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starpens · 4 months ago

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CRASH COURSE ﾉ xia caleb x female reader ៹ explicit content, unprotected sex, virginity loss, mentions of cheating (none actually happens), pet names (pipsqueak (sorry but i have to be accurate) gege, good girl), instructional sex, blowjobs, creampie, idk what this is i wrote it in 5 seconds i just needed an excuse to write caleb, not proofread :( ˓˓ WORD COUNT ᨀ 4.9k !

asking the boy you’ve known nearly your entire life to teach you how to have sex isn’t weird, right...? right?

caleb has taught you a lot of things over the years.

he taught you how to drive a car in the shopping mall’s parking lot, how to cheat at card games, how to avoid burning the house down by letting him cook for you instead, how to sneak underneath the turnstiles on the subway to avoid fees.

he’s reliable and sturdy and a little reckless, but also patient and nonjudgmental— creating the idea in your idea that he’s kind of all-knowing, that whenever you don’t know something caleb does, that whenever you need help, you turn to no one else but him. which is precisely why you’re standing outside the door of his bedroom right now, hand lifted to knock on it.

because surely, asking caleb to teach you how to give a blowjob falls somewhere underneath that category too, right?

it’s one of those rare moments when the two of you are off work at the same time. caleb, on annual leave for the next two weeks and you, taking out a handful of unused vacation days to spend time with your favorite person in the world. it’s like old times again, when you can simply walk down the hall and hear his laugh drifting from underneath the door as he plays some stupid video game with college buddies.

thinking of the old days is exactly why you’re hesitating at the door. there’s too much shared history between the two of you, too much to lose if this goes badly, if you’ve been reading him wrong all along and he doesn’t want the same thing. there’s no way you can march in there and ask the boy you were raised with teach you how to—

“door’s open, pipsqueak,” caleb calls, somehow knowing you’re there because of course he does. you used to complain that he must’ve secretly implanted a tracker in your arm because he always knows your whereabouts, which made games like hide and seek with him impossible.

knowing it’s too late to play it off, you walk inside his room, greeted by his devastatingly gorgeous grin. “hey, you. lemme guess— the fridge is empty? no? lightbulb in your room need changing again? huh… or did you just miss me?”

“uh,” you mumble, shifting your toes in the soft carpet of the rug in the middle of his room. “not exactly. i was just wondering if you had time to talk and— … you’re not wearing a shirt.”

you realize how dumb you sound as you point it out, it’s just that your brain short-circuits, turning into a syrupy mess at the sight of caleb without a shirt on, his dog tags resting against bare skin. you’ve seen him like this before, of course— but not since he up and left, gallivanting off into the world to become a hotshot military pilot.

he’s always been nice to look at when you think he isn’t paying attention, but god he’s pretty. your eyes blink almost in disbelief as you take in his broad, muscular form that did not exist while he was a cadet in basic training. your gaze can’t help but snag on the ripple of his abs, or the thatch of brown hair trailing from his navel to disappear beneath his gray sweats. he swivels in his stupid gaming chair, smiling at you with his stupid face—

“uh, yeah?” caleb laughs, forehead creasing in confusion like you shouldn’t be surprised and really, you shouldn’t. caleb is like a furnace, blood running hot even in the middle of winter. “gran’s got the heat turned up to max again. it’s like she wants to kill me.”

“yeah, right,” you shake your head, laughing skittishly. “sorry. i’ve got a fan you can borrow, if you want.”

“thanks,” he says, magenta eyes dragging over your form suspiciously, taking in the way you’re standing in the middle of his room fidgeting like a leaf in the wind, hands white-knuckling the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing, knees knocking together all nervous and cute. he frowns, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to give you his full attention in that heart-stuttering way he often does.

“what’s with you? not that i’m not glad to see you, but… did something happen? did someone do something to you?”

“no, no— nothing like that,” you hurry to reassure, voice cracking on the last word as your cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment, trying to find the words to say what you need to without crashing and burning. swallowing around a lump in your throat, you glance at the paused screen of caleb’s game before blurting out—

“can you teach me how to give a blowjob?”

caleb immediately chokes.

a lesson on what not to do.

the overclocked fans on caleb’s gaming rig whirs in a soft hum, the neon lights in his room flickering crimson streaks over his handsome face in the dark. he wonders if it’s post traumatic stress or prolonged exposure to cosmic radiation in the sky forcing him to hallucinate. obviously, he’s got too many marbles in one jar and not enough in the other because there is no way he’s heard you correctly.

slowly, he removes his headset. “come again?”

“i’m awful at it, ge,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in exasperation. in fact, you don’t know if you’re awful at it or not because you’ve never tried. you’ve been too busy waiting on the man in front of you to stop torturing you both, but caleb doesn’t need to know that. “you see, i’m dating this guy, right? and we’ve been hitting it off well. i can tell he wants to take it to the next level, but i’ve never… and you— you’re good at everything, so i just thought…”

“thought i would give you lessons,” he finishes for you, his voice deepening to a rougher edge that makes you shiver. “so you can suck your boyfriend better. do i have it right?”

“y-yeah…”

“since when do you even have a boyfriend? you didn’t tell me anything,” he says, doing nothing to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“uh, we’ve… been seeing each other for a couple of weeks?” you fumble, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “i didn’t want to say anything yet. in case it didn’t work out.”

“so you want to learn how to suck dick for a guy you’ve known for a couple of weeks?” he counters, a muscle in his jaw twitching. he’s got no right to feel jealousy, not when he’s wasted so much time attempting to be one thing in your life when you clearly wanted something else. he’s got no right, but the thought of you on your knees for someone else, someone that isn’t him, makes his blood boil enough that he already knows what his answer will be.

however, you’re already backing up towards the door, about to make a quick retreat. your plan was horrible, shame burning your skin like a brand. “what am i saying? oh my god, you’re right it’s stupid and wrong and gross. can we please just forget i even came in here—”

he lets you ramble for an excruciatingly long time, then he pushes out of his gaming chair and grins down at you like you just asked him to make a quick run to the convenience store. he stretches his arms above his head. “let’s do it.”

“w-what?”

you didn’t expect to get this far, honestly. you expected caleb to laugh at you, ruffle your hair, and call you ridiculous. but instead, he’s already striding to his door, thumb flicking the lock with a decisive click. when he turns, his expression makes your breath hitch— those unusual purple eyes molten, staring straight through you.

“first thing’s first, we need to lay down some ground rules, soldier,” caleb tells you playfully, stepping closer until your breasts brush against his midsection. his hand lifts, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “if you need to back out at any moment, you say so. no guy’s pleasure is worth your discomfort. and if i hear his name, whatever it is…” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “this stops. understood?”

you nod eagerly, fighting your smile as his scent envelopes you. he smells like spearmint gum, your shampoo that he’s been stealing since the two of you have been back at the house, and a hint of sweat from the stifling air in the room.

“use your words, pipsqueak.”

“y-yeah, i get it.”

his smirk is all teeth. “good girl.”

caleb guides you over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. his big hands reach for you, circling your hips and pulling you towards him until you’re standing in between his spread thighs.

“alright, my little student,” he jokes. “you wanna get him all riled up before the main event so start with something small like… a kiss,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to glance at your mouth as his finger traces the hinge of your jaw. “you do know how to kiss, don’t you?”

“of course i know how to kiss,” you grumble.

caleb nods and then curls his hand around the nape of your neck, pulling you down to his level. you lean with the pressure, slotting your hands in the junction between his neck and shoulder, sliding them up until you cup the underside of his jaw. then, you’re kissing him— kissing caleb, the boy who used to patch up your scraped knees with cute band-aids, who let you crawl into his bed after nightmares, who pretends he hasn’t thought about kissing you, about making you his, for years.

the kiss is messy, desperate and hungry, decades of pent up feelings behind it. a string of saliva keeps your mouths linked together whenever you pull back for air and when caleb’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, you whimper and part your lips to let him in, body melting against his front until your weight’s toppling him back onto his elbows, hitching your leg over his waist to crawl on top of him.

his grip on your waist tightens, gently pushing you to stand once more. “this is feeling less like a lesson, and more like you just wanting to do this with me,” he teases, making heat flare across your cheeks.

caleb guides your hand to the waistband of his sweatpants, the heat radiating through the fabric searing your palm. breath hitching, you begin to sink to the floor in front of him but his hand shoots out to stop your descent with a breathy laugh. “no no no, c’mere. you’re gonna hurt your knees down there.”

backing up, he moves until he’s lounging against the headboard, impossibly long legs stretched out on either side of your sweet figure.

“still wanna do this?” he asks, lifting a brow. when you nod, he continues to speak, voice gravelly, “take it out then.”

your fingers fumble with the drawstring a bit, struggling to undo the military knot caleb’s tied there, but you manage eventually. peeling back the waistband of his sweatpants to free his cock.

you should’ve known it would be just as pretty as the rest of him— it’s the biggest one (the only one) you’ve seen in person. he’s thicker than he is long, flushed dusky pink with veins that make your cunt clench with the desperate need to feel them dragging along your inner walls. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, watching you reach for it, nearly sobbing when your hand wraps around him.

“fuck—!” his hips jerk and stutter in shock, hand shoving yours away with a quickness. you frown and bite your lip, retracting your grip as if you’ve been burned.

“oh no,” you rush out, moving back to sit on top of your hands like a scolded kindergartener. “did i do something bad? did i hurt you, cal?”

caleb’s chest heaves, breath punching out of his lungs rapidly, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to slow the speed of his heart down. he’s dreamt about you touching him like this for ages, and the image of your dainty hand nervously wrapping around his cock will be seared into his brain for the rest of his life. you crawl back towards him slowly, seriously worried. “caleb?”

“i’m fine, pip,” he sucks in another breath, then opens his eyes to look at you. “didn’t mean to scare you. you didn’t do anything bad, you just surprised me. go ahead, touch me again.”

“if you’re sure,” you mumble, then hesitantly circle your fingers around caleb’s shaft again. he’s ready for it this time, hot against your palm when you give him an experimental squeeze, making caleb hiss through clenched teeth. “how’s that?”

“a bit tighter,” he instructs, palm closing over yours to adjust your grip. you squeeze him tight, and the hitch of his breath makes you squirm, stickiness gathering between your thighs at the sound. “don’t just squeeze, guys like it when you stroke. base to tip— no, don’t yank it like a fucking joystick, pip. god.”

his protest makes you burst out in giggles before caleb is shushing you with a severe look, his purple eyes narrowed. sucking your plump lower lip in between your teeth to keep from smiling, you nod at him with an exaggeratedly focused look.

“wet your palm,” he tells you, rolling his eyes at your wrinkled nose. “getting a handjob from a dry hand hurts, it’s like sandpaper.”

“are you saying i have dry hands, caleb? i moisturize daily, unlike you,” you whine out, but you listen to him anyway— you’re a good student, after all, and you don’t want to do anything that’ll make caleb want to stop. you lick your palm a few times, eyes on caleb the entire time.

the next time you touch him is with a spit-slicked grip, dragging your hand up and down his cock in an inexperienced, sloppy rub that should feel uncomfortable, but caleb eats it up— hips jerking involuntarily, pearls of watery precum already beginning to leak from the slit of his cock. your gaze is transfixed on it, a little greedy too, watching it stain your knuckles with each stroke.

it’s that same greediness that makes you lean down and brush your lips against the head of his cock, cherry tongue lolling out to tentatively taste the salt-bitter precum beading there. caleb’s hips immediately kick upward in a desperate twitch, but he forces them still, knuckles ashen where they reach down to grip the sheets.

“easy,” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges. his thumb strokes your cheek briefly. “just the tip first, okay? don’t go trying to swallow me down or anything.”

you do what he’s taught you so far; flatten your tongue, swirl it around the head— like that, fuck— press it hard against the thick, sensitive vein running along caleb’s underside, then repeat. every time, you’re rewarded with caleb brushing your hair back, murmuring soft praises, or your personal favorite— his deep, almost nasal groan, the hard planes of his abdomen flexing underneath the heady heat of your tongue.

it’s intoxicating, watching him fall apart like this— exactly what you wanted when you walked into his room. you want to pass his class with honors, please him even more, so you drop your mouth open a little more and suck him in deeper.

too deep.

the thick ridge of his head nudges against your uvula, tears springing to your eyes almost immediately. little startled chokes cough from your throat as you pull off caleb’s cock, bands of saliva stringing from his tip to your mouth in a way that should be gross, but you don’t care one bit, too busy trying to catch your breath.

“shh, shh— breathe,” caleb soothes, eyes darkening with something perilously close to reverence and pride. “through your nose, slowly. you can’t force it, that’s why you keep choking. when you’re ready, try again.”

you let caleb thumb away your tears like he’s done countless times before and when you’re ready, when you’ve had enough air to breathe, you let him guide you back onto his damp cock. eager, swollen lips bringing him in against your cheeks in a hot, branding suction that twists his insides up.

he’s supposed to be teaching you, showing you the ropes so you can please your stupid boyfriend, but you barely even need it— god, you’re so good at this without even trying. how can he focus on teaching when he’s got all of his focus pointed towards trying not to shoot his load down the back of your throat like some inconsiderate asshole?

he can barely look down at you because every time he does, your teary eyes glance up at him through thick lashes with an expression that begs for praise. he knows if you didn’t have a mouth stuffed full of his cock, you’d be asking him am i doing it right, ge?

his thighs tremble, eyes lidded as you finally find a steady pace— mouth bobbing up and down, spit bubbling at the base of his cock where you’re starting to make a mess on him.

and when your hands dip down into his sweatpants, cupping his balls in your soft hand, caleb’s vision whites out, his climax rushing to the front at a rapid pace. before he can cum, though, he takes two fingers and pushes at your forehead, hauling you off his cock with a wet slurp. his chest heaves, dripping beads of sweat that glow in the haze of the neon lighting in his room.

he looks wrecked, and you fight your triumphant smile, schooling it into something unsure and pliant, batting your eyelashes. “did i… did i do it wrong?”

“fuck, no,” his chuckle is hoarse and ruined, calloused thumbs swiping spit from your chin as he gazes up at you meaningfully with those hooded eyes. “just don’t wanna cum down your throat.”

“o-oh.”

the implication makes arousal bubble low in your belly, thighs squeezing together in need. caleb tracks the movement, nostrils flaring as he grins knowingly. “yeah, you don’t want that either, do you, pipsqueak?”

for a while, the two of you just stare at each other in disbelief. you don’t know how to tell caleb that you’d take him in any form he’s offering himself in, pining after him long enough that it’s painful. nothing you ever did got his attention, not in the way you truly wanted. he’s protective and possessive in all the right ways, but he’d never make the first move.

he’ll never come out and admit that he wants to spread you out on his bed and fuck you dumb, mark you as his so nobody else can have you. it took you coming to him to even get this far, so you might as well take matters into your own hands once more.

“teach me the rest, ge?”

the rest.

caleb releases a pained groan at your words and you think he’s going to refuse you, but then he’s flipping your positions, pushing you down onto the mattress with ease. he makes quick work of his sweatpants, shoving them down the rest of the way. then, he wrestles your panties off your hips and tosses them somewhere across the room.

“look at you,” he whispers, pushing your shirt up— his cock leaking a bead of precum at the sight of your pretty tits. he reaches forward, toying with your puffy nipples, grinning at the sound of your soft whimper.

“c-caleb.”

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you get that?” the confession comes out sounding suspiciously like a whine. he gazes down at you like you’re water and he’s a man lost deep in the desert, dying of thirst. “you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. look at these cute tits, just begging for me to touch them. and—”

his big hands sink into the fleshy part of your upper thighs, opening them to get his first exclusive look at your pussy. his thumb parts your folds, spreading one side apart to watch the way your entrance twitches. caleb dips one finger into your cunt and could fucking cry at how warm and tight you feel. “fuck, you’re so wet. is this all ’cause of me?”

“d-don’t look at it so shamelessly, you pervert,” you scold him, squirming back and forth in his hold as you try to snap your thighs shut. “stop teasing me or i’ll hit you. this is embarrassing!”

“why not?” he tilts his head, giving you that boyish grin that makes your heart stop. “after i’m done with you, it’ll be mine anyway. my pretty pussy. my girl.”

you huff and drive your fist into his shoulder before folding your arms over your breasts, lower lip stuck out in an unhappy pout. caleb winces, though mirth still shines amongst the nebulas in his eyes. he leans down to kiss your pout away, chuckling in amusement. “okay, okay, don’t hurt me. i’ll give you what you want.”

and then, he’s wrapping a hand around the base of himself, kissing your clit with the leaking tip of his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. he coats himself in your wetness before he finally notches against your entrance and slowly pushes.

the pressure makes air stutter out of your chest, blunt and unyielding. he immediately notices your struggle and drops forward on his elbows, caging you safely in his embrace. he kisses the corners of your eyelids, licking away stray tears.

“i hate hurting you like this,” he whispers in your ear, hips drawing back and crawling forward again. you gasp, eyes falling shut, and he shushes you once more. slides a hand down to play with your clit to distract you, which only makes you clench up around him. his jaw is clenched tight enough to shatter the bone, hand fisted in the sheets next to your head. “shh— relax and let me in. it’ll feel good in a second.”

“i-i don’t know if i can,” you say, trying to force your body to accept him, but when he sinks in those first few inches, you whimper and dig your nails into his biceps. “y-you’re so big, gege.”

“f-fuck, don’t—” caleb grunts and his fingers grip the soft sides of your belly, holding your body to his like a lifeline. “don’t call me that right now. i might cum. i’m gonna put the rest in, okay? be a good girl for me and take it. i-i can’t wait any longer.”

he draws out and presses forward all the way in, burying himself to the hilt inside your sweet pussy. his gaze drops to where you’re split obscenely around him, cunt fluttering in protest at the stretch and a ragged groan tears from his throat. it takes every ounce of willpower the military beat into him not to cream himself right then and there.

“c-caleb!”

you whine as caleb retreats slightly, only to surge back in, fucking a little deeper this time. the weight of his cock stretching you out borders on cruel, but you would die before you ask him to stop, your walls squeezing him in a vice grip. it takes a few trials and errors (“keep your hips down, pipsqueak” and “i don't know, maybe a little to the l— fuck, right there oh my god”) but eventually, caleb builds up a good rhythm, the cool metal of his dog tags pooling in the valley of your breasts as he fucks you with deep, steady strokes; bottoming out each time with a guttural groan.

“fuck— stop clenching so much i’m gonna lose my mind,” his breath scalds your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as he fucks a little faster. “so fucking good. that’s it, baby. you’re doing so good. taking every inch of me like this.”

he’s right, it is so fucking good— no, it’s better. your nails scrape against caleb’s back. shivering at the hot pleasure singeing your nerve endings each time he fucks into you. it doesn’t take long for pressure to gather in your lower belly, a band waiting to snap.

you can’t help but wriggle a hand between the two of your bodies and circle a trembling middle finger around your swollen clit. “nngh, you feel so fucking good, cal.”

“a-are you- god, that’s so hot,” he grunts, glancing down at the way you’re toying with your clit and it turns him on so much he’s speeding up, cock pistoning in and out of you, his thrusts deepening until he’s nearly kissing your cervix, he’s in so deep, your thighs slamming against his hips as you try to close your legs when the head of his cock brushes right up against your sweet spot, creating starbursts behind your eyelids.

“oh god, cal— i-i can’t!”

caleb’s grin is feral, grinding deep to press into that swollen spot inside you relentlessly. “knew i’d find it,” then his fingers joining yours and it’s so much better than your own, two digits rubbing quick circles into your sensitive clit. you’re a babbling mess at this point, the pleasure too much to keep up with. “can you cum for me? can you let me feel it? please? i’ll never ask you for another thing if you give me one right here, right now.”

what are you supposed to do, deny him? you couldn’t even if you tried, not with the heat in your belly full to bursting, needing an escape.

“’m gonna c-cum for you, ge, just for you,” you sob.

caleb has seen many versions of you over the years— grumpy and pillow-marked in the morning with syrup stains on your shirt at the breakfast table, covered in sand and sun-kissed at the beach, screaming at him to do something about the jellyfish sting on your leg, in sleek black dresses at the military balls you attended as his plus one that made all his comrades stop and stare. but you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now. his dog tags between your breasts, your creamy pussy fluttering around his cock, and your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you’re about to cum for him.

he hopes that when he dies, he’ll go out with this image in his brain.

those big doe eyes of yours roll back into your head, hands frantically pushing at his abdomen as if he’s trying to escape the overwhelming friction of his cock. you cum hard, thighs trembling, vision winking out. wet droplets of tears stream down your cheeks as white heat washes over your body, the pleasure bleeding through your limbs like wildfire.

seeing you like this, what is caleb supposed to do? not follow you? he’s been holding his own orgasm back since you barged into his room in one of his shirts, begging to be taught how to suck a cock. there’s no way he can last through seeing— through feeling— you cum around him. his rhythm fractures almost immediately and he knows he’s on thin ice, fraying at the edges.

“gonna cum,” he grits out, voice mangled. “fuck, i’m gonna cum. where do you want it?”

you don’t waste a second, babbling out the answer desperately, “i-inside, ge, cum inside me. give it to me please i want it so bad i’ll do anything!”

that’s all it takes.

one more sloppy thrust and he cums right after you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still. he breathes choppy, ruined moans into your neck as he pumps his release deep inside your cunt before he collapses against you, damp chest heaving against yours, giving a few more weak thrusts of his hips as his climax ebbs.

you don’t know how long the two of you lay there, struggling to catch your breaths. you’re satisfied and pliant as putty underneath caleb, unable to move from his heavy embrace. he’s a wall of solid muscle, one that is pressing you into the mattress. “caleb, you’re heavy.”

“gimme a minute here, pipsqueak,” caleb chuckles breathlessly against your sweaty skin, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. “i just had the best sex of my life and can’t catch my breath.”

you begin to smile in pride, but then your eyes narrow as his words register through the fucked out haze clouding your brain. “wait, you were having sex before this?” you ask, jealousy bubbling up in your chest. “was it that one sergeant? the one who kept giving you lovey dovey eyes at the DAA gala?”

“mmm, nope,” he answers almost immediately, kissing your lips quickly to placate you, making your heart swell big and bright for the boy on top of you. “chill. saved myself all this time for you.”

your heart begins racing stupidly fast at that. “sap,” you tease, before an idea pops in your head and you reach for your phone tossed haphazardly on caleb’s bedside table.

caleb’s grip on you tightens as he notices you reach for it, a dark cloud shuttering his loving expression. “what are you doing?” he demands, the venom in his tone startling you a bit. “texting him already? that eager to try out what i just taught you?”

you frown in confusion until you remember the excuse you used upon coming into caleb’s room. wow, the boy you’re in love with is an idiot. giggling, you lean up and press a sweet kiss to his cheek before opening the camera on your phone and snapping a quick selfie of the two of you.

“no, you big dummy, i’m taking a pic of us losing our virginities together so i can add it to our photo album,” you explain simply, grinning. “and there was never any boyfriend, i made him up.”

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chahnniesroom · 4 months ago

Text

too close to home

pairing: none (platonic ot8 & female reader)

summary: as the only female of stray kids, you've always felt a little out of place. this comeback, the comments and criticism seem to hit a little too close to home and you start to think that maybe the group is better off without you.

word count: 8.5k

tags/warnings: 9th member au, hurt/comfort, angst, mean fans, anxious thinking, insecurities, overthinking

a/n: this is my first fic for my appreciation event! big thank you to everyone who has supported me and sorry this took so long to post.

special shoutout to @kangaracha who is basically the only reason i was able to finish this fic! she was my biggest cheerleader throughout my writing and if you would like to read an amazing 9th member fic, please please go read queenmaker.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

You had known from the start that it would be difficult being in a co-ed group. It was rare, especially in K-pop. But being outnumbered eight to one? It was unheard of.

You had been just as surprised all those years ago, when the company had pulled you into a room and offered you a position in the boy group that they were about to debut.

You had heard about the team that Chan had put together, every trainee had gossiped about how JYPE was trying something new with a self-formed team. You hadn't paid too much attention to it, you were busy enough with preparing for your own evaluations and the possibility of being included in what everybody had thought was a boys group hadn't even crossed your mind.

You had accepted the position almost immediately.

At that point, you had been a trainee for almost three years, but had only been considered for debut less than a handful of times. You knew with each line-up that hadn't worked out, you were closer to being forced to give up on the idea of becoming an idol. If you rejected the offer this time, you might not get another and you had been ready to do anything to achieve your dream.

Plus, you knew there was a high chance that they'd drop you from the group anyway. The position brought a lot of interest to the group, but you knew the company would be watching closely to determine whether it was worth the risk or not.

It had been a bit of a rocky start, but now the nine of you were close, you had to be when you spent most of your waking time together. You considered the boys to be your second family and you knew that they felt the same way.

It was just that there was clearly a difference in the dynamic when you were and weren’t with the group. It wasn’t necessarily bad just… different. The boys never excluded you or made you feel like you weren’t part of the group and you had great individual relationships with each of the members.

It was inevitable though, you had never shared a dorm with the group, especially earlier in your career when you were less familiar and it would have been entirely unacceptable. You knew that this was the main reason you didn’t feel quite as part of the group, there was just a level of closeness that was formed when you actually lived with someone.

Well, it was that and the nagging guilt because you knew that Chan had hand-picked every member of Stray Kids himself.

Every member except you.

While the members had promised that they were the ones who had the final say, you knew it wasn't quite what they had expected. All of you had been desperate to debut though and even if it wasn't ideal, nobody was going to say anything that might jeopardize this chance.

Still, you could tell that the boys did their best to include you and for the most part, they succeeded. Even early on when things had been a little bit awkward between you, they were fiercely protective. In interviews, they insisted over and over that they wanted you in the group and it had been nice to hear, even if you knew they were just saying it for the cameras.

They frequently invited you over for dinner or just to hang out, but you couldn't help feeling jealous when it was time for you to leave at the end of each night. It wasn't anything you could change though, so you just tried to appreciate their company while you had it.

So when the company brings up the idea of new dorm arrangements, you're surprised and a bit confused when they don't immediately inform you of where you'll be staying and kick you out of the meeting room. You've never participated in the discussions that the boys have regarding roommates, there has never been any reason to.

You're shocked by how easily things fall into place, even more so when Chan approaches you, asking if you'd feel comfortable living with him and Jeongin. They assure you that any of the pairings would be happy to have you stay with them though, and that they'd also understand if you preferred to live on your own.

You were hesitant at first. It had been out of the question when you had first debuted. Even if you and the boys had been comfortable with it, which you weren’t, the company would have totally rejected the idea of one girl living with eight boys.

Instead, their solution had been to force you to remain in the trainee dorm even after your debut which meant constantly listening to jealous girls criticize anything and everything about you. It had been exhausting, partly because you were getting used to balancing schedules with practice, but also because you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mad at them. You were all too familiar with the disappointment and frustration that came with watching the people around you succeeding.

You had briefly considered asking about sharing with the boys when the dorms had split in half because you knew you needed to get out of the toxic environment the other girls were creating, but then the company had offered you an apartment to yourself. It had been one of the easiest decisions you had ever made.

It had been too good to be true, though. The apartment had given you the privacy that you had craved, there were a multitude of issues that almost made you miss being in the trainee dorms. Whether you moved to a new apartment on your own or into one of the dorms with the boys, you knew that it would be an improvement.

You’re curious what living with the boys would be like and honestly, you’re a bit lonely in your current apartment. It only takes a day or two of thinking before you confirm that you’d like to join them.

The moving process is quick too, at least for you. The boys offered to help you move, but you adamantly refused. Your place had been so tiny that you didn't have the space to store many things and you didn't like shopping that much anyway so all of your clothes fit into the couple of large suitcases that you kept under your bed. Since most of the furniture had come with the room, you were able to bring everything over to the new dorm before the boys had even finished packing.

It's hard to settle in at first. You don't have any siblings and have never had to live with boys so it takes some getting used to. Luckily both Chan and Jeongin are quite careful about being respectful of your space.

It's also a relief that you get to divide up some of the housework that you used to have to do all on your own. Even though it's not too much, it's nice to have more time in your day for other things and the three of you have developed a system that works well and feels natural.

Chan is meticulously clean and although you don't think you're that messy, you’re more careful to keep things in the right place. The worst part is that you know Chan won't complain or nag you if you leave your things around, he just quietly cleans up your messes which makes you feel both touched and a bit guilty.

You have no regrets about moving in with them, especially when you start to get more busy. It's nice to be living with people who have the same or similar schedules to you so you don't have to worry about losing track of time and being late to things.

Not only that, but you feel like you have more support. Jeongin reminds you to eat regular meals and Chan checks in when he notices that you're up later than usual. The three of you chat more than you did before and now have a number of different inside jokes.

You're especially grateful because you can already sense that this comeback is going to be hard on you. It's not the songs that have you concerned, all the recording finished smoothly and you're more than happy with how your parts turned out. You also really like the concept that's being proposed for the cover art and all the music videos.

It's the dance that's the problem.

As a trainee, you had always excelled in dancing and had actually had been assigned the role of main dancer in some of the girl groups that you were considered for. It made it especially hard to come to terms with the fact that when you had joined Stray Kids, you weren't even included in the dance line. You knew that your singing was nice and your voice added diversity to the group, but it had never been what you were most confident in and you felt inadequate compared to Seungmin and Jeongin.

But when it comes to this title track, it's especially obvious why you're not considered as one of the lead dancers. By lunchtime, everyone has memorized the moves, you included, but the choreography is definitely more suited for male dancers. No matter how much you focus on trying to match the style of everyone else, you're sticking out like a sore thumb.

Most of the members take a short break for lunch, but you're determined to keep practicing and Minho is willing to coach you through the parts that you're struggling with the most. On a technical level, you're hitting most of the moves, but you still haven't been able to do a runthrough that doesn't elicit at least a few corrections. You can tell that Minho is running out of patience and you're even more frustrated than he is.

Luckily the rest of practice is working on the different formations and angles for filming the music video, dance practice, and future performances. The details are less important and everyone is mainly focused on not crashing into each other.

You try to sneak in as many solo practice sessions as you can, but by the time filming for the dance practice rolls around, you’re still not feeling confident. In fact, you’ve been dreading the schedule for days and you feel a little queasy every time you think about it. It's far from your first dance practice filming, but something about this one just feels more daunting.

The morning of filming, you force yourself to eat a decent breakfast, knowing that skipping it would just make dancing more difficult for yourself. Chan had woken up early to prepare a simple meal while you and Jeongin had helped set the table and clean up afterwards. You're a bit more jittery than usual and you're pretty sure both of the boys have noticed, but they don't comment which you appreciate.

Everyone goes through hair and makeup fairly quickly, there's no elaborate outfits and crazy makeup for a more casual video like this. Your bad feeling for today just worsens when you see that while the rest of the boys are in their usual loose fitting sweats and shirts, you've been given a tight fitting outfit that reveals a bit more of your midriff than you usually like to show off. Even though you can't deny that it's a flattering look, it just makes you self conscious, feeling like you stood out even more than you usually did standing beside the guys.

Determined to power through filming, you warm up as quickly as you can so that you can spend as much time as possible reviewing the moves with the rest of the boys before the crew finishes setting up.

Your stomach is a flurry of butterflies as you get in position to start filming, even though you know that usually the first try is a throwaway. Not only is this the first time filming for the day, but the group hasn't actually done a performance of your new single, only practices.

You monitor the recording carefully. There's a few things to improve with the camera angles and position, that was to be expected, but you still have the nagging feeling that something about your dancing doesn't match the rest of the group.

You try to make your movements bigger in the next run through, while still looking natural and staying in time with the music. It's not quite right though and each time you try again, there's more and more things that you're unhappy with.

You can tell the rest of the group isn't pleased with how things are going either. You've been doing this long enough that these dance practices usually only take a couple hours to record, but now it's been at least three and none of the takes have even been considered as a keeper. A few times you haven't even been able to make it to the end of the song before someone messes up.

Your choreographer is in the back of the room and although he hasn't explicitly called you out, you can feel his gaze on you the longer this takes.

“Come on guys,” Minho complains after a short break. “Focus! Let's get it done this time.” You watch as his eyes flicker towards where you're standing for the faintest of moments as he says it. It feels like a blow to the stomach.

You hate disappointing people, you're only human after all, but something feels even worse when you know it's the other members that you're letting down. Especially when it comes to dance, because you've always wanted to impress Minho and his notoriously high standards. The guilt sits heavy in your stomach as you push through your growing fatigue and take your position in front of the camera again.

As soon as both the director and choreographer announce that you're finished for the day, almost everybody collapses on the spot. One-takes are always the most exhausting and everybody has to focus on keeping their movements sharp because it's extremely obvious when you aren't in sync.

You, on the other hand, make your way to the screens where they're showing the playback. Sweat is dripping from your neck and forehead and you absent-mindedly swipe it away as you watch. Someone drapes a small towel over your head and you look over to see that Minho and Hyunjin have crowded behind you to take a look.

“It's good,” one of the managers comments.

Instead of agreeing, Minho hums noncommittally. You feel yourself tense up.

“What?” the manager asks. “Don't tell me you want to do it again.”

“No, no, it's fine.” Minho says mildly.

“We can do another take,” the director offers. From behind him, one of the camera people groans quietly. You try not to wince at the sound and only partially succeed.

“I think this is the best we're going to get,” Minho replies, before he turns and walks back to where his things are, effectively ending the discussion.

“Sorry for making everyone stay late,” you say quietly, bowing quickly before trailing after Minho. Hyunjin eyes you weirdly as he keeps pace.

“Why'd you say that?” he asks as he packs his bag.

“I felt bad that they had to stay so long,” you say, confused. “We normally tell them that if filming goes over.”

“No.” Hyunjin pauses his movement to study you. You can't help but shrink away, feeling a bit like a bug under a microscope “We normally thank them for their hard work. You made it sound like it was your fault.”

“It's just been a long morning,” you deflect. “Are you heading back to the dorms now?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his wet hair, flicking sweat everywhere. “Have to shower and I have a bit of time before my vocal lesson. Want to head back together?”

“You go ahead first,” you reassure him. “I have a couple things left to do at the company so I'll stick around for a bit longer.”

“Sure. If you're finished early, feel free to drop by. We can have dinner or something together,” Hyunjin offers.

“Sounds good! I don't know if I'll have time, but I'll definitely see I can join,” you promise.

Lying always leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but you know there's no way you're going to sacrifice time that you could be using to improve the dance just to hang out.

You stay late in the studio that night. Your only other schedule for the day is fittings for the music video and all the music shows, which finishes pretty quickly. Since you don't have much of an appetite anyway, you choose to skip Hyunjin’s dinner offer to continue practicing more. You had asked one of the managers to send you a copy of the dance practice and each time you replay it, the pit in your stomach seems to grow.

You lose track of time, picking apart each and every move to try and figure out what you're doing wrong. It's not until Minho knocks on the door and enters, startling you in the middle of yet another runthrough, that you realise how long you've been practicing.

“You still have so much energy?” Minho calls out as he walks closer to you.

“Just had a few things I wanted to fix up before I went home,” you explain in between breaths.

“And?”

“And what?” you ask.

“Did you fix them?” he replies, raising an eyebrow as he scans your sweaty form and the empty room. “Have you been practicing this whole time? You've been here so long that even Channie-hyung went home. He asked me if you were at our place.”

“What? I-”

“It's almost 2am,” he says gently. “It's time to go home.”

“Can I do one more run through?” you ask sheepishly. “Actually, it’s good that you’re here, I just want to make sure-”

“You've been practicing long enough.” Minho's voice turns stern and he grabs your hand to lead you to the couch to sit. “Did you even eat?”

“I wasn't hungry,” you say quietly.

“Y/n-ah,” Minho scolds you. “You need to fuel your body if you're going to work it so hard, you know we've talked about this.”

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to practice more,” you say, staring down at your hands. You’re not allowed to pick at your nails since you just got them done, so you settle for fidgeting with one of the rings that you’re wearing. The sharp edges of the gemstones prick at your fingers but you can’t get yourself to stop. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just couldn’t get the dance right today. We had to film it so many times.”

“What are you talking about, Y/n-ah?” Minho asks, bewildered. “We weren’t- you weren’t the reason we had to redo the dance so many times.”

You look up at him finally and don’t see any of the annoyance that you were expecting. The concern and genuine confusion that you find instead catches you off guard.

“What? But- On our fourth take during the second chorus, my legwork was so sloppy compared-”

“Hannie literally forgot which direction we were supposed to move and he almost knocked into me,” Minho interrupts. “There was no way we were going to be able to use the footage, that’s why we stopped early.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

Minho taps a finger to his lips, deep in thought.

“Fifth take, well that was my fault, so we're not going to talk about that. Sixth try, Yongbokkie and Innie both missed a cue and crouched later than everybody else, that one made me want to pull out my hair.” He shakes his head.

“That’s when we took a break,” you realise.

“Yeah, we were hoping it would help us have a clean run. Jinnie had sweated through his makeup and needed touch-ups anyway.”

“I thought you guys were annoyed at me,” you say in a small voice. “You didn't seem happy with the final video.”

“It wasn't my best take,” Minho admits. “I kind of wanted to do it again, but I didn't want you guys to have to stay even later.”

“Did you even see yourself?” You reach for your phone and unlock it to show the paused dance practice video. “Look, I've been trying to copy how fluid you moved in this part. See there? I looked so stiff compared to you, it's awful.”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho says carefully.

“And look at this move,” you say, skipping ahead a couple seconds. “I couldn't quite-”

You cut yourself off mid-sentence when Minho leans forward to pluck your phone our of your hands and throw it off to the side. You don't even fight him, just stare with wide eyes, scared of what he's going to say next.

“You were fine, you did well. But even if you did mess up, it's okay. This dance is tiring, it's challenging. We all have bad days and it's okay to make mistakes.”

When you don’t say anything in response, he slowly moves closer and envelops you in a tight hug. You sniffle a little bit and when he starts to rub slow but firm circles onto your back, you can't stop the few tears that escape.

“Hey, what's going through your mind, huh?” he asks in a low voice. “Why are you being so hard on yourself?”

“I just don't want to let you guys down,” you say.

“Y/n-ah, you're not letting us down if we have to do a few more takes on a dance practice,” Minho says incredulously. “Is that all that's been worrying you?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “I was just nervous about filming the dance and disappointed when it didn't go like I wanted it to.”

“Silly girl,” Minho says, ruffling your hair affectionately. “You're doing just fine. It's okay to be nervous, but you don't have to be pushing yourself so hard. Come on, it's time to go home, we have an early schedule tomorrow.”

You follow him meekly as he leads you out of the building and to where a driver is waiting to take you back to your dorm. Even though you feel a bit better knowing that you weren't the cause of the schedule overruns, you're still not satisfied with how you're dancing, but you know that it's pointless to pick a fight. Not only is Minho just as stubborn as you, he's not afraid to bring in reinforcements and you'd hate for the rest of the group to catch on to how you've been spending most of your free time. They already have enough to worry about, the last thing you want is to add to that.

Moving forward, you don't stop practicing, but you do take more care to try and pretend that it's not eating up all your free time. You stop using your favourite studio, you know the dance so well that most of the time you don't even have music playing, and you make sure not to stay out late enough that it's noticeable.

You start to feel a little silly with how much time you've devoted to this, significantly more than the rest of the members, especially when the music video filming goes by without a hitch. By the time the Studio Choom video is filmed, you're a lot more confident about the performance and even starting to enjoy yourself.

The rest of the preparations for the comeback start to fly by, especially after the album announcement goes live. There's not a day that goes by that's not filled with different photoshoots or interviews.

Before you know it, the album is released and even though your schedule is absolutely packed, you spend all your free time reading through comments and reactions. Maybe it was cliche to say, but you really did treasure hearing from Stays and comebacks were always when you felt closest to them. You especially liked being able to interact with them on a more personal level.

You were almost certain that you were the most active member on Bubble, you liked to send daily updates on what you were doing and reminders to Stay about maintaining their health. It did sting that you were also pretty certain that you had the least subscriptions and likely some of them only stuck around because you thought it was funny to send candid photos of the boys every so often.

You had always looked forward to fan signs the most though. Before you had debuted, you had loved seeing footage of the cute accessories, silly pick-up lines, and heartfelt messages from the fans. Not only that, but it was the only chance to speak to fans in person, even if it was only for a minute or two.

You were immensely grateful for everyone that supported you, but maybe it was your eager anticipation for fan signs that left you feeling so disappointed and empty. You had slowly grown used to Stays ignoring you for the boys, for always being the one that didn't receive any gifts to play with, for having the smallest stack of letters at the end of each event. But somehow you were always hopeful that the next time would be different.

Of course, it wasn't like you resented everybody else in the group. In fact, you were genuinely glad that they were enjoying themselves because they deserved it. They worked hard, were amazing performers and talented at creating music, and as a result, the fans loved them.

You, on the other hand, were just missing something, and it seemed that nothing you could do would change that. You had bounced through different positions, focused on vocals, dance, rap, music production, writing lyrics, and had enjoyed yourself thoroughly the whole time. If only the fans had liked it as much as you.

At least with fan calls, it wasn't as blatantly obvious that you were the least popular, least favourite member of the group. In fact, sometimes you were glad because you knew the boys often had crazy fans who had absurd or cringy requests while most of the time you spoke with someone who was politely feigning their interest.

It's almost funnier when the company sits you all down in the same room for the calls like they do today because you get to witness and subsequently tease the boys for the aegyo and silly poses they're forced to do. It's not like any of you can refuse anything the fans ask you to do, not with the staff breathing down your neck the whole time.

As expected, most of your calls are fairly generic and you're grateful for it. You have easy conversations about the album, which dances are your favourite, and you get to share some stories from the tour that you recently finished. You're maybe halfway through the calls when things start to take a turn for the worst.

“I even think that you would have done great as a solo artist! Are you thinking of releasing any solo music soon?” the girl that you're talking to asks excitedly.

“Oh, thank you.” You smile back even though the innocent question makes your chest ache for some reason. “I- well, solo music-” You take a deep breath to gather your thoughts. “I don't know about the future, but right now I really can't imagine releasing anything other than music as a part of Stray Kids. I love working and performing with the rest of the members and I wouldn't want to change anything.”

It's how you actually feel, but you can't help the way that your eyes dart over to check on the staff member that's supervising your call. You feel a bit better when you see their nod of approval and try to focus on the fan to finish the rest of the conversation.

Thankfully you get a quick break before the next call. You know the fan was probably trying to be encouraging, she had started off the call praising your skills and was probably just curious. Still, there's a voice in your mind that tells you that she'd prefer it if you weren't a member of Stray Kids. Or rather, she'd prefer that Stray Kids didn't have you in it.

You try to bring a positive mindset into your next call, but it's with a Stay that’s decidedly less interested in talking to you. You exchange greetings and make small talk until she seems to get an idea that makes her sit up straight all of a sudden.

“I have a question for you,” she says, eyes glinting in a way that makes you a little nervous, even though you're not sure why.

“Go ahead,” you encourage her because you're mostly feeling a bit relieved that she's finally showing some emotion other than boredom.

“Which of the boys would you say is best in bed?” she asks slyly.

You stare at her dumbly, thinking that you must have misheard her.

“Sorry,” you say, laughing uncomfortably. “I don't- I don't think I understand your question.”

“You heard me,” she scoffs. “What's the point in having you in the group if you're not sleeping with at least some, if not all of them?”

“No, I- It's not like that, I don't-” Flustered, you stare desperately at the staff, hoping they'll step in and end the call. Instead they just motion for you to continue. “I mean, we're close, but not-”

“If you want, you can just tell me your favourites,” she giggles, as if she's just asked you what songs on the album you liked. “It must be either Chan or Jeongin, if you decided to live with them.”

“No!” you exclaim.

“So it's not either of them?” she says, tapping a finger against her lip in thought.

“That's not the kind of relationship we have.”

Mortified, you find that you're tearing up a bit. You've heard the theories before, know that there's a lot of gossip and rumours because you're in a group of men, but you've never been outright accused to your face like this.

From the corner of your blurry field of vision, you see Seungmin wave bye to whoever he's talking to. He must hear the distress in your voice because he glances over, then does a double-take when he sees just how bad you're doing.

“What's going on?” he demands, stalking over. Before the staff can do anything to stop him, he leans forward and disconnects the call without a warning. “Why didn't you do anything, isn't it obvious that something’s wrong?”

“Y/n-ssi was handling it,” the staff member says. “It’s not fair to the fans if you cut a call short without reason.”

“No reason? Do you have eyes?!” Seungmin motions to where you're surreptitiously trying to blot away the tears without smudging your makeup. He's gotten the attention of everyone in the room now, even the members who are still in calls and have to pretend nothing is happening in the background. You can only hope that the phones aren't able to pick up anything being said.

“Min,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you tug on his sleeve lightly. He glances back at you, eyes softening slightly. “It's okay, I'm fine.”

You're grateful that he's stood up for you, but all the scrutiny is getting a bit overwhelming. You just want to move on and pretend nothing happened because the last thing that you want is for the company to think you're a liability who can't even handle a nosy fan.

Seungmin crouches in front of you and studies you carefully. You're still clutching onto the sleeve of his sweater. You take a deep breath to compose yourself, then give him a watery smile.

“I was just being really sensitive today, I promise,” you plead. “Just let it go.”

He starts to say something, then cuts himself off, eyes watching something happening over your shoulder.

“Let's just take a quick break from the calls,” Chan says evenly. You didn't even notice that he came up being you and is standing behind you protectively. “We'll be back in 10 minutes.”

It's a command, not a suggestion, something that the staff would normally push back against, but for some reason they stay quiet, allowing the nine of you to filter out of the room unimpeded.

Nobody says anything until you find an unoccupied dance studio. Minho is quick to lock the door after you all pile in.

“Hey,” Seungmin says softly from where he's been stuck to your side. “You holding up okay?”

“Yeah, I don't know what happened. I'm fine now,” you say.

“Are you sure?” Felix asks from where he's sitting on your other side.

“Really, it was nothing,” you assure him.

“If you were upset, then it's something,” Seungmin insists. “We promise we won't think it's silly or anything. It's probably something we've all heard before anyway.”

You have to turn away from the way that he's looking at you with his huge, pleading eyes. But the rest of the group is also gathered around, concern lining their faces.

“She implied that the only reason I'm in the group is because I'm sleeping with all you,” you say stiffly, regretting it immediately when you feel both Seungmin and Felix freeze in place. “Which obviously is not true, so it's not a big deal.”

“Y/n, you know that's unacceptable, right?” Chan says slowly, through what sounds like gritted teeth. You finally tear your eyes away from where you've been staring at the patterns that you can see in the grain of the wooden flooring, to see that his jaw is clenched, neck muscles pulled tight.

“Fans say inappropriate things all the time, it's not like I haven't read things like that before. It comes with the job.” You shrug.

“That doesn't make it okay. This is serious. You shouldn't have to-” Chan cuts himself off when he notices that he's started to raise his voice and just pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Listen, I know. I just- I don't want this to be a big commotion. It sucks, I didn't respond well, whatever, let's move on,” you say. “She's going to post about it online, but in a few days, nobody is going to remember anyway.”

“Hyung, can't we just end the call if they do anything inappropriate?” Changbin complains.

“You know that we can't,” you remind him before anybody else can say anything. “It's part of our contract.”

“I hate these stupid fan calls!” Hyunjin passionately declares from where he's sprawled out on the floor. “Channie-hyung, can we just cancel the rest of them?”

“Don't say that,” you scold him mildly. “You love fan calls the most out of all of us.”

“I love some of them,” he argues back. “But not if that's the way you're going to be treated during them. Plus, if another person asks me to call them mommy then I'm actually going to quit being an idol.”

“Ew, your fans are weird.” Jisung wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“They're your fans too!” Hyunjin shoots back.

“Okay,” Chan claps his hands together a couple times before things devolve further. “Unfortunately, we do have to continue with the rest of the calls and we can't delay things too much. It's time to head back.”

There's a bit of casual chatter as everybody heads back, but you can tell everyone is still feeling a bit tense. Seungmin only releases your hand when he absolutely has to and you squeeze a couple times before you let go to try and reassure him that you're going to be fine.

The second you sit down, a makeup artist descends on you, tutting her tongue when she sees that you've accidentally wiped away some of your eyeshadow. You obediently stay still, watching as Chan approaches your table too, stopping to lean down and say something in the ear of the staff member that has been monitoring you. The blood slowly drains from her face and she nods rapidly in agreement with whatever he tells her. He claps a hand on her shoulder and even though it's a light and friendly gesture, you can see the way she flinches slightly.

You raise an eyebrow when he looks your way and he just smiles innocently in return and makes his way back to his seat. You don't comment, not even when you notice that the staff's fingers are trembling so hard that it takes her a couple tries to connect you to the next call. You know that it's not her fault, she's just following instructions from the company after all, but you're not feeling very sympathetic at the moment.

Instead, you just try to focus and take on an upbeat persona in the hopes that nobody realises how upset you truly feel. You're hurt and a bit wary of what the fans might do next, but you don't want to take it out on the people who haven’t done anything to you yet.

Fortunately, the rest of the calls are rather uneventful and you leave the company feeling drained, but not as terrible as you had expected.

You spend the rest of the day thinking about what you could have done differently, how you could have handled the call more gracefully, what kind of answer you should give if something similar ever happens again. But no matter what, you just get stuck pitifully thinking to yourself that it's not fair, you shouldn't have to deal with these kinds of questions in the first case. You're sure the company will give you a briefing and some scripted lines tomorrow anyway, so it's probably for the best that you just try to pretend nothing happened at all.

That evening, you try your best to avoid social media, but you knew that some of the other boys had seen videos based on the stormy expression on Jeongin's usually smiley face when you got home and the way that Chan comes back from the gym with more bruises than usual from his boxing session with Minho and Changbin.

They never say anything, but they have been extra careful around you. Chan has brought home your favourite takeout without you asking and Jeongin jumps up to clean up the second that everyone has finished eating. After you decline to watch a drama with them, you can hear one of them pacing past your bedroom every few minutes, pausing right outside your door before continuing on.

You have just decided to muster up the courage to actually watch the recording of the video, it was embarrassingly easy to find one, when Seungmin video calls you. You immediately click away from where your own stupid looking shocked face is paused on screen to answer because you know Seungmin knows that you prefer to text unless it's an emergency.

“Hey,” you greet him warily. “What's up?”

“Felix is trying to kill me,” Seungmin complains.

“What now?”

“Just look!”

Seungmin changes to his back camera to reveal their kitchen, which is littered with baking supplies and seems almost hazy for some reason.

“Is that smoke?” you ask, sitting up in bed.

“I said not to film!” Felix's voice comes from somewhere outside of the frame. Seungmin pans over dizzyingly fast to show where he's crouched in front of the oven, streaks of flour smudged on his clothes and in his hair.

“I'm not filming,” Seungmin comments, unbothered by the fact that Felix is pulling out a pan of what looks like they should be cookies but look alarmingly similar to lumps of coal. “I'm on a call. Show Y/nnie what you made,” he prompts.

“What?? Noooo,” Felix whines. “Y/n don't look!”

“What are those supposed to be?” you laugh.

“I wanted to make something to cheer you up,” Felix says miserably. Seungmin cackles, moving the camera closer so that you first get a close-up of Felix's face, then a better look at the burnt baking sheet. You keel over, stomach starting to hurt from how hard you're laughing. “I was trying to clean up while they baked and didn't hear the timer go off.”

“Well I appreciate the thought,” you say, when you can finally catch a breath. “And you definitely succeeded in making me feel better. Didn't the fire alarm go off?”

“We just got it to stop,” Seungmin says, switching the camera so that you can see his face again. “It's freezing in here now, we had to open all the windows to air out the place.”

“You poor things,” you coo, leaning back onto your bed now that you aren't concerned that they're in immediate danger. “Do you want to come over to our place?”

“I want to, but someone has to make sure that sunshine over here doesn't burn anything else.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, making you laugh again. You hear Felix yell something in the background. “I just wanted a witness in case I don't make it to our schedule tomorrow. I think I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I think you'll be busy cleaning up the rest of the night. See you tomorrow!”

You end the call, plunging your room back into darkness. You lie on your bed for a few moments before unlocking your phone again.

Even though you knew that it wasn't wise, like clockwork you found yourself scrolling through social media after every comeback. It used to be worse, when you had been living alone and would spend countless hours curled up on your tiny bed, face only illuminated by your phone.

The rest of the members all know that you had private social media accounts, they all had them too even though you technically weren't allowed to. What they didn't know was how many nights you had wasted away, watching funny compilations, reaction videos, and analysis of performances. Sometimes, it even felt like you were subconsciously searching for the negative comments, wanting to understand better the mindset of the haters.

It was an old, but bad habit, so you had tried your best to stop once you moved in with Chan and Jeongin. But tonight you just couldn't sleep. After wandering into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water, you end up getting distracted by your Youtube recommendations.

You don't know what kind of strings the company pulled, but by some miracle, there's no clips of your disastrous fan call circulating any more, although there were still a lot of people talking about it.

There had been mixed comments. Some of the clips had excluded the terrible questions and people commented on how bad your media training must have been, but a majority of people were furious on your behalf and complained about how out of bounds the comment had been.

You should be relieved that the videos have been taken down and you are to a certain extent, but just a couple days ago the dance practice that haunted you had been posted. Just one more thing to worry about. As you feared, while a majority of the comments were nice, there's already people picking apart your performance, comparing you to the boys.

You click from one comment to another, then move onto fan made videos, inevitably falling down a rabbit hole of the many edits that exist where you had been cropped out or digitally removed. It was almost mesmerizing, watching videos of how well the group worked without you, how natural it looked to see what it would have looked like if it was just the eight of them. Some nights, you could almost forget that the edits were exactly that, edits and not the reality.

“Hey,” Chan interrupts. He is obviously trying his best not to scare you, but you were startled anyway, dropping your phone on the counter. “What are you up to so late?”

“It's nothing,” you said quickly, fumbling to lock your phone so that he can’t see the video that’s playing, but Chan had scooped it up before you had the chance to pick it back up.

“What's this-” You could see the moment that he pieced things together, the way that even in the dim lighting you could tell how his brow had furrowed and his hand had tightened around your phone. “How come you're not in these videos?”

“Hm?”

“You were definitely in this performance,” Chan says, studying the paused screen. “You're supposed to be… They removed you.” He finally realises with horror. “Why are you watching garbage like this?”

“I just want to know what Stay are thinking.” You shrug. “I saw this video and couldn't help but watch. It’s not a big deal, I was just curious.”

“They're not Stay if they're not supporting the whole group!” Chan startles you with the sharpness of his voice. He catches sight of your wide eyes and softens his tone. “Sorry, I just hate akgaes and seeing these kind of posts.”

“Oh come on,” you say. “You're telling me that you've never thought about what the group would be like if you weren't being dragged down by me?”

“Dragged down- Y/n-”

“Don't lie to me, oppa. I know you've seen what people are saying about the group, about me. Have you seen some of these edits? Stray Kids looks good as eight,” you admit.

“I’m not lying! None of us would want to be making music or performing without you,” Chan insists.

“You don't have to say that just to not make me feel bad.” You shake your head.

“We’ve been together from the start, why would I have chosen you to be a part of Stray Kids if I didn't actually want you to be on the team?” Chan asks, sounding frustrated, but also genuinely curious.

“Because the company added me to the team at the last minute?” you say, as if it's obvious. Because to you, and basically everybody else, it is. “I know I wasn't part of the group that you picked. It's okay-”

“What are you talking about? You know that I chose you too, right?” he asks slowly.

“But the company-”

“They couldn’t have just added you to the group without our say.”

“No, I know that you guys agreed it to, but-”

“Y/n-ah, we didn't just agree to it. They told me they wanted us to consider adding a female member to Stray Kids. We thought about it and said yes. I was the one who wanted that member to be you.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded.

“What?”

“Why are you so surprised? I saw your evaluations, you were one of trainees strongest in dance, probably the only one that could keep up with us, your singing has always been stable, and I know that based on your personality and work ethic, you would get along well with the rest of us. It was the obvious choice.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say, mind racing.

“You really thought the company just added your name onto the roster and we went along with it?”

“I don't know, I guess so?” you say sheepishly. “I was just so grateful to debut, it didn't matter at the time. It felt so out of the blue.”

“You know that one of the reasons that JYP didn't have you on that many of the girl group line-ups was because he was considering making you a solo artist, right?”

“Huh? There's no way,” you immediately deny. “Nobody ever mentioned that-”

“He told me when I brought up your name to add to the group. I guess they never wanted to get your hopes up.”

“I thought they were going to drop me soon,” you admit, scratching at the back of your neck. “I uh, I thought maybe I would do at most one more year of training and then move back in with my family. I had even started filling out university applications to keep my options open.”

“Y/n, you were consistently having amazing evaluations, you were being praised so much by everyone. Why would you doubt yourself?”

“Three years as a trainee and nothing to show for it. You know what it was like, how hard it was to see people come and go. It didn't matter how great my evaluations were if I never got to debut.”

“But-”

“Don't tell me that you never thought about quitting. Oppa, I thought that you of all people would understand what it was like.” You hate the way that your voice cracks.

“I thought about it all the time,” Chan says. “Sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”

“It's fine,” you mumble.

“Y/n-ah,” Chan asks tentatively, like he's afraid to learn the answer. “All these years that we've been together, did you really think we didn't want you?”

“Yes? Well, not really. I didn't think you guys disliked having me in the group per se, I just always thought that maybe you would like it more if I wasn't? And I guess it didn't help that there are a lot of people who thought the same way.”

“I'm sorry we didn't reassure you more.” Chan runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “How did we not see that you felt this way?”

“Because I didn't want you to? It's not like it was your fault anyway, I was just overthinking.”

“You know we're going to have to make it up to you, right?” Chan says, looking a little mischievous.

“Oh please no,” you say, backing away nervously thinking of how much coddling and smothering you're about to endure. You're pretty sure you're already one of the members that's doted on the most. “Things are good as they are.”

“Nope, I refuse.” Chan approaches you, reaching out and catching your wrist so that you can't get away. “We're going to give you so much love that you're not going to doubt yourself ever again.”

“No!” you squeal, trying to tug away from his grip. “I already-”

The rest of your sentence gets cut off as Chan pulls you into an embrace and your face gets smashed against his shoulder. He squeezes you tightly and contrary to your words, you just relax into his hold.

“What are you guys doing? You're being so loud.”

Both you and Chan freeze, then turn to stare as Jeongin shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with his hair all mussed up. You turn back to Chan for a second before he replies.

“Just having a bit of a heart to heart, Innie. Come here, join us,” he invites.

“Ugh, why would I want to hug either of you?” Jeongin complains, wrinkling his nose before immediately walking over and enveloping both of you in his arms.

Even though you know you're going to have to leave for a schedule in a matter of hours, with both Chan and Jeongin's arms wrapped tight around you, you feel lighter than you have in months. You feel secure, at ease, and finally, like you've found a home in these boys.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

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checkeredflagggs · 19 days ago

Text

One More

Pairing: carlos sainz x wife!reader

summary: you have a secret to share with your husband

a/n: this literally popped into my head at 3 am and demanded to be written

Masterlist

Private Messages, Reyes and y/n

Private Messages, Lily/Alexandra and y/n

f1wagwatch

user1: ok but even crying she’s so pretty

↳user2: gross?

↳user1: don’t judge me

user3: Carlos can you fight?

↳user4: seriously Carlos can you fight?!?

user5: all men do is disappoint

↳user6: don’t I know it

user7: ok but what’s actually happening?? Like yn is not the type to cry like that…

↳user8: and outside the Sainz house??

↳user9: ummm where are the boys??

↳user10: that’s what I’d like to know…

↳user11: are we seeing the end of the Sainz couple???

↳user12: don’t even speak that into existence

user13: oh my god leave her alone?!?

↳user14: right?? Like fuck off

↳user14: leave the poor women alone…

Private Messages, Carlos and y/n

f1wagwatch

liked by user, user, user, and 728,823 others

f1wagwatch: Y/N Sainz makes a surprise appearance at Barcelona this weekend — a desperate attempt to mend a broken marriage or a heartfelt gesture from a loving wife?

view all comments

user15: my crops are watered, my skin is clear, the sun is shining

user16: the scream I scrumpt when I saw her cross my screen

user3: I still wanna know if Carlos can fight — because I will for her

user17: ok you guys need to stop trying to stir up trouble — they both fucking glowed when they saw each other

↳user18: no for real — Carlos like legit froze when he saw her walking his way

↳user19: I never knew someone could freeze so quickly…

user20: did anyone else see how Carlos glowed when y/n was on his arm??

↳user21: oh that man is so down bad

user22: I’m gonna say heartfelt surprise based on the way neither of them could stand to be more than 2 feet away from one another…

↳user23: omg right??? Like Carlos looked so panicked when y/n stepped away so they could get a solo picture of Carlos

↳user24: the look of betrayal he shot y/n was gold…

f1wagwatch

user25: god they are so in love…

↳user26: I want what they have

↳user25: so do I

user27: they’re shutting those rumors down hard

↳user28: and good for them!

user29: so fucking classy…

user30: ok but what was the good news??

↳user31: …am I’m crazy or 👶🏻??

↳user32: oh my god I hope so!?! Their kids are so cute

user33: the streets are saying it’s definitely a new baby Sainz!!

↳user34: oh I can’t wait!

carlossainz55

liked by y/n, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, and 2,813,183 others

tagged: y/n

carlossainz55: Newest racer coming this fall 💙💙

view all comments

y/n: One of the days of my life

↳carlossainz55: you make me happier every day, Cielito

charles_leclerc: another baby sainz? Félicitations!

↳alexandrasaintmleux: a baby!! Oh I’m so excited and happy for you two

↳carlossainz55: ¡Gracias!

alex_albon: Baby sainz in the paddock?? Hell yeah!

↳alex_albon: I get to claim this one as my nephew right??

↳lilymhe: we absolutely do!

↳y/n: you’ll be the best aunt and uncle for this one 💙💙

landonorris: another godson for me to spoil???

↳charles_leclerc: another?? You don’t have a claim on Diego and Santiago! They’re my godsons!

↳alex_albon: ummm teammate privilege? I’m totally godfather

↳landonorris: you’re both wrong!

↳y/n: you’re all wrong — none of you are godfathers

↳charles_leclerc: what?

↳alex_albon: harsh

↳landonorris: WHAT? carlossainz55 explain yourselves

↳carlossainz55: sorry hermano but whatever y/n says goes liked by y/n

williamsracing: making some baby clothes as we speak

↳y/n: sorry not sorry but this baby sainz will be a Ferrari fan like their older brothers

↳scuderiaferrari: sending you another package as we speak liked by y/n

↳williamsracing: 😢😢

↳y/n: I’m just listening to Sebastian

↳williamsracing: I guess we understand

Taglist

Please interact with my taglist post if you want to join — I don’t always check the notes on the individual posts

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @il0vereadingstuff @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @anunstablefangirl @princessesgarden @galaxygurlll @shelbyteller @ihaveitprinteddout @kuolonsyoja @allthings-fandom @mountainshuman @moonypixel @nikfigueiredo @daisydaze111 @deephideoutmilkshake @mimisweetz @books-fangirl-books @woderfulkawaii @fastandcurious16 @lilyofthevalley-09 @rexit-mo @alessa-the-enchantress @1800-love-me @greantii @toodeepintofandoms @tukes @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @lecfosimaxbull @dramaticpiratellamas @devilacot @supernatural-harrypotter7 @nightrose-18 @alexxavicry @vhkdncu2ei8997 @purplephantomwolf

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whisperedmeg · 10 days ago

Text

LIBRARY RULES ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: you went to the library to escape the solitude of your apartment. but the last thing you were expecting was to spend the afternoon flirting over Foucault with a sweater vest-clad FBI agent who talks philosophy like it’s a love language.

genre: fluff | w/c: 1.2k

tags/warnings: none really! some light academic jargon and mentions of philosophical theory but you don’t need background on them for the story to make sense

a/n: went to the library and got inspired to write a quick little fluffy fic over the weekend 🤓 I chose the philosophy angle because I recently rewatched s4e8 ‘masterpiece’ where spencer mentions working on a philosophy BA. I dove into my old university notes while writing this, but my brain is a bit fuzzy on this stuff so pls excuse any inaccuracies lol. also specifically had season 2 glasses reid in mind (yet again). if glasses reid has no fans, I’m dead.

You only came to the library because your apartment is too loud. Or too quiet. One of those paradoxes you could never quite define — either way, you can’t focus, and you need to. So you packed up your laptop and headed for the only place where you could guarantee the atmosphere would match your mood: hushed, academic, and ever-so-slightly tense.

You love libraries. Especially the older buildings — all worn paper, polished floors, and endless mazes of shelves. There’s something sacred about it. But what you didn’t expect was for someone else to reach for the same book at the same time as you.

“Sorry—”

“I’m sorry—”

You freeze. So does he.

Your eyes meet.

He’s tall. Messy-haired. Wearing a sweater vest over a button-down and a pair of browline glasses that make him look like he walked straight out of a graduate seminar. His hand is still suspended halfway toward the spine of the book you’d both reached for — Foucault’s Discipline and Punish, of all things — and his mouth was already parting to apologize again when he seemed to realize you’re both staring at each other.

“You go ahead,” he says quickly, dropping his hand.

“No, really, you can take it,” you say. “Are you also writing an unhinged think piece on carceral theory and state surveillance?”

His mouth quirks at the corner. “Not currently. But now I’m intrigued.”

You tilt your head, feeling a little emboldened. “Do you think Foucault actually believed total surveillance was inevitable?”

He blinks, surprised. “I think he meant it more literally than people like to admit.”

“So, panopticism as a warning?”

“Or a prophecy. Depends on how generous you’re feeling.”

You laugh. “Are you always this philosophical in the library?”

He looks faintly bashful, like maybe he isn’t used to playful interrogation. “It’s, uh, kind of my default setting.”

You laugh again and glance at the book still between you. “So, are we sharing this, or arm-wrestling for it?”

“Actually,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was just hoping to reread the section on disciplinary power, but it’s not urgent. I can find something else if you—”

“We could share,” you offer, surprising yourself. “There’s a reading table over there. Neutral ground.”

He looks at you for a moment, something curious in his expression. Then he nods. “Alright. Neutral ground.”

You walk side by side to a tucked-away wooden table nestled between shelves, sit down next to each other, and open the book.

The silence is companionable at first. You each pull out notebooks. You reach for your fountain pen. He’d brought a mechanical pencil — you find that endearing.

He turns the book toward you and taps a paragraph. “This part always gets overlooked.”

You read it silently. Nod. Scribble something down.

Then pass it back.

He makes a soft noise of agreement and flips a few pages, skimming with an intensity and speed that makes you wonder how many times he’d read it before and just how many words per minute he could possibly absorb.

You lean over slightly. “That part, where Foucault describes power as diffused rather than centralized. That’s where the whole thing turns, don’t you think?”

He glances at you across the book’s spine. “Yes. That’s where it stops being about prisons.”

You smile. “And starts being about everything.”

He passes the book back and nods towards your padfolio. “You take good notes.”

“Thanks,” you say, warmth blooming behind your ribs.

For the next twenty minutes, you trade the book like it’s a conversation — passing it back and forth with soft commentary and under-the-breath questions. You don’t speak constantly, but there’s no awkwardness. Just the quiet rhythm of two people paying attention to the same thing at the same time.

You aren’t sure when your knee started brushing his under the table. Or when your hands began to linger slightly too long during each pass. You tell yourself it’s incidental. The table’s small, and the book is large. But still, you notice.

When your fingers brush his again — knuckles, this time — you hear his breath catch and look up to catch his eyes.

You could look away. Instead, you opt for a conversational angle.

“So what’s your background? You don’t seem like the political theory type.”

He tilts his head. “No?”

“You read too fast. And your notes are in shorthand.” You lean in, smiling. “You’re either a court reporter, an academic, or some sort of federal agent.”

His eyes sparkle with something between amusement and alarm. “I’d argue there are more possibilities than that.”

“You’d probably argue anything,” you say, grinning. “Which is why I’m betting on academic.”

He ducks his head. “I’ve spent a lot of time in academia, but nope. I’m with the FBI.”

You struggle to hide your shock, then study him a little closer. “You? No way.”

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he says, offering a wave instead of a handshake. “Profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Wait. I’ve heard of you.”

Spencer blinks. “You have?”

You smile. “It’s hard not to, if you work anywhere near federal law enforcement. You’re the one with, like, a million PhDs and a tendency to quote Enlightenment theorists in case briefings, right?”

His ears flush pink. “My reputation precedes me, I guess. But, uh, just three PhDs. Not a million.”

You laugh softly at his awkwardness and introduce yourself in return. “I work in federal program management. Mostly DOJ-funded prison reform initiatives. Sometimes I write about the surveillance state.”

His brow lifts. “Then you probably know more about this than I do.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” you chuckle.

He ducks his head. “Well, I’ve never done it professionally. I just read a lot.”

You study him for another moment — soft-spoken, serious, a tad awkward, earnest to a fault — and feel something warm pool in your chest.

“I like your brain,” you say casually.

That makes him choke on air.

You grin. “Too forward?”

“No, I just… don’t hear that often.”

You tilt your head, feigning surprise. “That seems criminal.”

He looks at you like he’s mentally thumbing through an index card catalog for the appropriate response. When he doesn’t find one, he does what you imagine he always does: he reaches for something safer. Facts.

“Foucault argued the panopticon wasn’t just architectural,” he says suddenly, voice steadier than his posture. “It was a metaphor for disciplinary power throughout society. He thought it turned surveillance into a subtle form of control.”

You gasp. “Oh no. Now you’re flirting with post-structuralist theory?”

He flushes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s my love language.”

For a moment, the air between you shimmers — not quite silent, not quite static. You watch his fingers tap against the pages. He watches your smile soften.

You stand, closing your notebook. “I gotta head out. But would you want to do this again? Same time next week?”

His gaze lifts. “Same book?”

“Same table,” you say, shaking your head as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Different philosopher. I want to see what you have to say about Nietzsche. I bet you have many opinions on eternal recurrence.”

Spencer huffs a quiet laugh, eyes still on you. “You have no idea.”

As you turn, notebook tucked under your arm, the air in the library seems to shift. The hush of pages and footsteps resumes around you, but it sounds different now. Warmer, maybe. Or maybe it’s just you.

At the end of the row, you glance back.

Spencer’s still watching, lopsided grin on his face. He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks away like a little kid caught peeping at his gifts on Christmas Eve.

You turn the corner smiling.

Library rules: always return what you borrow. But this time, maybe — just maybe — you’re hoping to keep what you’d found.

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #library rules #criminalminds #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal mind

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thewritingfairy · 1 month ago

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↪ 16. Anger is powerful

PREV PART BAD ENDING 0.16 trigger warnings: (past) violence, (past, kinda) medical + physical + emotional neglect, DRUGGING SIDE EFFECTS, anger, you planning, tell me if I missed any! main m.list series m.list bad ending m.list

You feel off, something is wrong. Your body feels sluggish, your movements slow and everything feels like it’s going slow motion.

Then your friends run in, and by everything that’s holy, they are covered in blood. “No,” you gasp out as you rush to their side, checking them all over. Jesus, Willow has a head injury that’s bleeding too much. Bleeding too quickly for you to notice your co-workers rushing towards you with a first aid kit. Until you see them open it.

You step back and Anisha, a coworker that used to be a doctor in a different country, got to work on her head. “You check over the boy,” she tells you. “I’ll take care of this baby alright?”

You nod and you turn to Francis as if you are in a trance. “Are you alright?” you ask him, grabbing his arms gently as if to ground yourself, as if to tell yourself that he isn’t hurt. He didn’t have any visible injuries, but bruises are ready to form. And you know those bruises, those bruises were done by Jason. “What did Jason do to you?!”

Francis eyes shot up to yours, his breath hitching. It was clear he’s surprised you knew right away, he’s surprised at how angry you sound. You sound like you are ready to burn the world, to burn Jason in anyway you could. “Jason and Dick took us to an alleyway, they threatened us. They told us that we should stay away from you.”

You tense up, something Francis hated. Tensing up always gave you more pain, and pain made it difficult to think straight. Especially with anger, the more pain you have the easier you fly off the handle. “I’m going to kill the motherfuckers,” you hiss as you stand up in anger, but your body freezes and suddenly you drop on the ground. Something that confuses you, something that told Francis to not let you return home alone tonight. “what’s Willow’s status?”

“She needs a hospital,” Anisha says, her eyes focused on Willow ensuring her health. “I’ve already called an ambulance.”

“Shit,” Francis curses, their family cannot afford to pay for an ambulance trip and treatment.

“I’ll pay,” you say instantly, sure your trust fund doesn’t have a lot in it but you have your savings. And you are not letting your friends family go basically bankrupt for something your family did. “I’m going to kill those-!”

Francis engulfs you in a hug, he never hugs you. Hell, he basically doesn’t let anyone touch him unless it’s for play fighting or actual fighting. “Please don’t go anywhere,” he whispers. “I don’t trust them, I don’t want them to be around you.”

You hug him back gently, he’s right.

You are too weak, too angry to confront them. You can fuck them up in another way. Fuck plan B, plan C or plan D. Your file won’t just be for you, no it will be for them as well. You need to ask mama Angelica if you can stay with her for a while, because right now your money is going to ruining the Wayne family.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him, your tone as cold as ice. Squeezing him as you feel him tremble.. “I’ll fix everything and none of you will get hurt in the cross fire.”

But first you need to find out what the fuck is going with your body

NEXT PART this is a short chapter, mainly because I wanted something out of my brain and to start the bad ending. The good ending will be shorter then the bad ending! if you want to be tagged for the bad ending you can do so on the masterlist or chapters. THE MAIN STORY's TAGLIST IS CLOSED.

taglist (CLOSED): @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

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jordiemeow · 2 months ago

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summary: when anakin gets denied the rank of master, he's overwrought with tension. no better way to deal with it than sneaking out to visit his favourite girl at his favourite brothel on the lower levels of coruscant.

warnings: smut 18+, face-sitting, mild sub!anakin, reader is a prostitute, brief comfort ending in f!receiving oral, anakin is a giver!! cathartic head-giving

notes: in honour of may the fourth! need to remake my taglist for specific fandoms so not tagging anyone here. not my usual audience so if this flops idc but anakin has been on my mind a lot recently (when is he not). anyways happy star wars day :)

"It's... it's a joke, is what it is. And he didn't stick up for me. Not once. What an excuse for a mentor if he's just going to—"

You're not listening at this point. Head tilted, lips slick with red paint, body on display. It's a shame the sheer two-piece is going to waste on a Jedi rambling on about how betrayed he feels by the Order. It's also terribly hard to listen to said 'betrayal' when his robes and tunic have been shrugged off to leave him in just his pants, defined muscles rippling under the dim light of your private room.

Something about feeling too restricted. You'd laughed and said the removal of clothes was pretty typical in this establishment, but your attempts at levity proved futile. Fast forward to now...

"—And don't even get me started on Master Windu." (You weren't going to.) "How can he look me in the eyes and tell me that? Like I don't deserve it for all the work I've done for them. Risked my lives countless times. Saved millions—no, dare I say billions—and this is the thanks I get!"

Billions? You aren't so sure about that. You keep the comment to yourself—maybe he's right. You don't ask him for information; it's always willingly passed on. He could be the most decorated Jedi in the Order after this war and you would be none the wiser.

He paces back and forth restlessly, hands tightened into fits and jaw taut with tension. You'd almost be a little frightened if most of your visits from him didn't start with some sort of temper tantrum. All this just for you to soothe him into bed and make him forget.

"Ridiculous," he spits as you watch on plaintively. It's like spectating a meltdown, you can't help but think. You're surprised he hasn't thrown something yet. Destruction is always a symptom of his annoyance. You wonder briefly if his room back at the Temple is in disarray. "And then Obi-Wan has the audacity to ask me to—"

You cross the room to reach him just in time to stop him from saying something he absolutely should not be telling a prostitute. You know half the Jedi Order's secrets by now from his visits. A hand rests upon his left arm, the one made of human flesh. Gentle, tentative, like you're trying not to scare off a frightened animal. He almost jerks it back, but his eyes soften when you speak.

"Ani," you croon gently. The nickname makes the tension in his shoulders ease. "Just come to bed. You're getting yourself all worked up."

He sighs. He knows you're right. But he's stubborn on a good day, and today is not one of those.

"You don't understand. They're treating me like I'm less than them just because the Chancellor recommended me. Like I haven't done everything to prove I'm more than just a Knight before he got involved."

"You aren't less than them just because they go around calling themselves Masters. A lot of men in here do that, you know. Makes them feel powerful. If it makes you feel better, I could call you that."

He rolls his eyes. Fond. Amused. "That doesn't really count."

"No, I suppose not," you smile. The kind with your eyes that crinkles softly. The kind that always makes him wonder whether you're actually being authentic. Sometimes he forgets you're human under all the sequins and smoke, when you strut around the room like you're one of the suns and everyone else is in orbit.

You seem like you genuinely want to put him at ease right now, even with all your playful little jabs. It makes him sigh, shoulders slumping as his hand finds your waist.

"You're good at this, you know," he murmurs.

"And you're good at being a Jedi hero," you counter, gently urging him back towards the bed. "But enough moping. I'm not wasting this outfit on you if you think your credits are going towards therapy."

He laughs as the back of his legs hit the bed, letting himself fall. He props himself up on his elbows to watch you trail a tantalising finger down your chest, through the valley of your breasts. It's enough to make any man's throat go dry. Especially a Jedi who's only form of action is the rare occasions he can sneak away to see you.

"No? What are they going towards, then?"

"Depends. Whaddya want tonight?" You ask playfully, tugging at the alarmingly thin strap between the two cups barely concealing your tits. His eyes are drawn to them, watching the way the fat spills out of the satin, the red material a stark contrast to your skin.

He swallows thickly.

"Eyes up here, big shot."

His blue eyes flick up to your own, a little sheepish. This is the part where he has you sprawl out beneath him for his perusal. But instead, he says:

"I just want to feel good at something. Make you feel good."

It surprises you a little, your hand faltering where it's been idly exploring your cleavage. You recover quickly enough that he doesn't comment on your blunder. "You always make me feel good."

"That's a practiced answer," he accuses.

"Practiced but true in your case."

"Fine. But I mean it. I could use the ego boost."

"But—"

"Who's the paying customer?" Anakin interjects.

"You aren't making me feel very good by smart-mouthing me, you know."

He ignores your faux-admonishment. "So you'll let me?"

It's not as if you're opposed to it. Not in the slightest. It's just surprising.

"I'd let you do anything. You know I would."

A shadow of a grin crosses his face, before his braced elbows fall and he lays down. Dark hair spread across your pillows, fanning out in messy curls against the satin.

"Ride my face."

He says it so earnestly you almost laugh. Sometimes you forget how young he is. Nothing like the old timers who come in here looking for a quick fuck with no regards for anything but their own dicks.

"Are you sure? We've never done that before."

"You're not the only girl I've been with," he counters. It's almost enough to make your chest twinge with jealousy—you know he's seen other girls here. When you're busy, or before you became his favourite. You're a professional, though. Don't let it show.

"Okay," you relent. You can't help but be spiteful, though. Panties dragging agonisingly down your thighs while he watches through half-lidded eyes as the fabric inches lower, lower, lower...

Eventually they pool around your ankles, and you step out of them. The bra (a generous term for such a skimpy piece of fabric) follows as you move to straddle him.

"Higher," he says, hands finding your thighs and attempting to pull you further up his body. The contrast between cool metal and a warm palm on each leg makes you shudder.

You whack a hand gently. "Patient. Thought you wanted to be good?"

He bites back a groan, his hands stilling. They still rest on the plush flesh of your thighs, but he isn't tugging insistently at your limbs to get you where he wants you. You continue with your torturous pace, moving up his body. The slick of your cunt drags across his bare abs, and a sharp breath escapes him.

The friction is enough to have you sigh softly as you ease upwards. You take your time teasing his nipples until he's tensing underneath you, back arched up off the mattress and fingers curling into your skin.

"I didn't think this would make you so much of a tease," he says breathlessly.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Your eyelashes bat innocently at him. "This is what gets me off. You're being useful."

He gives you an unimpressed look for your faux-naïf, but he keeps his mouth shut. You're so close that he doesn't want to goad you into holding back any longer. And he's rewarded for his patience when you give a little pat to his pecs, and finally move to hover over his face.

He looks like an undercity kid who's seen the surface for the first time. Eager blue eyes, mouth salivating at the sight of your dripping cunt above him. It's hard to find the restraint to not dive in and bury his nose in your folds. Just the smell almost has his eyes rolling back.

"Please," he murmurs. Breathy and whiny, like a young man begging for a drop of salvation, not the famed 'Hero with No Fear' breaking his Code to spend the night in a pleasure house. "C'mon. Just let me. Oh, please, I need it—"

You sink down onto his mouth before he can finish his sentence. He moans into your heat, tongue flicking out to drink up whatever has already spilled from you. There's nothing tentative about it—it's like he's devoting everything into worshipping you with his mouth. Gone are the thoughts of his Master and the rest of the Council denying him. All he can comprehend is your sweet mewls as you sit atop his face.

His chin is soaked with the fluids of your pleasure, nose nudging your clit each time you roll your hips against his face. It's instinctive and you hardly mean to do it, but he grips your hips and guides you to grind against his eager mouth.

"Oh, Ani," you moan softly. "Just like that. Mhm."

It's enough encouragement for him to keep working. Dutifully strokes of his tongue, switching between nuzzling between your slick folds and sucking at your clit. Cheeks hollowed out and applying suction as you brace a hand against the headboard, the other nestled into his soft curls.

Your thighs tremble on each side of his head, toes curling into the sheets every time he flicks eagerly at the bud. Hips rocking upwards against the air in search of friction he physically cannot receive right now, cock hard and leaking in the confines of his pants. His erection is almost painful, but he wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to be good for something.

"You'd do wonders in here, you know,” you manage through a groan. “If you're looking to become a— oh, fuckkkk—different kind of master. Very skilled mouth."

His laugh vibrates against your dripping cunt. "Tempting, if I get to work in such close quarters with you."

"Mhm, maybe. Perhaps we could become a bit of a duo. They pay extra for that, you know. And the tips are great. You should really— oh!"

His teeth graze against that sensitive spot that has your eyes rolling back. "I didn't come here for a new career. Just let me make you feel good, please?"

All you can manage is a hum of agreement with the way he's redoubled his efforts. Tongue flattened against the roll of your hips, obediently letting you use his wet mouth to chase your own pleasure. The feeling of your sopping cunt grinding against his face chases anything but you from his mind.

The pleasure grows almost blinding. "Fuck, close," you gasp out, tugging lightly on his hair.

It earns a pleased moan into your heat. "Please. Wanna feel it," he mumbles, a rumble into you in between licks of his tongue. He doesn't think he's ever tasted anything sweeter.

A few more carefully placed laps and your thighs tense. One of your hands moves to cup your breast as you ride through your orgasm, release spilling over his awaiting mouth. He welcomes it all eagerly, working you through it as his name falls off your tongue again and again.

When you roll off of him, you're both short of breath. Neither of you bother to wipe the smear of your slick off his chin as you sink down next to him. One glance to the chronometer on the wall tells you he's spent most of his time worshipping your pussy rather than chasing his own pleasure. Another glance, this time to him, makes it very clear he isn't bothered by that in the slightest.

Oh, well. You still have a few more minutes for him to smother you in affection unbefitting of two people from your stations in life.

It’s quiet after that. Light, fleeting touches as you catch your breaths.

Aftercare with him is the best part, you think. When all the tension is released and he's all lazy, boyish smiles as he runs his hands absently up and down your bare arm. Soft kisses placed to your shoulders, an apologetic brush of his lips against any splotchy bruises left by the men and women before him. Most patrons are always right out the door, but Anakin...

Well, he likes to check in. Make sure you're okay. Have a bit of banter.

"Was I too much? Was that alright?"

You smile. A silly question, given you were calling most of the shots when you were actually on top of him. You answer anyways.

"No. No, you were perfect," you tell him softly, pushing a sweaty brown curl off of his forehead.

His brow pinches like he doesn't believe you. Not about the too much part. The perfect part. "But I—"

"Ani," you cut him off. The nickname makes him melt back into the sheets. More docile, relaxed. "You are perfect. Those Jedis all have sticks up their asses if they can't see you deserve to sit around their silly little table, or whatever it is they do up in their fancy pants Council Room."

He sighs. A beat of silence.

"... Lightsabers," he corrects.

You blink stupidly. "What?"

"They have lightsabers stuck up their asses."

There's the Anakin you know. You snort softly, bracing your forearm on top of his chest to peer down at him. "I'm pretty sure that'd burn them inside out."

"Maybe they deserve it," he fires back. Something about the way he says it makes you think he's not entirely joking. But you laugh anyways, head shaking softly.

"Maybe they do," you agree, ducking down to plant a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Anyways, you best get going. I have to clean up before the next one comes in."

"Do I have to?" He groans. "Just cancel. Tell them you're sick."

"She's a regular. Unfortunately, you have to go face reality." You sit up, patting his chest. "Go be a big, brave Jedi for me, yeah?"

Anakin rolls his eyes, but he obliges reluctantly, even if he makes a big show of sighing loudly and dragging himself sluggishly out of the soiled sheets in search of his discarded robes.

If tonight has shown you one thing, it's that he probably shouldn't be a Jedi Master after all the rules he's broken in one evening alone. But you don't tell him that. You make your coin out of sleeping with sleazebags from all over the Galaxy in the Coruscant Underworld, after all.

Who are you to judge?

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x you #anakin #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin x you #star wars #star wars smut #hayden christensen #may the fourth #may the 4th #star wars moodboard #anakin skywalker moodboard #was supposed to end in fucking but im lazy #jo writes ⋆˚࿔

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tossawary · 2 months ago

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Watched an online presentation today about recent book trends, both in retail sales and library borrowing. Romance gets a big section of course, being (I think) THE most popular genre, with several heavy-hitting subcategories including romantasy and supernatural and historical and contemporary and on and on.

I wasn't surprised to hear the presenters bring up the uptick in sports romance as a subcategory, particularly hockey, because yeah, I've seen that. Unavoidable lately if you have... uhhh... entered bookstores + logged onto library websites + actually follow NHL hockey on any social media platform. Still unsurprising, even if you have done none of those other things, if you have any passing awareness of the behemoth that is Sports Real Person Fiction in general and Men's Hockey RPF in particular on AO3. (As of me going to check just now: nearly 200,000 fics and nearly 40,000 fics respectively. Damn. HRPF is nearly 25% of the parent tag there. People are having fun over there.)

I WAS taken aback, however, when the presenter brought up a few titles to watch in the coming year, noting a potential rising type of sports romance: motorracing sports romances. Now, this is not actually SURPRISING if you have any passing awareness (which I again did) of the other behemoth that is Formula 1 RPF on AO3 (nearly 49,000 fics on AO3, more than HRPF), but I simply hadn't actually thought about the industry potential before now. It did make me think to myself, "How many book industry analyst people are taking cues from AO3 now? I mean, it seems very reasonable to pay fanfic some attention for a bunch of different reasons (it does indicate a potential ready market, I presume there are simply plenty of fanfic pleasure readers in the publishing industry, etc.), but wow... time flies and culture changes. I mean, people are publishing original omegaverse stories, for example, and have been for a while now. Wild."

And also: "Huh. Can we play the game of predicting future popular book genres, specifically niche romance subcategories, 5-10 years from now based on what's popular on AO3 right now?" Now, I don't actually keep up enough with broader fandom trends to do this well or accurately, but it's still fun to look at various fandom trends and imagine their future professional publishing counterparts that I will simply Not Understand because it's Not My Thing. If they actually figure out how to file the serial numbers off of Minecraft Gamer RPF or something someday and it becomes the next big thing, no one tell me, because I want to get blindsided, just absolutely bodied by bafflement, when I walk into a bookstore. It'll be fun.

#they imported and translated a bunch of cnovels and such to fill some niches; but I am curious if we will see western transmigration fiction #as a more serious trend someday not just a few novels here and there; it's fun thinking about what gets “big” and what doesn't #uhhh fuck what else are the kids into these days??? maybe we'll file the serial numbers off of that sexy firefighter show #and firefighter romance novels will inexplicably become a hot new trend for a couple years in 5-10 years idk #I don't pay attention; if anyone has any serious or not at all serious suggestions let me hear them in comments or tags #“narusasu fanfic will start its own subgenre of vaguely orientalist assassin school enemies to lovers romances” <- now we're cooking #tossawary fandom #tossawary reading

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ashes-of-rozes · 3 months ago

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In Chicago, I Feel It

Relationship: Viltrumite!Mark x afab!reader

Summary: The world is over. Chicago burned first. Mark found you and now your life is actually over.

Tags: reader has (plant) powers, cursing (come on guys), war, violence, DARK ROMANCE, could also be classified as horror/gore, mentions/thoughts of harassment (very mild), slightly ooc, Viltrumite!Mark is evil but he’s soft just for you, song, part 2 (?)

The world was forever shrouded in a shade of grey.

When the Viltrumites invaded— yesterday? Two months ago? It’s hard to tell— everything went dark overnight. Literally.

The big cities were the first to go. Chicago. Then New York. Then Los Angeles. Then Orlando. Like dominos, the cities fell, crushing people under the weight of several tons of concrete.

And somehow, somehow, you’ve managed to survive this long. You never sided with a resistance but you ran away from the invaders too. The Viltrumite who ruled called himself Mark. The name haunted you, kept you up at night.

You had a friend named Mark before this all started. He’s probably dead. Everyone else you knew was.

Food was scarce and hard to find if you never picked a side. You heard rumors that the humans under the Viltrumite’s rule didn’t have to worry about food. Or clean water. Or their lives.

It sounded so tempting.

And yet you never surrendered. Was comfort worth the cost of your freedom? Was your life more sacred because you had powers? None of it felt fair. None of it felt right.

Your skin constantly crawled with guilt— the planet you once swore to protect under the safety of a mask crumbled to a fine powder and you did nothing. You had teamed up with the Guardians to try and stop them but the last time you saw them, Eve was the only one still breathing. You panicked.

You didn’t want to die. Especially a painful one. The thought was terrifying.

As you retreated into the Earth, your eyes met with the Viltrumite in charge for this whole thing. Even far away you could see the blaze brightening up his tired eyes. He stared at you, eyes watching as you sunk underground. He didn’t even try to stop you.

Thankfully, your powers let you hide from most of them. You could cover up your rotten smell with flowers or smell like the burning Earth under your feet. You could go two hours laying underground with no oxygen so small spontaneous naps were your only friend.

But your luck was running out. You could feel it. The line you were balancing on was wobbling and nearing its end.

Screams echoed from far away. You winced, sympathetic with their pain and fear. But you were selfish and went the exact opposite direction, desperate to cling to the tainted atmosphere another day. The screams stop and you feel a chill snake down your spine. You look over your shoulder, seeing the orange glow of a distant war.

You round the corner of a crumpled building when you bump into something. The action surprises you and you stumble back onto your ass, vines instinctively curled around your hands, the dirt under your palms wet. You didn’t want to know if it was water or blood.

You look up and your breath catches in your throat, “You-“ He cuts you off with a single raised hand. Fear seeps into your veins, black and poisonous. “You’re the one from three weeks ago,” he says, calm voice making you sick.

No.

It’s only been three weeks?

His eyes scan you, traveling up and down your body like your prey for him, “I looked into you. I was curious about the defender of Earth who coward behind the world, pretending to be a hero.” This man seemed to know everything about you from meeting you two seconds those weeks ago. He takes a step forward and panic overtakes your sense to think clearly; thorn painted vines shoot out from under your palms and towards him. Mark holds out one hand, catching the vines in his grasp. With his left hand, he pulls the vines from the ground. He takes another step forward and pauses, looking down at his palms.

Blood.

He tosses the vines to the side, glaring at his hands. Three small cuts, but sharp enough to bleed.

Fear wraps around you like a wet suit, clinging to your skin with your panic-induced sweat. You scramble back on your hands, the ground swallowing you more and more with each inch. You’re not even aware your sinking.

“You made me bleed,” he says, still staring at his hands. Would apologizing help your chances of staying alive? He looks back in your direction, “You injured a Viltrumite Soldier.” Tears fill your eyes but you don’t get the chance to let them fall. Mark is in front of you before you finish blinking, pulling you out of the ground like it’s nothing. “You’re coming with me.”

It’s not a request or a command. It’s a simple statement. “No,” you manage to squeak out, “Please. I’m sorry.” He stares at you, his face unreadable. “Your apologies mean nothing,” he says. The tears finally start to fall and you squirm in his hold, “No!” His glare hardens, his grip tightening but he starts flying. Dread wraps around your heart like an overgrown weed and you reach down, pleading for the Earth to save you.

Nothing happens.

Why would it?

You didn’t save the Earth, it shouldn’t save you.

You fall limp and his grip only tightens, “Your powers are meaningless if you’re not surrounded by natural materials, aren’t they?” You don’t answer, tears falling from your chin and dripping towards the ground several thousand feet below. You don’t have to answer. He knows what it is.

By the time he flies over Milwaukee, your tears have stained a clean path onto your dirty face. Your eyes grow heavy as you watch the world crumble beneath you. Before you can fight it, your eyes fall shut, surrendering to your future.

〤〤〤

“Wake up.”

The voice barely registers in your empty mind before the air leaves your lungs.

Your eyes snap open, instinctively calling for the Earth but the only thing under your palms are silk sheets and— wait. You take a deep breath, eyes focusing on your surroundings. The room is white and mainly bare. It consists of the bed you were thrown on, a small empty desk in the corner, what’s possibly a closet, and a bathroom with the door open that looks just as hospitalized as the rest of the place.

Your throat tightens and you manage to gather enough courage to look at him, “Where … are we?” Mark stares at you, like he’s considering answering. Eventually, he does, floating down until his feet hit the floor soundlessly, “My quarters within the new liaison building on Earth.”

Huh?

You nod, mind still jumbled and confused. “Your … quarters,” you mumble to yourself, staring at the silk bedding beneath your fingers, “Not prison?” He huffs, almost sounding amused but mainly empty, “No. This won’t be much different for you, though.” You pinch the white fabric between your fingers, freezing. “Worry not, if I wanted you dead or thrown in jail, I would’ve done so already,” he says. Like that’s somehow supposed to bring you comfort. You swallow, throat dry, “Then what am I here for?”

“Reproduction.”

Fear hits you again but it’s different this time. Darker.

Every muscle goes taught with tension.

The mattress dips with the added weight when Mark sits down, “You don’t need to worry. It will be painless. I’ll ensure it is.” You didn’t even realize you were crying until a tear fell onto the sheet.

“You’re shaking.”

And maybe you are. You’re not entirely sure. There’s a hand on your calf, gentle but possessive, “You do not wish to reproduce with me?” You immediately shake your head no. But there was no point in fighting it, if he wanted to, he’d easily overpower you.

The silence stretches for a long time. You can’t look up, tears soaking the sheet below you.

“Okay.” Mark stands and you turn to look at him, breathing labored, “…okay?” He nods, “Viltrumites do not mate without consent. I’ll wait until you are ready.” Your breath stuttered. Part of you was relieved that he wasn’t forcing you and the other part didn’t believe him. “And if I never am,” you ask, voice low. “You’ll except it one day,” he says, like he somehow knows the future, “Until then it’s my job to make sure my mate is healthy and well-kept.”

Mark reaches out a hand, “And not only have you soaked my bedding, you’ve gotten it muddy by simply existing on it.” A fresh waves of tears come back, scared for your safety. “You need a shower, I have work to do. I’ll send someone in for the bed.” You blink, staring at his hand. “You’re injured and malnourished, get clean and you’ll be taken care of,” he continues.

“Do I have a choice,” you ask. It’s a stupid question. “Not in your health,” he says, hand still outstretched, “Not today at least. Behave, and you’ll get freedom.” You inhale shakily and take his hand. He pulls you close and you climb off the bed with shaky legs. They’d gone numb a while ago. Mark gives you a curious look and let’s go.

Your knees buckle almost instantly but he catches you before you hit the ground. He doesn’t say anything else, picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. It’s a stand up shower.

Mark sets you on the edge of the sink, “I really must go, but I’ll start the water.” He turns on the very complicated looking faucet and straightens back up, turning back to look at you. “Get cleared from the doctor today and you can roam around all you want tomorrow,” he informs. You nod.

He turns to leave, pausing at the door. “Don’t try and escape,” he says, back muscles flexing from tension, “I will find you and you will not like me when I do.” With that, he closes the bathroom door and leaves.

masterlist

||part two||

#invincible comic #invincible x reader fic #invincible x reader #invincible #invincible x you #invincible x y/n #viltrumite mark #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #dark romance

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halfbloodfics · 7 months ago

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Hi! Yeah, so I desperately need a Pillow Fucking Snape who's needy for his Y/N as your sub!Snape headcannon made him 🥹👏 Skipping all the pleasantries here 'cus holy moly you got me with those headcannons and since you sent me here from the comments I went straight in for the request 👀❤️

A/N: {i have been wanting to write this, a sinfully long time. he's so sub its actually tragic. this is REALLY long im so sorry, but i really wanted to make it a sweet, long buildup of how much Sev really wants this woman :') Sev is literally like a feral cat experiencing love for the first time in this lmao}

title: let me get what i want

18+ minors dni

rating/tw: explicit, smut, brief mention of suicidal thoughts in very beginning

tags: solo smut, solo snape, sub!snape, snape centric pov, masterbation, insecurity, guilt, shame, kinda angsty, snape is touch starved, female professor reader

song: please, please, please let me get what i want by the smiths

MASTERLIST

Severus was a man not known for his indulgences. Everyone knew that. He knew that.

Gratification was a luxury he could never afford.

Growing up poor, Severus learned quick that what you desire is often not what you get. He had desired a lot of things before, certainly. To say he hadn't would be nothing but a lie. In the nights in his bedroom in that dusty old house on Spinners End, cowering in the corner, he desired for the drink in his fathers hand to put him to sleep at last. In his fifth year, glaring at the smirking upside down face of James Potter and Sirius black, he desired revenge. At 21, in the doorway of Dumbledore's office, when he learned the consequences of trust, he desired his death.

He had lived his entire life chasing his desires like a dog chasing the moon, knowing it was out of reach and yet too unevolved to understand how.

And yet... He had never felt his desire so, within grasp until he had met her. Those things of the past, poisonous, intangible pleasures, dark or light, had never been even remotely in reach.

She came into his life like a meteror, completely dashing across his sky, ripping him from the endless chase he had partoke in his entire life. Leading him on a completely seperate path, one he had never thought would ever find him...

True, honest, burning, desire.

The day she started teaching at Hogwarts in the middle of the year was a day like any other. Professor Sprout having retired rather abruptly, Severus didn't even spare a single thought at who would replace her. Why would he? For what reason? The weight of returning responsibilies lay heavy on his left forearm. Harry's 4th year, the emergence of his name from that god foresaken over-glorified cup; the promise of danger, the threat of a decade old vow..

The moment she walked in and sat beside him at the Professors table was hardly memorable, aside for the absolutely obnoxious outfit she were wearing.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he ate, interested only in seeing the face stupid enough to wear the brightest possible shade of yellow, in his presence, none the less.

When he found a rather young woman smiling at him, his gaze flicked away back to his plate. He had no interest. No desire, for conversation. And certainly not with someone resembling an overgrown daffodil.

It was barely the end of the first week when she had knocked on his door. Opening it and finding no one at his eye level, he glanced down.

Why on Earth, was she always wearing the horribly bright shade of yellow?

After she had given him an obscure collection of herbs, Severus thanked her with a brief nod before promptly closing the door on her face. He'd expected as much, Sprout and him had always had a decent, professional relationship. Their disciplines somewhat intertwined, Sprout had always provided him with the clippings of plants he needed, and in turn Severus had always provided her with whatever potions he could brew to help her plants. It wasn't the act that surprised him, but the way this new professor went about it.

She smiled a smile as bright as her shirt, every cursed night she knocked on his door. It was always something with this woman. A clipping, an herb, an old book. It was as if all things useful to him kept apparating in her office with a giant note saying "GIVE THIS TO THE GRUMPY GIT DOWN THE HALL."

Often times these gifts came along with unwanted and frankly unnecessary conversation. At first it was small talk, questions about his day, brief statements about yours. Often times she told him things about herself he didn't particularly care to know; such as what book she was reading, or how her vacation back home for the Holidays was.

What Severus did care for, was eye contact. It could have been the Occlumens in him, his guarded persona trying to gain some sense of dominance over the conversations where he usually felt none, an oppertunity to control.. to read.

And yet everytime he looked at her, he found her shining eyes looking right back up at him with a confidence that unnerved him. She stared him right in the eyes as he talked, not with a malice he had seen before, not with a fear he had grown accostomed to seeing and not even with an expectancy that so many demanded of him.

She looked at him like she could see right through him. As if she could see into every desire he ever had, as if his Occlumency skills were pointless against the skill of a 20 something year old Herbology Professor who hadn't even fought in the first Wizarding War.

And so reluctantly, as Severus took every gift with a nod and eventually a brief thanks, offering his own potions occasionally in return as he had so many times before despite feeling slightly unnerved.

The simple, professional relationship seemed to teeter on the edge of what was almost a-

"Friendship," She'd described it once in the doorway of his office. "It's a nice friendship we've got going on here, Severus. Thank you, for helping me, I appreciate it."

That was a word Severus hadn't clung to for quite some time.

He blinked, silent for several moments, for the first time in a long time almost uncertain of what to say. He hadn't considered her a friend, had he? Even as the months of the academic year had passed by, even as the conversation began to drift from work to hints of her personal life. Even as he found the corners of his lips occasionally twitching up in a smirk as she laughed her obnoxiously cheerful, loud laugh. Even after he began knocking on her door as she had knocked on his..

He hadn't even considered that she might have desired to be his friend. Or that he might have desired to be hers.

And in the months that passed by after that casual conversation, the one she had let slip likely without thinking twice, Severus found himself replaying the moment over and over in his head.

He found himself walking down the corridors between his lectures, expecting to see the young witch in that painfully bright yellow dress he'd somehow grown to tolerate.

He had even wiithout fully relising it himself, grown to desire it. her presence, her friendship.

And it had gone completely under that Roman nose until that one evening in March in the Great Hall for supper. Sitting beside her, Severus looked across the hall as he ate and she talked his ear off, a habit of avoiding her gaze he'd begun to pick up. It was only when she brushed her long hair off her neck and took a sip of her wine that Severus glanced at her for longer than a moment.

His heart stopped involuntarily in his chest.

Her neck, the soft, delicate flesh, was marked with a bruise of broken blood vessels. It was small, almost hidden towards the back of her neck, but that dark red mark stuck out like a thorn against the warm shade of yellow.

He didn't understand the sinking in his stomach he hadn't felt in over a decade. There was no reason for his jaw to clench as he looked back at his plate, no reason why his appetite was somehow ruined.

And all of a sudden, on a simple Tuesday in March, did Severus understand that he had grown to desire something...

"Gratification was a luxury he could not afford"

The weeks after that were nothing short of torture, for a magnitude of reasons. The dark mark on his arm burned stronger with each passing day; Karkaroff's words from the Yule Ball hung heavy in the air of his chamber, late at night when he couldn't sleep. The second task of the Triwizard tournament was a moment still echoing in his crowded mind. Who was stealing gillyweed? Why was Harry's name actually put in the goblet of fire?

And yet, out all of the absolute bullshit fighting for dominance in his crowded mind, did his thoughts always trail back to her.

Like a lovestruck idiot, he couldn't stop thinking of her. Or more so, thinking about that damned lovebite on her neck.

Why did he even care?

If Sprout had had a lovebite on her neck would he have even thought more of it other than the intial disgust?

Was this friendship? The concept was so foreign to him for so long he didn't even know. All he knew was that for the next several weeks, like a hormonal teenager, his body reacted to her presence quicker than his mind.

Every time she knocked on his door and looked up at him with those big bright eyes, he felt it. The lurch of his chest, the sinking in his gut.

He couldn't ignore it, the twitch of his jaw when he'd let his guard down and snuck glances at her neck. What was he hoping to find there anyway? More marks? Or was he hoping to find a blank canvas, the silk of her skin untouched, the possibilities of tracing his own lips down the curve of her neck-

No.

Her voice snapped him out of his tortured thoughts.

"Severus?" She spoke. "You alright?"

They were sitting in her office on a Friday night, a rather recent development in their "friendship" that Severus was unsure how he felt.

He blinked, met her gaze and then looked back at the fire, sipping his tea and putting his Occlumency shields back up, cursing himself at the fact he'd let them fall.

"Yes." He said, his voice low.

And that was when she did it, she touched him. Gently, as if he was something fragile, something delicate that could break under her soft fingertips. And Merlin, the feeling nearly made him gasp out loud. He tore his gaze from her hand placed on his left forearm and looked into her eyes for longer than he had in quite some time.

Her lips curled into a soft smile. "You know Severus.. I know these past few months have been chaotic, with the tournament, but I think you're dealing quite well."

Severus blinked. She didn't know of the darkening tattoo under her very fingertips. What did she know about what he was dealing with? What did she know about anything that he had ever dealt with? Who was she to say he was... doing well?

Why did a heat begin to grow in his lower abdomenon? Why did her touch feel heavier on that cursed mark? Why crave her to say it again?

She pulled her delicate touch away as if it was a fleeting, minute thing that had never meant to be anything more than what it was.

Friendship.

That night, Severus let the door to his chamber slam shut behind him. He detatched the cloak from his robes and hung it on the door, reaching his bedroom in a few quick strides and letting that door slam shut as well.

As soon as he was alone, truly alone, he sunk down on the bed.

He may not have been not the most emotionally intune, but he was intelligent. Severus was no fool to longing. He had, afterall, longed for his whole life. But the feeling possessing him now; the raw, burning in his chest when he looked at her, the way his chest fluttered..

It wasn't the longing he was afraid of. It was the hope.

The smile on her face as she looked at him, as if he was something as bright as she was... The gentle tone of her voice as she coaxed more and more information out of his guarded frame then he'd care to admit..

It was the hope that all these things were her desiring him.

Severus ran his hands through his hair. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he tried desperetely to ignore the restlessness inside him.

What was he doing? He was a man of control, a skilled Occlumens, able to lie straight to the face of the Dark Lord and live to tell the tale, and yet here he was, in the suffocating darkness of his lonely chamber that had never bothered him until now, feeling absolutely on fire.

Was that what it took to break him? A man of his talents reduced to a fluttering, pathetic mess at the mere, single touch of a pretty woman?

The heat in his lower abdomen was not foreign, but it was unwelcome all the less. Of course he knew sexual desire. It wasn't as if he hadn't indulged before.. Occasional, late nights where he had lost control.. Where he'd succumbed to the feeling of his right hand in his trousers. It was the shame afterwards, the disgust for himself that prevented him from making it a regular habit.

In fact, now that he thought of it... When was the last time he had allowed himself release?

Certainly it had been awhile since he felt such... Yearning. And certainly he'd never felt it to such degree before but thinking of it now, his head in his hands, Severus relised it had been years.

Years.

The pent up tension, the reemergence of past lust he thought he'd long buried, the sheer strength of it this time was enough to make him begin to pace in his room.

Breathing through gritted teeth, he paced in circles, running his hands through the strands of raven hair. This need was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Lust and hope combined was never something he'd experienced together.

Would those same lips that are always smiling at his sarcastic remarks kiss his? How would she taste? Would she kiss him softly, gently? Succumb to the power imbalences between them?

Or..

Would she kiss him hungrily? Would she take control, weaving her soft fingers through his hair and tugging? Would her lips whisper praises like the one she'd said that day?

Severus groaned, sitting back down on the bed. He'd never craved to be... taken like this. He'd had fantasies of course, things he thought of on the rare occasions he indulged in his need, all ideas of exercising the control he so often craved.

And yet now, feeling so powerless, so torn, it began to dawn on him that that's what he craved... To be freed from the guilt of his own desires. Have any sembelence of control taken so far from him he could do nothing but take it, take her.

He couldn't ignore the strain in his trousers. It had been so long...

He shifted his weight, not trusting his fraying control enough to get into proper sleepwear, he layed down on his back on top of the sheets, staring up at the ceiling and trying desperately to ignore the aching in his groin.

It'd been so.... long..

"No." He murmered, but the word came out weak.

No, he thought to himself, Absolutely not.

Severus rolled onto his side, trying desperetely just to close his eyes and beacon forth the sleep he knew wouldn't come. He knew deep down, he could just take a simple sleeping potion, it wouldn't be the first time.

But as he shifted, he felt the strain of his cock in his trousers brush against the firm matrress. Almost immediately his breath hitched. His slender fingers tightened around the messy sheets, his jaw clenched.

Every muscle in his tired body seemed to clench. It didn't help that all his mind could so was replay that moment over and over again. The weight of her hand on his forearm... The way she looked up at him so gently.. Her words... What was it she had said? He was handling it... Well?

She had praised him.

Pathetic. He thought, letting out a sharp exhale. A mere compliment she hadn't thought twice of was his undoing?

But the voice in the back of his mind, the one that had begun to threaten his control, whispered: "What if she had meant it? What if she had meant more?"

And it was this hope, this foolish hope he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in years that seemed to set him on fire.

He stared at the wall of his dark chamber. Even in the night of his room, he never felt safe from the invisible eyes of others, not even his own.

If he.. indulged... How could he look at himself in the mirror?

How could he look at her?

But the weight of her touch on his arm was a heavy burden his mind couldn't afford to ignore. Every shift of his weight on the bed sent a spark up his spine, every minute, tiny brush of the sheets against his cock made it throb.

Sleep.

Sleep would not find him. He laid completely still for what felt like an eternity, and yet the ache in his pants would not go away. It only seemed to grow stronger.

Frustrated, Severus rolled over to his stomach and immedietly let out a sharp hiss. The friction between his clothed groin and the mattress sent a bolt of pleasure up him he hadn't felt in years.

He'd forgotten what pleasure could feel like.

And for the first time in a long time, Severus acted without thinking. His hips rolled almost involuntarily against the mattress, a single, simple grinding motion that drew another ragged gasp from his lips.

Another jolt... Another roll of his hips...

Remembering the constant feeling of eyes on him, he buried his face in the pillow and stopped his movements all together.

What the fuck was he doing?

It wasn't just the burning desire, or the pleasure of friction he'd so long denied himself. It was the exhaustion. He was tired. Tired of being in control over everything in his life, day after day, year after year. Tired of fighting that clench in his gut that he felt everytime she looked up at him. Tired of refusing to be selfish.

He tore his head from the pillow, reaching both hands up to grasp the sheets around it.

"Fuck it." He whispered to himself.

He didn't fight the next wave of pleasure that crashed over him as he rolled his hips against the mattress again. The sigh that lleft his lips left so on his own accord. As if his whispered permission was enough for all reason to flee him, he began to grind his clothed erection against the firm mattress again, his movements still slow, but deliberate.

God.. It had been... So.... Long...

He began to pant, short, quick breaths coming out quickly as his movements picked up pace. The pleasure that each thrust sent through him could have been enough to pull him over the edge, but it wasn't enough for him.

He had to feel it... Just once, just this once and then he could go back to whatever sense of celibacy he had adopted over the years. Just for tonight, he had to feel it.

Severus propped himself up on one elbow and used his other hand to unbutton his trousers. His fingers hastly unzipped it, reaching into his boxers as if he unconciously feared his mind may deny himself again if he allowed it the time to.

The very second his fingers wrapped themselves around his cock he gasped. The sound was ragged, strained as he pulled himself out, pushing down his trousers and boxers the very least he could. The cold dungeon air of his bed chamber immediately contrasted against the warmth of his skin and even that simple sensation felt as though it had been amplified.

Without wasting a second, Severus tore his hand away to join his other in gripping the sheets and began to buck his bare erection against the mattress.

Another torn gasp. Another shudder. His fingers tightened their grip around the sheets, his hips rolling faster, feverishly in time with his panting.

"Fuck," He hissed, his head falling down against the pillow as he moved.

He could still feel it. Her touch on his left forearm.

And perhaps thats what drove his next action. It certainly wasn't reason, or shame, those things he had so long clung onto having abandoned him. He tossed, rolling over to his side and began to pump his cock with his left hand.

It wasn't his dominant hand, but he used it none the less. Shamelessly bucking his hips against his fist, his grip tight as he stroked himself desperately. Deep down he knew that the only thing on top that forearm in that moment was the Dark Mark, but the only thing he felt, was her hand.

He imagined her touch again. Her soft fingers on his clothed skin. Gods.. What would it feel like without any barriers whatsoever? What would it feel like to have her fingers trail up that arm, down his chest, his abdomen-

"Fuck," He grunted, louder this time as his grip on his cock tightened and his hips continued to buck against his hand, "Fuck."

With his eyes screwed shut, Severus pictured her eyes staring back up at him as she whispered more praises. What he would do to hear more of them... What he would do to coax those words from her lips, no, what he would do to make her moan them.. If he was inside her, if it was his cock, his movements, making her praise him...

His control snapped. In an instant he moved, thoughtless, completely slave to the desires he'd repressed for so long; he pushed himself up, bunching the sheets up and bringing them under his hips.

Without thinking, Severus took his cock in his right hand and lined it up with the crease of the rolled up sheets and pushed in.

"Shit!" He hissed, his head collapsing against them as he supported his weight on his left forearm. His other arm reached down to hold the sheets steady as he began to fuck them shamelessly.

The gasps that flew from his lips were sinfully loud, a string of curses and her name as he chased the release he'd denied himself for so long. He pictured her body beneath him, the possibilities of feeling so much more of her soft skin. How her walls would welcome him... Wet and warm around his cock, how those delicate hands would cling to him as she looked up at him with those bright eyes that seemed to only see good in him.

And stars, did he want to be good for her.

"You're doing so well, Severus," Her voice rang out in his mind as he screwed his eyes shut, "Feels so good..."

His breath coming in quick short gasps, his grip on the sheets tightened even further, his knuckles white. The headboard creeked against the stone wall with every thrust of his hips, but the only thing in his mind was her voice. That wretched, soft, voice..

"Severus!" She moaned in his mind. His name, on her lips. He was coaxing those moans. He was giving her that pleasure.

What would it feel like to give her more? What would it feel like to watch her face as she came around him? He'd read about sex, sure. Heard about it, in the boys dorms in school, from Lucius' wild adventures, from the Death Eaters. But what would it feel like to have her come for him? The tightening of her around him, the sound of his name on her lips as she gushed arou-

The thought was too much for him to bear. Soft, high whimpers flew from his quivering lips as he came into the sheets. The orgasm crashed over him seemingly out of nowhere fast enough that he wasn't prepared for it. His entire body shook, hips faltering and chest heaving as he thrusted sloppily into the sheets as he filled them with his cum.

Her name left his mouth like a broken prayer, chanted breathlessly, even as his thrusts slowed down and he stilled against the sheets.

Severus panted, sweat clinging to his forehead, his raven hair. For as long as he could, he lay completely still against the messy sheets, almost frightened to move and face what he had done.

When he finally did open his eyes, he pushed himself up on shaky arms to look down. The black sheets were painted white with his cum, glistening in the faint glow of the room.

Not bearing to look at it any longer, he reached for his wand and cleaned up the evidence. Tossing it to the side, he shoved his softening cock back in his trousers and collapsed on the once again clean sheets to stare at the ceiling.

Shame and guilt coursed through the back of his mind, but at the forefront of it all, was the absolute sheer exhaustion.

The prayer in his mind was only her name, the scripture only her praise. He drifted off begging, to who, he wasn't sure. But for the first time, in years, Severus slept peacefully.

well im sorry that was seven decades long. haven't yall had a pretty lady touch you once and then immediately gone feral?

no?

just me?

taglist:

@graciesbow @niftysnazzy @plecosylvia @dark-st @3hrysfiction-blog @ilovegrapes-world @darkvoidz @lexiitaylorrrr @theheartwants-what-itwants **@aperol-with-izzy **@herbologygremlin @kittenlittle24 @aleck-cross

#severus snape #snape fandom #pro snape #professor snape #severus #severus x reader #snape x y/n #snape fic #pro severus #snape smut #severus smut #smut #severus snape smut #professor snape smut #sub snape #snape fanfiction #snape #snapedom

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voitier · 1 month ago

Text

M.P.S 02 - JJK

“I-I’m sorry, I– shit, I don’t–” “Keep going.” Two simple words. A command, really. That’s all it took for Jungkook to let go of all restraint.

GENRE: oneshot (but it's actually part 2 of a fic. read pt.1 here)

RATING: 18+

CONTAINS: masturbation (m&f), getting caught, panty stealing, unprotected sex, kinda switch jk and reader, soft jk at the end

WORDCOUNT: 1k8

TAGLIST: (tagging both the people who asked to be tagged in part 1 and those who asked for part 2) @jeeykey @songbyeonkim @yunhoswrldddd @vsr4197 @wookookiechan @jjeonjjk7 @ian-jk97 @koogenre @rafesfuckdoll @stardustbaee @topforsure @missjgirly1 @kamyyyy @secretpeachcoffee @chimsworldsstuff @jayhargrove

Divider by @cafekitsune

Loud banging echoed inside the shared apartment as your fist collided with Jungkook’s door over and over again. “Jungkook,” you groaned exasperatedly, grabbing the door knob and twisting it for major dramatic effect. “C’mon dude, I only need my charger and I’m pretty sure I forgot it in here”

From the other side of the door, Jungkook was panicking. Not because of the embarrassing amount of empty soda cans scattered around his desk, or because of his ruffled bed sheets, or even the rather worrying pile of clothes growing day by day on his chair. No, none of it mattered in the moment.

What mattered, though, was his hand covered in slick precum he had smeared around to ease his motions, and your black thongs still wrapped prettily around his cock. Not to mention the fact that you had started banging on his door right as he was this far away from finishing, pulling him out of the mood immediately, yet not enough to make his aching boner go away. Hell, the sound of your agitated voice only spurred him on, and it was clear in the way he kept leaking more and more precum. “Fuck,” he whispered, breaking in cold sweat.

You knew from the moment he had snuck in the bathroom that it was the perfect time to act. If he couldn’t grow a pair to come forward and admit that he was attracted to you, then it was your shot to shoot. And now, with him falling for your trap, you knew there was no better timing.

But first you would give him time to enjoy himself – and, to be fair, you really needed that shower to clear your mind from the alcohol circulating in your system. Then, once you had stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, with your hair still dropping little cascades of water on your shoulders, you walked towards Jungkook’s room with an excuse ready: your charger. From then on? It was an open-air theatre.

In the panicked frenzy Jungkook was in, he failed to notice a couple things: one, he hadn’t tuck himself away properly, leaving his poor abused tip peeking from the waistband of his pajama pants, actively soaking that spot; and two – and this one costed him a lot – he hadn’t noticed that while moving away from the door his shirt had caught on the knob, pulling it open once he had moved.

He registered what had happened only once the door clicked open and you stepped inside, watching with a look of pure, sheer, horror as your face morphed from annoyment into something that could be called… surprise? Shock? He didn’t really know, but he knew for sure that he was just seconds away from passing out on his floor. What a way to go, huh?

You had to muster up all your strength to not laugh in Jungkook’s face. Poor boy was mortified, to say the least. Years and years of acting school became suddenly of vital importance as you hid your amusement under a mask of fake surprise, taking in the disheveled appearance of your roommate whose face plastered the right amount of pain of being cockblocked and fear of being caught red handed.

“I-”

“Are those mine?”

And there it was. Jungkook silently prayed that a hole would open up immediately under his feet and swallow him whole, sparing him of this suffering. He knew what you were referring to even without averting his gaze from your face, the black thongs bunched in his fist were a clear admission of his crime.

As much as the embarrassment of being caught froze him in place, his brain slowly began to realize that you were standing there in front of him – half naked, if not completely – covered by a skimpy towel that he knew covered nothing behind, and the soft scent of the soap you washed yourself with soon hit his nostrils, pushing him in a haze he didn’t think to pull himself out of.

His cock twitched dangerously in his pants, a clear reminder of what he had stopped and what he needed most now. The sudden twitch caught your attention, your eyes dropping to the bulge pushing against the fabric of his pants and his glistening tip leaking profusely. A little “Oh-” escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. You had a feeling Jungkook was… gifted, to say. But to see the clear outprint of it? Yeah, you needed him now more than ever.

“I-I’m sorry, I– shit, I don’t–”

“Keep going.”

Two simple words. A command, really.

That’s all it took for Jungkook to let go of all restraint.

He exhaled softly, watching hypnotised as you made your way to stand just a couple feet away from him. From this close, he knew that he could have touched you as he pleased. But he didn’t. Not yet, at least.

Your fingers reached down, brushing his tightly closed fist. You let your touch linger a little longer before gently tugging the fabric away from his hand, chuckling as you felt how much more soaked it was now than how you left it minutes prior.

“I believe these are mine,” you whispered amused, glancing down to peek at them before letting them fall to the ground with a shake of head. “That’s where all my other ones went, right? Had you so desperate to have a piece of me that you had to steal my underwear. Poor boy” you cooed, stroking his cheek lovingly. You watched as his eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp leaving his lips, soon followed by a pained groan at the throbbing pulse in his pants.

“Sit down on the bed, Kook.”

He didn’t waste a second to obey, sitting at the edge of the bed and looking up at you. You leaned against the desk, feeling the wooden surface dig into your lower back. Whatever, this was worth the bruise you would wake up with in the morning.

“Finish what you started.”

“But–” whatever he was going to say died in his mouth as he watched your hands reaching for your towel, tugging it open. The room stilled for a moment, the soft thump of the fabric resonating between you two. You had never seen Jungkook look as hungry and desperate as he was in that exact moment, watching as his eyes traveled up and down your naked body over and over again, his legs unconsciously spreading wider.

You couldn’t hide how much his act was affecting you either, knowing that your arousal was probably glistening your inner thighs as well.

“Fuck, please, I need you.” A groan left his lips as he saw your fingers dip between your legs, lightly rubbing over your clit. His own hand flew to his pants, tugging them down and freeing his poor cock. He couldn’t help but set a brutal pace from the start, his eyes never leaving the spot between your legs.

“Not yet–” you managed to choke out, yet your words were cut off by a breathy moan as you slipped a finger inside, curling it just right while you looked right back at Jungkook. Your back arched away from the desk, legs shutting around your wrist as pleasure spiked through your system.

A low groan came from Jungkook’s throat before he raised to his feet, murmuring a quick “Fuck it”. His hands found the back of your thighs, raising you so one of your legs was on the desk, the other dangling off the ground as he held you up. Your hands grabbed his shoulders for stability, squeezing them as Jungkook thrusted inside you, both of you moaning loudly at the feeling.

His hands found your waist, holding you closer as his hips pistoned into you, filling the room with the sound of wet squelches, skin slapping and moans. Not resisting anymore you kissed him, desperation seeping through your kiss. Nothing in what was going on was soft or loving, the act itself was driven by your need to satisfy an insatiable hunger that had been clawing at you for months.

Jungkook’s hand traveled to the back of your head, burying itself in your damp hair as he pushed you closer to him, as if closer would be something achievable. His tongue found yours in a whirlwind of lust and desperation, the other hand on your waist squeezed your flesh so hard you were sure he would leave his handprint for a couple days. You whimpered as Jungkook’s cock stroked your walls in all the right places, making you shudder in his arms.

“Good girl,” he husked, his voice rough from the making out, “taking me so well, made to take my cock”

You threw your head back, his words only spurring you on more. Your walls fluttered around him for a couple seconds as you felt his thumb softly circle your clit, all while peppering your neck in kisses and hickeys.

“Fuck– c’mon baby, cum all over my cock,” he growled, his thrusts growing less erratic but sharper, each one inflicted to push you over the edge. You couldn’t help but blabber nonsense, your senses clouded by the overwhelming pleasure cursing through you as Jungkook pushed you over the edge.

Your walls clamped shut around his cock, making him groan out loud. “Shit, love– can I finish inside?”

You nodded, wiping away the tears of pleasure striking down your cheeks. “Please, please” you cried out, nails scratching his back. Your body shook with the strength of Jungkook’s thrusts, the man having a hard time holding back any longer. He cradled your body to his torso, holding you tight as he buried himself to the hilt, filling you up with his cum.

Slowly the high began wearing off, leaving you both tangled in a mess of sticky bodies and tired pants, overstimulated and worn out.

Jungkook was the first to recover. Carefully he slipped out of you, picking you up bridal style and laying you on his bed. “Jungkook,” you croacked out, body shivering with the aftermath of what had happened.

“I’m here,” he whispered, laying down beside you. His hand moved a strand of hair that had fallen on your face behind your ear, then he pulled you closer to his body, letting you bask in the warmth provided. “Did so good,” he praised, slowly kissing his way from your collarbones to your jaw.

You sighed contented, running a hand through his soft hair. Your eyes caught a piece of fabric sticking out of the drawer next to his bed, a pattern that you recognized all too well.

“Kook?”

“Mh?”

“I want my underwear back. All of it.”

A couple beats of silence followed before his back rose and fell with a big sigh.

“Fuck.”

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elysiasasuya · 23 days ago

Text

Academic rival! Zayne

Headcanons

Academic rival!Zayne grew up as a well-renowned prodigy among his family, peers and all those that surround him. Anyone who interacts with him and even those who do not can already state one thing. He's not just smart, he's incredibly intelligent. His mind is shaped into a vast library full of knowledge. He never truly met anyone who could get along with him and his brain not until he met you.

Academic rival! Zayne was in highschool when he met you. He didn't really pay attention to anyone, he did– not much, barely but also just enough. He didn't even spare you one, until you were stuck in a predicament. Your teacher caught you sleeping in class and reprimanded you, it was supposed to be a long scolding session. Everyone knew that the teacher was a terror one, she'd get you punished if you even failed to answer her question. That is..you didn't.

Academic rival! Zayne should have shrugged it off and studied on his own quietly but quietness wasn't an option. Your voice stole that choice because of its firmness and confidence. You didn't allow yourself to be humiliated, not at all. You were polite when you shut her up with a rebuttal and answered the questions precisely and swiftly. Done. Class silent then class dismissed.

Academic rival! Zayne now felt the shift of his behavior, a change to his attitude. His attention began to slip and unwantedly too, involuntarily finding its way to you. You, who isn't actually the lazy type, just a relaxed one. You who often read her book, indulging in your own world. You who pass work on time then move on to teaching others what they find confusing. That's when he finds himself not just glancing but looking at you. He even knew your routine at this point.

Academic rival! Zayne may have given you many glances, well, too long to be one— but he didn't genuinely expect you to occupy the table hidden in the corner in the library. It was his spot, the only one he'd ever choose, no matter the space of the premises. He didn't leave however, instead he finds his way to you. He didn't greet you nor look at you, he just sat and began his studies.

Academic rival! Zayne felt himself at peace, only to become hyper-aware of you moving closer than you should. He had the right space to not bother you yet he finds himself finally breaking his gaze away from his book to look at you. You're now in front of him. You smiled at him and pointed at the literature he was studying, your eyes shone so bright that he mistook them for Sirius A, a star he is fond of. He wouldn't tell you that though, he didn't plan on letting himself drift away from his studies.

Academic rival! Zayne somehow found himself engaging in a conversation with you about it. He heard your opinion about the book— not a simple one that others would just utter to catch his interest. You actually rambled about your character analysis, the hidden symbolism, connection of plots and more. Some of it, he already knew but for the first time, most of it isn't that known to him. It was like he entered a mysterious place for once. He remains outside, not able to explore it yet. Should he explore more of who you are?

Academic rival! Zayne began to stumble in your direction or was it you that tagged along? None of it mattered because it's always the same, the two flocked like birds. It started with the library sessions wherein the two let their meetings happen and they talked about different books that soon became topics outside of that. It went for hours that both of you almost ended up locked if you didn't dash to the entrance with your hand on his. After that, it extended to study sessions at his house and other places he knew aren't for studying.

Academic rival! Zayne felt this mutual connection between you two that he didn't even consider seeing you as a rival, but then a competition took place and you got the first place. He didn't know you were in the contest in all honesty, that's why surprise hit him. Peculiarly, it was a pleasant and warm surprise. He found himself admiring you with a smile that's more than pride but adoration. When you saw him, your eyes widened just as your smile did. It made him forget that you took his usual spot for a while. If you were to show him that sweet smile and pretty dimples again? I bet he'd let it happen all over again.

Academic rival! Zayne is even more active in class this time. Yes, he participated a lot but it's mostly the teachers calling him for the answer. This time it's voluntary, he actually raises his hand and shows more of his public speaking skills. But it's not just him doing that, someone else is also standing in another spotlight. Right in front of him was you, not just speaking but discussing the lesson. When he recites, you do too. It's been a routine now.

Academic rival! Zayne saw the changes now. His scores are either the highest or the second highest. It's like an up and down scale that cannot seem to be measured. Now, he felt a fire long gone before now igniting. It was an empowered passion. He didn't stop meeting with you still, he kept studying with you, this time more purposeful. He explored many things with you. He explained and even debated topics with you. What was monotone became lively.

Academic rival! Zayne wouldn't admit it outright but he is beginning to like the way you challenge him more. You have become bolder, poking fun at him and teasing him about being the smartest king that fell from grace. He didn't mind it, rather, his lips even quirked up. It twitched, not out of annoyance but amusement and fondness. With that, missions surfaced and the two are now clashing greatly that the room felt more of a battle ground than a classroom. You are against each other's throats, stealing chances to recite and get perfect scores. Sometimes he wins, sometimes he loses. It's unstable, but why does he need to do this? He wants to.

Academic rival! Zayne only agreed because of the rewards. The first one was simple, he has to do something for her if she wins and if he does, then she buys him a pack of sweet cookies. The more it accumulates, the harder it gets however. He had to come out of his comfort zone sometimes because of their deal. He needed to wear your outfits and give you a fashion show. That day onwards, he transformed into a more demanding version of him. This time she also has to do the same, but in his clothes. He doesn't even know why he demanded this but deep inside, a certain reason was lurking. He liked seeing you in his clothes.

Academic rival! Zayne has gotten out of focus since then, the deal nearly forgotten. Good thing she reminded him with a knowing look. Despite him being quiet and more aware, you were there being too carefree.It broke something in him. He thought of an idea that he mustn't entertain, don't you see him as a man? He shouldn't entertain it, he did. He is more at advantage now, winning and sealing deals. He made you do more difficult and embarrassing requests. This time, he made you act as his girlfriend on a date with him at a restaurant where you actually succeeded with flying colors. A situation that gave him a ticklish sensation in his chest.

Academic rival! Zayne now sees unexpected moments unfold that didn't even appear before. He could discern it was because of his last request. Now, his eyes are unraveling more of you, the way you get easily flustered and putty when he's too close. The way your voice gets unnecessarily high and even the way you avoid his gaze. He should be glad you didn't avoid him until you did. It's been a week and he almost wrecked his mind, his nerves pounding because of the stress of thoughts of you. He just finished his class and is on the rooftop now to clear his mind. It was serene and empty, until it wasn't.

Academic rival! Zayne sees you abruptly appear in front of him. He couldn't utter anything. He was awfully and uncharacteristically silent. So you let your nervous voice out to lessen the tension. You cast him a sassy glare and talked about how he didn't even reach out. Then next thing he knows, you put your lips in a thin line before reminding him of their deal. You were victorious when you out-ranked him. And so, she did the one he didn't anticipate the most. You gave him a peck that lasted for a few seconds before turning away, your face was flushed when you said it's what you wanted for the deal.

Academic rival! Zayne was a calm man, full of composure that never cracks. But you really broke him apart and turned him anew, his lips are on yours in a flash. His hand gently snakes at your nape, sliding up to the tangles of your hair. Both of you melted as he hungrily but tenderly devours you, his tongue slips and tastes the sweetness that he knows well– vanilla, kind of like ice cream. He was so lost, absolutely drowned by your taste. His trance stops when you constantly smack his arm. That's when he reluctantly stops and moves away slowly, just a few inches.

Academic rival! Zayne finally sees your diluted eyes and swollen lips, he didn't even miss the furrow of your eyebrows. Your voice shook as you spoke, not something that you do at all. He felt his heart fighting with the sound of your voice, it was half of the noise he was hearing. When his eyes dropped to your lips, he caught on to what you just said. A confession to him. Your words no longer compete with the thump of his heart. He clearly heard how you've been admiring him, how you love simple moments with him, and more things about him that he doesn't even know. If he hadn't kissed you again, you wouldn't have stopped the hilariously anxious ramble. Could he still be considered a fallen king? He doubts he would ever fall if there's an equally powerful queen beside him– you.

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hannahbarberra162 · 4 months ago

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Hearts and Flowers (Sanji x Reader, Valentine's Day Special)

For @quinloki's Love Is In The Air event, I present my (day late) Sanji x Reader. All fluff, no bite. Dedicated to @thirstydiglett and @sordidmusings, my fellow Sanji simps.

@sordidmusings and @gouraminnow beta'd this for me and I appreciate it immensely.

WC: ~ 2k

Warnings: none <3

You swirled the pink colored drink Sanji had made for you as you watched him carefully cut fruits into heart shapes and place them delicately alongside the handmade chocolates he’d prepared in advance. You weren’t sure how he had managed to keep all this from Luffy but his efforts were paying off as the multi-tiered tower of desserts and treats for you, Nami and Robin came together under his watchful eye. The galley of the Sunny was decorated like one of those fancy magazines you’d read but couldn’t afford on islands - the counters were covered in tablecloths with red and pink decorations, cakes in the shapes of hearts and flowers were on the tables, and there was a mountain of wrapped presents waiting for you all, helpfully labeled with tags.

You hadn’t known Sanji as long as Robin and Nami but had quickly understood the chef’s love of love when you came aboard the Thousand Sunny. He was always looking at beautiful women, always simping for you, Robin, and Nami, always thinking about his future bride and wedding. And yet, watching him place the melons and pineapple on the tower, you had an inkling something was amiss with the Love Chef.

“Sanji, do you like Valentine’s day?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Of course! Who wouldn’t want to celebrate the love of Mellorines and -” he started to say, a smile on his face that didn’t match the brilliant one you’d come to know and love. You tried to stop yourself but you found yourself watching the chef near constantly when you weren’t working - you knew his body language, his mannerisms, and could even predict what moves he’d use when fighting Zoro on the deck. Which is how you knew the smile on his face wasn’t completely genuine.

“No, what I mean is - do you like Valentine’s day? You specifically?” Sanji’s beautiful hands paused after placing the last fruit on the platter as he stared blankly at the creation he had made.

“Would you care to accompany me while I go smoke on the deck?” he asked you, reaching for the cigarettes in his shirt pocket. You hoped you hadn’t made him upset in some way; you wouldn’t say anything to intentionally hurt his feelings.

You would never admit it to Robin and especially not Nami for fear of teasing, but you harbored a huge crush on Sanji. He was sweet, handsome, kind, helpful, and strong, everything you could ever want in a man. Sure, he could get a little silly or flirty, but you felt that if he was in a relationship he would be loyal. Sanji was your dream man, but you felt unable to actually touch him, to get to the real man inside the character.

“Oh, uh, sure,” you replied, hopping off the barrel that had been your makeshift chair. You left your pink drink on the table as you passed in front of Sanji, who was holding the door open for you to exit first. You thought he’d go to the side of the ship but instead Sanji started to walk towards the ladder to the crow’s nest.

“Oh, wow, up here?” you asked, starting to climb. You were wearing a skirt and hoped the view would tempt him to flirt with you a little. It didn’t take anything at all to have him espousing his eternal love or bleeding from his nose and that was well and good. You’d been trying to get him to show a little true emotion but maybe starting with flirting might help loosen him up. Sanji was a lot more reserved than most people gave him credit for. His outward emotions were real and reflected his heart but he didn’t often share the depths of his thoughts or feelings with anyone, much less with the newest member of the Strawhats.

“Mmh. I don’t want to ruin my Valentine’s Day surprises for Nami-swan and Robin-chwaan!” he said, his tone falsely saccharine. You climbed the rest of the way in silence, going towards the open window to air out the smoke of his cigarettes. Standing next to you, Sanji lit up and inhaled deeply from his cigarette.

“Sanji, what’s going on?” you asked, putting your hand on his forearm in concern.”I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You could never upset me, mon ange. But I have to admit I am a little surprised to be having this conversation. I - you’re the first person to ever ask me, but to answer plainly - no. I don’t like Valentine’s day. I haven’t since my days at the Baratie,” he explained, blowing smoke out the window.

“Would you mind if I -?” you asked, sticking out your index and middle finger.

“My pleasure, mon amor. Would you care for your own?” Sanji asked with a smile as he reached for the pack.

“No, I want - I like sharing them,” you said, aware a small blush was creeping up your face. Sanji didn’t say anything but placed his cigarette between your fingers, curling his long elegant ones around your palm for a moment.

“So, since the Baratie?” you asked, taking a drag of your own before passing back the cigarette.

“Mmh. Every year we’d get all these calls from wives and girlfriends, planning their own valentine's day celebrations. Sometimes the men would call, but not nearly as often. The women would be dolled up, looking incredible, while the men would be plain and boring, wearing unironed disgusting clothes. They’d bring tacky gifts that the women would pretend to like, while the men would pretend to listen to what their partners were saying. It was sickening,” Sanji spat, flicking the cigarette still between his fingers. He placed it gently once again between yours as you continued to listen.

“It was so disgraceful, so distasteful, such a mockery of what love should be. If I was lucky enough to call someone my partner, they wouldn’t have to wait for Valentine’s day to feel the warmth of my love,” Sanji said with a faraway look in his eyes. You placed the cigarette back in his fingers, though it was nearly out. The tips of your fingers brushed his own as he looked you in the eyes.

“Thank you, dearest heart. If I had someone who loved me as I loved them, they would know with every fiber of their being that I cared for them, that I yearned for them, that I needed them like I need air and water. I wouldn’t wait for some paltry date on the calendar to tell me to celebrate my love,” Sanji stated, flipping his hair out of his face as he continued. It fell immediately back into place as it was before but Sanji didn’t seem to notice.

“I’d celebrate every morning, noon, and night, cherishing my love with my whole heart. I’d devote every moment to making sure their life was as incredible as they made my own, whether that be in gift giving, or sweet words, or even just a gentle touch at the end of a long day,” he stated, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

“My partner would never have to look farther than my loving arms to find what they needed in the world, and if I couldn’t provide it I would step aside and let them find better. Valentine’s day? What a cruel joke. If I had someone love me as I loved them, every day would be as romantic as Valentine’s day,” Sanji concluded, stubbing out the cigarette. You weren’t quite sure what to say to Sanji’s impassioned speech but had a follow up question.

“Sanji, I - then why make the big production? The cakes, the presents, the food and champagne? Why all the work for a holiday you don’t like?” you asked, leaning closer to him. He gave you a soft smile and caressed your cheek with a thumb, his eyes shining with happiness.

“Because I don’t want you to feel unloved. Robin and Nami never had the luxury of having Valentines, they were…busy. And how could I exclude you, ma vie? No, all of you must have the perfect Valentine’s day celebration and who else could pull it off? Not some idiot Marimo that’s for sure,” he said, now pulling another cigarette from his pocket while he distracted himself with thoughts of Zoro.

“That’s so selfless, Sanji. Thank you, this really is the best Valentine’s day I’ve ever had,” you stammered, unsure what to say in the face of Sanji’s vulnerability.

“Then it was worth the effort,” Sanji replied with his true smile, the one that made his eyes close with how high his cheeks rose on his face. Watching him carefully, you placed your hands on either side of his face and pulled him down towards your own. Sanji’s stubble was rough on your palms as his blue eye opened wide. Holding his face between your smaller hands, you pecked him lightly on his full lips. You’d spent countless hours day-dreaming of this moment, of how it would happen, and how he would react.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sanji,” you whispered, letting go of his face. Sanji’s face turned bright red as his fingers rose to trace where your lips had been, his mouth slightly open. He wasn’t responding, just staring at you in silence as you fidgeted, gripping the hem of your skirt in your fists. You couldn’t look at him in the unbearable silence so you turned to go back down the ladder. Sanji caught your forearm gently before you could leave, pulling on it without force. As you turned to face him you saw his forehead was scrunched up, the swirly eyebrow you longed to trace with your finger tip tilted up in silent question.

“Mon cherie, you didn’t have to do that. I don’t need any kind of -”

“I didn’t have to, I wanted to,” you said softly, reaching for his face like he had yours a few moments prior. He flinched back ever so slightly but allowed you to cup his cheek as you looked into his kind face, unguarded and vulnerable for a few moments longer before both of you had to return to reality and get back to party preparation.

“I’ve wanted to for a long time, Sanji. I’m sorry for not asking first, if you never want to talk about this again I, -” your voice was quiet but determined but you were cut off as Sanji leaned forward to return your kiss. One of his hands went to the back of your neck, holding the weight of your head in his splayed fingers, while the other wrapped around your waist and pulled you towards his lithe body. He kissed you tenderly, almost reverently, like you’d combust into smoke should he press too hard. His lips sought yours at every turn, gently coaxing you into opening your mouth for him so he could deepen the kiss. He moaned into your mouth when you nipped his lip gently with your teeth before returning the favor. He was breathing heavily as he began to press kisses into the column of your neck.

“Ma bichette, please, do me the honor of being my Valentine this year,” he mumbled into your skin as you tilted your head to the side to give him more access.

“I t-thought you didn’t li-ike Valentine’s day,” you squeaked as he mouthed over your jaw. His eyes looked up at your own as he smiled.

“You have shown me the error of my ways, mon tresor.”

#op x y/n #love is in the air #fluffy sanji #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #op fluff #tooth rotting fluff #he'd like anything you told him to like #God I love him #Sanji feels(tm)#x reader

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bumblebeeonthistle · 24 days ago

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Sparring with Levi

Excerpt from my Levi X Reader fic:

Tags: Levi/Reader, slow burn, private training, canon-verse

Summary: On orders from Erwin Smith, you have received private training lessons with Levi since you started as a cadet. You haven't told anyone yet, though. That quickly changes, however, when Levi asks you to spar with him in front of all the other military recruits.

The Instructor’s eyes scan over the cadets before finally landing on…

“You!” the Shadis yells, striding towards you.

You have to restrain the urge to snort “me?” in return. Instead, you just salute with a “Sir?”

“You would do well to remember that I’ll be grading you on your actual performances and not what I believe you are capable of. I’ve been trying to get you to get your ass moving these past two years, but I’m no longer putting up with your bullshit. Unless all those private lessons with Captain Levi have been a fucking waste of time, I expect you to up your game in the future instead of holding back like a scared damsel in distress!” he bellows, his face so close to yours that you can feel small droplets of spit land on your face.

Meanwhile, the forest has gone silent. Or maybe, it’s just the ringing in your ears drowning out every other noise.

Oh no.

Oh hell no, Shadis didn’t just say that in front of the whole Cadet Corps. And the representatives from both the Scouts, the Garrison, and the Military Police.

You feel the eyes of every person present staring at you as you struggle to keep your face neutral. Your hands, which are currently curled into fists and placed above your heart and behind your back, are shaking ever so slightly with pent-up fury.

At one point, you can’t help but glance over to where you know Levi is standing. He isn’t looking at you, but at Shadis, as if he could burn the Instructor down with his gaze alone. You’re surprised the Instructor has the guts to blatantly ignore him.

If Levi had been looking at you like that…you shudder mentally.

“So, brat,” Instructor Shadis continues, eyes narrowing as he stares you down, “I suggest that you prove to me right now that you haven’t been half-assing your training, otherwise, you’re not fit to be in the military!”

The silence that follows next is so heavy you could choke on it.

You feel your anger turn to dread – because of all the threats, all the insults, all the whispers and rumours that you’ve had to endure ever since enlisting as a cadet – none of it has really affected you like this specific threat does. The threat of being thrown out of training.

The threat of being thrown out, while Eren stays and eventually joins the Survey Corps where he’ll have to venture outside the Walls.

Without you.

It’s unfair, you think. Yes, you hadn’t given it your all today but you’d still placed first – with the most kills and the best technique and the fastest completion of the course out of all two hundred plus cadets.

What more could Shadis ask for?

You’re just about to ask when someone clears their throat. That someone being Levi as he steps up and speaks.

“She’ll prove to you that she hasn’t been half-assing her training, Shadis.”

The Instructor raises his brows.

“And how will she do that?”

Levi stares up at the Chief Instructor, his former Commander, with an almost unreadable expression. It’s only the small glint in his eyes, the almost imperceptible tilt to his lips that tell you that he’s up to something. But you doubt anyone else has noticed.

“By fighting me.”

By fighting me.

Levi’s words echo over the training grounds as he pauses, waiting for Shadis’ reaction.

“Next thing on the program is sparring, right?” he asks rhetorically when Shadis still doesn’t say anything. “So, we’ll start off with a demonstration. Me against her.”

Another long pause.

And then, after eyeing Levi coldly for what feels like multiple minutes, Shadis lets out a snort.

“Alright, it’s settled then – although, you better not go easy on her.”

Levi’s lips curl into a small smirk.

“I never do.”

And that is how you now find yourself standing before Levi in the middle of the training grounds, surrounded by cadets, instructors, and representatives alike. You feel cold-sweat coating your palms – not because of the prospect of fighting Levi as you’ve done that on multiple occasions before, but because of the masses of spectators. It doesn’t help that you can hear the muttering among your peers – some sound excited, some dubious, and some are even placing bets on how long you’ll last against Humanity’s Strongest.

The only thing grounding you right now is Levi’s gaze, his grey eyes never wavering from your own.

“Ignore them,” he mumbles to you for the second time today. “Just focus on me, like you always do when we spar. I know you can do this.”

You don’t know what it is, but quiet encouragement grounds you. Everything else fades into the background – visual details, sounds, smells – and all you focus on is him. The ways his grey eyes bore into yours, as if they’re trying to look into your very soul. The ways his chest rises and falls calmly, the way his pulse flutters at his throat. The sound of air entering and leaving his lungs, the beating of his heart. The smell of tea leaves and fresh laundry and that earthy scent you’ve come to associate with him.

You straighten your spine and roll your joints, your mind wandering into that calm space it always does just before a fight.

“On the count of three!” Instructor Shadis bellows.

“One!”

“Two!”

“…three!”

You don’t hesitate, but jump, trying to land a roundhouse kick to Levi’s face, so fast that the spectators have a hard time following your movements.

But because it’s Levi, he doesn’t have any problems matching your speed.

He reaches out to grab your ankle and fling you to the ground, but you’ve already anticipated that. So instead, you twirl in the air and aim to kick him in the back instead. Levi swivels around to block you and, while you’re out of balance, goes for throwing you to the ground again. You manage to twist out of his grasp, and while he is slightly off centre, you bring down your elbows to break his spine – a very risky move had this been normal practice with one of your fellow cadets, but you know Levi won’t let you hurt him. And besides, Instructor Shadis had told you to prove yourself, so you might as well give it your all.

And, as you had expected, Levi effortlessly dodges your move before going on the offensive again.

It’s Levi who gets the first hit in – of course it is, you’ve only managed to land one single hit on him the entire time you’ve been training together, after all. He also gets the second, the third, the fourth, and the sixth hit in.

But he still hasn’t managed to incapacitate you.

Maybe, it’s because you know the stakes are so high this time, or maybe, it’s because you know hundreds of people are watching you, but you’ve never lasted this long in a sparring round with Levi before. And you can tell that it isn’t just because he’s going easy on you – you can see beads of sweat forming on his forehead and the slight crease between his eyebrows telling you that he’s concentrating.

And then, your chance at victory arises. Some loose gravel makes Levi lose his footing for a split second. And in that split second, you move. It is as if time slows down as you jump, landing a kick right to his solar plexus.

Someone whoops in the background – probably Hange, if you had to guess.

Levi grunts and hunches over in pain, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing your leg and throwing you to the ground – for real, this time. The two of you roll around on the ground, first with him on top, then with you, then him again.

You know it’s the end for you when Levi finally manages to catch you in a headlock – the same one you’d used on Reiner and taught to Sasha and Connie.

Your back is pressed against the hard planes of his chest, one of his arms wrapped around your throat. Fingers, which are normally cool, but now hot to the touch, press against your pulse point. Not hard enough to hurt, but still firm. Almost demanding.

His hair tickles your ear as he leans forward to whisper in it.

“Do you forfeit?”

You sigh, ignoring the way your heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice, hoarse and a little throaty.

“I forfeit,” you mumble.

After a moment, Levi lets go of you. He gets to his feet before offering you his hand. You take it, letting him pull you off the ground.

It’s first now, when the fight is over, that you truly feel how exhausted and battered-up you are. Using the last of your resolve, you salute and wait for Instructor Shadis to pass his judgement.

To your surprise, the faintest ghost of a smile plays around Shadis’ lips as he gives you a single nod of approval.

“That’s all I wanted to see,” he says, and you can almost hear the smugness dripping from his voice.

And you realise that he’d never intended to throw you out of training. He’d just been goading you. Riling you up. Forcing you – and Levi, who has been covering for you so far – to show your true colours. To show what you’re capable of.

That…that scumbag.

And to think you’d been worried.

You can’t believe you fell for that.

Anger simmers just beneath your skin as you glare at the Instructor.

“Ehem.”

You, Levi, Shadis, and the rest of the spectators turn towards the MP representative who’d let out the sound. His beady eyes are darting back and forth between you and Levi, an overbearing smile plastered on his face.

“How do we know that Levi here didn’t just go easy on the girl?” he challenges, now fixing his gaze on Levi. “It’s clear that they have a relationship that goes beyond what is appropriate for a teacher and his…protégé.”

Your anger flares, this time directed at the MP. Your fingers twitch as you feel the urge to break his nose well up inside you.

Any idiot could see that Levi didn’t go easy on you.

But before you can tell the MP lizard to shut his big fat mouth, someone beats you to the punch.

“That’s Captain Levi to you, my dear MP fellow!” Hange tuts as they stride over to where the MP is standing, slinging an arm over his shoulder jovially. “You’re welcome to fight the girl yourself if you suspect foul play here.” The MP visibly pales at this suggestion. “Or,” Hange continues innocently, “you could also just file a complaint to Commander Erwin Smith himself about how you think his best soldier, Humanity’s Strongest, is neglecting his duties in training new recruits?”

The MP mumbles something unintelligible.

“That’s what I thought,” Hange muses before finally letting the MP go.

Your anger dies down. He isn’t worth it anyways, you think as you send one last look of disdain in the direction of the MP.

Then, you turn your attention to Levi.

“Damn. Didn’t know Hange could be that scary,” you mumble under your breath.

“That’s because you haven’t seen them in their lab,” Levi answers, quietly enough for only you to hear.

“And with that out of the way,” Instructor Shadis continues, as if you haven’t just gotten your ass handed by Humanity’s Strongest in front of the entire Cadet Corps, “Pair up and start training!”

You groan.

Does the Instructor really expect you to spar again, after what he just put you through?

Read the rest on ao3: call my name || Levi X Reader

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queenie-ofthe-void · 5 months ago

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Birdie's Boys

Platonic Stobin + Eddie || wc: 2.3k || rating: G || tags: platonic love, platonic fic, platonic stobie (steddin?), tooth-rotting fluff, humor || Robin's worried the boys have some shenanigans planned for her Spring Band Concert... and she's right

~~~

If Eddie Munson had just watched Steve’s basketball game like a normal person, instead of a nonconformist lunatic, everything would’ve been just fine. Robin really should’ve known better, shouldn’t have been surprised when he showed up carrying a giant sign with Steve’s name and player number on it that read ‘best ball shooter’ with a little devil on it.

Whenever Steve had the ball, Eddie screamed louder than the most obnoxious dads. At some point, the man pulled a damn kazoo out of his pocket along with those stupid, plastic hand clappers to celebrate Steve’s first three-pointer.

Everyone was staring, the boys on the bench turning to sneer at him. She could feel the people around them slowly scooching away and her face burned with embarrassment. Finally, after two rounds of the Star Spangled Banner via kazoo, she turned to beg him to sit down only to then catch Steve wave out of the corner of her eye.

She could see the blush across his face, not from exertion, but from a smile so wide that it glistened in his eyes. Eddie waved, face on fire. Robin gave him a scathing side eye when he’d turned to her and said “What, I just wanted him to notice me,” with a mischievous glint to his smile.

Robin had assumed Steve would be the bigger person and move on. He never said anything after the game, only smiling ear to ear like a puppy dog after doing a particularly impressive trick. However, she greatly underestimated her soulmate’s ability to be an absolute shit head.

Which is how a typically casual Friday night at the Hideout for Eddie’s gig turned out to be exceptionally uncasual and supremely atypical.

She was clad in head-to-toe pastels. Nancy hadn’t agreed to come to the show, but she allowed Robin to rummage through her closet, fully on board with her and Steve’s shenanigans. Robin had picked out a pair of white heels, lavender stockings, a frilly, pink dress, and– her piece de resistance– a white cowboy hat.

Steve’s outfit was made up of his own clothes, just taken to new heights. He wore not one, but two polo shirts, the white collar underneath popped up over his pale pink polo on the outside. His acid washed jeans looked tighter than normal, and he’d paired them with shiny, white, Adidas high-tops. Robin had laughed as she dug through his glove box on the ride over, pulling out her favorite electric blue sunglasses for him to wear. They tied the entire outfit together.

Steve had suggested making signs, “In case he can’t hear us when he’s on stage,” and definitely not as payback. All in all, they were pretty impressive. Each one dripped glitter over the sticky bar floor, although the pink puff-paint held together nicely. Robin was particularly proud of her own sign, ‘rock and roll is for sinners and winners’. She was, however, surprised when she read Steve’s ‘I’ve got the devil in me’ sign. They’d made a bit of a spectacle of themselves, waving them high above their heads as they screamed along to the few lyrics they actually knew.

The band razzed Eddie about it, but none of it mattered in the long run. Robin remembers the embarrassed flush scrawled across Eddie’s face when he caught sight of them. He’d strutted across the stage, trying to move as far from them as possible. Much like the small crowd of confused regulars creating a wide, empty space around them. In the end, Eddie always came back, smile wide and genuine and full of love.

So here Robin sits, stewing with anxiety while trying to think of what they’ve got planned now that it’s her turn. She fiddles with the trumpet in her lap as she waits for the Spring Band and Orchestra Concert to start. Her black slacks from last year are uncomfortably tight around her hips, and the white blouse her mom picked out keeps snagging on the back of the too small plastic chair she’s perched on. The garbled mess of voices ringing through the gymnasium matches the zinging swarm of bees in her stomach.

She frantically scans the crowd in front of her, but doesn’t spot them anywhere. Robin’s parents and grandparents are going to be here and she knows the boys will have something obnoxious planned. They’ve been suspiciously nonchalant all week, almost sickeningly nice.

But when the freshman band starts playing, she still can’t find them, surprised they’re not sitting up front. She tries to look around but can’t find them in the crowd. Disappointed, she starts to wonder if they actually forgot. Robin did her best to bring up the concert as little as possible, not wanting to give them time to plan anything extravagant. She wonders now if that was a mistake.

When it’s finally time for the upperclassmen’s turn, she’s forced to give up her search. She plays her melodies, counts her bars, and tries to forget about how her boys aren’t here, knowing there must be a hell of a reason to miss it.

The brass section dwindles down to the woodwinds. The notes fade out completely, leaving a one beat pause before the flutes are supposed to take off in a frenzy. Robin hates playing songs like this. It feels like a cheap trick, some kind of gimmick her music teacher comes up with to see if he can pull one over on unsuspecting families who think the song has finished.

It works, like it always does. Soft, scattered applause breaks out in the crowd. Her teacher’s smug smile is wiped from his face as loud, obnoxious clapping echoes off the gymnasium walls. The kids are failing to contain faint giggles and snorts of laughter. Even though this happens almost every year, it’s definitely never this damn dramatic.

Robin sits up just a little bit higher to peek over the winds section and, sure enough, in the dead center of the crowd, there’s a head of frizzy, curly hair standing tall and proud. Aside from the outburst, Robin’s actually impressed Eddie managed to dress up a bit. He’s wearing what has to be one of Steve’s navy button down shirts along with his nicest pair of black skinny jeans, sans rips and holes.

Apparently being in a band doesn’t translate to understanding when a song is actually over. He glances around, red bursting over his cheeks as everyone stares back at him. Robin has to stand slightly to catch a glimpse of Steve sitting next to him. Her best friend is slowly sinking down into his chair in a fruitless attempt to hide. He’s wearing a light blue button up, most likely with his beige slacks. Steve’s flush is somehow an even brighter shade of red than Eddie’s. He’s hiding an awkward laugh behind his fist, and Robin can’t help but smile wide and unguarded at the mirth shining in his eyes.

These two absolute idiots.

Eddie opens his mouth, but thankfully whatever he’s about to say is cut short by Steve grabbing a hold of his shirt sleeve and yanking him back down into his seat. Robin manages to catch Steve’s eye, and he breaks out into a stupid, adorable puppy-dog grin. He does his signature little finger wave. She snorts, matching his gesture.

Eddie leans in front of Steve’s face to look at her between rows of heads and waves manically back and forth. Robin’s fully laughing now as she waves back. There’s an elbow in her side and before she can snarl at the guy next to her, he nods towards where the conductor stands glaring at her, hands hanging in the air waiting to continue the piece.

The flutes start up, but it’s still a few bars before her first note. So of course her eyes stray to the clarinets. Vickie’s already looking at her, smiling small but genuine. Beautiful and divine. Vickie rolls her eyes fondly and Robin only replies with a half-hearted shrug.

The boys manage to make it through the rest of the concert without causing another scene. The conductor prompts the band to rise for a bow, and polite applause breaks out throughout the crowd once more. That’s when she hears it– hell, everyone in the school probably hears it.

Eddie and Steve wolf whistle at the same time. It’s followed by an eruption of plastic clapper applause and shouts of ‘Go, Buck!’ and ‘Hell yeah that’s my Birdie!’ Robin can’t contain the bubbles of happiness bursting in her chest, leaving her light as air.

She looks out and sees Steve holding another homemade sign covered in glitter that reads ‘Buckley blows the best horn’. Just as Eddie explodes a confetti popper– what Robin assumes is the first of many he has stashed in his pockets– the principal appears out of thin air to scruff them both by the neck and drag them out into the hallway. She can’t read his lips from this far away, but she can see Eddie yapping away, completely unbothered.

Fuck, Robin truly loves these boys. Her goons, her dinguses, her schmucks.

The band leaves through the side door, heading straight to the music room to store their instruments before meeting their loved ones in the cafeteria.

“Hey,” Vickie says, out of breath from jogging to catch up, “you did a really good job.” Robin doesn’t think Vickie could specifically pick her out from the rest of trumpets–at least hopefully not– but she takes the compliment anyway.

“Thanks,” she shouts, a little too excited. And in typical Robin fashion, has zero follow up comments. So they walk down the hall together in silence, students around them buzzing with excitement.

Vickie clears her throat, and bumps her shoulder against Robin’s. “It’s really nice your boyfriend came to watch you play.” Vickie sighs, deflating, “Wish mine had, anyways.”

Robin doesn’t even process Vickie’s second statement before screeching, “I’m not dating Eddie Munson! We’re just friends.”

“Oh,” Vickie smiles, emerald eyes wide and beautiful at Robin’s little outburst, “I guess I meant Steve Harrington. Everyone knows you’re dating. And, I mean, I see you two together in the morning sometimes– not that I’m stalking you or anything,” but her adorable stumbling doesn’t matter in the face of Robin’s blatant disgust.

“Ugh gross absolutely not, he’s like my brother. My dingus, my very platonic soulmate. Like a long-lost twin separated at birth kind of thing, but also way more annoying.”

“Oh good,” Vickie answers. Her eyes grow large, mouth falling open in shock as she stutters, “I’m sorry, I mean… It's not good. But it’s not, not good. You know?”

Robin actually doesn’t know, so she just smiles, bumping shoulders again because the spot where their shoulders touched before is still tingling and she wants more. Vickie relaxes next to her. They’re quiet after that, but it’s a good quiet, filled with stolen glances and hidden smiles. It’s not until they’re both headed back towards the cafeteria when Robin finally realizes what Vickie said.

“I’m sorry your boyfriend couldn’t make it,” Robin placates, hopefully drawing up enough of a fake smile to make it seem real. She does feel bad for Vickie, but she’s not sad about it.

Vickie pulls her lips between her teeth into a thin, angry line. She groans in annoyance, and it’s the most Robin’s ever seen her complain, almost always a bubbly ray of sunshine. It reminds her of when Steve gets bitchy, and she love it. “He could’ve made it if he actually wanted to be here,” she huffs. “Apparently going to a party with his friends is a better way to spend his Saturday night.”

Robin’s eyebrows are raised when Vickie turns to look at her, causing her to scoff out a laugh. “I know, I shouldn’t complain,” Vickie says, obviously not meaning a single word, “but the person you’re dating is supposed to watch your crappy, high school band concert, right?”

Person.

Vickie didn’t say boyfriend, she said ‘person’ you’re dating. It probably doesn’t mean anything… definitely, for sure doesn’t. It still doesn’t stop Robin from blushing like one of the hundreds of women Steve hits on every day at work. Fuck, she’s no better than one of Harrington’s bimbos.

“They should definitely be here.” Robin smiles at her sympathetically, and Vickie thanks her before they walk into the noisy cafeteria. “I’ll see you Monday?” Vickie asks, heading off to visit her family. Robin nods, feeling the dark blush blossom on her cheeks as Vickie smiles, eyes shining with delight.

Robin finally spots her own family, and it’s standard procedure. Congratulations from her parents, telling her ‘Nice job’ and ‘You all sounded so good’ but it’s the comment from her grandmother, whispered in her ear in a tight hug, which catches her off guard.

“Your boy’s waiting for you,” she nods over Robin’s shoulder. She turns to find Steve grinning his dopey I love you smile at her. It’s her favorite, something special just for her. Lost in her soulmate’s gaze, her grandma gives Robin a soft elbow to the stomach to grab her attention. “I think you found yourself a good one.”

And honestly, Robin can’t find it in herself to spout her usual arguments of ‘he’s not my boy,’ because Steve is hers. He’ll always be hers just like she’ll always be his. They still love each other, still plan to spend the rest of their lives together. It’s just not the kind of love most people expect.

It’s a kind of love that’s theirs, and theirs alone.

Well, and Eddie’s too, of course.

Robin smiles back at her grandmother, a wet sheen to her eyes. “Yeah, I really did, didn’t I?”

#i adore platonic stobin + eddie #those three deserve each other in the best way #platonic stobin #stobin #is robin + steve + eddie stobie or steddin??#robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley fic #stobin fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #queeniewritesstories

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