he stayed here much longer, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. But he thought twice before making an irresponsible confession in a situation like this. Fuck you, Hange.

“No.”

His short answer made your heart leap out of your chest. And the look in his eyes was enough to confirm he wasn’t lying.

“Then fuck me.”

He let out a low, mocking laugh.

“Tomorrow morning to be damn sure you’ll regret how brave you were last night.”

The pressure between your legs made you squeeze them around him, chasing relief.

“I don’t care.”

He tilted his mouth into a small smile, whispering in your ear.

“Yeah?” He took your earlobe in his mouth, making you shiver. “I even think you don’t want me to fuck you.” Your whine urged him to bite your earlobe before soothing it with his lips. “Two fingers are all I need to get the job done.”

“L-Levi.”

Your mind couldn’t comprehend how he was speaking to you right now—only that it made you unbearably wet.

His fingers traveled along your body before cupping your breast and chasing your mouth. You moaned against his lips, your hand on the back of his head pushing him further into your kiss. He was already addicted to how you responded to him.

Levi’s fingers went lower, raising goosebumps across your skin until he teased your inner thighs.

You whimpered in his mouth, furrowing your brows in impatience from his teasing. But he couldn’t wait anymore—he needed to feel it. He let out a low growl at your wet, clothed panties.

“For how fucking long have you been thinking about me to be like this right now?” A string of saliva connected you both, his hand cupping your pussy before you leaned into his mouth, but he didn’t give you the choice. “Tell me.”

“All night.”

“You fucking kidding me.” His lips left wet kisses along your neck, marking you again with his teeth, still biting lightly.

His fingers pushed your panties aside to reach your clit, starting to move in quick circles considering how wet you were even before he went lower for one of your holes. He tested with one finger, but when he didn’t find much resistance, your moan lingered in your throat before continuing with harder finger-fucking until he added a second finger.

“F-fuck, Levi!”

His dark strands, now damp with sweat from how hot his body felt, stuck slightly in his serious gaze, dilated pupils pulling him far from his image as a strict squad captain. He didn’t look like one anymore. He looked like a man who would do anything in this moment to make you feel good.

Levi had been fed up for some time now with being such a control freak, suppressing his emotions even though Erwin had never advised it—just something Levi knew how to do best. But now? He didn’t give a shit anymore. At least once, he could allow himself this.

“Yeah?” Levi’s lips brushed against yours faintly, his warm breath on them.

“More, I need more—”

He moved you instantly and pushed you forward even more, exposing your ass under your skirt, still covered by the white tights he immediately tore apart.

“Levi, for fuck’s sake—”

He slapped your ass—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to sting—then soothed it when you whimpered. Then he did it again in the same spot before switching to the other cheek. Your breathing was difficult to control, your eyes wide open in ecstasy. It wasn’t hard to guess he liked things like this, and it wasn’t hard to guess that you liked them too.

“You want more? Then fucking take more.”

He spread your ass cheeks, and you felt too aroused to feel shame as he knelt down, right in front of your ass, and began to lick you. It shocked you so much that your back arched even more, your mouth wide open from the sensations his exaggeratedly attentive tongue gave to every spot in your most intimate area. Your legs started trembling as Levi continued licking both holes, then up toward your clit and pushing his fingers back in.

“Please, please. Now, I can’t wait—”

He stood up, leaning over you, his hand moving in front of your body until it found your chin, lifting it while your skin shivered from your ear downward.

“And what can’t you wait for, cadet?”

You almost groaned in frustration, but your hole clenched around nothing, your body telling you directly what his words did to you. If you had known Levi was like this in bed, you would’ve listened to Hange a long time ago. But you knew the aphrodisiac played a role too.

“Damn it, Levi—”

He turned your head further, your body instinctively arching into him, feeling how affected he was by your presence too.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t wait any longer for you to fuck me, Levi. Fuck me, please!”

Your voice was rushed, yet full of sensuality mixed with desperation.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His mocking tone didn’t disappear—behind closed doors, his usual attitude still lingered.

“S-shut up. Lock the door!”

He was undoing his pants, and all you heard was the rustle of clothing and the sound of a belt falling to the floor.

“I don’t care about that damn door.”

You couldn’t lie that it turned you on a little. The probability of someone coming here was very low, considering how far your desk was from the others. But with how loud you were, that probability could rise.

You looked over your shoulder, noticing, in your opinion, one of the most beautiful cocks—veiny, with the tip dripping proof of how turned on he was, its considerable length adding to the effect. You looked at his dick, then at him, with an awe-struck expression that made Levi’s mouth twitch slightly. Not that he cared about this kind of thing; his ego had been completely unraveled a long time ago, back in childhood. But the scary, lustful look on your face? It drove him like a caged animal to give you more than you could take.

He teased you, slowly moving his cock between your ass cheeks and barely penetrating your pussy. You didn’t even have time to complain before he began thrusting into you, both of you opening your mouths in sync from the pleasure.

He pushed in to the end—some of him still outside—and bent over until his mouth touched your shoulder, sucking it before he began moving inside you. He had to calm himself a little so he didn’t come like some pathetic teenager who couldn’t handle puberty.

His heavy breathing turned you on even more, and when his thrusts became slower but deeper, your voice didn’t stop moaning his name until he put his hand over your mouth.

“You want me to close the door for what? You’re still yelling loud enough for everyone to hear.” His groans didn’t stop though, a sound you never thought you’d hear from him. “Never thought you’d feel so good.”

He moved his hand from your mouth, letting one finger stretch your lips as he fucked you harder. The other hand stayed on your back to support his rough thrusts.

“You’ve thought of me like this before?” Your answers irritated Levi because they turned him on even more, letting him speak too openly about something he shouldn’t.

“You have no idea.”

His answer came voluntarily, simple, but it still made your heart clench. You let out a sound of frustration when he pulled out, your body leaning back toward him to find him again but he turned you to face him, which was even worse.

His piercing eyes immobilized you and suddenly you remembered what shame felt like when Levi was staring at you, perplexed by how beautiful you looked, his gaze dropping from your swollen lips, to your aroused breasts, then between your legs.

You pulled him by the shirt to kiss you, and he didn’t pull back; on the contrary, his hands cupped your head to keep you in place while he devoured you, the kiss messy again, you moaning into his mouth, trying to pull off his black shirt, wrinkled with passion. Your hands felt the muscles he built through harsh training and punishment, your eyes tracing the scars that reminded you how strong he was.

Your vulnerable gaze after Levi kissed down your neck and looked back at you was too much for him to handle. He couldn’t think about what he felt for you right now. It was out of the question but his softened eyes still caressed your soul.

He placed both hands on your thighs and lifted you slightly on the desk before spreading your legs and entering you. Your hands went around his shoulder, your head falling there too as Levi grunted in your ear with every deep thrust.

“Come for me first.”

He turned his head slightly toward you to meet your gaze while his fingers moved to your clit to help you. The excessive wetness made it easy for him to bring you to the edge, even though you could’ve stayed in this moment forever with Levi inside you. So close.

You turned to face him, making sounds that bordered crying while you looked at him, and he can only murmur:

“Yes, just like this. Do it for me. Do it now.”

His eyes never left yours until your head tilted back slightly, your body shaking uncontrollably as your legs, previously locked around his ass, loosened and fell until Levi’s hand grabbed one of them and the other cupped your cheek, not letting you look away as you came. He couldn’t forget this look. He needed it.

His erratic movements became harsher until he pulled out, stroking himself until the last drop spilled on your belly and a little lower. Your hands were barely holding you up on the desk. The aphrodisiac was almost halfway worn off, but your mind was still obsessively drawn to Levi and his presence.

But the shame you felt now was even stronger, trying to cover yourself, not wanting to feel so exposed anymore. But Levi only memorized how special you were to him; and not just because of the sex, but in general. Memories rebuilt themselves in his mind as if they were yesterday, of how much you’d been there for him through his life.

He pulled himself out of those thoughts, not allowing himself to drown in them. Hs hadn’t even allowed himself to get here before, but here they were.

He looked through drawers and around the desk until he found some wet wipes to clean you, at least superficially, because he couldn’t stand making a mess, especially not on someone like you. He lifted you off the desk, seeing your fragile legs, but you surprised him by hugging him tightly, not letting him protest how hard you held him.

“Y/N.”

Even if he couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t do anything to stop it. His hands still weren’t touching you.

“Hug me back, Levi. Please.”

He felt a lump in his throat, suffocated by your love. But he hugged you back, one hand cradling your head as he stared blankly. It was hard to accept this from someone. But you weren’t just anyone.

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay naked much longer.”

Your voice was muffled by his shoulder.

“I don’t care.”

You squeezed him tighter, now that you had him this open, you couldn’t let go so easily.

He leaned toward the desk, stretching his hand to grab a shirt to cover you. That melted your soul even more.

“I wanna sleep with you.”

“Y/N, you know it’s not allowed for a commander to sleep in the same bed with another—”

“Please, Levi. I don’t think I can breathe well without it.”

He was annoyed at you and your rule-breaking, exhaling an irritated sigh—but didn’t say anything at first.

“If you don’t come as subtly as possible in the middle of the night, I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

You lifted your face from his chest and smiled at him, sincerely. Though his expression seemed serious, there was a playful one underneath. Levi’s walls were down tonight for you. And maybe, they would stay open more often. Life is too short not to love each other in the limited time you have.

You pressed your face back into his chest, hugging him tighter. From the outside, the image was as romantic as it could be—the two of you at the center of the office, moonlight covering your bodies and leaving only your shadow as proof that, in this moment, you truly belonged to each other. No one else.

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 15 days ago

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Virgin!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A training mission puts you and the lieutenant Simon Riley in close quarters. That wouldn't be too bad except there might be some desires shared between you, lingering in the background, and after getting pinned beneath him in a pivotal moment, maybe those desires comes flooding to the surface in a big way. Too bad you have a secret that needs to be revealed.

Word Count: 5.4 k

Warnings:

From the ask HERE (forever ago now someone asked about a virgin!reader with Simon and I finally finished it!)

The old, abandoned factory creaks and groans as the amber light of the late afternoon fills the space. Captain Price waits for the last of the straggling members of his task force to make their way over from the transport vehicles and line up before him. The delay makes you impatient and you look around you to see who it is holding everything up, but that is immediately abandoned as the person your eyes end up making contact with are those of the skull-masked lieutenant who is standing only a few feet behind you.

Suddenly you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Why is he standing so close?

Not that you’re trying to read patterns that aren’t there, but you swear that that hulking military officer has been in your bubble more and more lately. Could this just be an intimidation tactic… or possibly something m… No, you aren’t even going to allow yourself to entertain such a ridiculous idea. Sure, there might have been a time where it almost seemed like there was something there between the pair of you, but that time had long since passed after you decided that someone as seasoned as the lieutenant couldn’t possibly want to get involved with someone as inexperienced as you.

Quickly you break eye contact and turn your body back around, but it doesn’t feel fast enough and that fills you with anxiety; you don’t need him thinking your look means something more than it does. His presence is just a surprise, that’s all… at least that’s what you keep trying to convince yourself of, repeating the phrase in your head until your heart rate slows.

Behind you, Lt. Riley watches you fidget with your hands while you keep your head plastered unnaturally straight ahead. He’s grateful for his choice in attire as his balaclava perfectly hides the smirk that is now on his lips as he silently chuckles to himself. You were quick, but not quick enough that he wasn’t able to catch the heat that had risen in your cheeks as you hurriedly turned away from his sight.

Those coffee-colored eyes linger on the back of your head as he recalls all the times in the past couple of weeks the same thing has happened, when he’s caught you off-guard by being nearer than you expected. It had started by accident, just being at the right place at the right time, but once he saw the flush in your cheeks as that nervous smile filled out your mouth he found himself interested in making it happen again and again. Now it’s become a game and even though he knows he shouldn’t, he likes how flustered you get just being under his silent gaze.

Just a bit of innocent fun, that’s all, he thinks to himself, not letting himself even entertain that it might not be so innocent at this point.

You just make it so easy for him to mess with; it’s not like he has to have some ulterior motive behind his actions, right? He had already made his decision to not allow to get involved with a bastard like him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy making you nervous with barely any effort.

The loud sound of a throat being cleared brings the lieutenant’s attention back into the present. The last of the members have finally gathered around and the captain moves back to the front of the group ready to speak. Lt. Riley makes one last move and takes a few steps closer towards your back to watch you tense to his presence which causes certain intrusive thoughts to suddenly creep up to the surface of his mind, making it harder to pay attention to what the captain is talking about.

“Rules are simple,” Captain Price says in his usual firm, authoritative voice as he hands a stack of blue velcro patches to the closest member, beckoning him to pass them around. “Each of ya take a patch. You must wear it on your shoulder and it must be visible at all times. Once the word is given, the timer starts. You have ten minutes to prepare your initial hiding point before being let loose.”

The stack of patches gets handed to you and you take yours before passing them back to the lieutenant with a slight tremble in your hand as your gloved fingers brush past one another. You curse yourself at how pathetic you’re being about this; you want to prove yourself with this training and there is only one person that you worry about: the lieutenant. If you can’t pull yourself together, you may be out of this before it even begins.

“After that, a gunshot will signal that the game has begun,” Price continues after a brief pause. “You’ll have till 2100 hours ta gather as many of your fellow team members patches as you can however ya see fit. Don’t make me regret this by injuring each other. Keep it safe, but do what ya must ta get your marks.”

There is heat near the side of your face, but you don’t turn to face it. Instead, you catch yourself holding your breath to stand as still as possible as the lieutenant’s gruff voice is now in your ear. “Good luck, little mouse,” he says before moving back.

You struggle to regain your composure again as Price’s voice cuts back in. “Your ten minutes starts…now.”

And just like that everyone takes off in different directions, plotting as they move, concocting strategies that they hope will get them a win. You clamber your way to the outside of the building at first, but once you catch sight of a few others that also seem to have had the same idea, you suddenly feel too exposed to stay and cautiously make your way back inside.

The sun sits lower towards the horizon as you make it to the top floor of the building, up a back stairwell. You risk diverting your eye line on your surroundings to check the watch on your wrist; it’s been a good hour and a half since you’ve seen another soul, but you don’t feel safe in the slightest. Just because you don’t have visuals on any movement, doesn’t mean that there’s no one there. Years of experience and training have taught you to stay on constant high alert no matter the circumstances. Even though you are apparently all alone, you try to slow down your movements to reduce any unnecessary noise and yet even with how carefully you advance through the area, even the sound of your heartbeat seems to echo off the walls.

The thrill of being on high alert makes your limbs tingle, but you can’t afford to slack, not when every person on this team is at the top of their game and if you want to come out on top you’re going to have to push yourself harder.

You come to yet another corner and you pause to listen before slowly peeking around it. There’s nothing but empty space waiting for you in the next room and you take a couple steps out into it, ready to clear the area more thoroughly, when everything comes crashing down as you are grabbed, pulled around the wall, and slammed into it. Your eyes focus on the person pushing into you and your breath catches in your throat as you realize who is staring back at you– it is none other than the masked lieutenant himself.

The decaying wall behind you gives slightly under the pressure as Lt. Riley pins you against it by your shoulders, using his wide forearm to bear down on your sternum to keep you contained while also keeping one of his hands free to use. “Well, well, well, seems I caught a little mouse creepin’ ‘bout,” he mocks and you can hear the cocky, self-satisfaction brewing in his tone. “Gotta be more fuckin’ careful than that, luv. You’re not as quiet nor as stealthy as ya think ya are. Been tailin’ ya for a while, just waitin’ for the perfect moment ta move in.”

You struggle against his arm, but it does little good. There’s too much of him and not enough of you.

“How did you even hear me?” you ask. “I barely breathed.”

He chuckles in that deep, bassy voice. “Ya should fuckin’ know nothin’ gets past me.”

Those dark eyes from within his skull mask look down to find the bright blue patch at the top of your arm as you continue to struggle to unsuccessfully wriggle from his grasp. His hand reaches to the patch on your bicep to rip it off and claim his prize, but before he can grab it you react by kicking at his shin with the heel of your boot which makes him stumble back just enough that you are able to wriggle your way from under the pressure of his arm.

You take a quick step to pivot so you can run off and you almost get away, but his recovery is too quick. Striking out his foot he trips you so that you tumble to the ground; now he can keep you better subdued.

Quickly you try to roll to your side so you can get yourself back up, but he is already on top of you, pushing you back down so that you lay supine as he swings a thick thigh over your lap. You’re pinned under him and with the bulk of that 6’4” military man on top of you there is no chance you’ll get lucky enough to escape again.

It’s over for you.

That dark gaze stares back down with you as he works to regain his composure, his chest heaving up and down laboriously with each strained breath that he intakes to recover from the sudden rush of adrenaline through his veins.

"Not fuckin’ quick enough, little mouse," he pants. “Did ya fuckin' think ya could get away from me?”

Once more his hand reaches for the patch on your arm, this time without any worry that he won’t get it. “Best hold still,” he says, that gravelly tone lower after the noisiness of the tussle as to not draw any unwanted company before he can get himself up and out of the area.

Lt. Riley still has more hunting to do and being detected already isn’t going to help.

Even as the velcro starts to pry apart, you still decide to give your last bit of effort and squirm in his gasp, not ready to admit defeat even in the face of the inevitable. “You’re not gettin’ away, luv,” he says as the distinct sound of velcro ripping away from itself echoes across the bare walls that conceal you both.

“If you think I’m gonna give up without a fight, you’re dead fucking wrong, lieutenant,” you say through gritted teeth as you twist your shoulders, but to no avail.

“Feisty thing,” he picks, slapping your patch just below his on his vest. “Lotta good it did ya.”

Secured on his person, he looks back down. “Now, what am I gonna do with ya?” he questions with a chuckle.

You scowl up at him as you lay there panting through your own rush of adrenaline. Is it all from the struggle, though? As you continue to look up at him from your position on your back, you aren’t so sure anymore. You can feel something changing in the atmosphere between you both, the charging of the atoms around your bodies as you stare back up into the intimidating masked face of your lieutenant as he towers over top of you, his wide thighs resting against the sides of your waist.

Catching his eyes, you notice something wash over his gaze: instead of that determined, steady gaze, he peers down at you with a look that makes your heart skip a beat.

And for good reason. There is only one thought going through Lt. Riley’s head now: Fuck, you look good on your back.

You flush hot all over, drawn into the intensity in his eyes. It’s intoxicating to be under that coffee-colored gaze, being the only person who has his full attention. Lost in that revelry it takes you a minute, but that's when you feel it: the outline of something hard poking you through the crotch of his pants.

Is that what you think it is? Oh fuck, he’s getting hard. You should stop, right? But you don’t want to and for some reason he isn’t stopping you. At least he wasn’t, but now your gloved hand is in his as he brings up off of him and towards his mouth.

And yet…

You watch on wide eyed as he pulls up the lip of his mask up and situates it to rest over the bridge of his nose, exposing the lower half of his face. Grabbing the cuff of your glove between his teeth he rips the fabric up to expose the delicate skin of your palm. He spits the fabric from his mouth, tossing it aside before bringing your hand back down and placing it over the bulge growing near the zipper of his pants.

"Ya feel that, little mouse? How hard I am?" he asks as he presses your hand into the stiff peak. "That's what you fuckin' do ta me."

Your breath catches in your chest as your heartbeat thuds violently against your ribs. The feel of a distinct pulse now rhythmically thumps against your palm, making the heat in your face rise until your cheeks feel swollen and on fire and your mind goes static.

What do you do? What do you want to do?

Suddenly, as if piloted by instinct alone, you begin to move your hand up and down over the swell and he can't help the deep groan that escapes through his lips. The bassy sound causes a throbbing between your closed thighs, an ache that suddenly gathers in the pit of your stomach. You continue to slowly rub along the mound, enjoying the way his cock leaps at your touch as it grows even more stiff.

Silence fills the space around you as the lieutenant reciprocates your action by rolling his hips into your hand, grinding against the warm surface of your palm in a motion that fills your head with a need to see him actually take you. Desperately you squirm beneath him to clench your thighs together tighter to relieve the building pressure and he senses your movement.

"Is it achin'?" he questions quietly, his voice husky with his need. “Do ya need somethin’ ta take the edge off?”

It takes you a few seconds for your brain to comprehend the question, but when you do you can only nod your head in response as your mouth suddenly feels too dry to create sounds.

The lieutenant sits still for a moment, head cocked to one side and then the other. It looks as if he is listening for something, but other than the sound of the beat in your ears and his panted breaths there is nothing. You are both all alone, secluded in this remote section of the large building, as the shadows grow ever longer with the incoming night. The last he had seen the rest of the team they were nowhere near this area.

There’s no one to interrupt what is rapidly unfolding between you, but he knows that could change in an instant. He needs to be fast.

Turning his attention fully back to you, he pauses. This is a terrible fucking idea, but the way you look pinned beneath him, your hand stroking over his hard cock, that doe eyed, begging look that you keep giving him, it's too much to handle. Simon Riley is a man of restraint, but at this moment all the training he has endured to reach this point in his career fails him.

All that suppressed desire comes bubbling to the surface like a tidal wave. Lost in the heat of the moment he cannot deny his attraction anymore than he can deny the air trying desperately to enter his lungs to calm him, but failing.

“Fuckin’ hell, ya don’t know how bad I need ya,” he says in a groan that nearly stops your heart.

A haze clouds your mind that you drunkenly watch through as your superior leans down into you, the bulk of his weight compressing your chest as his hungry lips immediately steal your mouth with such deadly force that it feels as if the pair of yours are magnetized and he can’t keep them from being violently drawn together. The feeling is unfamiliar and overwhelmingly intense, knocking the wind from your lungs while filling you full of his contagious desire.

Pinned beneath him into the broken flooring and at his mercy, you are falling apart as your head swirls with an ecstasy you have never felt before. It is true that your lips had caressed others before his, but not like this, never like this, and it awakens something in you… something instinctual.

In that moment, you give yourself over to that feral side of yourself, the one that had always been hiding under the surface, but never allowed to come into the light. Everywhere he touches comes alive and the further he goes up under your clothes, pulling up layers to glide his hands along your curves, the more your body desperately craves.

Your movements are hesitant, but exploratory, greedily digging up under his tactical vest covering his torso to get to the burning, sweat-slick flesh lying beneath. A patch of short, soft hair meets your fingertips as you get up through the bottom of his shirt and make contact with his lower abdomen. His skin feels like it’s on fire under your palms and you moan into his mouth as your hands study the contours of his hips and stomach through touch alone.

Fuck, he can’t wait; this needs to happen now before someone comes to ruin this.

“Gotta make it quick,” he pants as he hastily reaches between your bodies and rips down the zipper on his pants. “Are ya wet?”

The sound hits your ears and suddenly it all becomes too real. This is really happening. And though you don’t want him to stop, there is a secret that is burning a hole in your chest that you can’t hide away anymore.

Lt. Riley can feel you suddenly go rigid under him and pauses his movements to prop himself up by his arms so that he can look into your face. He stares into your eyes, panting through his need. “Ya alright?” he asks.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth to nervously pick at the skin with your teeth as you hesitate to respond. Anxiety has its grip in you at the thought of what you are about to admit, but you know that you are going to have to speak up because you are out of your element now and he is going to know it soon enough.

“I- I’m…I mean, I- I haven’t ever…done something like this,” you stammer out the confession, admitting the embarrassing information while you suddenly avoid his gaze.

His brow furrows under the pulled up mask. “Ya mean where ya can get caught?” he asks to clarify as he doesn’t understand. “We’ll be quick.”

You shake your head. It’s worse than that, you think to yourself. “I…” you take a breath and your stomach drops, “I’m still a virgin.”

The realization of your words washes over the lieutenant like cold water. It never would have occurred to him that you had no experience in that area, but even so he isn’t judging. You probably have your reasons and that is fine, all he cares about is what he does right now. This isn’t the time or place to give you an experience that intense that you’ve never had before. He wants to be able to take his time and make it a memory you won’t ever forget and that isn’t going to happen on the dirty floor of this derelict building.

He begins to move back. “Please…don’t stop…” you beg as you reach out for him, but Lt. Riley is already sitting himself upright and zipping himself back up.

Those big brown eyes look down at you and he shakes his head. “Not like this,” he says. “This ain’t how your first time’s gonna be.”

Throwing his leg over your body, he moves off from on top of you and kneels besides your legs. Your hands instantly move up to your face and you frustratedly cover your eyes in a vain attempt to calm the storm of hormones raging inside, thinking that all of this buildup is going nowhere all because you couldn’t just keep your mouth shut.

You keep your face concealed while waiting to hear the fading crunch from the soles of his boots as he leaves, but the sound never comes. From the blackness behind your palms you feel something tugging at the clothing near your belly button and quickly you remove your hands and open your eyes to see your lieutenant leaning over top of you, his tactical vest removed and set on the floor as he hurriedly begins undoing the belt on your pants..

“We ain’t got much time left, but I can’t leave ya fuckin’ empty handed,” he grunts with a smirk as he finally frees the buckle from itself. “Won’t take your virginity ‘ere, never said I wouldn’t make ya come. Gotta finish what I started. Ya want that, little mouse?”

You don’t say a word, just stare while he works, but that won’t do. Lt. Riley isn’t going to take anything that isn’t explicitly given to him and unless he can hear you say it out loud that you want him to give you a parting gift, he isn’t going to continue.

“ ‘less ya want me ta stop,” he says as he removes his hands from your waist.

Immediately you sit up just enough to grab at his wrists and secure his hands back onto you right at the fastener on your pants. “Don’t you fucking dare,” you breathe the words in an angered huff. “I want it, please.”

Lt. Riley smirks. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises.

Those long fingers draw the waistband of your pants together to unhook the button, quickly ripping down the tab of the zipper before he is sliding the dense clothing off your hips and down the length of your legs. “Need these fuckin’ things outta my way then,” he says as he bunches the pants legs up at the top of your boots.

Time is of the essence and he has to choose his actions carefully, wasting time taking off everything is too risky; just the essentials will have to do. As soon as he gets your pants low enough, he crosses his arms over his torso and quickly rips up his shirt off his body and throws it on top of his vest.

“Can’t risk gettin’ anything on me, don’t need them fuckin’ nosey bastards gettin’ curious,” he answers the curiosity in your cocked brow from the question that you haven’t asked. “This’ll be our secret, yeah?”

You can’t complain, as soon as that shirt is up over his head you get an eyeful of absolute perfection in the form of bulky muscles that line his thick torso covered in a mouthwatering bit of hair that leads down into the top of his pants. From the way his clothes always hugged his body, you knew that man was big, but fuck seeing it in person is a whole other story. And now you desperately need to feel that girthy torso spreading your thighs wide as the throbbing that was just poking against you fills you full.

Not wasting another second he slips your legs over his head to wear them draped around his shoulders like a necklace as he slides his body in on his hands and knees so that his face is close to the panties still covering your pussy; one last impediment to his goal. Hooking his fingers into the crotch of the small swath of fabric cloaking your cunt, he pulls it out of his way and his breath hitches at the sight.

It’s better than he could have imagined. Immediately he meets those soft, pillowy lips with his as he places a few tender kisses to them and already the contact has you squirming over his features.

Goddamn, you have a pussy he could lose himself in.

Pulling his hand in, he spreads your lips with his fingers to find your clit through them. "Let's see how good ya taste, little mouse," he groans before he locks his lips around you and his tongue slithers its way from between his lips to find its mark.

The moment the tip of his tongue makes contact with your clit you see stars and your back arches off the ground. Touching yourself was one thing, you know your own body, but having the control given to someone else with the experience to know just how to do it, makes you instantly weak.

With a hand gripped into your hip he takes you like he owns you and you've never felt more desired before. Over and over his tongue laps between the lips of your pussy, rolling over that sensitive nub with skill and precision. This is what he has craved all this time, to make you come undone, and several times his eyes dart up to catch a glimpse of your face as you lose yourself in the sensation of it all.

Your honey fills his mouth and dances along his taste buds as he buries his face into you even further, not caring about the cloth still sitting on his face. If your scent melts into the fibers then it will only serve as a reminder of what happened here. Everything outside of your thighs gets forgotten as his lips lock around that nub and he sucks it into his mouth and you buck wildly over his features, the heels of your boots digging into his back that only makes him moan at the delicious sting.

Is this what it’s like to be craved by another? Fuck, you could get addicted to this. All that desire being unleashed in the way he devours mixed with the excitement from being taken by the lieutenant and the risk of being so exposed like this has your orgasm rapidly approaching faster than you thought possible.

“Ahh, getting… close,” you murmur out, struggling to keep your voice low.

"Tha's it," he grunts as he surfaces for a quick inhale of air from between your lips, "come for me. Cum on my fuckin’ tongue, little mouse."

His large hand spreads out across your pelvis to push it down as he nuzzles the tip of his nose against your clit so that his tongue can strike up inside that dripping hole. Your juices mix with his saliva and dribble down his chin and out from the corners of his mouth to pool on the ground beneath you both, but he doesn't slow.

He keeps the pace of his movements steady, making sure that nothing breaks his focus so that he can keep up the tempo. You’re gonna come for him, it’s the only thing he wants now; he desperately needs his head to be crushed between these beautiful thighs.

Suffocate me, sweetheart, he demands silently.

You whimper behind closed lips in an attempt to keep the noise down, but it is getting harder and harder to hold it in. The warmth in your belly is gathering quicker now to match the pulsing down between your legs. Just a little more and the wave of heat will flood your limbs violently. Reaching down, your fingertips dig into the muscles in his shoulders and he groans deliciously into your pussy.

You’re so close.

Then you feel the tensing and all at once you fall silent as that tightness snaps with an explosion that makes your body go rigid with a severe arch in your spine. You dig the back of your head into the concrete with your eyes shut as your thighs forcefully clamp together and you moan deep in your throat. Waves of hot pleasure course through you until your limbs tingle and yet that agile tongue of your superior continues to stroke you through it all as you squeeze his head like a vice.

Lt. Riley can’t see, he can’t hear, all he has is the throbbing of your cunt to keep him going. And fuck is that enough.

Time is forgotten as you ride out your pleasure to the very end and just when you think you can’t take anymore of that overwhelming sensation, the feeling begins to die down and you can relax and release your captive.

A coated and messy lieutenant emerges from between your legs with a smile plastered to his mouth that still wears you around it. “Ya did so fuckin’ good for me,” he praises as he uses the back of his hand to wipe away the cum and saliva from around his lips.

Your legs are carefully moved from his shoulders and lowered to the ground and without a word, those strong hands are pulling them back up. “Lift your hips for me, tha’s it,” he says as he finishes bringing them back and up and rebuckles them even though you hadn’t asked.

Only once you’re situated does he redress himself and then offers you his hand to help you back up to your unsteady feet. “C’mere,” he grunts as he pulls you tight to him and leans down to kiss your lips and you can taste yourself off his.

Still in a daze you rub your hand absentmindedly over your stolen patch stuck to the front of his and the lieutenant laughs into your mouth, thinking you are trying to take back what he got fair and square. “Oh no, I’m still keepin’ this, luv,” he says. “We’ll call it a consolation prize for what I just gave ya.” The lieutenant kisses you one last time.

“And ya know, the offer stands if ya still want me ta fix that other thing,” he says. “I’ll make sure ta do it right.”

With that he leaves you to finish composing yourself so you can walk back to the meeting point to wait for the rest of the team to finish the exercise. Your mind is still reeling a couple hours later with thoughts as you try to process everything even as the team loads into the transport vehicles to make the way back to base. Your sight continues to dart over to Lt. Riley’s form sitting down at the end opposite you, wondering what you’re going to do.

Do you take him up on his offer or do you let this be a one time thing?

At the other end, the lieutenant watches you from the corner of his vision as your eyes keep jumping back to him. Your scent is woven into the fibers of his mask even as it still lingers on his lips and the stubble around his chin and every time he breathes his heart races a little more. Will you decide to let him have you again and even go further? He won’t let his need get the better of him yet, but as the short journey ends and everyone begins to file out of the vehicles, he heads back to his room hoping that you’ll take him up on his offer.

The night is getting on fast when out of the silence there it is. Knock, knock, knock. Quick, soft, timid right on the lieutenant’s door. He gets up from his bed, heart beginning to pound as he reaches for the lock.

More silence follows until the lock clicks and the door opens to reveal you standing there. The lieutenant meets your gaze, but soon your attention is drawn to the pair of old sweats that cling low on his hips and the lack of shirt that leaves his chest bare. He looks you up and down and chuckles as if he’s been expecting this.

“It’s late, little mouse,” he greets you before moving to the side, a gesture clearly meant for you to come in.

The door quietly shut behind you before being locked. No sense in leaving it undone, you won’t be leaving before the sun rises.

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n3ptoonz · 15 days ago

Text

'Addiction'

Pairing: CivilWar!Bucky/F!Reader

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Warnings/tags: Smut, Explicit; pathetic bucky!!scent kink, jerking off, cumshot(s), dirty thoughts, implied dominant reader, reader is implied to be thicker, half proofread

Word count: 1.9k+

thisbfucking gif oh ny god.

Bucky was taking time getting used to being still, being in a more "normal" environment. The Avengers Tower was very accommodating and Steve was sure all his needs were met. There was only one problem. He was obsessed with you.

It's like you crawled into his brain and made yourself at home. Everyone was aware he had a staring problem, so whenever his gaze would linger just a little longer on you, most didn't really take note of it. They figured he was still adjusting and maybe even deterred from meeting new people.

But it was the exact opposite. He craved every last bit of you and he hadn't a clue what to do about it. Part of him wondered if it was from being painfully touch starved for almost a century (it is) but the other part of him thought he was just being dramatic.

He didn't know if it was the confident sway of your hips, your unique laugh, maybe even how your hero suit hugs your figure. That was until he looked down at the article of clothing being clutched for dear life in his metal hand. It was the jacket you gave him that one time it started raining and he ran inside a little later after. It was a simple gesture. You were just being nice.

Albeit none of that shit mattered as he quickly became aware of the nightfall that peered through the main room's window. He sighed, knowing that simply staying as quiet as possible with his hand down his pants does nothing for him anymore. Honestly he can't even remember how your jacket got in his hand in the first place. But it's like I said, none of it mattered. Especially as he slowly stood up and quietly walked to the hall bathroom, jacket in his vice grip.

The door shut quietly behind him but he didn't bother turning the light on, still feeling a little ashamed he got on his own two feet and waltzed his ass all the way here. He might as well finish the job, he thought.

He took no time shoving his hand down his pants, leaning against the wall, and pulling himself out. Bringing the jacket to his nose made everything he liked about you flood his senses. The confident sway of your hips, your unique laugh, maybe even how your hero suit hugs your figure. Your smile. Your kindness. Your bravery, your will, your goddamn personality.

Your scent.

"Fuck-" he breathed while furiously jerking off to the mere thought of you and the overwhelming smell coming off your jacket. He's surprised the scent didn't wear off by now considering he's been indulging in this obsession. This addiction.

Bucky was still mindful though. As much as he wanted to let out a whine and prolong this as much as possible, he knew he should just get this over with. Get out every thought of you while he could for the night. Sleep the shame away; the guilt. Carry the weight of beating off to his own teammate's smell back to his room where he'd pretend none of this ever happened until he needed his fix again-

The lights switched on and a loud gasp filled the room. Bucky's eyes shot wide open as he looked to his right. You stood there in shock and quickly shut the door, a quiet "Sorry" coming from the other side before the sound of receding footsteps became more apparent.

Bucky stood there, frozen and dick in hand. His heart was beating out of his chest when he caught a glimpse of how he looked in the mirror.

Pathetic.

His hair messy, some of it stuck to his forehead from sweat. His chest heaved from the adrenaline pumping through his veins. The guilt pumping through his body; fear. Did he just completely fuck this up?

Bucky quickly zipped up his pants and rinsed his hands before drying them on his shirt. He sighed heavily and gripped the sink while his head hung low. Guilt, shame, everything in between. Oh, he was feeling it.

He stood at your door with his fist hovering, too scared to actually knock. Too scared to face you and apologize over and over again that you had to see that. This side of him that was supposed to only exist at the dead of night, when everyone was sleep and completely unaware.

However, the dramatics were cut short when you opened the door, standing casually in a tank top and...no bottoms. Underwear. Bucky was taller than you, sure, but that held no relevance as his eyes just subconsciously focused on your pillowy thighs. Bare before him with no thought to cover up. You stood there in the doorframe and folded your arms, seeing your jacket still in his grip as you cleared your throat. His eyes snapped to yours and he shifted where he stood. He was going to speak, maybe? Hand you your jacket, but you suddenly turned away and walked back into your room, leaving the door open.

Bucky cursed to himself under his breath. Were you upset? Ready to chew him out? Why were you half naked in front of him like it was nothing? Why did blood suddenly start pumping behind his briefs the more he thought about it?

"You coming in or what?" he heard you call out, nearly flinching. He looked around the dark, empty lounge before he took slow steps inside and closed the door behind him. Your room was lit by just a lamp by your bed and was decorated to match your exact vibe--as he imagined countless times.

Bucky watched you stand there and organize your dresser. Again, so casual and unbothered in your tank and underwear. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze out of respect. Or perhaps so he didn't lose his mind.

"I meant to give this back." he said quietly as he extending his arm towards you. You look to your left and see him holding out your jacket. His face half obscured by his long hair and the shadows casting over him.

"You can hand it to me." you said. "I don't bite."

He huffed softly and took a few steps toward you. His eyes still trying to look literally anywhere else. You grabbed his shoulders and had him stand in front of you, but what confused him was when the sound of you spraying perfume in the air hit his ears, and then came the very scent that landed him here in the first place filled his nostrils. He blinked a few times and turned to the side but you caught him by the bicep, looking him in the eyes with that soft glow casting over one side of your face.

The feeling of your hands clinging onto him made the cogs turn in his brain and on top of all that, it just occurred to you how fucking massive he really is. Dude's a god damn unit and that red Henley was no joke.

"It's okay," you said and sunk down to your knees. "Finish what you started."

Bucky's brows furrowed as hodder heart raced to jump out of his chest. He watched you look up at him and tensed at the feeling of your hands on the sides of his thighs. He was stiff at first from pure confusion but overcome with lust he couldn't control. And you? You noticed.

"I'm not upset about the bathroom." you said while gently palm him through his sweats. He inhaled sharply and balled his flesh hand into a fist to keep himself grounded, the metal still gripping the jacket.

"And I want you to finish what you started," you repeated in a soft whisper. He swallowed thickly and shuddered.

"You want me...to..." he started, his fist loosening but his throat went dry.

"Finish on me."

It sounded like a demand. Like he'd be bound to whatever is holding him down until he completed this task you've given him.

"Would you like some incentive?" you added, but didn't wait for him to answer before you slowly brought the tank top straps down your shoulders to reveal your breasts. Your arms hooked under them to present them more clearly for him. His eyes widened and shut tightly afterwards as he reached down his pants and pulled his dick out. The cool air sending another shudder over him.

He grunted softly and opened his eyes, spitting into his hand and stroking himself to not only the lewd sight of your lit up expression, your beautifully--fucking perfect tits, but the smell of your perfume still permeating the air. Bucky clutched onto that jacket for dear life. He brought it back up to his face to muffle his growing moans and groans.

It was pure greed. All of this. He didn't deserve such a moment, he thinks, and yet still he whimpered and bucked into his own hand from the pace he set.

You could tell how pent up he was, the way his brows twitched upwards and his breaths became shallow. Every time he'd curse and tighten his fist around the shaft. How you wondered what his obsession was with the way you smelled. His addiction. The many nights he would fall asleep to the thought of fucking you after an intense training session or how your lips would look wrapped around him, messy and puffy from the force.

How he just wanted to see what it'd be like to pick you up and feel your thighs around him. What it'd be like if it were you jerking him off instead, looking him in the eyes and telling him he's not allowed to cum until you say so. To explore you and see what makes you tick. To hear you whispering his name in a desperate attempt to keep quiet. To hold you by the neck and watch you watch yourself unravel in front of that mirror. To creampie you and mark his territory. To bury his face in your chest while kneading at you like a cat. To be the only man in your mind and for you to just understand that you are only woman in this god forsaken world that does this to him. Makes him feel like this for the first time in a long. Fucking. Time.

As long as he got to be in proximity of your scent. He'd be satisfied for the rest of his life.

Bucky came. Hard. Every sound he made was poured into that piece of fabric. He was whiny and almost boyish. Heavy breaths and hot white ropes coming out of him were your sole focus. He opened his eyes with slightly burred vision and exhaled. His cum, all over your chest and some caught on your face and tongue. You made sure he watched as you swallowed.

He let out a short breath that was shaky and released himself from his own grip. You stood up and saw him look at you with guilt in his eyes.

"I'm sorry." he muttered softly, his eyes darting to the mess he only intended to land on your chest. You sighed softly and turned around to face the mirror, making him drop the jacket and wrap his arms around you so his chest was pressed against your back. You leaned back to whisper in his ear.

"Make it up to me."

#n3ptoonz #smut #bucky barnes imagine #civil war bucky #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky x reader

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prettygirl-gabi · 2 months ago

Text

One-on-One

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader (Coach’s Daughter)

Fandom: WNBA: Dallas Wings

Summary: they say shooters shoot…

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin ,@issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

If you’d told seventeen-year-old me that someday Paige Bueckers would be standing across from me in a Dallas Wings practice jersey, spinning a ball on her finger, grinning at me like we shared some inside joke—I would’ve laughed.

And probably cried.

And then immediately passed out.

Yet here I am.

And it’s somehow worse than I imagined, because she’s real, she’s even more beautiful than a screen ever showed me, and she’s smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

It had been a normal first day of practice—rookies meeting vets, drills, intro speeches—and I’d just been here to help my dad, Dallas Wings’ head coach Chris Koclanes, with welcoming the new players.

You know.

Like a normal, functioning adult who wasn’t crushing like a giddy teenager.

And maybe it would’ve stayed innocent if Arike hadn’t cornered me at the Gatorade table.

“You’ve got it bad,” she said in that sing-song voice that meant trouble.

I groaned. “Don’t.”

“She’s looking good in Dallas gear, huh?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Well, either you make a move before practice ends or I will.”

I blinked. “You’re bluffing.”

She smirked. “You know I’m not.”

And that’s why I’m now standing at half-court, holding a basketball, heart pounding loud enough I’m convinced Paige can hear it.

“You sure about this?” Paige asks, tossing her towel onto a bench. There’s an amused twinkle in her eye, like she’s very much enjoying this.

“Scared?” I tease.

She snorts. “Of you? Never.”

I spin the ball once on my palm. “First to eleven. Ones and twos. Loser…” I pause, letting it hang dramatically, “…has to buy dinner.”

“And if you win, you’re buying dinner?”

“Nope. If I win,” I say, walking backward toward the three-point line, “you give me your number.”

She raises an eyebrow, but she’s smiling. “Confident.”

I shrug. “I’ve been waiting years for this moment.”

Her laugh is low, a little breathless. “Alright, coach’s kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Paige checks the ball and immediately fakes left, drives right, and lays it in.

“1-0,” she says, grinning, jogging backward.

“You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already trying to embarrass me,” I say, checking it back.

She shrugs, playful. “Gotta set the tone early.”

I fake a stepback, blow past her, and hit a quick floater off the glass.

“1-1,” I say, smug.

“Ooooh, we got a game,” Arike shouts from the sideline, recording it on her phone.

Over the next few minutes, it’s back and forth.

She calls out my lazy defense.

I chirp her about missing an open three.

We’re grinning the entire time, bumping shoulders, getting a little too close for it to just be casual competition.

At 7-6 her, she leans in during a dead ball and whispers, “You know, if you wanted my number this bad, you could’ve just asked.”

I nearly travel.

“You’re cocky,” I say, shaking my head as I check the ball.

“And you’re adorable,” she says easily, clapping her hands for the pass.

I nearly pass out.

We battle until it’s 10-10.

Game point. Winner takes all.

We’re both sweating, a little out of breath. She’s bouncing on her toes, her eyes locked on mine.

“You ready to lose in front of your dad?” she teases.

“You ready to explain to the whole team how you got cooked by a ‘retired’ player?” I shoot back.

Her grin is everything.

I jab step, fake right, crossover left—

and pull up for a jumper just inside the arc.

Swish.

I throw my arms up as the small group watching cheers.

“Let’s goooo!” Arike yells, jumping around like a fool.

I turn to Paige, who’s standing with her hands on her hips, smiling like she just lost on purpose.

“Hand it over, Bueckers,” I say, wiggling my fingers for her phone.

She pulls it from her waistband and tosses it to me.

As I type my number in, she leans in close enough for me to smell her vanilla body spray.

“You’re dangerous,” she murmurs.

“Only if you’re into that.”

Her laugh is soft. Secret. “Guess I’ll find out.”

Later, after the gym clears out, I stop by my dad’s office.

He’s behind his desk, tapping on a laptop.

“You heading out?” he asks.

I nod, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, gonna show Paige around. Deep Ellum, maybe Bishop Arts.”

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing for a second too long.

“What?” I ask suspiciously.

He shrugs. “You had that look on your face. The one from sophomore year, when you thought she liked one of your Instagram posts.”

“Oh my God.”

He laughs. “Just don’t break my rookie’s heart, alright?”

I pause, the humor fading slightly. “What if she breaks mine?”

He looks at me for a long moment. Serious. Dad-mode activated.

“Then I’ll bench her.”

We both laugh, the tension breaking.

“Go,” he says, waving me off. “But be home by midnight or I’m calling Arike to find you both.”

I salute him dramatically and jog out before I can combust from second-hand embarrassment.

We end up at a taco truck in Deep Ellum, sitting on the curb with greasy napkins and lime wedges everywhere. It’s casual and easy—until Paige turns to me, holding her drink.

“So… your dad kinda let something slip yesterday,” she says, tone light.

My stomach drops. “Slip, like what?”

She bites her straw to hide a smile. “At the rookie press conference. After he introduced us to the staff. He was talking about you, to me.”

I narrow my eyes. “Oh God. What did he say?”

“He said—” she pauses for dramatic effect, “—‘She’s been a fan of yours for a long time. Could practically write a dissertation on your highlight reel.’”

I groan and hide my face in my hands.

“Yup,” Paige says, laughing. “So I knew.”

“You knew—this whole time?!”

She nods, sipping casually. “And I still let you think you were being subtle.”

I groan again.

“But,” she says, nudging my knee with hers, “I thought it was cute.”

I peek out between my fingers. “You don’t think I’m, like… a weirdo?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a little. But in a good way. Honestly? I think it’s kinda hot that you risked public humiliation for my number.”

I blink. “You think I’m hot?”

She smirks. “Don’t push your luck, coach’s kid.”

I laugh, bumping my shoulder into hers.

We sit there for a while longer, just…talking. About Dallas. About her adjusting to the WNBA. About me adjusting to not being an athlete anymore.

It feels easy. Natural. Like it was always supposed to happen.

And when she walks me back to my car, she lingers for a second, eyes flickering to my mouth before she says, “Let’s do this again.”

I grin. “Wasn’t planning on stopping.”

She slides her hand into mine briefly—barely a brush of fingers—and it’s the best first almost-date of my life.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

688 notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year ago

Note

You mentioned in one post that bombshell!reader was furious with the team for not helping Reid with his addiction (as she should be)…. Would you maybe write about her helping him thru withdrawal or thru the cravings that follow? Maybe subtly at first, then just making sure he knew he wasn’t alone? Just some tender moments where Spencer starts to realize she actually cares about him, even if he doesn’t believe her flirting yet.

-🌕

I love every single thing you write, even for fandoms I’m not even in. You’re amazing!!

thank you for requesting my sweetheart!!! I really hope this is what you wanted, love you <3 fem!reader

cw past drug abuse

“Hi, Spencer Reid.”

You perch on the edge of his desk with no further introduction. You’ve changed perfumes, to his immediate recognition, the rich smell of your usual parfum swapped for a less consuming scent. He detects apple blossom, and rose, the smallest hint of jasmine, a contrast to your usual vanilla and peony. The human brain can remember 50,000 scents, and Spencer can remember all of yours. Or, he could.

“You’re not saying hi anymore?”

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi. It’s nice to see you.” You put your hand on his. Spencer isn’t sure you’ve ever touched his hand before you took it at the hospital, he’s never really let you, but he doesn’t move away. A huge winding of tension between his shoulders begins to unspool. “It’s really nice to see you, babe. I’ve missed you tons and tons.”

He looks up tentatively. “You have?”

“I have. I haven’t really been invited, today. I’m just here to see you.”

“Why?” Spencer asks.

You tighten your fingers on his hand. “Missed you. Thought maybe we should, like…” And that’s unusual, for you to use filler words, Spencer doesn’t know what to think of it. “Well, I have something to say to you, and it’s going to either sound reassuring or ridiculous.”

“Okay.”

You give him a withering look. “Don’t make it any easier for me.”

He laughs. The sound alone fosters your smile. “Sorry,” he says softly, “I doubt it’ll be ridiculous.”

“Spencer Reid, we are friends. We are. But we never do anything outside of work, so I was thinking you could come over tonight and we’d make dinner and watch TV and stuff.”

“And stuff.”

“I’m a bit nervous,” you confess, looking down at your lap, then quickly back up into his face, “I’m worried you won’t want to.”

You’re kind to avoid saying what he’s sure you’re thinking; you’re worried he won’t want to spend the night with you, and instead will look down the long barrel of a small needle. Or, he thinks that’s what you’re thinking. He does it to everyone.

“What do you want to make for dinner?” he asks.

“What are you enjoying lately?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m not really eating.”

“Cereal?”

“Yes,” he laughs. “Lots of cereal.”

You tap the wheel of his chair with your heel. You’re dressed as though you aren’t working, wearing a sweet dark dress with a starched collar and baby sleeves, stockings, and a necklace at your neck that glows with a small white crystal. You look amazing. It never makes any sense to Spencer, why you’d taken an interest in him, and why you bother now. He knows he’s hard to care for. He knows he’s making it worse.

You look up and down his face. You must see the purple half circles beneath his eyes, the crack at the corner of his mouth, the cut he can’t stop picking on his cheek. Every time it scabs, he opens it again. One second he’s sitting there and the next he’s got blood under his fingernail.

“Hug?” you ask hopefully.

He goes to stand. You move in too fast and wrap your arms around him, leg slotting between his, leaning over his shoulders with a distinct sense of protectiveness. You squeeze him, a little sigh escaping you that sounds loud so close to his ear.

“How has it been this week?” you ask quietly.

“It’s fine.” He cups your back in his arm carefully. The other wraps tight around the small of it. He soaks you up, scared you’re gonna pull away any second.

“How are you feeling about it? Do you need any extra help?”

He cringes. “No,” he says. “It’s really fine.”

“When you texted me, about the cravings? What are they like today?”

He wishes he could breathe in the smell of your perfume and your skin and tell you they’re all better now. It would make sense; there isn’t much in his life that hasn’t been made better by your attention. He’d struggle to do this without you. You’re his only friend who actually cared enough to say the problem out loud, but you’re just a woman, you can’t work the sort of magic necessary to kick this for him.

“Spencer?” You pull away, nudging his cheek with the back of your finger.

“They’re okay. I’m not gonna do anything.”

“Good, honey. I’m proud of you. I know how hard this is.”

He bites the inside of his lip, surprised at your caring. He shouldn’t be.

“What are you two whispering about?”

You and Spencer have different reactions to Emily’s sudden question. He flinches like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and you, still vaguely pissed with everyone for not telling you Spencer was struggling and not afraid to show it, keep your eyes trained on his face.

“Nothing,” Spencer says.

You turn to her with a small smile. You still like her, Spencer knows. Secretly, he’s pleased you’re angry for him. It’s nice to have someone so obviously on his side. “We’re just deciding what to get for dinner.”

“Oh, nice. Date night?” she teases.

You press your cheek to his forehead. “Date night,” you agree, your hand unmissable where it bunches in his sweater near his heart.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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mashtatosworld · 3 months ago

Text

can't pretend

summary: its strictly professional between you and seunghyun, a heated performance for your fans. until its not.

To the fans, you and Choi Seunghyun were the definition of on-stage chemistry.

The lingering touches, the teasing glances, the kind of flirtation that made cameras zoom in and edits go viral.

The way his fingers traced down your arm during duet stages.

The way his lips brushed your ear whenever you performed collaborations.

The way he watched you like he wanted to devour you whole.

It was intense. It was hot.

It was the kind of thing that made headlines, sent fandoms spiralling, and had entire Twitter threads analysing every glance.

And you played along.

Because, well, why not?

You were both idols. You understood the game.

At least, you thought you did.

Until the lights went down and the music faded.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

He ignored you.

Not coldly. Not rudely. Not dismissively.

He just… never spoke to you.

You weren’t sure what it was.

You had tried in the beginning. The first few times it happened, you figured maybe he was just quiet. Maybe he just took time to warm up to people.

But then you saw him talking to your bandmates.

Laughing, even.

Chatting with ease, his voice deep and smooth, the occasional teasing smirk thrown their way.

Yet the second you approached the conversation, ready to join in on the laughter, he would stop talking.

His gaze would settle on you - silent, unreadable.

Like he was waiting for you to start speaking.

Like he had nothing to say to you.

And over time, it got to you.

You took it personally.

He could touch you on stage.

He could act like he wanted to kiss you in front of thousands.

But he couldn't even say hello?

Fine.

You played along because you had to.

But you knew, deep down, that whatever Seunghyun did on stage -

It wasn’t real.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The night is one of celebration.

Your group and BigBang had just wrapped up the first night of your dual tour, and the high of the performance still buzzes through your veins as you all pack into an exclusive VIP section of a club. The music is bass-heavy and intoxicating, and the bottles flow freely.

You’re laughing with your members, riding the adrenaline of the performance.

But then Seunghyun appears at the table, carrying a tray stacked with shot glasses, distributing them one by one to the entire table.

But when he gets to you -

He skips over you.

Your laughter falters.

You blink down at the shot tray, waiting. Nothing.

He moves to set the empty tray down.

"Oh...” you murmur, just loud enough for your members to hear.

They see it too, eyes flicking between the tall rapper and your pursed lips.

You glance up at Seunghyun, confusion flickering behind your eyes. “What, am I not included?”

Seunghyun blinks.

His lips press together before he mutters, “I didn’t know what you’d want.”

Silence.

Your group mates exchange knowing looks.

You exhale sharply, shrugging. “I mean, the same as everyone else would have been fine.”

Seunghyun nods - stiff and formal, before pivoting and walking straight back toward the bar.

You scoff loudly.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” you say, turning back to your girls. “See? He actually hates me.”

Your members roll their eyes.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“No, seriously,” you insist. “He avoids me. He never speaks to me. The only time he even looks at me is on stage because it’s all for the fans, the performance. He’s just playing it up for the cameras.”

The BigBang boys laugh.

“You’ve got it so wrong!” Daesung says before clamping his mouth shut.

Too late.

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

Jiyong smirks, sipping his drink. “Seunghyun definitely doesn’t hate you.”

You arch a brow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Daesung sighs. “No, no, you don’t get it. He - ” He hesitates, but then the liquor loosens his tongue. “He’s just so worried about disappointing you.”

Your frown at the confession, taken aback.

Youngbae nods, a wince on his face as he polishes off the shot. “I mean, I hate tequila, but our hyung never cares enough to get me something else.”

The rest of BigBang bursts out laughing.

Your group stares.

"You boys are so strange," Your lead vocalist tuts, throwing back her own tequila with a grimace. "Here's to six more months together!"

Everyone else cheers' whilst you watch, eyes glancing to the bar where Seunghyun stood, tapping his card against the countertop, waiting to be served.

"I don't know if I'll survive it," You mutter to the group, looking away when his eyes travelled back towards your table.

"Ignore him," Jiyong assures you, as the others began to talk about the next show. "He'll come around once he gains the courage. The last one ruined his confidence." He scoffed, like he was incensed at the thought.

"The last one?"

"Yeah, what was her name?" He nudged Youngbae who shot daggers at his friend.

"I don't think we should talk about it."

Jiyong rolled his eyes. "Whatever, it was a complicated shit-show. Our hyung just needs to forget her already."

Your best friend nudges you. “You know, you could help with that.”

Your gaze flickers up, and she smirks knowingly.

Your members catch on instantly, all of them grinning, giggling, whispering mischievously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, feigning innocence.

Of course you found Seunghyun attractive, anyone with eyes would.

But getting involved with someone who supposedly was fresh out of a complicated relationship was rarely ever a good idea. Especially when you'd be working so closely with them for the next half a year.

Yet your fingers trace the rim of your empty glass, contemplating the thought.

Seunghyun returns shortly after.

His eyebrows crease slightly as he takes in the scene - everyone already polished off their shots, whispering, laughing.

He steps up to you, moving carefully, sitting beside you with a measured gap between you.

Wordlessly, he sets a single shot of tequila in front of you - a little wedge of lime perched on top.

"Hey! Why didn't we get one of those," Youngbae points with a frown.

Seunghyun shrugs, pulling out his pack of cigarettes as you pluck the lime from your drink.

Only for you.

Your chest tightens, but you let none of it show.

Instead, you take the little glass and tilt your head up at him, eyes gleaming.

“Thanks.”

And then, lowering your voice so only he can hear -

“By the way, I’ll drink whatever you get me.”

The cigarette dangles from his lips as his pupils dilate.

And just like that - it begins.

The shot goes down, but his eyes are only on you.

For the rest of the night, you’re somehow so much closer, thighs touching, shoulders brushing.

He leans in to speak to you, uncaring to include anyone else in the conversations, and if you so much as turn your head away to answer someone else, he'll call your name - a hand on your thigh to regain your attention.

The rest of the group shifts towards the dance floor but you two stay in your secluded bubble. You’re sharing drinks, sharing touches.

And when you finally convince him to join the others in the crowd, he stays pressed to your back, following your lead.

It starts with subtle grazes.

Then longer, lingering touches.

Until finally -

His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him.

The first kiss is slow. Testing.

But the moment you bite his lip, everything changes.

His hands tighten, his breath catches, and he kisses you again.

The groups wild reactions, the heavy music, the heat of the club all fizzles out and you're completely consumed by him.

When you finally pull back, he’s staring.

Eyes dark.

Chest heaving.

You look up at him, fingers curling into fabric of his shirt.

“Don't ignore me anymore,” you murmur.

"I never have," he assures you, grasping your wrist and without another word - he stole you away.

Ready to ruin you.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The following weeks on tour with Seunghyun were perfect.

Hotel rooms shared between rehearsals and performances.

Late-night dinners that turned into mornings tangled together in white sheets.

Inside jokes whispered between stolen kisses backstage.

You were happy. He was happy. Your bands were happy.

It was effortless. Natural. Like you had both fallen into place.

Until her.

Until the reminder of his past.

Seunghyun was in the shower, steam curling from the open bathroom door, singing loudly under the rush of water.

His phone started ringing against the nightstand.

"Can you get that?" His voice was muffled over the water.

You reached for it, expecting one of the guys.

But then you saw the name.

A girl's name.

One you didn’t recognise.

You froze, pulse jumping.

The call went to missed.

Then a message appeared.

Your thumb, curled around the screen tightly slipped - accidentally opening it.

You wished you hadn’t.

[mina] I miss you, and I know you miss me too

[mina] I hate you

[mina] Are you with her now? It’s all over social media

[mina] You know making me jealous doesn't work

[mina] Does she know about us

Message after message.

For weeks.

Your stomach dropped.

This was the girl. The one that Jiyong had mentioned before Youngbae told him off.

You scrolled further, heart pounding, only to find that Seunghyun hadn’t replied in months.

But he hadn’t told her to stop, either.

Hadn’t blocked her.

Hadn’t shut it down.

If anything, he'd left the door open. And you were merely the distraction.

And that? That hurt.

Then -

"Who was it? Princess?"

The water shut off.

Panic seized your chest.

You dropped the phone back onto the nightstand and scrambled from the bed.

By the time Seunghyun stepped out of the bathroom, towelling his hair, you were gone.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You didn’t see him for the rest of the day.

He tried.

The guys tried.

Your bandmates checked in.

But you skipped dinner, locked up in their room, making excuses, claiming exhaustion.

Your phone buzzed with messages you ignored.

[seunghyun] Where are you?

[seunghyun] Are you okay?

[seunghyun] y/n

You weren’t ready.

It wasn’t until later that night - when the rest of the group had gone out for dinner, leaving you alone in your bandmates’ hotel room - that you finally ran out of places to hide.

Someone had given him the room key.

You didn’t hear him enter.

Didn’t notice he wasn't one of your girl friends until he was standing in front of you at the foot of the bed, tall and intimidating.

Tension thickened the air.

"What’s going on?" His voice was careful.

You clenched your jaw, avoiding his gaze, even when he carefully perched himself beside you - like he was afraid you were going to run away.

He sighed. "You weren’t at dinner. You’ve been avoiding me."

Silence.

His brows furrowed. "y/n - "

"I saw the messages."

His face barely changed.

"Messages?"

"Your ex." Your voice was flat.

Realisation flickered in his dark eyes.

"y/n, they mean nothing."

"Then why haven’t you told her to stop?"

His lips parted. No response.

Your throat tightened. "If it was nothing, then you would’ve shut it down."

"It’s not that simple."

"Isn’t it?" You laughed coldly.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"y/n, we were together on and off for two years. It’s not like - "

He hesitated.

Like he knew he shouldn’t finish the sentence.

Like he realised too late.

But you had already heard it.

Already felt the sting.

"Not like what? Not like a couple months?" You scoffed, standing up, shaking your head. "You’re right. A few months is meaningless."

His face hardened. "Don’t. That’s not what I said."

"It’s what you were going to say."

"But that’s not what I meant."

Your chest burned.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “y/n, you’re overreacting.”

Maybe you were. Maybe you were running more on anger than rational thought.

But in that moment, when your thoughts were clouded by hurt, it was the wrong thing to say.

“Overreacting?” You let out a hollow laugh, crossing your arms.

Seunghyun’s jaw clenched. “I never respond to her, you don't understand - ”

You swallowed, voice dropping. “Am I just keeping you distracted until you change your mind?”

His eyes snapped to yours. “Of course not.”

“Really?” Your voice wavered. “She was a secret, wasn’t she? Now I’m just - what? Another mistake you don’t want to acknowledge?”

His eyes darkened. “You think I don’t want to acknowledge you?”

You shrugged. “You barely even talked to me before this tour.”

His head tilted back, jaw working like he was biting back words.

Your lips parted. “Wow. That’s it, isn’t it?” You let out a shaky breath. “You don’t think I was supposed to happen.”

“That’s not - ”

“But I did.”

Silence.

A thick, suffocating silence.

Your chest felt hollow.

This was the first real fight you'd ever had.

And it was feeling more and more like the last.

Seunghyun took a step forward, softer now. “You did happen. And I - ”

But you took a step back.

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep it from trembling. “You should’ve blocked her.”

He exhaled, running a hand down his face. “I should’ve. I'm sorry.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned towards the door.

“I need to think.”

“y/n - ”

You didn’t stop.

Didn’t look back.

Because if you did -

You might falter.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You went straight to reception after that, requesting a room for yourself. One he couldn't reach you from.

Yet you couldn’t sleep.

Lying in your too-cold hotel bed, you stared at the ceiling, the fight replaying in your head over and over. The worst part? You missed him. Even now. Even after everything.

And he wouldn’t stop trying.

The first call came shortly after you closed the door to your new room.

You stared at the ringing hotel phone.

You slowly picked it up, bringing it to your ear. "Hello?"

“y/n.” His voice was soft.

He'd found out what room you were staying in. Great.

You slammed the phone down.

Another call.

Then another.

By the fourth, you yanked the cord from the wall and collapsed back into bed.

But Seunghyun wasn’t done.

The next day, he planned a group outing. Something to break the tension.

But when you got the invite, it wasn’t long before you found out the truth.

No one else had been invited.

Just you.

You didn't show up.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You had been avoiding him for days.

Every conversation dodged. Every touch evaded. Every moment spent in separate spaces.

Until now.

Because on stage, in front of thousands of screaming fans, you had nowhere to run.

You performed as usual.

The same smiles.

The same touches.

Everything between you had been fake before - so faking it again should have been easy.

But then, he kissed you.

Right there.

On stage.

In front of everyone.

The fans lost it.

Cameras flashed. Screams erupted. The internet was going to explode.

You were stunned.

The moment you stepped off stage, you grabbed his wrist, dragging him to a quiet corner.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed.

Seunghyun stared down at you. “A kiss.”

You scoffed. “We’re not even together anymore! Why would you give them the wrong impression?”

His jaw clenched. “Because we’re not ending things over a stupid fight.”

Your stomach twisted.

His voice dropped, softer now. “I lost someone before because I let miscommunication and fighting break us apart. I let her convince me I wasn’t worth a real relationship.” His eyes searched yours. “I’m not letting that happen again.”

You exhaled slowly.

For the first time in days, you actually looked at him.

At his tired eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The way he was still reaching for you, even now.

You swallowed.

This wasn’t how adults solved things.

You had run. He had chased.

But that wasn’t how you two were supposed to work.

You took a deep breath. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Relief flooded his features.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Later, in your new hotel room, you sat on the bed as Seunghyun stood by the window, chain-smoking.

He finally took a breath.

"I never blocked her because I felt responsible... When I finally left, she said things that made me scared for her life. We were toxic. And unstable. But that didn't mean I wanted anything bad to happen to her."

Your lips parted at the confession. You had no idea he had gone through such a traumatic relationship.

“After, once we were done, I felt… guilty,” he continued. “When I first met you, you were like this... light that I desperately wanted. But I thought if I indulged in you, then I was being selfish. Unworthy."

Your heart ached.

He exhaled. “That’s why I never made a move before the tour. But when you did…” He finally met your eyes. “I was so happy. So addicted. I couldn't go back to pretending.”

You smiled softly.

He reached for his phone, showing you his screen.

Her number was blocked.

“I should’ve done it sooner,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”

You swallowed. “I’m sorry, too. For not listening to you. For running.”

He nodded. “Let’s not do that again.”

You laced your fingers through his.

“Never.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

When you woke up, the bed beside you was empty.

You sat up, blinking, only to see Seunghyun packing.

Your bags.

You furrowed your brows. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t even glance up. “As nice as this room is,” he zipped up your suitcase, “it’s not as nice as ours.”

Your heart stuttered.

Ours.

You liked the sound of that.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

based on events i been through myself... anywaysss enjoy xx

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @lariem-blog2 , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999

#bigbang #kpop #mashtatosworld #top #seunghyun x reader #choi seunghyun x reader #choi seunghyun

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hollowed-theory-hall · 7 months ago

Note

your post on harry’s handwriting was an eye-opener for me! ik his writing resembled his mother some and is decent overall, but i’ve never seen pics of it!

idk where the horde of fanfic writers came up with the weird notion that harry has bad/chicken scratch handwriting, which triggers me every. time. they make out his handwriting to be messy, his eating habits sloppy, his speech behaviour bumbling, his appearance unkempt, and that he’s rather messy as a person. which boggles the mind, because he’s used to cleaning up after the dursleys and probably enjoys an orderly space, if not super spic and span??? is it only certain fandoms, cuz they make the other character(s) all elegance personified and well-mannered? like, harry already is a well-mannered boy, otherwise petunia would’ve been tutting, clucking, and dying of shame even more before the nieghbours lmaoo. idk whether to cry or laugh, and sometimes it’s such a turn-off that i choose to rage quit fics.

please, if you have the time, i would love a thorough breakdown/meta on how harry actually comes across as a person!

Okay, I have so much to say about this. And omg, Harry's chicken scratch handwriting is one of my pet peeves in fics (here's the handwriting post, btw). Harry's characterization when done wrong in general, tbh is a huge turn-off for me. Becouse I love Harry, he's my boy.

So, what we're gonna look at is how other characters in the books perceive Harry, how he comes across in universe to people who can't read his mind (like we can, as the readers).

I'll start with a general note about how most characters in the books don't really know Harry. This is mostly because Harry, contrary to fanon interpretations, is a very private person and rarely talks about himself/his feelings/his thoughts out loud. This is a habit I believe was ingrained into him by the Dursleys.

Like, I mentioned in the past Harry doesn't talk as much as other characters. Scenes of the trio usually consist of mostly Ron and Hermione talking, for example. This is not becouse he doesn't have thoughts (he's quite judgmental inside his head, and we know he has a lot to say), but becouse he's used to not voicing a lot of them thanks to the Dursleys.

This essay turned out pretty long, but here we go:

How do others see Harry?

Harry comes off as confident. Harry is a defiant and courageous person, and this often comes off as confidence to other people. It's why Snape thinks Harry is arrogant and why most students are always sure Harry meant to do what he did. They think he has shit together because he comes off like he does:

Harry stayed silent. Snape was trying to provoke him into telling the truth. He wasn’t going to do it. Snape had no proof — yet. “How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter,” Snape said suddenly, his eyes glinting. “He too was exceedingly arrogant. A small amount of talent on the Quidditch field made him think he was a cut above the rest of us too. Strutting around the place with his friends and admirers . . . The resemblance between you is uncanny.” “My dad didn’t strut,” said Harry, before he could stop himself. “And neither do I.”

(PoA, Ch14)

Snape sees Harry as arrogant, when in fact Harry is just defiant and intelligent.

“But you’ve been too busy saving the Wizarding world,” said Ginny, half laughing. “Well ... I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew this would happen in the end. I knew you wouldn’t be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

(HBP, Ch30)

Ginny (and other characters) believe he likes to save the wizarding world. That he is this confident hero and savior. I mean, they believe her lie about the tattoo, which says a lot:

and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it’s true you’ve got a hippogriff tattooed across your chest.” Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them. “What did you tell her?” “I told her it’s a Hungarian Horntail,” said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. “Much more macho.”

(HBP, Ch25)

Harry doesn't see himself as leader material, but it's clear everyone else does:

“I think we ought to elect a leader,” said Hermione. “Harry’s leader,” said Cho at once, looking at Hermione as though she were mad, and Harry’s stomach did yet another back flip. “Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly,” said Hermione, unperturbed. “It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So — everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?” Everybody put up their hands, even Zacharias Smith, though he did it very halfheartedly. “Er — right, thanks,” said Harry, who could feel his face burning.

(OotP, Ch18)

Neville Longbottom, who gave a roar of delight, leapt down from the mantelpiece and yelled. “I knew you’d come! I knew it, Harry!”

(DH, Ch28)

“Look who it is! Didn’t I tell you?” As Harry emerged into the room beyond the passage, there were several screams and yells: “HARRY!” “It’s Potter, it’s POTTER!” “Ron!” “Hermione!” [...] “Are you all right, Harry?” Neville was saying. “Want to sit down? I expect you’re tired, aren’t—?” “No,” said Harry. He looked at Ron and Hermione, trying to tell them without words that Voldemort has just discovered the loss of one of the other Horcruxes. Time was running out fast: If Voldemort chose to visit Hogwarts next, they would miss their chance. “We need to get going,” he said, and their expression told him that they understood. “What are we going to do, then, Harry?” asked Seamus. “What’s the plan?” “Plan?” repeated Harry. He was exercising all his willpower to prevent himself succumbing again to Voldemort’s rage: His scar was still burning. “Well, there’s something we—Ron, Hermione, and I—need to do, and then we’ll get out of here.” Nobody was laughing or whooping anymore. Neville looked confused.

(DH, Ch29)

Everyone expected Harry in DH to have a plan of attack the moment he arrived because that's how he acts. Even in the above scene, he's in terrible pain from his scar, but the others don't see it. What they see is a Harry who looks exhausted but says no to rest because there's work to be done and they expect this of him. They see someone fearless and capable with a plan who could lead them, but this isn't what we see because we're inside his head.

How Harry doesn't speak much and acts overall quite distant, as in, he actively avoids the girls who fancy him:

Then he blinked and looked around: He was surrounded by mesmerized girls. “Hi, Harry!” said a familiar voice from behind him. “Neville!” said Harry in relief, turning to see a round-faced boy struggling toward him

(HBP, Ch7)

And he only has two close friends and barley knows the other students in his year. Most students only know Harry Potter from the stories, rumors, and Dumbledore's end-of-the-year speeches about his heroism. They have no clue who the real Harry is — so they expect the hero they do hear about.

He stands his ground a lot (again, defiance):

Harry turned to McLaggen to tell him that, most unfortunately, Ron had beaten him, only to find McLaggen’s red face inches from his own. He stepped back hastily. “His sister didn’t really try,” said McLaggen menacingly. There was a vein pulsing in his temple like the one Harry had often admired in Uncle Vernon’s. “She gave him an easy save.” “Rubbish,” said Harry coldly. “That was the one he nearly missed.”

(HBP, Ch11)

And more often than not, he does so coldly and calmly. A lot of his more fiery anger is a sign of trauma with Harry, his baseline anger reaction is cold.

All of this adds to him appearing to others as controlled, confident, and like he has everything together and could never have any issues. He comes off as this bigger than life person to most people. Snape isn't the only one who reads Harry's behavior as confident. But it's actually far from the truth.

We, as the readers, see how depressed Harry is. How lowly he thinks of himself and how much he doesn't think of himself as anything special when he very clearly is. But the fact he doesn't say any of it and has mastered the skill of acting cold and like everything is fine when he literally wants to die at the age of 5, no one knows. Even Ron and Hermione didn't truly realize the full extent of Harry's low self-worth until 5th year.

The other students are shocked to see Harry as angry as he is in book 5 because he's often way more controlled and well-mannered than that. They're used to seeing him cold and quiet, not firey. Most of his fire stays inside his head unless he's really angry or emotional in general (or traumatized):

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated. “Harry, no!” Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach. “So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?” Harry asked, his voice shaking. There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night that Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge

(OotP, Ch12)

The shock of the other students, I believe, is because of what he's saying, yes, but it's also because Harry is behaving very unlike him here. He usually doesn't shout at teachers or anyone, really. He rarely speaks in classes actually.

And regarding his confidence, everyone, Ron and Hermione included, was sure Harry is super skilled and that that's how he evaded Voldemort:

“You don’t know what it’s like! You — neither of you — you’ve never had to face him, have you? You think it’s just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you’re in class or something? The whole time you know there’s nothing between you and dying except your own — your own brain or guts or whatever — like you can think straight when you know you’re about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die — they’ve never taught us that in their classes, what it’s like to deal with things like that — and you two sit there acting like I’m a clever little boy to be standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up — you just don’t get it, that could just as easily have been me, it would have been if Voldemort hadn’t needed me —” “We weren’t saying anything like that, mate,” said Ron, looking aghast. “We weren’t having a go at Diggory, we didn’t — you’ve got the wrong end of the —” He looked helplessly at Hermione, whose face was stricken.

(OotP, Ch15)

They didn't for a second think he wasn't confident in his own abilities because Harry acts in a way that comes off as confident and capable. It's why everyone so easily accepts him as a leader under various circumstances. He acts level-headed while he's terrified, so everyone thinks he knows what he's doing except Harry (and the reader). Ron and Hermione had zero doubts Harry's skill was a big part of why he survived book 4, it's only Harry who doesn't think that.

The fact Snape bothered to extract his own memories during his Occlumancy lessons goes to show how he thinks Harry is talented, contrary to his words. He feared Harry would reverse the connection and see into his mind, otherwise he wouldn't have taken these precautions.

Think of Voldemort’s resurrection even. Inside his mind, we know Harry's terrified. We know he has no idea what he's doing.

But imagine being a Death Eater in the crowd and you see this 14-year-old kid stand up after being Crucio-ed by their lord, and he stands up, resists the imperius, and shouts at your lord like he thinks of himself as equal to him — or, perhaps, better than him:

“I asked you whether you want me to do that again,” said Voldemort softly. “Answer me! Imperio!” [...] I WON’T!” And these words burst from Harry’s mouth; they echoed through the graveyard, and the dream state was lifted as suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him — back rushed the aches that the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body — back rushed the realization of where he was, and what he was facing. . . . “You won’t?” said Voldemort quietly, and the Death Eaters were not laughing now.

(GoF, Ch34)

That's pretty badass. Harry comes off like a confidant badass. And he gets more badass and confident as he matures (even if he isn't actually as confident as he appears).

Even in the DoM, Lucius Malfoy, who was in the graveyard, takes Harry seriously:

“Don’t do anything,” he [Harry] muttered. “Not yet —” The woman who had mimicked him let out a raucous scream of laughter. “You hear him? You hear him? Giving instructions to the other children as though he thinks of fighting us!” “Oh, you don’t know Potter as I do, Bellatrix,” said Malfoy softly. “He has a great weakness for heroics; the Dark Lord understands this about him. Now give me the prophecy, Potter.”

(OotP, Ch35)

Bellatrix makes fun of how Harry gives the other kids orders as if they're going to fight, but Lucius knows better, he knows Harry is going to fight, and I think, he's scared of what would happen when he does. Even Bellatrix quickly starts taking Harry more seriously:

“Oh, he knows how to play, little bitty baby Potter,” she said, her mad eyes staring through the slits in her hood. “Very well, then —”

(OotP, Ch35)

And she changes her tone completely after he casts a Crucio at her:

“Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?” she yelled. She had abandoned her baby voice now.

(OotP, Ch36)

His aura is one of competence and confidence even when he's frightened and has no idea what he's doing. Especially when he's frightened and has no idea what he's doing.

And for the most part, he doesn't come off nearly as judgmental as he actually is, because he doesn't say a lot of what he thinks. We only see him start to actually speak his mind and be more sassy out loud around 5th and 6th year. And even then, his highly judgmental physical descriptions stay part of his narration, they aren't spoken:

“That’s the bell,” said Harry listlessly, because Ron and Hermione were bickering too loudly to hear it. They did not stop arguing all the way down to Snape’s dungeon, which gave Harry plenty of time to reflect that between Neville and Ron he would be lucky ever to have two minutes’ conversation with Cho that he could look back on without wanting to leave the country.

(OotP, Ch12)

Ron and Hermione banter while Harry feels done with them, but he doesn't really say anything or complain. He keeps a lot of his thoughts inside his head.

If we look at how Ron, Hermione, and Sirius see Harry, they're the closest to who Harry actually is as these three know Harry best. (They're also more objective than Harry who looks down on himself)

After the book 5 conversation I mentioned above, Ron and Hermione are more aware of Harry's insecurities, but they find them silly. They see Harry as incredibly capable and skilled:

“Did he?” said Harry. Behind him he felt rather than heard Hermione passing his message to the others and he sought to keep talking, to distract the Death Eaters.

(OotP, Ch35)

“What are we going to do with them?” Ron whispered to Harry through the dark; then, even more quietly, “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.” Hermione shuddered and took a step backward. Harry shook his head. “We just need to wipe their memories,” said Harry.

(DH, Ch9)

When danger comes, everyone's instantly following Harry's lead. Harry's the planner when the situation is dangerous, he calls the shots, not Hermione. Hermione and Ron look to Harry for a plan when things get tough, and Harry always figures something out. Now, we see Harry thinking he has no idea what to do:

He could not think what to do but to keep talking. Neville’s arm was pressed against his, and he could feel him shaking. He could feel one of the other’s quickened breath on the back of his head. He was hoping they were all thinking hard about ways to get out of this, because his mind was blank.

(OotP, Ch35)

But Ron and Hermione don't. No one does. They just see Harry coming up with a plan to save them. Every time. They don't see him wracking his brain for a way to keep everyone alive.

Hermione never considers Harry stupid, not even in first year:

“I’m not as good as you,” said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him. “Me!” said Hermione. “Books! And cleverness! There are more important things — friendship and bravery and — oh Harry — be careful!”

(PS, Ch16)

And Ron clearly doesn't expect stupid behavior from Harry. He's surprised and shocked when Harry does something he considers stupid:

“What the hell,” panted Ron, holding up the Horcrux, which swung backward and forward on its shortened chain in some parody of hypnosis, “didn’t you take this thing off before you dived?”

(DH, 19)

Both Ron and Hermione trust Harry's opinion and they trust him to know what to do when shit hits the fan. When things are dangerous, both Ron and Hermione (and everyone else) turn to Harry to know what to do becouse that's the aura he has:

“I’d tell him we’re all with him in spirit,” said Lupin, then hesitated slightly. “And I’d tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right.” Harry looked at Hermione, whose eyes were full of tears. “Nearly always right,” she repeated.

(DH, Ch22)

Hermione agrees with Lupin's assessment here. Dumbledore did too, he's the one who told Kingsley and Remus to trust Harry's instincts. Harry doesn't give the impression he's messy and bumbling, quite the opposite. Yes, Harry and Hermione have their doubts, they don't agree with Harry on everything, especially when he has no evidence for his claim except his intuition. But, it's telling Harry can make claims based on gut feeling and Ron and Hermione ask him why he thinks that instead of just instantly rejecting the claims.

Like I mentioned above, he looks like he has his shit together even when he really doesn't. He's an expert in keeping a mask on and bottling up his feelings.

Sirius, also sees Harry as mature and capable for his age. It's why he's so insistent on telling him things while Molly wants to cuddle Harry:

“I don’t intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly,” said Sirius. “But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back” (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name), “he has more right than most to —” “He’s not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!” said Mrs. Weasley. “He’s only fifteen and —” “— and he’s dealt with as much as most in the Order,” said Sirius, “and more than some —” “No one’s denying what he’s done!” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. “But he’s still—” “He’s not a child!” said Sirius impatiently.

(OotP, Ch5)

Between them, Sirius sees Harry more accurately. Harry is incredibly mature and capable and wants to be in the know. He'd be better off in the know. Sirius understands Harry's curiosity which Molly seems unaware of. Lupin also remarks on how Harry is going to find out things anyway, he's aware of how curious and determined Harry is. Sirius considers Harry capable even during PoA and GoF:

I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself and while you’re around Dumbledore and Moody I don’t think anyone will be able to hurt you.

(GoF, Ch18)

Molly, on the other hand, never really sees Harry's capabilities. Molly only ever sees a polite, intelligent kid. In the early years at the Weasley, Harry barely talks to Molly and Arthur because he doesn't really know how to talk to them. So they talk to him, the other Weasleys talk around him, and he's polite in turn:

“I don’t blame you, dear,” she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. “Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday. But really” (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate), “flying an illegal car halfway across the country — anyone could have seen you —”

(CoS, Ch3)

Harry acts around most adults like this, especially when younger. It's clear he acted this way around his teachers too:

“You see what you expect to see, Severus,” said Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today. “Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child.”

(DH, Ch33)

Snape got it a bit different. Because Harry is defiant and sassy — it's how he responds to the Dursleys, and this is how he responds to threats he can't do anything about in general. Sass. It's why we see Harry do this with Umbridge, Snape, and Scrimgeour:

Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?” inquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice. “Hmm, let’s think . . .” said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice, “maybe Lord Voldemort?”

(OotP, Ch12)

“Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?” “Yes,” said Harry stiffly. “Yes, sir.” “There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ Professor.”

(HBP, Ch9)

“...You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It’s time you learned some respect!” “It’s time you earned it.” said Harry.

(DH, Ch7)

Harry appears confidant and arrogant not only to Snape but to Scrimgeour too (I think other students at Hogwarts see Harry as arrogant too. His demeanor can come off as arrogant if you don't know what he's thinking. It's why they could believe the Daily Prophet, it fit what they got to see). It's because he is rude and sassy when speaking his mind. It's because he acts more confident when he's terrified. It's because he's cold, distant, and uncaring towards most people and actively avoids talking to most.

And even that's mostly when he's older. In 4th year, he responds to Snape by glaring at him silently and wishing he could cast a Crucio at him:

Harry sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, picturing horrific things happening to him. . . . If only he knew how to do the Cruciatus Curse . . . he’d have Snape flat on his back like that spider, jerking and twitching. . . .

(GoF, Ch18)

Harry is overall really quiet, which does create the impression of him being put together. More than he thinks of himself, for sure. It also adds to why many students feel as comfortable talking about him as they do because he feels distant to them. His quiet makes him feel mysterious, unknown, and far away. Like a symbol rather than a person.

Something I want to note, specifically with Umbridge, is this scene:

Harry looked around at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile. “Yes?” “Nothing,” said Harry quietly. He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill upon it once more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again the words had been cut into his skin, once again they healed over seconds later.

(OotP, Ch13)

Part of why Harry comes off as such a put-together badass is that he doesn't let others see his pain. He doesn't show he's in pain to others, especially when it's people he doesn't like. He acts though, constantly.

He hates crying in front of others becouse Harry does everything he can to not appear weak:

Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see.

(PoA, Ch12)

And it works, people see him as confident, and capable, and heroic. Most people don't see the struggle because Harry keeps bottling it in.

Even with Hermione, he tries not to let her see how upset he actually is. We know in his head, that he is devastated by his wand breaking, that he's mourning it like it was a dead loved one, but this is what he's willing to show Hermione:

“It was an accident,” said Harry mechanically. He felt empty, stunned. “We’ll—we’ll find a way to repair it.” [...] “Well,” he said, in a falsely matter-of-fact voice, “well, I’ll just borrow yours for now, then. While I keep watch.”

(DH, Ch17)

All this means, we, as the readers , see Harry's pain, his struggles, his vulnerability — but the other characters almost never do.

The only character who is consistently aware of Harry's struggles is Sirius who Harry confides his weaknesses to more than any other character:

“Never mind me, how are you?” said Sirius seriously. “I’m —” For a second, Harry tried to say “fine” — but he couldn’t do it. Before he could stop himself, he was talking more than he’d talked in days

(GoF, Ch19)

Harry is so used to saying his fine and bearing his burdens in silence. It's what he does. It's what he did for years. Most characters think Harry is unshakable because that's how he acts.

Even when Harry tries to lie so Sirius won't worry, Sirius sees through it:

Nice try, Harry. I’m back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that’s going on at Hogwarts.

(GoF, Ch15)

As for his room and appearance, he is a little messy actually when he has the chance to be in seventh year:

Harry had spent the morning completely emptying his school trunk for the first time since he had packed it six years ago. At the start of the intervening school years, he had merely skimmed off the topmost three quarters of the contents and replaced or updated them, leaving a layer of general debris at the bottom—old quills, desiccated beetle eyes, single socks that no longer fit.

(DH, Ch2)

As in, his trunk is a bit of a mess. But this makes sense, I think. He allows himself to be messy when he doesn't have the Dursleys over his head. It's like a sort of freedom he didn't have before, so he indulges in it. I think the mess in his trunk is also a result of him actually living from it for 6 years, as he couldn't really leave everything at home with the Dursleys, could he? Still, his room and belongings are nowhere near as messy as Ron's.

As for his appearance, the only thing mentioned to be messy is his hair:

His jet-black hair, however, was just as it always had been — stubbornly untidy, whatever he did to it

(PoA, Ch1)

But from other characters (including Hermione) thinking Harry's hot:

“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It’s not Quidditch that’s popular, it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting, and frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.”

(HBP, Ch11)

We can conclude Harry's messy hair comes off as cool and attractive and not like a bird's nest.

We also see from Hermione and others that Harry looks scary. He is 5'11 by book 6 with an intimidating glare and that he looks like he can throw a punch, (and can definitely throw a punch when he wants to). So he has a physical intimidation factor when older:

“Well, it’s like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves,” said Hermione impatiently, “and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn’t usually show them to us before N.E.W.T. level, but, well, they are very interesting, aren’t they? The way some people can see them and some can’t! I wish I could.” “Do you?” Harry asked her quietly. She looked horrorstruck. “Oh Harry — I’m sorry — no, of course I don’t — that was a really stupid thing to say —”

(OotP, Ch21)

Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting at Malfoy. He had completely forgotten the fact that all the teachers were watching: All he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible. With no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy’s stomach — “Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!” He could hear girls’ voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing, and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care, not until somebody in the vicinity yelled “IMPEDIMENTA!” and only when he was knocked over backward by the force of the spell did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach. . . .

(OotP, Ch19)

To summarise

Harry bottles up a lot of his emotions and tends to be quiet, this creates the often wrong impression he is confident and has his shit together.

He doesn't show pain and weakness to others and doesn't cry or show he's upset to basically anyone (except Sirius). This means basically no one sees his struggles or how depressed and traumatized Harry actually is. It even surprises Ron and Hermione in book 5.

He is defiant and rude to people he doesn't like, especially when scared, the result is that he appears like a very capable and confident badass especially when under pressure.

He can be intimidating with his glare alone and once he's older he is a physical presence. He's not someone who can disappear in a crowd post-book 5.

His rudeness oftentimes stays in his head except when someone really annoys him. This makes him appear defiant, but overall polite because he keeps most of his mean comments to himself.

When younger, he is very polite and quiet, especially toward adults. When he's older, he gets a little sassier (as in, he says some of his internal monologue out loud). But he is a polite, well-mannered kid for the most part.

The character who has a messy room, is a bit of a slob, has chicken scratch handwriting, and is lazy with schoolwork, is Ronald Weasley, who I love dearly, but these descriptions have nothing to do with Harry and everything to do with Ron.

The only unkempt thing about Harry's appearance is likely his Potter hair, which is more messy hot than messy bad (if all the girls' reactions are anything to go by).

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #hollowedtheory #harry potter meta #asks #anonymous #harry james potter #my best boy hjp

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un-unavoidableanxiousball · 4 months ago

Text

Excuse me, Mr. Loaf Man?

Masterlist²

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Squid Game

Pairing: platonic: Salesman x Reader,

Characters: Salesman, Reader, background homeless people, parents - mom and dad,

Tags: gn!child!Reader, compassionate!Salesman, still unhinged!Salesman, abusive parents, angst, fluff, comfort, 2nd person POV, Reader's POV, alternating POV, 3rd person POV, Salesman's POV, Reader is a single child, obsessed!Salesman,

Warnings: spousal abuse(implied), child abuse, starvation, force feeding, yelling, child negligence, vomiting (mention), Reader is locked in a closet as punishment, cuss word(s) (I think)

Summary: 10 year old Reader prefers spending their time in a park. They can keep themself entertained. Sometimes they see a man walking around, talking with homeless people. After a couple of times, they decide to approach him.

Word count: 6075

Acronyms: (y/n) - your name, (f/n) - father's name, (m/n) - mother's name

A/N: Pretty sure there's dubious pacing; mind any possible grammatical errors or accidental shift of Reader's gender.. Tell me if I missed a tag; I'm weird and I can't write

A/N: I was the one that made the childish drawing above on my tablet. Just for this fanfic. I just edited it a little to look like it's a child showing it (hands are from google). I tried to make reader neutral looking but I couldn't manage. But it's the thought that counts. Don't copy without tagging me.

Reader's POV

You make your way to the nearby park, again. You sort of can't wait, you hope that the kind man will be there today as well. For days you've been bracing yourself how to approach him.

On days when your mom can't immediately pick you up from school, — tuesdays, thursdays and fridays — you learned to keep yourself busy. Your favorite place is at the park. Nobody bothers you there. And one day you saw a man in a suit with bags in each hand. He went up to every homeless man and woman handing out something. You couldn't see it from so far away. No one looks at homeless people. But he does, so he must be kind.

If he's willing to talk to them then maybe he'll talk to you too? No one really likes you either. You don't have any friends. And dad certainly thinks of you as too revolting to look at.

After that day you went to the park every time mom runs late. Keeping an eye out for him. He wasn't always there. But you felt better after getting a glance of him. Also you kept shortening the distance from which you were watching him.

But now you are ready. You didn't have to wait long after arriving. You basically rush up to him and before you can chicken out you speak. "Excuse me, sir…?"

He turns to look at you, his expression a little irritated and curious at being interrupted. A raised eyebrow and a short "Yes?" is enough to make you continue.

"What do you have in those bags, sir?" you ask tilting your head.

He considers you for a moment then he opens one bag, curtly replying "Bread."

You feel your eyes widening at the amount of packaged loaves. Is that what he always offers others? You look up at him eagerly, "Can I have one, please?"

To your astonishment he agrees and lets you take it. "Gamsahabnida, sir." [Thank you, sir] With that you rush back to your spot on the bench.

You happily eat while you see him going through every person. After the last man, he then walks and stops in the centre of the pavement. He does something you didn't see before nor expect. He empties both bags to the ground, bread lands on the ground. And when a man crouching, reaches for one. He stomps on it.

"I gave you a chance, and you made your choice." His voice is loud enough for you to clearly hear what he's saying. "I'm not the one who threw these away." He points to the ground, "It's you, ladies and gentlemen."

And then he starts jumping and crushing the bread. You keep nibbling on your loaf but it does nothing to calm your beating heart at the familiar sight. You know very well it's a reasonable punishment for not eating. You don't understand how they could keep denying the bread to the point that today the kind man had enough of them. You're happy you managed to get one loaf from him.

You keep your gaze down on the ground in front of you. There's still plenty of time until mom can finally drive you home.

So you decide to do your homework. You were already half-way done when lesson ended. You were putting the last touches when a shadow falls on you and your notebook. You glance up to see loaf man staring intensely at you. Does he want to sit here?

Your cheeks flush with shame, you scramble up to pack everything. "S-sorry, sir."

He grabs your wrist to stop you from packing up further. "It's fine. I don't mind." He gives you a small smile. "If I may ask… Why are you here? Where are your parents?"

You hug your exercise book to soothe yourself. "At work. Mom doesn't pick me up until later." A bit of silence passes that you break quietly. "Thank you again for the bread. It was delicious."

In softened voice and a bit slowly the man speaks, "Did I frighten you little one? Are you scared of me?"

You're pinching and rubbing the book cover in a soothing motion. You look at the ground which is when you notice he still has the paper bags but this time containing stomped on bread.

"Not really? I was a little startled when you dumped and crushed the bread… But I get it. My parents don't like it when I refuse to eat either. But usually I have to eat it when dad tells me so; even if I don't like the taste."

"Is that so?" It's told with an edge you can't pick up.

You nod your head, your grip on the book loosens.

"How old are you?"

"…ten…" Your answer is mumbled enough that the man has to lean in closer to hear it.

"You're ten?" He whispered in disbelief. He looks around as if to see if someone finds this unbelievable as well. "…and how long will it be until your mother picks you up?" His eyes jump across your face in search of something.

"It's usually 4:48 PM. Maybe minutes earlier or later. I don't mind it much. I'm a big kid."

His eyes darkened for a moment only to be swiftly replaced by softness and calmness. He sends you a charming smile. "Then you wouldn't mind my company then?"

You shake your head and that's that.

Since Mr. Loaf Man doesn't mind, you unpack again to finish the rest of your homework. He doesn't speak to you again. Just sits there, quietly observing you. After you finish every homework you had, you decide to play around. A little hide and seek. Mr. Loaf Man even played along with you! When time neared 4:30 you already have everything in your backpack and are ready to head back to your school gate. That was the moment when he offered to walk you there. He's so kind! Of course you readily agreed.

After arriving to your school, he makes sure you'll be okay alone and walks away. You only wait six minutes after that for your mom to come. You step into the car and buckle your seatbelt.

"Did you have fun at school sweetie?"

"Yes, mom. Just like always. I even got to solve an equation and write it on the board!" You say with excitement.

"That's amazing, sweetie."

...

"Mom…?" she hums, "…what's for dinner today?"

"Maybe… Baechu Guk, hmm?" You actually like it so maybe it won't be that bad today. You will lick the plate clean! And dad will be happy. It's not your favorite but at least it's not sannakji. You felt really sick after eating that. You hate it but dad makes sure you eat it everytime it's served. You can cry and scream but dad knows how to force you to swallow it. But more often than not, you throw up afterwards. And then you don't get to eat for couple days. As a way to make up for you wasting food.

Mom parks the car before your house. You quickly get out to help her carry the grocery bag. She opens the door and you make your way to the kitchen. Not before quickly taking off your shoes. In fast moves you set everything on the table and then place things in the correct cupboards (those that you can reach).

Your mom walks in, having already hung her coat. "That's okay, (y/n). I have it from here. You go to your room and do your homework, okay? Food will be ready in half an hour." She rubs your head.

"Okay mom." You go to the front door to leave your jacket on the hanger. You hurry to your room.

You only have 30 minutes to think of a gift for Mr. Loaf Man. You need to show your gratitude. It's proper.

But you don't know what he likes… A bracelet is out, he doesn't seem like the type. Besides it's more a gift for girls. A key chain? You don't know his favorite colors though, so it's out too.

A picture maybe? Nothing goes wrong there. Maybe it's a little basic… But you might be able to give him something better later on.

But you want it to look, if not good, decent enough. It has to show your gratefulness. So minutes pass as you test out different colors and positions and something always didn't sit quite right. It turns out ugly. You ended up re-doing it every time. You couldn't decide what else to draw when mom calls for dinner.

Dad already sat in his chair, his face forever frozen on expressing frustration. You join the table as mom brings food.

First portion goes to dad then mom and then to you. You wait until dad starts eating.

"(y/n), tell your dad what you managed to do today."

You nod your head, enthusiastic to share your accomplishment. Dad might be happy too. "I got to do an exercise in front of the whole class! I solved every equation correctly."

He scoffs, "What is there to be proud of? You probably forgot to do your homework."

You lower your head and focus on eating, every ounce of excitement leaving your body.

"(f/n)!"

"What?! You know I'm telling the truth! They're incompetent! Not even the top of their class." He grunts and goes back to eating.

"They're capable enough not to need help with homework. (y/n), did you manage to finish everything your teacher gave you?"

Forgetting to swallow, you answer that yes, you did. Your mother continues, "See? They did that in half an hour."

Dad growls and bangs his hand on the table. "Are you blind, (m/n)?! Did you not see what I did? How many times have I repeated myself- No talking with your mouth full! Clearly (y/n) is a useless brat! Nothing stays in that head."

You curl in on yourself further. Wishing to become invisible in this moment. But you also hurry with Baechu Guk to avoid angering him further. And because you're going to need it. As you know you can't avoid your punishment for forgetting a rule. Thankfully this time your dad decides to punish you after dinner.

Mom cleans the table while dad grips your small arm and leads you to the punishment closet. He shoves you inside. "You should know the deal. But since you're a forgetful dumbass, I'll repeat it for you." He leans closer to your face, disgust clear on his face. "You stay here as long as the number of times you broke the rules. For every disobedience is 10 more minutes. Today marks 110 minutes, congratulations. Now, quiet!" He hissed the last part. With that he slams the closet shut. You hear him lock the closet door with a key.

You're shaking all over. Alone in the darkness, dreading how long 110 minutes will feel like. You feel your tears run down your cheeks. You hope he won't forget to get you out. You won't have time to do Mr. Loaf Man that drawing otherwise… You hope that this friday he'll be there and won't mind your company again.

earlier, Salesman's POV

He's heading toward the park where most of the homeless reside. It's the latest whim of the frontman. Social experiments. As if humanity has any hope for redemption. Especially the trash. He's confident it's the fault of player 456 for this idiocy.

Arrogance seems to be a heritable trait for winners. They think of themselves as special. Player 456 with his will to put a stop to the games and player 132… well, being chosen as the next frontman and successor by the host surely went to his head.

He arrives to the park when he hears someone run in his direction. He was ready to pay them no mind. He's far more irritateable today. He keeps walking until he hears a child's voice. "Excuse me, sir…?"

Curious what a child might want from him, he turns his head to look at them. He lets out a clipped "Yes?". Though he had no intention for it to come out unkind. Apparently today the hold on his mask is far looser than he thought.

Astonishingly the child isn't deferred by his sharpness. With a tilt to their head they ask the last question he expected. Which it shouldn't have been, considering the circumstances.

"What do you have in those bags?"

He considers for a moment what to do. Ignore, not ignore, lie or not. But he sees no harm in answering truthfully. He shifts his hold to open one of the bags so the child can see inside. He says "Bread." with more stable tone, but still has some curtness to it.

He sees their eyes widen with wonder. Their mouth goes slack in shock. They look back up at him in seconds asking if they can have one.

He agrees. One package less won't interfere with overall choice of the less fortunate. There's always more than enough bread left over. Not many choose food over a lottery ticket.

They rush off after saying "Gamsahabnida, sir!". And he goes about his routine. He approaches men, among which only one chose to take the packaged bread and immediately inhaled it. The few women there are a different matter. Within the four only one chose lottery. It always seems like females are smarter in that regard. It's never enough though.

But today, there was something about their choices that kept adding fuel to his already bad mood. He stops in the front, puts down his suitcase and the bags. Then he takes one bag after the other and spills their contents to the ground. Homeless crowd moves with confused apprehension. He pays them no mind.

He feels a twitch of apathy at the quantity. This pile of bread shows exactly why natural selection is so important. Here's proof that humanity's advancement in medicine not only helped raise quality of life, but also allowed inferior genes to survive. Some characteristics should've died out a long time ago.

"Why would you throw away perfectly good food like that?" Unbelievable. The audacity of the question. Doesn't the damn hypocrite hear himself? He declined it, preferred a hopeless chance at winning lottery over nutrition.

The revolting scum reaches for the bread. The entitlement astounds him and he won't let it stand. He crushes the bread with his shoe. But he gains no satisfaction witnessing the uncomprehending expression. "I gave you a chance, and you made your choice."

It doesn't register in their microscopic brains. His voice raises: "I'm not the one who threw these away." he point at the ground to emphasize, "It's you, ladies and gentlemen."

But he observes no shift in their expressions or postures. No change. No remorse. Nothing.

Their lack of critical thinking and absolute absence of self-awareness among them drive him into a frenzy.

He stomps and jumps with fervor, squashing as many bread buns as he can. He unleashes on these packages his tightly contained frustration and anger toward this crowd, his boss and that stupid player 456.

His energy runs out fairly quickly but he feels slightly better for it.

He presses his hands against his face, applying pressure to further ground him to the present. Tries to fix his hair then straighten his spine and tucks in the tie.

He look around to see which packages survived the ordeal. He picks up each one that did and puts them back into the bag. The ungrateful vermin don't deserve good things that's clear.

He's back hiding away behind his calm and unbothered mask. He makes a move to turn around and leave when he sees them. The same child that inquired after the bread.

They're still here? Why? If they saw his actions, why do they remain around? And… are they doing homework?!

He finds himself puzzled and his feet lead him to them automatically. He can't avert his eyes from the sight. Apparently unbothered by the scene he caused just now. He stands there casting a shadow over their book.

You startle and seem in a hurry to make space for him to sit. Except… It looks like you want to get away entirely. He doesn't want that. He takes hold of your wrist to stop you.

"It's fine, I don't mind." He aims for a reassuring smile and doesn't know if he succeeds. "If I may ask… Why are you here? Where are your parents?" Why are you alone when anything tragic can happen to you at anytime?

He notes you're a little nervous or shy but aren't hostile toward him. "At work… Mom doesn't pick me up until later." How much later? He's a psychopathic man who keeps up a facade on a daily basis just to pass as normal; and even he knows it's negligent to leave someone so small and innocent without protection. Wasn't there a saying or a quote telling children should be cherished? Is society at such a low point it's acceptable nowadays? A spark of anger lights up within him, again. Your voice brings him back from his thoughts.

"Thank you again for the bread. It was delicious." Such a polite child. He notes that you still hang on that book for dear life.

He slows his words intentionally, softens his tone to not unnerve you further. "Did I frighten you, little one? Are you scared of me?"

He observes your body, hands are shaking a little, fingers twitching at the book cover.

"… My parents don't like it when I refuse to eat either. But usually I have to eat it when dad tells me so. Even if I don't like the taste."

You answer quietly, but oh. Hearing that you not only understand his actions but your dad forces you to eat something you don't enjoy. That's a brand of cruelty that he finds distasteful. Forcing anybody to anything they're unwilling to is atrocious. At least, he manipulates and twists other's perceptions until people agree by themselves. He has enough finesse to do it the correct way after all.

"Is that so?" You only nod your head. Moreover you're not as tense anymore. Maybe that's what spurs him on to ask the next question, even if it has the ability to anger him further. "How old are you?" He leans in quickly enough to hear you say ten.

T e n .

"You're ten?" He voices his disbelief so quietly he doesn't know if he made any noise. He looks to his right then left almost looking for any possible threat because this child is ten years old and alone, left to their own devices. He's breathless for a moment, because at this discovery he feels unreasonably protective. "…and how long will it be until your mother picks you up?" His eyes take every detail of your face, hoping that it won't be long. But his hopes are crushed like the bread beforehand.

"It's usually 4:48PM…" What kind of parent leaves a child alone for 3 hours?! Truly horrible one, apparently.

"…I'm a big kid." Ohh… The instinct to kill anyone who would even dare to ruin that innocence overwhelms him for a second. He harshly tugs on his control to smile pleasantly at you, "Then you wouldn't mind my company then?"

He receives a shake of your head as an answer. It's so frustratingly easy to have your trust. How come nobody took advantage of that already, he does not know. But he will try his best to keep an eye out for you from now on.

Which he'd be doing a poor job since, at some point, you seemed to have disappeared into thin air from one second to the next. He grew alarmed instantly when he didn't see you next to him. Looking around for you or possible suspects wondering how he didn't notice anyone move. That was until he heard a giggle. He whips around to see a child's shadow behind the tree. He felt instant relief, his heart slowing it's alarming rate.

Apparently someone thought it'd be a good idea to play hide and seek without telling him. And since you're not in danger…

Well… Two can play that game.

"Little one? Where have you gone to?" Another muffled giggle can be heard. "I didn't get to become friends with you properly…" He overexaggerates his sadness. "How will I play with you when I don't even know your name little flower?" He stomps his foot dramatically, childishly, "And now you're gone and we won't meet anymore. Because I don't know how to find you…"

Now those adorable giggles turn into full blown laughter. You step away from the tree and easily run to him to hug his legs.

"You're so silly! We're already friends!" He hugs back to the best of his abilities. And says with, not even faked, surprise: "Really?! I didn't know that!"

"Besides we can meet here in the park, I come here after school, most of the time."

He feels a gentle smile on his face. Being in your presence for such a short time already make him feel lighter and his world a little brighter. Such an easy happiness. "That's good."

"Yeah, also my names is (y/n)! Now you know me." You clap your hands, excited, and go to sit on the bench again.

(y/n), what a beautiful name. I'll protect you, (y/n). No harm will come to you.

He looks at his wristwatch. 4:04. Soon you're getting home. He will walk you there.

When he asks if he can, you agree, again. Turns out he could only walk you to the school gates. Your mother picking you up with a car.

He chose to depart from you, but he stayed to observe from afar. He was displeased since it looked like the mother is malnourished as well as tired. Most of the fault lies solely on your father then. She at least looks a little overworked. It's clear your parents are unfit for the responsibility of caring for a child.

Soon (y/n) will rely on him for everything. He can't wait to meet again.

Back to Reader's POV

When you were finally let out of the closet you were tired. Emotionally drained. You couldn't draw for Mr. Loaf Man now, since you didn't have any energy. You went to the bathroom almost immediately.

Now you are laying on your bed, under the comfort of your blanket and beloved plushie. You pray you'll have time to draw something tomorrow at school. You already put your crayons in your backpack. You just need time. It doesn't even matter to you how it'll turn out. But you can't, won't go empty handed.

You fall into dreamless slumber.

And so you wake up next morning and go through the motions until you're at school. Then at breaks you sit somewhere on the sidelines, using the time to draw the most standard and boring drawing ever. First you did him then yourself. Then you drew a sun in the corner. You wrote who's who just in case. On the next break you drew the green grass and lastly the blue sky.

You're happy it's friday today. That means Mr. Loaf Man and the weekend.

When your lessons end you're in a hurry and have a slight spring in your step. You're basically vibrating with anticipation. You'll head straight to the same bench as yesterday.

But when you arrive… You gasp. He's already there waiting for you. You feel a wide grin spread on your face in happiness. When he notices you, his expression lifts as well.

"Hello (y/n). We're giddy today aren't we?"

"Yes!" You nod your head quickly a couple of times, it made you dizzy. "I have something for you, Mr. Loaf Man!" His eyes widen at that. Whether it's your nickname for him or your gift you don't know. You take off your backpack and immediately open it to reach the drawing.

"I'm sorry it's not good and not pretty enough but I was in a hurry." You hand it to him. He holds it gently as if afraid of crumbling it. He looks at it for a long time in complete silence. So much so that slowly your proud smile gets smaller and smaller. "You don't like it…?" Your voice wavers slightly under your sadness. Your blurry eyes make their way from his face to focusing on his tie.

"What-?" His voice croaks as if he didn't speak for days. "I love it."

You look up at that. "Really?" His face is unguarded. His eys are shiny, one tear already ran down his left cheek. His eyebrows are twitching as if they're unsure which way to go.

"Of course, it's just… it's been… s-such a long while since I got a gift. And one so, so lovely and meaningful as well." He open his arms offering a hug. You take him up on it. His grip on you is unyielding. "Come on, don't cry. There's no need." You hoop your arms around his neck and press your face to his shoulder. He picks you up into his lap. "I appreciate your efforts behind this, alright?" is gently whispered to your ear. You choose this moment to pat his hair, in — what you hope for — is a soothing gesture. You don't know if you succeeded since he started trembling.

He doesn't let you go for a long while. But you don't either.

When both of you are back to decently presentable — and not falling apart — you break away from each other.

"I have something for you too. Nothing as thoughtful though…" He takes the grocery bag that was next to him and reaches inside. He passes to you another packaged bread. You take it and immediately dig in. You thank him for it. "Are you going to offer food to them again? Or did you already did that today?"

He looks at you then to the homeless then back to you. "No and no. I think I'll give them a week to think over their actions, hmm?" He tilts his head in askance.

But you nod your head, "Makes sense. I do that at home too. Maybe it'll work for them too."

His eyes narrow, "What do you mean?"

"When I refuse to eat, I have to. And when i waste food, usually it's after I throw up. I don't get to eat to make up for all the wasted food." You smile up at him, "That's why I like you, sir. You're very kind and fun but you're very fair. But…" You take a thoughtful expression, "I don't get it… why refuse food? They need it after all and unlike me, it's not easily available to them. It'd be really stupid if they did the same in a week."

You focus back on the man's face only to be met with an impressed and proud expression. You feel your cheeks warm up at that look.

"You're very smart and observant, little one;" his soft voice prods at your shyness, "not everyone sees it the same way you do."

When your eyes don't lift from the ground, he speaks up again. "Do you wish to stay here or go somewhere else?"

You look up at him in question.

"What? I have some ideas…"

Salesman's POV

He finds his yesterday's behavior a little ridiculous. Moreover over a child he barely knows anything about. He couldn't put his obssessive focus towards learning more. With only their name and the fact (y/n) has horrendous parents.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't pay any attention to their mother's car registration plate. At least then he'd have a starting point. At this point in time however he can look into the school. The type of students there and the staff.

It did nothing to calm his mind.

He spent his time in bed thinking of many ways to bring them closer to him. How he should go with disposing their parents when he finally learns where you live.

The following morning he wakes from restless sleep and stayed that way throughout his day. Five people he approached to recruit and each time his hand was twitching to use the pent up energy on slapping the trash.

Arriving to the park at similar time as the day before wasn't a problem. Although he automatically sits down on the same bench. Call him overeager and impatient all you want. He has enough patience to wait for you.

And waiting for you he was. He didn't even learn if you have time to come here today.

But he shouldn't have worried, he sees your small form approaching him with clear joy. The moment he notices you, he feels his mood improve. He's not even sure if he manages to contain his own happiness over your eagerness.

"Hello (y/n). We're giddy today aren't we?"

"Yes! I have something for you, Mr. Loaf Man!" His eyes widen at that. Loaf man? However did you come up with that? And did he hear correctly..? You brought something for him?

Quickly your backpack's on the ground and a paper's in your hands. He looks at the paper and his breathing stops. A drawing.

You made a drawing for him, of him and you. "I'm sorry it's not good and pretty enough but I was in a hurry." He can't tear his eyes away from it. He gingerly accepts it from you. Your hands did this. For him. You spent enough of your time thinking about him, in good light nonetheless, that you had to put your thoughts and feelings on paper. It's the most precious thing he came across in a long time.

"You don't like it…?" He barely catches your voice. But when he registers the insecurity in it. He finally looks at you, however it does little, because he doesn't know when he started tearing up.

"What-?" His voice croaks from the sheer pressure of emotions. But he'll sooner kill himself than make you feel inadequate, unappreciated, unloved. "I love it." You have to know that.

"Really?" Fragile hope in your voice is enough to render his tailored armor useless. How does he explain?

"Of course, it's just…" he breathes deeply, "it's been… s-such a long while since I got a gift." Does he even remember the last time? "And one so, so lovely and meaningful as well." He needs to hold you. In this moment he craves to bring you as close as he can to his normally unfeeling heart. He open his arms in invitation.

You take him up on it too.

He grips you strongly. You can't leave him. Not when you demolished his foundation, unearthing emotions he never thought he could feel. You simply can't. He'll lose himself completely.

"Come on, don't cry. There's no need." He doesn't know if it's directed at you or himself. Your small arms wrap around his neck, your face tries to bury itself in his shoulder. He picks you up to hold onto you more comfortably. He presses his head against yours. "I appreciate your efforts behind this, alright?"

His thumb moves up and down on your back. He drowns in his overwhelming love for you. That's when he feels your hand. Your fingers going through his hair, petting him.

Here he is. A monster reduced into quivering mess. Wrapped around your little finger. You're such a devious yet innocent little marvel. You don't even do this on purpose. To have him ready and willing to bend to your every whim in no time at all.

It takes a long while for both of you to calm down and for him to regain his control. You break away from each other when you're sure neither of you won't fall apart all over again.

"I have something for you too. Nothing as thoughtful though…" He reaches next to him for the bag he nearly forgot about. Since he can't trust your parents about your nutrition, he'll take it upon himself. Three hours is a long time for you to grow hungry anyway. There's no harm in providing food. You take the bread from him and with a quick thank you start eating.

"Are you going to offer food to them again? Or did you already did that today?"

He looks at you. You never even talked to them and you're concerned for them. He looks at their pathetic figures, lying, wasting away in the sun. They're undeserving of your concern. He looks back at you and your questioning expression.

"No and no." He shakes his head, he doesn't even want to think about them much less approach. Even if he knows he'll have to at some point. "I think I'll give them a week to think over their actions, hmm?" He tilts his head in mimicry of your action yesterday.

And just like the other times, you don't question his actions nor motives. You simply nod your pretty head.

"Makes sense. I do that at home too. Maybe it'll work for them too."

His eyes narrow at that.

"What do you mean?" He can feel his shackles raising. Such a dangerous territory…

"When I refuse to eat, I have to. And when i waste food, usually it's after I throw up. I don't get to eat to make up for all the wasted food."

So not only is your father shoving food down your throat… He starves you for not holding it down as well. If he ever gets his hands on that repulsive monster, he'll make sure he suffers greatly for his sins.

Your large smile grounds him away from his plans. Even if that smile shouldn't be so wide after talking about your abuse. How did your innocence survive the ordeal?

"That's why I like you, sir. You're very kind and fun but you're very fair."

Him? Fair? Kind? He's flattered you think so, but he doesn't see it. It's probably because your childish view wasn't ruined. You never saw him do anything truly monstrous. He'll make sure you don't.

"But.. I don't get it… why refuse food? They need it after all and unlike me, it's not easily available to them. It'd be really stupid if they did the same in a week." Your pout is very cute and he'd probably focus on it for longer if not for what you said.

You intelligent and observant little creature, you make him feel emotions he didn't before. He's impressed how someone so young can be smarter than the common person. Maybe there's still hope after all. You might not have been acquaintanced for long, barely a day, but he feels pride for your astuteness. He latched onto you. You're his; his light in this dark world with deceptive roads and sharp curves covered with shadows. He'll nurture that intelligence to the best of his abilities.

He sees you blush at his attention, poor thing… You must be so unused to positive attention. He won't let it continue. With a softness he didn't know he's capable of, he voices the compliments. "You're very smart and observant, little one; not everyone sees it the same way you do."

When you still don't look up, he speaks again. This time on a different topic, away from his admiration. Baby steps.

"Do you wish to stay here or go somewhere else?" It works wonders. You look up with a question in your eyes. "What? I have some ideas…

…What do you think about ice-cream?" His suggestion makes your eyes light up with excitement. His world is a little brighter for it.

He'd take you to every shop and buy you anything you'd briefly glance at if that's how you'll look everytime. Just for a chance to see your smiles again.

After ice-cream, you spent the time by simply being in each other's company. You wanted to go back to the park and so you did, but this time to a different part of it. Far away from those hopeless causes. The time flew past just as quickly as the day before. But this time when he walked you to your school's gate and left to observe from afar. He remembered to memorise the licence plate.

He can get to know you to his heart's content. But first, home.

I feel like my brand of weirdness clashed with Salesman's diffrent kind of freak; but I don't think he's too OOC..?

I hope you liked it. <3 There are other parts I have in store, but they can act as stand alone. Tell me if you want me to write them.

There's no masterlist for Squid Game yet

#fanfic #squid game #salesman x reader #the recruiter x reader #the salesman x reader #rating: mature #tw abuse #platonic reader #child abuse #child reader #second person pov #reader pov #obsession #unhinged #how do i tag this #proud of myself #cant write #but also #proud of this one

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