#he ruined my life so bad that i started a x reader fic of him-who said that!? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

100vern · 4 months ago

Note

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby��trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

#seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #scoups x reader #scoups smut #seungcheol imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #scoups fanfic #jewel writes #fic: wntt

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glossdebut · 4 months ago

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PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 02

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: aqua uses her journalism degree to write a fake article, lots of yoongi pov, MC lore drop, extremely brief descriptions of sexual acts, some questions are answered but not many, sope cameo! also seokjin cameo! do you detect a hint of hyyh yoonkook-ism? because you should! EVENTS TRANSPIRE! (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 5.2k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: damn i always drop early don't i? here's a pre-holiday gift for those of you who celebrate thanksgiving. thank you to tanni @yooniivrse for beta reading SO FUCKING FAST LOL <3

p.s. from here on out updates are going to be much slower. we’re getting to the Real Plot now and i have to use my brain a little bit more. plus i want to make time to write other, shorter things! so be sure to check out my other fics if waiting for this becomes unbearable lol

CH. 02: A HIT IS HARD TO RESIST

Love in the Spotlight: Is "Burn The Stage" Singer Falling for a Scandal Magnet?

It’s the love story that’s rocking Seoul—and leaving fans divided. Jeon Jeongguk, the smooth-talking, chart-topping frontman of “Burn The Stage,” has been the subject of intense speculation after rumors surfaced that he’s been secretly seeing one of South Korea’s most talked about models, YLN YN. And while Jeongguk’s millions of fans would do anything to claim him as their own, it’s YN’s wild reputation that’s making this relationship one to watch.

The dating rumors of the two surfaced online when YN was seen on the balcony at Wasteland during the final show of the Burn The Stage’s world tour. Eyewitnesses claim that after the show, the two were spotted backstage together, sharing a private moment.

While Jeongguk’s image has been polished and pristine despite his rock star persona, YN’s name is frequently linked with controversy. From a string of public feuds with fellow influencers to rumors of reckless behavior, she has garnered a reputation for attracting scandal wherever she goes—a trait at odds with what fans have seen from Jeongguk. So what could possibly draw the two together?

Some fans are already sounding the alarm, warning Jeongguk that dating someone like YN could tarnish his squeaky-clean image.

“I don’t know why Jeongguk would choose her,” one concerned fan commented on Instagram. “She’s trouble, and he’s too good for her. His image will be ruined if this is true.”

Despite the criticism, others are rallying behind the couple, suggesting that Jeongguk may be the one to help YN change her ways. “Everyone has a past,” one fan posted on X (formerly known as Twitter). “Maybe Jeongguk sees something in her that no one else does. People can grow and evolve.”

While neither Jeongguk or YN’s companies have released an official statement on the matter, YN hasn’t been shy about fueling the rumors. In a recent post on her Instagram, she shared a photo of herself wearing a Burn The Stage hoodie, captioning it, “i guess i’ve got good taste 👀” which has sent fans into overdrive speculating that she’s sending a not-so-subtle message about her relationship with Jeongguk.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Yoongi groans to himself. He can’t read any more of this drivel. The wooden table in front of him suddenly looks all too inviting, perfect for him to bash his skull into.

You’re everywhere, completely inescapable for the past week. Apparently, Yoongi’s bi-weekly breakfast with Hoseok is no exception. The first one they’ve been able to have since the tour, too. God forbid he wants to mindlessly scroll on his phone for a second while he waits for his friend to return, because there you are, taunting him.

After the concert, Yoongi had been so annoyed by seeing you again. Pissed off at the circumstances. Ready to do anything in his power to extricate you from Jeongguk as fast as possible.

The past week has dulled his rage considerably. The endorphins of playing live have died, as have the potent emotions that come with them. Yoongi’s logical adult brain has set in, leaving him with only a headache.

“Woah,” Hoseok says, snorting as he slides a coffee into Yoongi’s field of vision. He slips into the booth across from him, taking a sip from his own cup with an amused look on his face. “You look much more homicidal than I left you. What could’ve possibly pissed you off in the last five minutes?”

Wordlessly, Yoongi hands Hoseok his phone, the article still displayed on the screen. Hoseok silently reads the first few paragraphs, and when he scrolls back up to look at the photo attached, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Oh?” he says, zooming in on your face. On Yoongi’s phone. The audacity. “This is the Innisfree girl, right? She’s dating Jeongguk?”

“Allegedly.”

“Is her skin really that nice in person?”

“Not the point,” Yoongi hisses, snatching his phone back from Hoseok’s grip and hastily closing the article to get your dumb face off of his phone. Dumb, poreless face.

“Okay, touchy,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in surrender. “Please explain the point.”

“I don’t trust her,” Yoongi says, tapping his foot under the table. “The relationship is bogus. She’s after something, I just can’t figure out what it is.”

“And you’re basing this on…?”

“Intuition,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Right. Because your intuition is never wrong,” Hoseok says, tone laden with sarcasm. “Need I remind you that you weren’t the biggest fan of me when we met?”

“I thought you were annoying,” Yoongi agrees. He takes a sip of his coffee to mask a smirk. “Who says I was wrong about that?”

“I’d probably be hurt if you hadn’t essentially bought us couple rings last year,” Hoseok says, waggling his eyebrows. “You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

“Aish, they weren’t couple rings,” Yoongi complains. “Stop saying that. The wrong person is going to hear you and think it’s true.”

“Your ears are pink!” Hoseok exclaims triumphantly, pointing at the evidence. “Your mouth says one thing, but your ears always give you away.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Yoongi grumbles, pulling his beanie down. “Stop changing the subject.”

“Right, right. Sorry, hyung, you’re just so easy to tease,” Hoseok says, not even bothering to stifle his snickering. The bastard. “Jeonggukie’s new lady love. Go. Wait, do you want to fuck her?”

“What?” Yoongi sputters, eyes widening because what the fuck? “No—what? Look, it’s not just intuition, okay? I’m right about her. And you saw what the article said—drama follows her wherever she goes. Maybe she thinks dating Jeongguk will rehabilitate her image, or something like that.”

Yoongi had been so confident that wasn’t the case, since you’ve maintained all of your brand deals even in the midst of your many scandals, but maybe he was wrong. He still doesn’t know why you’re doing this, and it’s like the closer he gets, the less he can see.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “She’s also just a bitch.”

“Okay,” Hoseok concedes, crossing his arms. “If you say so. She’s a bitch who you don’t want to fuck. What are you going to do about it?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I have that dinner tomorrow night. I was thinking of talking to Jeongguk after or something.”

“And telling him that his girlfriend is the devil? I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Yoongi sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jeongguk is a stubborn kid, but he knows I wouldn’t ruin something good for him. If I word it right, maybe he’ll listen.”

“You’re not wrong. For whatever reason, Jeongguk trusts your judgement.”

Yoongi glares at him. “Go fuck yourself, Hob-ah.”

“Whatever, hyung,” Hoseok says, rolling his eyes. “Let’s talk about something else, please. I haven’t seen you in months.”

Yoongi relents easily. He doesn’t really want to be talking about you either, not when it feels like an ice pick is being jammed into his temple.

He’ll just have to figure out what to say to Jeongguk later.

★ ★ ★

“Wow,” Seokjin says around a mouthful of jjapaguri. “He really hates you, huh?”

He’s fresh out of a long shift at the hospital, but he still headed straight to your apartment at the promise of food and celebrity gossip—his two biggest weaknesses, especially when the food doesn’t have to be made by him and the celebrity is you.

“Seems like it,” you sigh, using your chopsticks to push your noodles around aimlessly. “Normally I wouldn’t care, you know? Like, get in line, asshole.”

“But you care.”

“But I care.”

“Because of Jeongguk,” Seokjin says knowingly.

You drop your chopsticks and groan, stifling the sound by covering your face with your hands.

“Yes,” you concede. “But not because of that. I just want to help him, you know? He got me through a really rough spot last year. I’d feel like shit if I agreed to do this for him and then it ended up blowing up in our faces because of me.”

“Mmm,” Seokjin hums, chewing thoughtfully. “I’m sure the fact that you’re in love with him is a big motivator, though.”

You pick up your head, glaring at him. “Love is a big word, Jin.”

A very big word, you think, picking up your glass of wine to take a long gulp. God help you.

“A fitting one, too!” he says gleefully. “Come oooon. No judgement here. He’s hot. Not as hot as me, of course, but I have to give credit where credit is due.”

“Yes, you’re a god among men,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. “I don’t love Jeongguk. Not like that, at least. Do I need to remind you of the whole reason I’m doing this in the first place?”

“Yeah, yeah, the secret girlfriend,” Seokjin says, waving a hand dismissively. “Whatever. You’re spending a lot of time with him, is all I’m saying. The tides may turn in your favor.”

Wow, and you thought you were delusional.

“Fat chance,” you deadpan, polishing off your wine. “Especially if Yoongi is as persistent as he’s making himself out to be.”

“What’s his beef with you, anyway?” Seokjin asks, snorting to himself as he picks up a piece of steak with his chopsticks. Hilarious. “I feel like he’s going a little far for it to just be protectiveness, you know?”

Right. When you’d given Seokjin the rundown via text, you’d left one pretty substantial piece of information out.

“He said, um,” you start, picking at one of your nails nervously—a habit that Hyerin would smack you on the back of the head for, if she were here. “He said that he knows… more than I think.”

Just like that, all of the humor drains from Seokjin’s expression. “Meaning…?”

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice wobbling just a bit. “I don’t know, but if it does mean that… It makes the idea of rolling over and doing what he says pretty enticing, not gonna lie.”

“Fuck that,” Seokjin says firmly, your eyes widening in response. “If he’s the type of guy to use something like that as blackmail, then he’s a piece of shit. I don’t care if he is trying to protect Jeongguk.”

“He can’t know, though,” you groan, fully resting your head on the cool marble of your kitchen countertop now.

You’ve been wracking your brain for days now, trying to figure out if it’s even possible for Yoongi to know anything. You’re pretty confident the answer is no, but there’s no way to be one-hundred percent sure without confirmation from the man himself. And you’d honestly rather die.

“Nobody knows except the people involved and you. You’re the only one who didn’t sign an NDA, and I’m pretty confident you’ve never met Min Yoongi. Not to mention you just wouldn’t—”

“Share that information? Hell no, I wouldn’t,” Seokjin interrupts, scoffing. “Okay, well… Regardless of whether he knows anything, he honestly just sounds like a dick and I think you should kill him.”

You snort, lifting your eyes to look at him from where your head rests on the counter. “Maybe that can be plan B,” you offer.

“Fine, then what’s the plan A?” Seokjin counters, crossing his arms and raising a conspiratorial eyebrow at you.

Fantastic question, one you’ve been thinking about the answer to since you abruptly left the afterparty that night. It’s not like you can tell Jeongguk what’s going on and risk having to tell him the whole truth. You trust Jeongguk, but…

No, it’s not an option. You don’t want anyone else to know. So, if Yoongi’s going to insist on being a problem for you, you might as well return the favor. It’s only fair.

You grin, lifting your head and leaning closer to Seokjin.

“I’m going to make his life a living hell.”

★ ★ ★

Yoongi hasn’t touched a cigarette since he was twenty one years old.

He picked up the nasty habit at sixteen, when one of his friends doled out African Ice Jacks amongst the group, bragging that his hyung had bought the pack for him. As soon as the lighter was flicked on and the bittersweet taste of bubblegum and tobacco filled Yoongi’s lungs, he was hooked.

It was stupidly easy to get his hands on cigarettes before he was of legal age, even when his friend’s hyung couldn’t supply them for whatever reason. All of the adults around him smoked, including his parents.

It felt as though cigarettes were an extension of his hand, felt wrong when he didn’t have the option to light one up. During school hours, Yoongi’s fingers would twitch on his desk as he waited for his last class to end.

He was a fucking anxious, wound-up kid. Smoking was the only thing that helped, sometimes. If he had a shit day, at least he could have a cigarette.

When the band got signed, though, things changed. Despite the fact that the majority of the population in Korea smoked, celebrities were vilified for it in the media. For whatever fucking reason. Yoongi didn’t care much what the media had to say about him, but he reasoned that it would be pretty stupid to let his dream die over Ice Jacks. So he quit.

It was hard at first, but it’s been five years now. After so much time, it’s rare that cigarettes even cross his mind, even when others smoke around him.

Sitting across the table from you now, though, Yoongi’s fingers twitch just like they had when he was in grade school staring at a clock.

He and the band started frequenting Yoojung Sikdang long before there was any real hope for fame. It was their chosen spot after every practice. The ajumma who owns it knows their names, remembers their orders by heart. Over the years, the only part of the restaurant that’s changed is their autographed photos on the wall. They’ve celebrated every single milestone here, big or small, just the five of them. Alone.

Wrapping up their first world tour should be no different. It’s their biggest milestone yet, and all Yoongi wanted was to eat ssambap with his best friends. Remind himself that none of the fame matters as long as they still have this.

But here you are. Of course. Encroaching on everything Yoongi’s built, everything he holds dear to his heart.

The only time it’s ever been more than the five of them here was the night they signed their contract, accompanied by two label executives. Even if you’re allegedly riding Jeongguk’s dick, no way are you that fucking important.

Yoongi would laugh if he wasn’t so pissed off. You are such a fucking pest. He just can’t shake you off.

“You don’t like what you ordered?” Jimin asks you, snapping Yoongi out of his thoughts.

Yoongi’s made an effort to keep to himself for the majority of the dinner. No use in ruining everyone else’s night—it’s still a special one, after all. Besides, he’s still trying to be an adult about things. You may have ruined his plan to talk to Jeongguk tonight, but it’s not like he’s going to cause a scene in front of a restaurant full of people—

“Oh, I’m just not very hungry,” you say. Yoongi’s eyes narrow.

All you’ve been doing all night is burrowing into Jeongguk’s side, barely touching your food. Lipgloss still perfectly in place. Normally, Yoongi wouldn’t care—he’s not paying for it. He wastes food on the label’s dime all the time. At Yoojung Sikdang, though?

“Why did you come, then?”

The words come out of Yoongi’s mouth before he can stop them, sharp and pointed. He’d fully intended to keep his mouth shut, eat his food, and then go home. Maybe buy a pack on the way. But now they’re out there, and Yoongi can’t bring himself to care. Certainly not to feel bad.

For the first time since you’d walked in on Jeongguk’s arm, you make eye contact with him. On purpose this time—challenging. Yoongi’s not a little bitch, so he stares back.

“Because Jeonggukie invited me,” you say, faux sweetness dripping from your words as you lean your head on Jeongguk’s shoulder. Eyes still fixed on Yoongi. “I figured it would be okay, since you all gave me such a warm welcome last time.”

Yeah. Yoongi’s buying that pack of cigarettes.

“You’re always welcome to come out with us,” Taehyung coos, like he thinks you’re the cutest thing in the world. Knowing Taehyung, he probably does.

Everyone seems to be in agreement on that front, too, except Yoongi who rolls his eyes as he shoves a ssam into his mouth. Whatever.

“It’s gonna be hell getting you out of here, though,” Namjoon adds from Yoongi’s left. He leans over to glance at the crowd of people peering through the front of the restaurant, cameras at the ready, desperate to get a glimpse of you and Jeongguk. Not that you’re making it particularly hard.

“We’ve never had a crowd like that out there,” Jimin says, in awe. “I’m not surprised, though. Those articles about you two have been getting tons of clicks.”

“Ah,” you say. If Yoongi didn’t know better, he’d think you sound almost sheepish. “That, um. That might be my fault. I told my manager I was coming here. She must’ve tipped someone off.”

Of course.

“Anything for a photo-op, right?” Yoongi sneers, unable to help himself. It’s such an easy shot, after all. You’re being so transparent.

“Hyung,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as if he’s appalled.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi-ssi,” you say, tilting your head at him. That little flash of a challenge is still in your eyes, and Yoongi doesn’t like it one bit. “Do you have a problem with me being here?”

Yoongi scoffs, sitting up. When he speaks, it’s laced with bitterness. “We just don’t normally come here with guests, that’s all. I guess I didn’t get the memo that that’d suddenly changed.”

“I invited her, hyung,” Jeongguk says. “She’s my girlfriend.” He wraps his arm around you protectively and, fuck, you’re good. You’re so good at making Yoongi look like the asshole.

“I get that, Guk-ah,” Yoongi tries, his voice considerably softer now. “But, come on… Here? And the mob outside, I mean… Do you really think that was just a harmless mistake?”

“What are you implying?” Jeongguk grits out. He’s angry now, that much is clear, and it’s Yoongi’s fault.

You have him trapped. He’s surrounded by landmines, unable to come up with a single response that could possibly defuse them.

“Come on, guys,” Namjoon says, glancing at Yoongi pointedly. “We’re here to celebrate.”

“If Yoongi-ssi is uncomfortable that I’m here, maybe I should go,” you say, making to get up.

Jeongguk reaches for your arm, stopping you. “No,” he says. “Yoongi-hyung, you can either get over it and stay with us, or you can leave. You’re the only one who doesn’t want her here.”

Un-fucking-believable.

“Are you serious?” Yoongi scoffs, looking around at everyone. Is this really happening to him right now? This is his band!

The table is deadly silent. Everyone refuses to meet Yoongi’s eyes except you and Jeongguk, who raises a challenging eyebrow at him. It’s immediately apparent to Yoongi that he’s not winning this one. That somehow, he’s ruined the night meant to celebrate him and his friends.

Bitterly, Yoongi laughs. “Fine.”

No one protests when he pushes his chair away from the table and stands up, and that stings much more than Yoongi would like to admit.

He catches your eye as he grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, anger flaring at how pleased you look.

“Have a nice fucking dinner,” Yoongi mutters, before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. Leaving his friends to face a crowd of photographers and fans that you called.

As he walks out into the cold, dodging the phones being shoved in his face, all he can think about is the way Jeongguk had looked at him.

★ ★ ★

You met Jeon Jeongguk a year ago, give or take a few months. You just remember it was cold.

Less than twenty-four hours after a particularly nasty breakup with a guy you didn’t love but liked enough, you were back on the clock. Zipped into something tight and expensive, wearing the best waterproof mascara money could buy.

You hated those events to begin with—the galas, end of year ceremonies for awards you were no longer viable to win. They were torture for you. But the sting of being freshly single only made things worse, so you had decided to make the most of it.

You may not have been able to win a KMA, but you were well within your rights to treat the KMAs themselves like your own personal dating pool. No better way to rid yourself of your ex like getting with someone new, you thought.

Which is where Jeongguk came in, devastatingly hot in his tailored suit. You’d ran into him on your way from the bathroom—much like you had with Yoongi, now that you think about it—and you instantly found yourself wondering what it would be like to kiss a guy with a lip ring. Jeongguk, as it turned out, was very interested in showing you.

You were both a little drunk, but the attraction was real. Instant.

One very handsy cab ride later, and you were in his apartment, grinding on his lap as you experienced first-hand just how little of an obstacle a lip ring can be if the man who has it knows what he’s doing.

Things were going so well—Jeongguk’s tongue exploring your mouth as you felt his cock stiffening beneath you. But it all came crashing down as soon as his hand slid under your dress.

The fact of the matter was, you’d just been dumped. Regardless of how strongly you did or didn’t feel about your ex, you’d still been dumped and it still hurt. As soon as Jeongguk really touched you, it became all too apparent that you wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Luckily, at the slightest bit of hesitance from you, Jeongguk’s hand immediately retreated from under your dress.

He was sweet about it. Really, really sweet. Valiantly ignored his erection and offered to listen instead, which made you laugh. Comforted you even though you hadn’t thought you needed it. Let you sleep in his bed anyway. When you left the next morning, kindly offered to be your friend, because you clearly needed one.

You’ve been friends ever since.

Not in the same way that Seokjin is your friend, of course. Seokjin is your best friend, has been since you were both kids. But Jeongguk just… He gets the industry, in a way that Seokjin never will.

Which brings you to last month.

Last month, when Jeongguk called you nervously in the middle of his tour schedule. Asked you to be his fake girlfriend in guilty, hushed whispers.

You didn’t need to know why. You were always going to say yes.

But Jeongguk explained anyway. He explained that he has a girlfriend, a real girlfriend, who isn’t from your world. That he hasn’t been able to see her nearly as much as he’d like to because he’s terrified of the backlash she could receive from being connected to him romantically.

You read between the lines—you have nothing to lose, at this point. There isn’t a day that goes by where someone online doesn’t have something to say about you, reputable or not.

He explained that in order to maintain the lie, no one in the industry could know the truth, not even Jeongguk’s bandmates. According to him, they wouldn’t understand why he felt the need to go to such lengths. You didn’t completely agree then, but having met Yoongi now, you get it.

His girlfriend knows about you, he’d told you. She knows who you are, knows about that night last year, and that she still agreed to let him ask you this. She doesn’t see you as a threat.

It stung, a little. Of course it did. You and Jeongguk may be friends, but you’ve always felt a hint of something else there. Maybe it was the kindness he’d shown you when you met. Maybe it’s just him. But you never said anything, convinced it was one-sided.

Clearly you were right.

Still, you want to do this for him. You care about him, and just because you can’t maintain a stable relationship doesn’t mean Jeongguk doesn’t deserve a chance at one.

You think, if Yoongi knew, he’d feel the same.

★ ★ ★

Five years down the drain, Yoongi thinks. Ashes his cigarette. Oh well.

Honestly, it’s not even really about you, although Yoongi would love to pretend otherwise. If he pins it all on you, it makes his mission to get rid of you all the more noble. The label breathing down his neck. The impending deadline of an album he doesn’t know if he can write. Dongsaengs that don’t know how to stay out of trouble. If it’s all your fault, it can’t be his.

This—the smoking—was bound to happen, with or without you. You just helped the process along.

He’s perched on his windowsill, puffing his way through cigarette number two, when his phone buzzes next to him.

Namjoon doesn’t call him nearly ever. Yoongi has a way that he likes things done, and Namjoon is probably his only friend that actually respects it. Emails for work. In-person or texts for personal shit. Video calls never. Phone calls only if Yoongi needs to hear it now and there’s no other way.

Yoongi picks up.

“Joon-ah?” Cautious. He likes phone calls the least because phone calls mean trouble, like someone is in the hospital. He’s gotten that call before, more than once.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says. “Do you have a minute?”

Namjoon wouldn’t be asking that if someone was in the hospital, so Yoongi allows himself to unclench. Just a little. “Yeah, I have a minute.”

He hears rustling on the line, like Namjoon is fidgeting. But Namjoon is always fidgeting, so that could mean nothing.

“I figured, given the events of tonight, that it would be a good call to warn you ahead of time. I would’ve come by your apartment, but I’ve got meetings all morning tomorrow and it’s late. I didn’t want to wait until next time I see you though, so…” Namjoon starts, trailing off.

Yoongi works his jaw. “Spit it out, Joon-ah,” he says, because Namjoon is shit at delivering bad news. He’s always beating around the bush, trying to soften the blow. It’s great for the kids, but it makes Yoongi feel like he’s about to have to bury his first-born or some shit. Yoongi likes clear, direct.

Namjoon knows this, so he always gets it right on the second try.

“YN is going to the Jeju house with you guys,” Namjoon says. Clear and direct, but the absolute last thing Yoongi wants to hear right now.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.”

“She has literally no fucking reason to be there, Joon-ah,” Yoongi grits out. The cigarette secured between his index and middle knuckles has burned down to nothing, singes his fingers. He hisses and flicks it out the window. “Is she going to help us write an album? Is that it?”

“Hyung—“

“No, she isn’t. She’s going to distract my lead singer the whole time and make the whole point of the trip fucking impossible,” he interrupts, because once he gets started he can’t stop. “Who signed off on this? Doesn’t she have a job? Isn’t there a goddamn camera that needs to be smoldered at?”

“Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon says. He’s using his manager voice, and Yoongi shuts up instantly.

Namjoon uses this voice on the kids all the time. Realistically, it’s not a big deal. It’s his job. But he’s never had to use it on Yoongi before.

He deserves it, though. Yoongi knows that. He knows that he’s been insufferable ever since you showed up, and he doesn’t like it either. He’d wanted to talk to Jeongguk, to have a heart-to-heart with him about it, but that’s proven impossible given that you’re always around. And Namjoon is their voice of reason.

Yoongi tries again.

“I don’t like her,” he explains, keeping his voice level. “I don’t think she has Jeongguk’s best interests at heart. I’m just trying to look out for him.”

The line stays quiet for a long moment, like Namjoon is taking special care in choosing his next words. It would make Yoongi nervous, but that’s just what Namjoon does.

“Hyung, you need to leave it alone,” he finally says.

What the fuck.

Yoongi could have foreseen plenty of responses from Namjoon. He’s been on the receiving end of Namjoon’s sage advice more than he’s proud of. Yoongi worries a lot, and Namjoon is particularly good at quieting those worries, particularly when they pertain to the kids. And they usually do. But he sure as shit wasn’t expecting to be blown off like that.

“Joon-ah, Jeongguk is gonna—“

“Jeongguk is a grown man. He’s fully entitled to make his own decisions, and you need to respect that if you don’t want to lose him.”

Lose him? Is Yoongi going insane? Is he fucking missing some integral piece of this puzzle that everyone else seems to have?

The notion of losing Jeongguk is completely absurd. How could he lose Jeongguk over something like this? Jeongguk, the college freshman with the huge eyes who followed Yoongi around like a puppy. Jeongguk who sang so softly when Yoongi asked, who beamed with pride when Yoongi told him he had something special. Jeongguk who dropped out alongside Yoongi, took a risk because he trusted his hyung to take care of him.

It was Yoongi and Jeongguk before it was anyone else, and Yoongi has never let Jeongguk down once, won’t allow himself to. This is the thing that’s going to change that?

“What are you even talking about?”

“Just… leave this one alone, Yoongi,” Namjoon sighs. “She’s coming whether you like it or not, and you need to at least pretend to play nice.”

Yoongi doesn’t appreciate being treated like a child who’s the cause of his parent’s headache, not by Kim Namjoon. The label dickheads are one thing, but the one person Yoongi has entrusted with everything for the past five years? Before that, even? Fuck that. Namjoon doesn’t talk to him this way, and that’s not about to change because of you.

“Namjoon-ah, if you’re going to blow me off, at least put my cock in your mouth and do it right,” Yoongi spits, hanging up before he can think better of his words.

Fuck.

Yoongi hasn’t bitten Namjoon’s head off like that in a long time. It doesn’t feel good to be back in old patterns like this. Yoongi knows why he doesn’t trust you, but he doesn’t know what it is about you that makes it so—urgent. Like he’s a wild animal primed to bite. To hurt. Yoongi isn’t that guy.

If what Namjoon said is true, if Jeongguk really is at risk of slipping through Yoongi’s fingers, he has to get his fucking act together. He has to try harder to handle this like an adult.

So, you’re coming to Jeju. Fine. Yoongi can be civil.

Even if the only way for him to be civil is not to speak to you at all.

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gold-onthe-inside · 2 months ago

Text

pair programming

A software development technique in which two programmers work together at one workstation. One, the driver, writes code while the other, the observer or navigator, reviews each line of code as it is typed in.

part one: driver

who? spencer reid (s1) x analyst!reader what? prequel to greylist; you invite yourself onto a case to help penelope after an unsub runs a blackhat operation onto her set-up, getting to know your best friend's team in the process. word count: 3.9k (sort of turned into a case-fic) content warnings: elle's shooting is mentioned, reference to SA a/n: this got seriously long, i'm so sorry, i hope you all like it, and part two will be coming - based on when penelope gets shot

“What kind of MIT graduate is a technophobe?” you asked, even as you were plugged in next to Penelope's workstation. Your eyes are glued to the screen, parsing through each line of code as Penelope wrote it. It was rare for you to get this attached to someone, but Penelope's hard not to let in with her funky earrings and sparkly glasses and chunky bracelets.

"The kind with three PhDs, apparently," she replied, before cursing softly as she notices you correct her code.

"Ugh, that sounds insufferable," you mutter, curling your upper lip, rubbing the small ache that was growing in the back of your neck. You've been at this for hours, helping Penelope develop software that can identify the tiniest detail from CCTV footage, invasion of privacy damned. You knew it's an ethical line you have to blur in counterintelligence. But you've found your groove and if you lose track now, who knows when you'll both get a chance to sit and write again?

"He's not that bad, actually," Penelope said, blue eyes watching her screen intently, manicured nails clacking over her keyboard, chewing the same gum she had popped in when you'd both started. "He's not exactly a looker, not like my darling Morgan. Did I tell you he called me baby girl?"

"How romantic," you said dryly, reaching for the packet of Twizzlers you were both sharing. "He didn't know your name."

"You haven't seen him," Penelope said, her voice dreamy. "He's beautiful, the Adonis to my Aphrodite--"

"You know Adonis died, right?" you asked her, raising a brow and she tossed a Malteser at you.

"Stop ruining my fantasies!" she cried and you snickered under your breath.

"I'm not picking that up. Anyway, more importantly, what's Agent Greenaway like?"

And so it goes for another hour, until you both swap roles, and you're complete focus and drive and determination as you get these codes out, and Spencer Reid is nothing more than a name picked up in conversation.

You're good at your job; clean, organised, a hard worker with an eye for detail and little else in your social life, and so when Penelope's picked for the BAU, you're working your way up in counterintelligence, surrounded by more testosterone than Penelope. She's unorthodox, hasn't come up the way you have; you were astonished when you found out that she taught herself to code, dropping out of CalTech a year after she joined. It's why you offered to be her navigator, and you only really stay at your desk if you're working with privileged information. Otherwise, you're spending off-time with her, writing programs and algorithms, helping her multi-task when there's an overwhelming amount of information to track.

"My co-workers never get me flowers," you said, walking in with your laptop under your arm, a hand going to the yellow flowers arranged in a bouquet by her station and she spun in her chair, grinning giddily.

"They're from Gideon," she gushed and you raise a brow as you smell the daffodils.

“You know I don’t judge age gaps, but isn’t he starting to bald?” you asked and Penelope was already rolling her eyes as you picked up the card to read it.

“It’s not like that,” she insisted, watching you frown at the neat printed writing. “What is it?”

“Agent Gideon doesn’t write like this,” you said, wrinkling your brow, showing her the handwriting and Penelope shrugged.

“Maybe he wanted it to look nice.”

"I know I can be challenging, but your work is appreciated. J. Gideon?” you read out skeptically. “A) he’s not self-aware enough to call himself challenging, and B) he doesn’t sign off on messages like that. I’ve seen your Christmas present from last year.”

“You don’t know that,” Penelope retorted and you cock your head at her. “He-He was apologising for last week, when he was on crutches and—”

“Was being a total pain in your ass?” you asked with a chuckle, sitting down and opening your laptop. “What’s the going rate for daffodils these days? 10, 20 dollars?”

“What are you doing?” Penelope asked, then looking horrified as you’d already hacked your way into peeking at Gideon’s recent debit and credit purchases.

“No florists here,” you declared, showing her. “Although, he goes to the Smithsonian a lot.”

“He likes the bird exhibits, what are you guys doing?” came a confused voice from behind the both of you, and your eyes fall on a gangly, tall man, with a very unflattering yellow shirt with beige lines that matched his tie and trousers, brown hair tucked tightly behind his ears.

Penelope quickly slammed your laptop shut with a quick “Nothing!” and he furrowed his brow, spindly fingers fidgeting in front of him. You glanced at Penelope, trying to follow her cue.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” you asked, the kind of tone you’d use with your own co-workers who linger around your desk, trying to copy your programs.

“Considering Gideon’s my boss, I’d like to know why you’re investigating his finances,” Spencer said, doing his best to exude confidence, but he didn’t quite manage it, his hands going to his pockets, and your cool stare makes him swallow. Oh, he’s going to be fun to play with.

“We’re just evaluating whether Gideon’s gonna ask Penelope here on a date,” you said, just to mess with him and keeping a straight face even as she shoved your shoulder, and he choked, his neck flushing red. “Oh, maybe he’ll take you to his cabin,” you add, looking at Penelope excitedly. “A couple glasses of wine, a nice dinner, light some candles—”

“I’m gonna shove this keyboard so far down your throat, all that’s going to come out are bit strings!” she cried, trying to clap a hand over your mouth as you laugh and by the time you look back at the door, he’s gone. “I think you’ve scarred him for life,” Penelope sighed, exasperated, smacking your shoulder hard and making you wince.

“Ow, no sense of humour, any of you,” you grumbled, rubbing your shoulder, and actually getting down to do the work you’re supposed to be doing. You like Penelope’s company, more than the kind of guys you’re surrounded by in counterintelligence.

You’re supposed to be parsing through online communication on a website potentially linked to a terrorist organisation in Somalia, waiting for your decryption program to finish running it, walking into Penelope’s den to find her pulling her apart her CPU, muttering to herself. “All work and no play?” she demanded at her array of screens, “All work and no play, huh? You just wait till I’m through with you!”

“Um… you good?” You asked, leaning against her doorway. You haven’t seen Penelope this angry since she’d been called into work the night they had tickets to the Pixies’ reunion tour.

“Someone had the nerve to run a blackhat op into my computers!” she cried, looking at you, red streaks in her crinkle-cut hair. “They hacked me, okay? But you can bet your sweet ass, I will find them. I've got honey pot farms hidden behind UML kernel data packets and a first generation honeynet I personally programmed. My snort logs list every visitor, every server request, every keystroke on this entire network. If I have to back-hack his I.P. all the way to the frickin'stone age, I will find this son of a bitch, okay?” As angry as she sounded, her blue eyes were welling up and Somalia was forgotten as you pulled your own chair up.

“What can I do?” you asked and her phone rang, Penelope groaning as she stood up, jamming the answer button with the back of her screwdriver.

“What?” she demanded irritably.

“I need a rundown on a guy,” Morgan said and you frowned — as far as you knew, the rest of the team was on vacation, what with him telling everyone on the floor, including yours, about all fun he was gonna have at some Jamaican resort in Montego Bay.

“No,” Penelope said, shortly.

“No?” he asked and your hand came up to Penelope’s elbow.

“I can take care of this,” you offer and it seemed to take some steam off of your best friend. “Talk to me, Morgan,” you said, rolling your chair over and setting up on your own laptop. “What do you need?”

“Run a Frank Giles for me, would you, sweet thing?” Morgan asked and you huff, pulling up your deep background check program to run his name.

“Call me sweet thing again and I’ll feed your fingers to Clooney,” you replied, hearing him chuckle over the landline.

“My bad,” he said. “What do you have for me?”

“Hey, I’m working on a CPU half my usual size, gimme a minute, will you?” you replied.

“You’re a hard woman to please.”

“No fun in making it easy, is it?” you quip back as your results get back to you. “Frank Giles left Jamaica last night on the red eye. He flew to Florida, then got onto another flight to Virginia,” you relay to him.

“He’s from Virginia?” Morgan asked, confused.

“He’s got an address in Arlington,” you continued. “Long criminal record too; murder, robbery, sexual assault.”

“A guy was murdered in the resort here, head was cut off,” Morgan explained to you. “What are the chances you can find him for me?”

“Please, this stuff is child’s play,” you retorted, glancing down at Penelope on the floor. “This is what you do all day? Look people up?”

Penelope looked up from the floor at you. “Hey, I’m in a very vulnerable position right now!” You suppress a snort, working on ID’ing the victim.

“The room’s rented to a man named—”

“Marty Harris,” you said. “Also classic bad guy, fetish burglar and registered child sex offender. TSA flagged him, he was travelling with Giles.” You flex your fingers, cracking your knuckles, your blood not quite up.

“Alright, thanks, mama,” he said before hanging up and you scrunch your nose at being called that. Derek liked to flirt, and despite your best efforts, he’s not averse to being threatened. You spend the rest of the day backhacking the guy, Frank Giles on the back of you mind.

“How’d he get in, anyway?” you asked, frowning at your laptop. It’s not as well-kitted as your cubicle downstairs, but you can’t leave Penelope in the lurch like this.

“I don’t know,” Penelope cried, “all I know is I was in Camelot with Sir Kneighf again—”

“At work?” you asked, looking up instantly and the colour leeched from Penelope’s face. “Pen, no!”

“It was my personal laptop, I didn’t think—”

“Your laptop doesn’t have the same security, Pen, Christ!”

“I know that!” she yelled, her face fierce. “God, you don’t think I feel horrible enough already, and I can already see Hotch’s face when he finds out—”

“Hey, no, I’m sorry, listen,” you say automatically, scooting forward to comfort her. “Listen, it’s gonna be okay, alright? Whoever this guy is, he took advantage of you, alright? That’s what these guys do. They wait around until they find the weak link and strike.”

“I’m the weak link!” Penelope cried and you tutted, putting your laptop away and hugging her.

“Hey, no, you’re not,” you insisted, taking her glasses off so they wouldn’t get in the way. “You know how many cases these guys have solved because of you? How many lives they could’ve lost if you hadn’t found the right guy or the right address in time? Don’t beat yourself up over one mistake.”

And that’s exactly how clear you make yourself when you hear Gideon call her stupid — standing right by her side when she tells the entire team the truth. You’re not part of the team, Gideon’s not your supervisor, and it’s the first time you’ve met most of them face to face really, which makes it easier to stand your ground.

“You’d all be lost without Garcia’s technical skills, and you know it,” you said, defending your friend. “So, yeah, she made a mistake and the hacker got into your personnel files. It doesn’t explain how he knows all the other details of your life. It doesn’t explain how he knew about Morgan and Greenaway going to Jamaica, or your appreciation of the Chicago White Sox , who, by the way, haven’t won a championship since 1959 until last year.” There’s a moment of silence where Gideon just blinks at you, Elle suddenly very interested in her fist as her brow raised, and Aaron’s gaze bored into you. Spencer didn’t know whether to look at you or Gideon; you with your firm gaze and fingers curled around Penelope’s, or Gideon with his worn out expression.

“So, how did he find all this out?” Aaron said eventually, and the heat passes as they all move on. You glanced at Penelope, nodding subtly as she mouthed a ‘thank you’. Elle caught your gaze as you started to leave the profilers to their work, dimples forming on her sleepy face as she tried not to smile.

You have your own work pending, writing up a program to feed the decrypted communication through that would flag recurring keywords, in Penelope’s den still. This close to evening, your supervisor wouldn’t care anyway. The hours you put in excuse you from actually having to sit in your cubicle. With the only two seats in the den occupied, Spencer was pacing behind Penelope who was busy backhacking Sir Kneighf.

“The card we got of Nellie Fox was from 1963,” he was saying to noone in particular, and you had the feeling he just didn’t want to be in that conference room alone, but his pacing was starting to get on your nerves. “But the team that Gideon’s fond of is actually the 1959 team.” You shared a glance at Penelope, slipping into telepathy.

“Can’t we get rid of him?”

“Not without making a mess,” she said with her face and you repressed a sigh as he kept going.

“So the code has to be from a book from 1963,” he said, twisting on his heel to face Penelope. “Is there a database that lists all the books published in a given year?”

“Individual publishers have lists, I don't think there's anything like a master one,” Penelope answered him. “Plus it would depend upon the year, because the further back you go, the less likely there'll be any database at all.

“And definitely not for 1963,” you piped up, Penelope nodding along and Spencer looked at you with a furrowed brow, then back to Penelope, leaning over her shoulder.

“Could you do me a favor? Type something into a search engine for me?” Spencer asked and Penelope scowled at him.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” she replied and as if you could tell the work would be shifted onto you, you attempted to surreptitiously leave, but Penelope’s hand latched around your wrist. “Weren’t you just wishing you had something to do?”

“No,” you tried in vain, “No, my program’ll be done in a couple of—” Neither of them were falling for it and Spencer was starting to pull out this puppy-faced look and you groaned. How did you keep getting in these situations? “Fine, put your face away,” you said irritably, sitting back down. “What am I Yahoo-ing?”

"Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man's sight,” Spencer recited, watching you type rapidly.

“It’s from ‘The Parliament of—”

“Fowls!” Spencer exclaimed, “I knew I’d heard it somewhere.” It was too late in the day for you to handle his excitement with any kind of grace, sharing a look with Penelope who simply shrugged, like he was always like this. “Yeah, yeah, Chaucer, my… My mom used to read it to me,” he said, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze… like he was ashamed of something. “It’s widely considered the world’s first Valentine’s poem.”

“Your mom read you Valentine's poems? Hello, therapy,” Penelope muttered under her breath and you smacked her arm playfully, Spencer too deep in thought to see it.

“The poem’s not long enough for it to be the book,” he said, still looking puzzled. “The code we got referred to it having at least 283 pages—”

“And it’s not from 1963, either,” you added dryly.

“Something published in 1963. A butterfly indigenous to Great Britain, so something from Great Britain,” he said to himself and you furrow your brow.

“Fowles,” you said, and it was like everything made sense. “With an e, Fowles. He wrote a book, The Collector, in the 60s,” you kept going, Penelope looking at you with an impressed gaze, Spencer hanging onto your every word. “It kind of matches your case. This lonely young man kidnaps a young art student and holds her in his cellar at his farmhouse, keeps her there for years, and she assumes he’s going to torture her or sexually assault her, but he’s waiting for her to fall in love with him, and he’s convinced she will, and by the end, she falls ill and dies. When he finds her, he wants to commit suicide, but he reads her diary and realises she never loved him so he buries her and the book ends with him thinking about abducting another girl.”

“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, looking horrified.

“Yeah, it wasn’t great,” you replied, frowning and scrunching your nose. “The whole thing was in first person. It was weird to read.”

“Right, that’s the icky part,” Penelope said, dryly.

“We need to check it with the code, and it has to be the exact edition he has,” Spencer interrupted before either of you got side-tracked and you rolled your eyes, going into your bag to pull out your e-reader, connecting it to your laptop. Spencer hovered right above your shoulder, so close you could hear his breathing, feeling warmth flutter against your cheek, and you cleared your throat.

“Ever heard of personal space?” you asked irritably, turning to look at him and he looked back down at you, barely an inch between you two, and then he stammered out an apology as he stepped back, all while Penelope smirked at the two of you. While the book transferred, you worked on quickly creating an algorithm that would search and flag the given word on a given line, on a given page, and despite yourself, you’re a little impressed when Spencer recites each number from the code that the unsub had sent Haley.

“Show off,” you muttered under your breath as he quickly wrote the resulting poem onto a legal pad in chicken scratch writing.

The path to the end began at his start. To find her, first calm her long broken heart. She sits in a window, with secrets from her knight.

“Well, that isn’t medieval,” you said and Spencer frowned at it, scanning it over and over again. Without another word, he darted out of the office, leaving both of you bewildered. “You were right, he is an odd duck,” you murmured, staring at the open door.

“Should we follow him?” Penelope asked, looking at you.

“I’ve put off my own work long enough,” you said, shaking her head and Penelope nodded, understanding.

“Thanks. For sticking around,” she said softly and you smiled at her faintly.

“Always.”

You should go home. Shower. Sleep. But Elle’s been shot and you can’t leave, not in good conscience. You hate yourself for being this sentimental, this soft but that’s what Penelope does to you. She softens you, makes you kinder, makes you laugh. If it had been you who had lost a teammate, Penelope would have been glued to your side.

So you stick around, blinking sleep out of your eyes, settled in the BAU’s kitchen with a cup of coffee and a bagel, both stale, looking for coded messages. Not for the first time, you think about where you could be. Coding for Apple, or Microsoft. Developing software in Silicon Valley. They don’t have stale bagels in Silicon Valley.

You stretched uncomfortably in your chair, gaze flitting up to the conference room, the bullpen stretched out between you and the BAU. You’re not a people person, or you weren’t before you met Penelope. You preferred the solitude of your cubicle, or you thought you had. The very virtue of your profession had left you without other female friends, and the ones you had before this job had drifted away. Counter-intelligence was by its very nature an isolating field, and Penelope was one of the few who didn’t mind your secrets. But seeing this team rally, even if Gideon had yelled at her, seeing them work together, as irritating as it had felt in the moment, filled you with a sense of loneliness. All you had was Penelope, but you weren’t the only one she had. Far from it.

That’s what prompts you to approach the older woman sitting alone in the conference room with her journal. Sitting by the window. “Hi,” you said meekly, stepping into the room, clocking the visitor’s badge on the woman’s sweater. She’s wearing a pale flowery dress, her bag sandwiched between her side and elbow. Her hair was short, like a boy’s, and blonde, and yet, something about her painfully reminds you of Spencer. Something around the eyes and the shape of her face.

“Is it lunch time yet?” she asked without looking up and you frowned, looking out the window to see the sprawl of Quantico blanketed in the dark blue of the night.

“Uh, no, not yet,” you said, sounding lame even to yourself. God, this was such a mistake.

“I'm lecturing everyone in Tristan and Iseult. They're all gathering in my room after lunch.” the woman said, looking up at you, and you offered a smile.

“Which version?” you asked, pulling up a chair as the woman gave you an impressed look.

“Malory’s. Beroul’s seemed too long to assign. You’ve read it?” she asked and you shook your head.

“Not in its entirety,” you replied somberly. “Not a lot of downtime with my job. But I know the gist of it.”

“Shame,” the woman said, letting out a sigh. “I always say, the best way to read a book is to listen to someone read it.”

That’s when Reid rushes in, relaxed until he sees you sitting in front of his mother, his temple creasing, and you raised your hand, waving it at him with a sheepish smile. “We uh, we found Rebecca,” he said, looking between you and his mom, two worlds colliding sooner than he would’ve liked. “You saved her life, Mom,” he said softly.

“Who’s Rebecca?” she asked and his smile evaporated, glancing at you for explanation but you shake you head.

“She’s not lucid,” you murmured, watching him swallow, his cheer dissipating.

“Oh,” he said quietly, blinking as he processed it, looking at Diana as she continued to write, and you stood up to leave. “Thanks,” he murmured to you as you walked off.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said, brow creasing and he looked at you with a boyishness that stops your breath.

“Thanks anyway,” he insisted and you nodded curtly.

“Elle okay?” you asked.

“She will be.” So you pat his arm and leave him with his mom, shaking off the fondness you’d started to feel for him.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x analyst!reader #analyst!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #my fics

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redocity · 2 months ago

Note

Hii can I request that the reader and buck want to hook up but at the time Albert is still living with him so they have to be quiet so they won’t be caught

OPERATION: GET IT ON — E.BUCKLEY

poor albert has an uncanny talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

evan buckley x gn!reader | 1.2k | 16+ | masterlist.

this fic is rated 16+ for suggestiveness.

You’re practically a fixture at Buck’s place these days. It started as casual visits—pizza, beers, and the occasional game night that turned into long nights spent tangled in his sheets. No strings, no labels.

You both agreed to keep it simple: friends with benefits. Though, lately, it’s felt less like "friends" and more like "a couple trying not to call it that."

It’s perfect. Well, it was perfect. Then Albert moved in.

Albert, Buck’s charmingly oblivious roommate, who seems to have an uncanny knack for being everywhere at once. If you’d known Buck had offered his couch to Albert after he’d hit a rough patch, maybe you would’ve suggested finding a different arrangement. But you didn’t. And now Albert is inescapable.

You’re not proud of it, but you’ve started to dread the sight of Albert’s car in the driveway when you pull up to Buck’s place. Because where Albert is, privacy isn’t.

The first week isn’t too bad. You still manage to find your moments—brief, stolen ones that usually end with you shoving a hand over Buck’s mouth to muffle his laughter. He thinks it’s hilarious, sneaking around his own house like you’re in some kind of spy movie.

“Albert’s not your parole officer,” he whispers once, trailing kisses down your neck. You’re both pressed against the door of his laundry room, listening intently for any sign of movement outside.

“Tell that to him,” you hiss back. “I swear, the guy’s got a sixth sense. He always shows up at the worst possible time,”

As if on cue, you hear Albert’s voice from somewhere down the hall. “Hey, Buck! You seen my phone charger?”

You barely have time to scramble apart before the door creaks open. Albert’s head pokes through, his eyes narrowing in confusion at the sight of you both standing there like guilty teenagers.

“What are you guys doing?” he asks, his gaze bouncing between you and Buck.

“Laundry,” you blurt out.

Buck nods vigorously. “Yup. Laundry,”

Albert frowns, but thankfully doesn’t ask any follow-up questions. Buck points him in the direction of his charger and Albert leaves, muttering something under his breath about “weird energy.”

You let out a sigh of relief the second he’s gone. Buck, of course, just laughs.

—

By week two, you’re starting to feel the strain. Albert, for all his good intentions, doesn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space.

He’s always around—plopping onto the couch during movie nights, barging into Buck’s room without knocking, or “accidentally” eating the snacks you brought over.

“Does he ever leave?” you whisper one night as you and Buck huddle in the tiny bathroom, desperate for some alone time.

“He works,” Buck says defensively, though even he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Does he, though?” You gesture vaguely. “Because I’m starting to think he’s just here to ruin my sex life,”

Buck snorts, pulling you closer. “C’mon. He’s not that bad,”

You raise an eyebrow. “This from the guy who almost got caught making out with me in the kitchen last night?”

He grins, unrepentant. “What can I say? The thrill keeps it interesting,”

—

The next evening, you found yourself back at Buck’s apartment. Albert had miraculously not been home when you arrived, and it seemed like this time, you’d finally have the place to yourselves. You and Buck had been scheming all week about tonight—how you could finally get some uninterrupted time together.

Buck had just opened a bottle of wine, pouring it into glasses, when you heard the telltale sound of Albert’s bike coming up the street. You both froze. You glanced at the door, then at Buck. His face was a mixture of dread and exasperation.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered, dropping your shoulders in defeat.

Buck held up his hands in an exaggerated gesture. “I don’t know, man! I really don’t know!”

The door swung open, and Albert entered, this time carrying a strange plant that you had never seen before.

“Hey, I bought this,” Albert said, grinning from ear to ear. “You guys like plants, right?”

You stared at him, slack-jawed for a second, before replying, “Uh, sure, Albert. Looks… interesting?”

“I think it’s called a ‘cat’s whisker’ or something,” Albert said, holding it up for your inspection. “Do you think it needs direct sunlight?”

Buck, looking completely defeated, gestured to the couch. “Just put it on the coffee table or something, Albert,”

Albert set the plant down and then promptly flopped onto the couch. “You guys gonna watch something? I’m kinda in the mood for a movie night,”

You and Buck exchanged an alarmed glance. This was not how you had envisioned the evening. You tried to subtly steer the conversation in a direction that would get Albert to leave, but he was relentless.

“I was thinking of watching something weird,” Albert continued, oblivious to the awkwardness in the room. “I have this documentary about deep-sea fish. You guys into that?”

You and Buck both stiffened. You could feel the heat between you two, the unspoken desire still lingering, but Albert was firmly planted between you and any chance of satisfaction.

Buck cleared his throat, attempting to put an end to the conversation. “Yeah, Albert, that sounds great, but we kinda—uh—have plans?”

Albert’s face dropped. “Oh… okay. Well, I guess I’ll just go back to my room then,”

As Albert shuffled off, you turned to Buck, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “How do you put up with this?”

Buck groaned. “I have no idea, but it’s like trying to have a date night with a permanent third wheel,”

—

Next time, you think you’re in the clear. It’s late, and Albert is supposedly working an overnight shift. Buck has you pressed against the kitchen counter, his lips trailing along your neck.

“This is better,” you whisper, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans.

He grins against your skin. “Told you we’d get our alone time,”

It’s perfect—until the kitchen light flicks on.

“Forgot my keys!”

You both freeze, like two teenagers caught sneaking out after curfew. Albert stands in the doorway, blinking at you, his face rapidly shifting from confusion to dawning realization.

“Oh,” he says. “Ohhh.”

Nobody moves.

“Don’t mind me,” Albert says, grabbing his keys off the counter and backing out of the room. “Carry on!”

The door slams shut behind him, and you groan, burying your face in your hands, moment officially ruined.

“I’m starting to think he’s cursed,” Buck says, half-laughing.

You tug at his wrist, pulling him towards the front door. “Come on,”

“Where are we going?”

“Your car,” You stop only to pull on your shoes before pulling the door open.

“My car?” Buck laughs. “Why?”

“He can’t interrupt us there,”

#9 1 1 #evan buckley #9 1 1 fanfiction #evan buckley x reader #buck x reader #oliver stark #evan buckley fluff #evan buckley smut

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allbark-no-bite · 9 months ago

Text

don’t write checks you can’t cash.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 3.6k)

summary: jake seresin is under your skin. or maybe you’re under his. either way you’re going to eat each other alive. jake isn’t about to take the fall

warnings: mentioned age gap, heavy sexual tension (the smut is coming i promise)

author’s note: back on my topgun bullshit bitches (respectfully). i’m not usually one for multi part fics but i actually wrote something with plot for once so please just bear with me. loosely inspired by Zach Bryan’s ‘nineball’. please note this fic title is subject to change bc i hate it

(you can read part 2 here!)

————————————————————————

You don't believe in love at first sight. You think the whole concept is some foolish idea that people who have already fallen in love have the liberty of saying they believe in. Then people who have been through failed relationship after failed relationship are convinced that they're never going to fall in love because it just doesn't happen. The whole idea pretty much just sets the rest of the population up for failure from the start.

Even the concept of finding the right person one day and growing to love them is hard for you to grasp. Because how can you love someone that much? How do you know you love them enough?There are some days that you don't enjoy the presence of even your closest friends for very long, friends who you would do anything for. Even family, you only tolerated so much.

Your high school boyfriend hated that about you, the fact that you realistically needed so little of him—or anyone for that matter. You have always been violently independent, able to provide what you require, and therefore having to maintain a simplistic relationship became nothing but a monotonous task. Even most of your closest friendships faded with time.

Eventually, you prosed the question: what can someone else give me that I cannot give myself?

The answer was companionship. Because when you strip away everything from a person and all they have left to offer you is themself, you have to be willing to choose them. And sometimes that's not the most appealing quality.

Something did happen, the first time you made eye contact with Lt. Jake Seresin, but it was far from love. It was something terrible in your chest, like an aching. Like you knew in your gut that he was going to change your life. Good or bad, you didn't know, but it was certain to happen.

You don't even believe that you two were destined to meet — you just happened to, and in that moment, the damage was done, it was your fate to ruin each other.

——

You like the way he says your name. You like that he says your name on purpose, like he is intentionally seeking out reasons to say it. It's not as harsh sounding coming from his mouth.

"You from around here, [L/n]?"

You're wiping down the glass hatch of your F/A-18 when he approaches you from behind. You swivel your head to catch sight of him behind your back but he's already making a wide circle around you, his chin tipping up then down as he inspects your plane from behind his tinted aviators.

As you watch him scrutinize your aircraft, you regard him with a certain level of apprehension. Jake Seresin was nothing short of gorgeous. He was six feet of bronze skin and lean muscle, withbright green eyes, and a movie star smile. Not to mention the southern accent that had girls drooling over him.

"Austin," you correct him. "Austin, Texas."

You'd been transferred over to Miramar a little over a month ago, becoming the newest addition to the Dagger squad. California was a nice change of scenery, and everyone you had met so far had welcomed you with open arms. That is, everyone but Lt. Seresin— Hangman as they called him. You were still trying to find your footing with him.

You genuinely don't know what his problem is with you. The guy had hardly even given you a glance since the moment you'd arrived. Your first guess would have been that he was one of those dickheads who didn't like women working in the field, but his relationship with Phoenix disproved that theory.

Your answer seems to warrant his attention, and he looks up. His expression twitches at the correction but he doesn't say anything in response. For the first time since you arrived at Miramar, still, unsmiling green eyes catch yours from across the aircraft.

You hold his gaze. After a moment, your stomach twists in an unsettling way, like even it doesn't know what to do with itself. Your first instinct is to look away. Your brain is telling you that if you do, you can avoid any sort of confrontation that may happen as a result. But it's like you can't.

This is the first time he's looked at you, and now you don't dare to look away.

Even from behind the tint of his perfectly polished aviators, you can make out the distinct color of his green eyes. They're so distracting that you have to remind yourself to breathe.

After what feels like eons of uncomfortable staring, he breaks your gaze —surely it couldn't have been longer than a few seconds. Flustered, you glance around to see if anyone else has picked up on the affair. Fortunately, or unfortunately, you're not quite sure which, it's nearing 6pm and the base is on the better side of empty. It's a Friday evening and everyone is eager to head out for the weekend.

Someone clears their throat. Hangman is still standing there, hands shoved in his pockets like he doesn't have anywhere better to be. You want to say something but your gut is telling you that there's some sort of game going on here and you're not sure of the rules.

Finally, he faintly nods his head, as if to excuse himself, and turns to walk away. You watch his retreating back and relax a little, breathing a bit easier.

As you're turning back to your plane, relieved that the interaction is over, you hear him call back over his shoulder.

“The team is heading to the Hard Deck at nine. Don't be late."

And then he's gone, disappeared between one of the hangars.

——

For nine thirty on a Friday evening, the bar isn't nearly as busy as you'd expected it to be. You don't have to fight for a parking spot out front and there's not even a line at the bar. Other than a rowdy looking gaggle accumulating at the pool table, the atmosphere is pretty laid back. Looking around as you walk further in, there is a handful of people in civilians, but the majority of the crowd is composed of off duty aviators in their summer khakis.

You're about to head over to the bar top, where you were sure you had spotted Captain Mitchell, when someone shouts your name.

"Hawk!"

Your head swivels at the sound of your callsign, and you catch sight of Rooster beckoning to you over at the pool table. Immediately you recognize the familiar faces of the Dagger squad around him. You acknowledge him with a smile and head over to join them.

“And here we thought you were going to be a no-show," the brunette pilot chirps, his arm wrapping around your shoulder as soon as you're close enough. You lean into his embrace while touching his chest with a friendly pat of your hand. Bradley is by no means close to drunk but most definitely more than a little buzzed if you're going off of the smell of beer and lime on his breath and the occasional involuntary twitch of his mustache.

"I thought about it, but I can't keep letting you guys have all the fun," you laugh, holding out your other arm so that you can greet Natasha with a hug as Rooster releases you.

After hugging you, she presses a sweating bottle of beer into your hand. "Coyote bought everyone a round so I figured I'd save you one before the boys wiped them out. Sorry if it's a bit warm, you did show up fashionably late."

You playfully roll your eyes at her, taking the beer anyhow. "Thanks, Phe."

Payback places a large palm on the top of your head, diverting your attention towards him as he returns from the bar. "Don't let her fool you, we're just getting started over here. Rooster isn't even drunk enough to get on the piano yet."

Laughing, you glance over at the brunette aviator. "Now that I've been waiting to see. I hear you're quite the show, Bradshaw."

Since you transferred over to Miramar, you had been hounded nonstop to go out drinking with the team for weeks, and Rooster's infamous performance had been one of their key selling points. That and the fact that the owner, Penny, often gave them free drinks. Apparently she had a thing for Captain Mitchell.

Rooster grins, leaning against the pool stick in his hand as he waits for Fanboy to take his shot. "Let me get a couple more beers deep and I promise you won't be disappointed."

As you go about making your rounds to greet everyone else, you can't help but notice that there's someone missing. After you take a seat beside Bob to watch Rooster and Fanboy play, you glance around the bar a few times, convinced that you've somehow overlooked him despite the fact that the place isn't busy enough for that.

An almost disappointed feeling pulls at you despite how ridiculous the realization makes you feel.

After spending the better part of an half hour trying to push the feeling away, you finally spot a familiar head of blonde hair over at the dartboard. He's by himself, about three darts in and half a bottle of beer down. So much for the personal invitation, you think.

You watch as he throws a dart, practically without so much as aiming whilst contemplating whether or not you even have it in you to muster up the courage to face those green eyes again.

Without giving yourself the chance to back down, you swallow back the rest of your now warm beer and head over.

He tosses another dart just as you reach him, and it finds itself dead center with the previous three.

"With a hand like that, you should be kicking Rooster's ass over there in pool," you say as you come to a stop behind him.

Walking away from the dartboard, Jake turns to grab his bottle of beer from the table beside you.

"I'm not much of a betting man," he huffs, leaning back against the table. The muscles of his biceps bugle distractingly against the sleeves of his uniform.

You look back over your shoulder, watching from a distance as Fanboy's cue clips the eight ball and sends it ricocheting off the sidewall. He groans, and Rooster whoops triumphantly from behind him.

"It wouldn't be much of a bet. Even with his winning streak, I think you'd give him a run for his money."

Hangman takes a sip from his bottle, mouth lingering on the rim before he sets it back down and crosses his arms. "Rooster's all luck and no skill. The table's got a lean."

You raise your eyebrows at the confession, half laughing at his lax confidence. "Oh? And you would know this how?"

"C'mon, son. Fuckin' hit it in."

Body tense, his arm quivers ever so slightly and the pool stick bobs shakily in his hand. He closes his eyes and takes a breath in.

"I haven't got all day, kid."

He breathes out and breathes back in. The smell of cigar smoke and cheap beer swims in his head.

"What're you doin'?! Quit wastin' time."

He exhales, opens his eyes, and hits the pool stick forward. The white cue ball shoots out to the left, bounces against the eight ball, and sends it hurdling towards the side pocket. At the very last moment, it veers off to the left and falls into the back corner pocket instead.

The man standing on the other side of the table curses, his pool stick dropping to the ground, but Jake pays little mind to him. He straightens, looking around eagerly for the only set of eyes that matter. The grin falls from his face when he realizes the old man isn't even watching, too busy counting out his prize money and yanking out a ten to hand to the bartender.

Jake looks up at the clock on the wall over his shoulder.

12:57 am

"Dad, I wanna go home."

"Not yet, son. I've already got fifty put down on another round."

"Want me to show you?"

His offer makes you pause, and you can't help but cock your head a bit as you try to weigh out just where this is heading. For weeks he has acted as though you barely even existed and now you're engaged in the longest conversion the two of you have had since your arrival.

Jake finishes his drink and sets the bottle down whilst walking over to you. "Final offer. Take it or leave it."

You laugh a little before stepping back so that he can make his way to the pool table. "Lead the way then." But before you can make it too far, his palm finds the flat of your back, pressing you forward so that you're in front of him. You're glad he can't see you because your face flashes hot at the unexpected contact.

"I'm not the one playing, kid. I'm just going to show you the ropes."

"Oh, I didn't-"

Any objections you have about the situation are ignored as he pushes you firmly in the direction of the pool table and asks Payback for his cue. "Look alive, Bradshaw. Hawk is about to show you how this thing is done."

Straightening his wide shoulders, Bradley grins, smug and easy as you and Hangman approach the opposite side of the table. "And here I thought you were here to reclaim your throne now that I'm intoxicated."

Jake grins back. "You don't need to be drunk for me to do that."

Bradley's mustache twitches, but he's still smiling. "Sure."

Jake turns back to you, placing the pool stick in your hand. You can't help but think that his expression is all too confident for someone who has never even seen you play pool.

"Nervous?" he asks as you take the stick from him.

"Should I be?" you ask back, turning your head to watch as Rooster takes the liberty of breaking the rack.

He shakes his head, his green eyes glowing with a warmth that you've yet to see from him. "Not as long as you don't totally suck."

Seeing that it's your turn, you brush past him to stand at the table. "I guess I'll let you be the judge of that."

Thankfully you've played your fair share of pool and so you're able to hold your own for most of the game. Jake remains criminally silent as you play, arms once again crossed as he leans against a nearby stool, but you can feel his gaze burning into your back the entire time. It isn't until the end of the game and you've missed the same ball multiple times that he steps in.

"Shift left," he directs you. When you glance over at him, he nods his head as if to insinuate where you should move but doesn't move from where he's planted himself since the beginning of the game.

Hesitantly, you shuffle over a half step and take the shot. The ball comes closer than you have been but still hits the sidewall just short of the pocket. You huff in frustration, and Rooster steps forward to take his turn, sinking his second to last ball in the same pocket.

"I hope you're ready to buy the next round, Seresin. Looks like Hawk is losing her nerve," Bradley goads, unable to keep himself from boasting a little at your expense. When it comes to Hangman, he can't resist the chance to taunt him.

You roll your eyes at his comment, not bothered so much by it as compared to the fact that you're losing. When it's your turn again, you line up the ball and lean down to assume your position when Jake stops you.

All the sudden he's right beside you, palm pressing into your hip to scoot you to the side. "Move over." When you look at him like he's crazy, he huffs. "C'mon, do you want my help or not?"

It isn't so much of a question as it is a statement and the press of his hand against your side doesn't leave you much of an option and so you shuffle over to the far right side of the pool table.

Before you can even comprehend what's going on, he's leant over you, his impossibly tall frame pressed to your back so that he can reach around you and guide your hands. One wraps around your hand on the stick and the other cups your opposite elbow.

It takes everything in you not to jerk away, overwhelmed by his sudden proximity. Instead you try to focus on controlling your hammering heart and pray he can't tell how clammy your palms suddenly are.

"Hey, that's not allowed," Rooster complains. "Is that allowed?"

Coyote shrugs. "It's not not allowed."

Distracted by their bickering, his voice in your ear nearly makes you jump. "Hit the cue ball. Hard."

The lean press of his body is almost enough to distract you from the fact that he's done a god awful job of lining up the shot. There's not one alternate reality where you make this shot.

"You can't be serious."

He's so close that you feel him smile beside your ear. "Dead."

"Any day now," Rooster prompts, as if you aren't aware that Jake Seresin has been pressed against you for an uncomfortably long amount of time. And if Hangman has noticed the fact that your heart is fluttering erratically inside your chest or that your skin is flushed hot to the touch, he doesn't let on.

"I'm waiting," he reminds you, his voice placid in your ear.

Against your better judgement, you take the shot.

The white cue ball hurtles into the black eight ball with a hard clack and sends it flying across the table. It smashes against the sidewall, exactly as you had expected it to, and you release a breath of defeat. And then something unexpected happens. The ball slows, but instead of bouncing to a stop, it continues to roll left across the table. You all watch as it rolls directly into back corner pocket of the table.

"Well I'll be damned," Payback mutters aloud.

"Hell yeah, [L/n]!" Phoenix shouts, her loud and robust voice ringing out across the bar. "Shots are on Bradshaw!"

"Thanks buddy," Coyote laughs, teasingly grabbing the back of the brunette aviator's shoulders as he heads off for the bar.

Bradley waves them off, looking a bit miffed but still good naturedly accepting his defeat.

"How about it? You're a cold blooded killer."

Like a bucket of ice water being dumped over your head, the sound of Hangman's voice coming from behind you jerks you back to reality. You haven't even noticed that he'd stepped away. Something inside you twinges at the loss of his body pressed against yours.

You turn around to face him, your brain still trying to comprehend what just happened.

"How'd you do that?" you ask incredulously, your tone almost accusing. A deeper part of you wants to ask 'why did you do that' but the smile on his face stops you.

His top row of pearly white teeth that you glimpse is pristine, however brief, before his pink lips come back together in a more subdued smile. It's an expression that is so very genuine and carefree that it sends a spark straight through to your heart. You've never seen him actually smile before, and especially not at you.

"You're smiling," you accuse before you can stop the words from coming out of your mouth, half giddy at the discovery yourself.

Jake looks slightly away, turning his head briefly in order to suppress his smile before looking back to you. “Yeah? So?” His green eyes are twinkling as he says it, like he knows he’s been caught.

You jab the short end of the pool stick into the center of his chest, but he’s quick to grab it before it can find home.

“Up until yesterday, you could barely stand to even look at me,” you say.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “That’s not true.”

“So you’re saying that I’m seeing things.” You try to tug back on the pool stick but Hangman doesn’t release it.

“I’m saying you shouldn’t be seeing things.”

With that, a larger portion of the previous smile is gone from his face, a more sober look replacing it.

Just like that the spark fades. Even though you want to shut down, turn your back to his face and just walk away. You force yourself to keep talking, holding your voice steady. “I don’t think I’m following you.”

Inside you know exactly what he means.

His eyes flicker up over your shoulder but the Dagger squad has already moved on to crowd around Rooster at the piano.

You clamp your jaw together as he releases the pool cue and crosses his arms in front of his chest. It makes him look more relaxed than he is.

"Look, whatever this is—whatever you think I am, I'm not." He says this with the realistic conviction of someone who knows that even if it is, you can't. He says it like he’s trying to convince himself.

You’re not quite sure how old he is—barely thirty if you had to guess— but he’s older. Too old. Not to mention fraternization is deeply frowned upon.

"I know," you answer firmly. Because you do. Because even if it isn't, you want it, whatever it is.

He stares down at you with those green eyes, his pupils pinpoint sharp. After a moment he heaves a sigh and releases it, nodding his head. “So we’re in agreement?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “We’re in agreement.”

“Good.”

#top gun maverick #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin #topgun maverick #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick hangman #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman fanfiction #hangman x y/n #hangman x you

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halloweennymph · 2 months ago

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love story

unicorn x f! reader

Summary: maybe getting married to the lonely unicorn isn’t as bad as you think…

Warnings: arranged marriage, blood/scars, blowjob.

A/N: this is just a little fic that’s been hidden in my drafts for a while, hope you like it, if this gets a lot of notes then i’ll write more!! <3

This happens every year. When spring comes, the lonely unicorn who roams the dangerous woods and protects your village from the werewolves, always asks for something in return. It used to be fresh fruits, furs for the winter or gold.

But this year he wants something different. A beautiful virgin to keep him company.

Of course, you are the one who gets chosen. Your family prepares you, dressing you with a flimsy dress that barely covers your fragile figure, and adding some gold necklaces and a flower crown on your head. Then, the whole village takes you to the woods and leave you there, alone, praying that the heartless beast takes it easy on you.

A few minutes go by, and then you see him. The unicorn stands there, just a couple of feet away, and fear rushes through your veins. He’s big, bigger that the horses that you used to see on the village, his horn looks extremely lethal and horrible scars ruin his shiny white fur.

When he comes near to you, you don’t say a thing, just drop to you knees before him, expecting to be treated like nothing but a cheap whore.

But, to your surprise, he’s not violent or ruthless like all those stories that you’ve heard since you were a little girl. Instead, he’s kind, and talks to you in a sweet tone, letting you know that you’re now safe with him, as his wife.

Still, you are pretty nervous about it. Your hands shake and you heart beats fast, but you dare to touch him, caressing his soft nose.

After that, he lets you ride him, and then starts galloping with you on his back, taking you to your new home in the deepest part of the woods. It’s a cozy hut built with rocks and wood, spacious for the both of you, and incredibly warm inside thanks to the hay and furs that he keeps there.

And such a drastic change in your life is nothing easy, actually it’s a little bit awkward for both of you at the start. But soon you get used to each other, gaining trust and catching some… feelings.

You start learning his habits, gathering his favorite berries and tending his wounds every time he comes home after a bloody fight against the werewolves. The first time in his life where he feels how it is to be cared for. And in return, he protects you -in a possessive way- and gives you everything you may want and need, even making a deal with the fairies so they create the most beautiful dresses and tiaras just for you.

It’s not a bad life after all. What else could you ask for if he already spoils you and treats you better than any human man?

One day, he takes you to the nearest river for a much needed bath, and guards you from the shore. He stays under a tree, and you carefully get into the crystal water, enjoying the cool of it as you rinse your hair and body.

You didn’t think much of it, completely forgetting about the effects that you may cause on your now husband. So, when you look back to see if he’s still there, you immediately notice something different, something that makes you feel a tingle between your legs.

He is still standing under the tree, with his cock out and fully hard, making it bounce against his belly to create just a slight friction, clearly enjoying the sight of your naked body.

And you can’t leave him there to deal with something that you caused.

Getting out of the river, you approach him, caressing the soft fur of his neck as if you were asking for permission. Then, you crawl under him, using a finger to trace the prominent vein on his pink velvety cock.

“You don’t need to do it” he says in a low tone, not really wanting to taint your purity so soon. “I can take care of it myself”.

“But i want to” you answer eagerly. “Please let me make you feel good”.

Without exchanging any other word, you take his enormous length with both of your hands, pumping it slowly, just trying to figure it out and do your best to pleasure him.

And he twitches at the feeling of your delicate hands around him, dripping precum out of his slit, but you know that he needs more stimulation if you want him to finish. So, even though you can’t fit him into your mouth, you kiss and lick the flared tip of his cock, tasting the sweet droplets of arousal.

It’s a filthy act, so much that if the fairies saw just a glimpse of it they would cover their eyes out of pure shame, but none of you care, specially not him.

He’s getting close, you can feel it it the way he throbs and his muscles tense. So you keep going, all sloppy and messy, until he gets to his powerful orgasm, spurting ropes of hot cum all over your mouth and chest.

It’s thick and sticky, with a beautiful pearl color that almost looks glittery, and for a second you think how pretty it would look on your skin if you rubbed it like moisturizing cream.

But, for now, you let go of his softening cock and get out under him, making your way to the river again, this time inviting him to join you in the water instead of just watching from afar…

#monster smut #monster x reader #monster fic #unicorn smut #unicorn x reader #monster fucker #monster romance #monster lover

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thatfandomslut · 1 year ago

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Get Her Back!

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Trigger Warnings: messy breakups, toxic relationship talks, jealousy, language,

Request:

Hi can you write a fic about fem!reader being Regina's ex? Like they met and started dating during summer. Reader is from another town/state and Regina spent the summer there over some relatives house and they had a nasty break up but then a few months later reader's family moved to her town and she started at Northshore 😂 she sees Regina acting like a queen b before Regina saw her and she befriends Janis and Ian <3 anyways don't spare us all the drama hehe

Mean Girls requests are open.

(Y/n) sat beside Janis as the crowd parted and four girls made their way through the halls. With raised brows, she looked their way, despite Damian's pleas not to. There was Cady, the girl she had met alongside Janis and Damian in French class, a girl with wavy black hair without a thought behind her eyes, a honey-blonde haired girl who looked around at everyone, and Regina George, her summer fling from Newport, Rhode Island. (Y/n) was surprised to see Regina, and she wasn't expecting her to be so popular. Her icy glare surveyed the room as they landed on (Y/n)'s, widening when they made eye contact. Fortunately, (Y/n) had the sense to sever the contact and sit down.

"What was that?" Damian questioned, looking between her and Regina, who let her eyes latch onto (Y/n) for a few moments longer before she made her way to their usual table. Janis was looking just as expectant at (Y/n), but the girl shrugged innocently. She was new to school, she didn't want to be involved in all of the drama high school had to offer within her first week. "Girl, you better answer. I've never seen the Queen Bee break her icy stare for just anyone."

With a sigh, (Y/n) glanced up at him, then looked to Janis for help. But she was curious to understand their connection, too. "Let's just say that Regina and I met when I was staying at my grandparents and she was staying with her grandparents in Newport, Rhode Island over the summer. She left me at a party I didn't want to attend because a guy flirted with me, then ignored me when I apologized. Even though I was apologizing for something I didn't do. The official breakup was through a text." (Y/n) explained casually as she ate some of her pizza. She ignored the wide stares from Damian and Janis, knowing they had a million questions.

Leaning back, Janis tapped her knuckles dramatically on the table. "Okay, okay, so how did you end up in the same school as her?" She looked like she was going to burst if (Y/n) didn't answer her questions. She was getting so red in the face, that Damian had to remind her to breathe, but his actions were not effective. Janis was just too curious about how their relationship went down.

(Y/n) glanced at her nails before looking over to Janis with risen brows. "Unfortunate circumstances. Our fathers are doing business together." She stated simply. A sigh escaped her lips as she looked at her pizza, losing her appetite. "Regina wasn't all bad. She was just jealous. Like, when I think about her, I'm in between keying her car and making her lunch. Sometimes, I think about her, and I'm still enamored by her, but then I'm like 'No fuck her, she left me at a party for a guy flirting with me.'" (Y/n) hummed as she pushed her tray away slightly.

Now, Janis was going to explode. She already was ruining Regina's life with Cady, but what if she also messed around with her love life a bit, too? After all, that is exactly what Regina did when she had a crush on her in middle school. "It's kind of like… You want to make her feel jealous and sad over her loss." She associated as Damian eyed her. He always seemed to know when she was plotting. She made this face where her smile looked a little more sly than usual and her eyes narrowed.

(Y/n) blinked at Janis's statement as she nodded in understanding. A small, bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Yeah, 'cause I miss the way she kissed me and the way she used to make me laugh even though she didn't deserve me." She agreed before standing up to discard her food and trash. She didn't mean to be wasteful. but she wasn't feeling her meal anymore. She was too busy thinking about her ex who gave her a whirlwind of a summer and then provided a whiplash type of breakup. Thinking about Regina brought back the whirlwind feeling and the whiplash after-effect every time. It made her bitter. Janis could relate to that bitter feeling. She never got over what Regina did to her. From the kiss to 'Sissy Liz,' Regina's actions were inexcusable. "All in all… I want sweet revenge but I want her again, too." (Y/n) admitted shamelessly.

Janis smirked, leaning forward, and taking (Y/n)'s hands. She knew that Regina tensed at this because she saw it from her periphery. "We can make that happen for you. Do you see those girls beside Regina? The girl with big amber eyes is Gretchen, and the girl with wavy black hair is Karen… There's a party next week on Halloween… If you flirt with them, that will set Regina off." Janis stated, biting her lip excitedly. "Hopefully, this will set Regina George straight for you," Janis confirmed, winking at (Y/n). (Y/n) considered this for a moment. Finally nodding, Janis almost squealed before the three got up and headed to their next class.

On the night of Halloween, Janis and Damian helped (Y/n) get ready. And Janis had to try not to stare at herself. She understood why Regina was so into (Y/n). She kind of was, too. (Y/n) turned around in her very revealing devil costume, smiling over at Damian and Janis. "So, what do you think?" She questioned, wiggling her eyebrows over at them to get their opinions. Damian smirked over at her as he nodded in approval, but Janis was too stunned to speak. "I'll take your faces as a sign of approval." She said happily as she kissed the little cape over her shoulders. "I'll come right over once the party is over." (Y/n) promised, heading out the door, but not before blowing them kisses.

Regina was blown away when (Y/n) walked into the party, and she was taken aback when she saw Cady's outfit. Everyone screamed when Cady popped out behind the girl in red, but she couldn't say she was phased. She was used to Cady doing things that were out there. Still, she didn't stop herself from texting Gretchen and asking who invited Cady. Regina rolled her eyes when she saw that Gretchen pointed out Cady's crush on Aaron. This was obvious to her, but still, maybe she could kill two birds with one stone. She could make (Y/n) jealous and Cady miserable. Even though a bigger part of her wondered if making (Y/n) jealous was worth it. Until she turned to see a flustered Gretchen and a confident (Y/n).

Regina realized that (Y/n) was flirting with Gretchen. Her plans on getting Aaron back and making Cady miserable were put on hold, her eye twitching as (Y/N) soon moved over to flirt with Karen, too. Was this a game to her? Before she could react, she bumped into Aaron, who almost spilled his drink all over her. That was when she realized that making (Y/n) jealous was more important than making Cady jealous. "I was just looking for you," Regina smirked as she took Aaron to the side, acutely aware of (Y/n) and Cady staring with wide eyes.

(Y/n) felt annoyed as she watched Regina and Aaron flirt, but her heart sank when Regina kissed him. Her eyes landed on Cady, who looked heartbroken in the distance. Making her way over, she led Cady out of the house and towards Janis's. "Okay, that's it." (Y/n) spoke as she barged in. "We need to go farther. She has now officially gone after Cady, too." (Y/n) said, gesturing to the mess that was Cady right beside her, her thick make-up running down her cheeks as tears helped create pathways for them.

Janis cursed as she pulled Cady into her arms. "I completely agree. Let's run this bitch into the ground. She's always been like this. She takes everything too far." Janis gritted her teeth in frustration. She looked very angry, but (Y/n) was beginning to wonder if it was for Cady or because Regina had wronged her, too.

"So, then what did Regina do to you?" Janis looked up, horrified by the question. Damian's neck also snapped up, but his eyes were trained on Janis. Janis tried to get the attention off of her, but (Y/n) raised her brows. "Janis, this is important information. Cady and I have a reason, but what is for you? Why do you care what happens to Regina George?"

Janis flushed a bright red, realizing she wasn't going to drop it. "I guess I don't want to discuss it." She crossed her arms, falling back onto the couch behind her. Not wanting to make eye contact with anyone she slipped her mask over her face. This caused everyone to glance at each other and Damian shook his head at her. Janis knew that she was acting childish, but she didn't want to tell her new friends what Regina did to her. She was embarrassed about it, and she didn't want to lose her illusion as a confident lesbian.

"Janis, it's time," Damian ignored her protesting as he slammed a box down, grabbing a Bratz doll and a Dora doll. He then went on to explain that, once upon a time, Janis and Regina were best friends. He then went on to explain why they had stopped being friends. He explained how Regina had kissed her at a party, even though she knew how Janis felt, and then he explained how Regina outed her to the party-goers and then her class using a TY baby she named 'Sissy-Liz.' (Y/n) looked at the ground with her brows furrowed. "Now you know, Cady and (Y/n), you can never trust Regina George." And thus the revenge party began.

During lunch on Monday morning, (Y/n) ignored the looks that Regina gave her. She was mad at Regina for hurting Cady in an attempt to make her jealous. She was mad it worked, and she was even more upset that she used Gretchen and Karen to try to make Regina jealous. As Janis sat next to her, (Y/n) smiled at the girl before leaning over to wipe off the paint that smeared over Janis's cheek. At the action, she saw Regina storm out. So, in an attempt to finally talk to Regina, she excused herself and followed the blonde out of the cafeteria. "What's your problem, Regina? What the fuck is up with the Sissy-Liz and why did you kiss Aaron?" (Y/n) questioned loudly, stopping the girl down the hall.

Regina looked around at everyone with a glare, pulling (Y/n) into the classroom beside her, thankful it was empty. (Y/n) stared at her for a long moment as Regina glanced her up and down with a glare. In a weak moment, (Y/n) thought about pushing her against the door she just closed and kiss her. "What's my problem? You're the one flirting with everyone at this damn school. And why do you care who I kiss? You're the one who is all over Janis Imi'ike." Regina said Janis's name in disgust as she narrowed her eyes. Then it clicked in (Y/n) that Regina was, in fact, jealous. "Besides, I only kissed Aaron. It's not like we got back together. We talked that night and he likes Cady, for whatever reason." Regina looked away, pretending not to know why Aaron liked Cady. Everyone knew Cady was incredibly sweet and pretty.

Blinking, (Y/n) shook her head in slight frustration. "Wait, you and Aaron only kissed? Also, when are you going to realize that I only like you? I'm pissed that I still love you. You left me at a fucking party, Regina, but I'm still into you. And no matter how much you hurt me, I still want you. Do you know how fucked up that is for me?" (Y/n) sniffed as she tried to hold back her tears. She was not going to cry over this. Again. She refused to.

Regina's mouth was agape as she forced herself to look away from (Y/n). Her jaw clenched, and she felt her own tears welling in her eyes. Only these were real tears, not the fake tears she usually used on people. "I feel bad about leaving you at that party. I should have never done that. Last night, I had a reflection on the treadmill and I realized… I've hurt a lot of people. Most of all, I hurt you at that party because I was scared you would leave me for that college guy. I want to make it up to them, starting with you. I want a second chance." Regina confessed, not knowing how (Y/n) was going to react. "I want to apologize, first. So, I'm sorry." Regina swallowed thickly.

(Y/n) stood there in silence for a moment, thinking about how Regina had left her, drunk at the party with no one she knew. It had stung, but here Regina was, pulling out the stinger. Nodding slowly, she took Regina's hand, intertwining their fingers. Neither of them looked at each other, the silence becoming louder than either anticipated. "I forgive you, and I'll give you a second chance. But I can't just bounce back to being your girlfriend. You can, however; ask me on a date… I will only accept if you promise to apologize to Cady and Janis though. You don't have to do it this second or even today, but you still need to say sorry." (Y/n) said, her thumb running over Regina's knuckles.

Regina felt a bit odd, feeling soft like this. She knew it was the right thing to do though. She really cared about (Y/n) and hated seeing her and Cady rush to escape the Halloween party because of her actions. So, the expectation of apologizing to the girls was only fair. "Okay, I will. I promise. And thank you." Regina whispered. The two stayed there for long moments before they were finally forced to separate, having skipped their last two periods to stand together in silence. As they left, Regina gave (Y/n)'s hand one final squeeze, ready to try again with her. (Y/n) smiled with a nod, ready to tell Janis, Damian, and Cady all about Regina and her unexpected apology.

#regina george x reader #regina george #mean girls x reader #mean girls

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loves-alibi · 1 year ago

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i cared

MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader summary: three and a half years ago and an ocean away, he tore you apart. now he's turned up at your door. wordcount: 4.1k warnings: smut (fingering), drinking, AFAB reader, possible past dub-con (reader was in a bad mental state and simon knew), simon is a shitty guy in this, talk of hypothetical suicide, talk of past bad mental state (depression), mentioned PTSD, heartbreak on both sides, death mention (MW:III canon) a/n: hey remember when i said that my next fic would be joel and i posted a little insert. that was a lie! instead of working on that (12k word, currently) monster, i wrote something else. if you couldn't tell, i started this before the holidays and then forgot about it.

ao3

The house is much nicer than Simon anticipated. When he saw the New York City address, he had expected you to be crammed into a shitty 6th-floor walk-up. But no, not you. Instead, you have an honest-to-God three-story home with red brick delicately dusted with snow. You certainly couldn’t afford it on the 141 salary. He always suspected you came from means. This just confirms it. It just makes him wonder why the hell you decided to slum it in the services for so long.

It reminds Simon that he shouldn’t be there. You weren't made for that life and left for a reason. Who is he to ruin your peace?

He’s not alone on the street. Well-to-do families of strangers pass by, all watching the masked man observe their neighbor’s home. He can still turn around and leave you to the life you so clearly want.

Something shifts in one of the windows, the curtain being tousled by something. A dog. You got a dog– a golden retriever with sharp eyes and, evidently, an even sharper bark. The canine goes berserk, barking and howling and growling at Simon through the window. It’s Simon’s cue to leave, to leave you be with your semi-rabid, semi-domestic canine.

But before he can move, the curtain shifts again– pulled this time –and you’re there. You squint for a moment, surely wondering what masked freak is standing in your walkway like he owns the damn place. He lets you scrutinize him. It’s now or never. Either you’ll tell him to fuck off once you realize who he is or you’ll call the police on him, though it’s not like they would do anything after he calls Kate.

Instead, you disappear behind the curtain, your loyal steed of a dog following hot on your heels. In a moment’s notice, the large front door, with a gilded knocker and door knob open. You beckon him in. He follows, eyes trailing up and down your body once you’re facing away from him. You’re dressed casually but smartly in a short denim skirt and cashmere sweater. Simon’s never seen you in that getup before, even when going out to the pub.

“Shoes off,” you order, motioning towards the neat shoe rack next to the door. They’re all women's shoes of the same size. Simon’s shoulders relax, and he slips off his boots. It was for the best, he figures. His old boots would have just dragged dirt into your space. He takes off his mask too, hanging it up with his jacket. It’s nothing you haven't seen before.

Simon follows you into the sitting room– at least, that’s what Simon guesses the room is. It’s too neat for your taste, or his memory of what your taste is exactly. The couch and single chair seem untouched, the air still, like Simon’s presence is cutting through some sacred stillness.

You point to a couch and Simon obeys, sitting with his hands on his knees. Your eyes lock with his without granting him any semblance of your thoughts. Simon keeps his gaze soft, neutral. You can scrutinize him all you need.

You sigh, straightening your posture. A smile pulls at your lips. Your smile lines crease deeper than he remembered. Or maybe they always creased that deep.

“Tea?”

***

“He’s quite protective,” you drop two sugar cubes into a cup of tea. The spoon in your hand lets out a delicate tink as it hits the porcelain cup. You hand Simon the teacup, it’s just how he likes it. “Always has his haunches raised, even when he’s not working.”

Ah. A service animal. He’s surprised to not have put that together sooner. Always loyal, the pooch plants himself at your feet, gaze burning into Simon. If looks could kill…

“Your home?” Simon asks. He lifts the teacup to his lips and sips. Simon places the teacup on its saucer impossibly slowly. Simon can’t believe you’d trust him with something so delicate.

“I inherited it.”

A smile creeps on Simon’s face. Teacups and generational wealth. He always knew you were posh. Or whatever Americans call posh.

“You’re on holiday?” You ask.

“‘Tis the season.”

You hum. Your house is the only one on the block without some sort of holiday decor. Simon wonders if it was a pointed decision.

“And you came here.” Why?

He can’t tell you the truth. The fact is that every day since you left– all one thousand two hundred ninety-eight of them since John uttered to his fuming lieutenant that you just weren’t fit to serve any more –he’s ached. One thousand two hundred ninety-eight days of no contact. Of his only proof that you ever existed being a photo and a tear-stained note with one sentence scribbled in ink: John has contact info– emergencies only.

“I wanted to wish you a happy holidays.”

You laugh dryly, though it sends a pang of pain through Simon. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that sound. “Usually people send a card for that.”

You observe Simon with precision, like you never left the force, though the way you scratch Yogi’s belly unconsciously betrays the hardened exterior. It’s a glimpse into the last three and a half years. Of the woman you’ve become– so foreign to Simon. Foreign to your past self. Or not. Maybe this is who you’ve been all along, just hidden behind fatigues. Maybe the woman Simon thought he knew was just a farce. Rich girl playing army for a few years.

Maybe you joined the force just to fuck around for a bit. After a few years, you’d have stories to tell your socialite friends back home. Except, you didn’t get what you wanted, didn’t you? Simon knows well and good that serving, the 141, and him, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, destroyed something in you.

You tap the porcelain of your teacup. It makes a pleasant ding. “Did John tell you where to find me?”

“No. Well–” Simon tries to tell you the truth without throwing his comrade under the bus. The truth was, John had indulged in one too many drinks at the pub one night and hadn’t locked his quarters. An envelope addressed to you sat front in center on his desk. “Not intentionally.”

It’s a satisfying enough answer. Only a small twinge of annoyance crosses your face before you hum. “This isn’t a guilt thing, right Simon?” You ask, “I didn’t do what I did because of what happened.”

“What we did back then, on the field,” Simon traps you under his gaze. His stare is aggressive, but he hopes it conveys the intense feelings he’s struggling with. “I can’t just leave it. That’s why I came.”

Simon doesn’t dare speak. He doesn’t dare breathe while he watches you process his words. It’s a load of crap, he knows it, and he knows you know it. It’s just a matter of whether or not you want to kick him out.

You smize, teeth coming out to tug at your bottom lip. “Have you ever had New York pizza?”

***

You order two pies, hushing Simon when he insists it’s too much. You were right. Two isn’t enough. Simon scarfs down one pie without coming up for air. It’s delicious. It isn’t until he’s four slices deep that he realizes that you, smiling widely at him, haven’t yet picked up your first.

You’re a gracious host– a natural, really. You perch yourself on the kitchen island, legs crossed in a way that makes your skirt ride so sinfully up your thighs. Simon doesn’t look of course, he’s a gentleman. At least, he is for the first bottle of the ungodly expensive red wine you procure. It’s then that you perch your leg on the counter opposite your spot on the island, right next to Simon. Old habits die hard– especially when inebriated –and Simon places a hand on your leg, massaging the skin of your ankle.

You pay no mind to Simon’s ministrations, though, lost in the domestic bliss and mindless conversations you’ve probably been drowning yourself in for the last few years. You wave the glass of wine wildly about, like you wouldn’t give a damn if it spilled all over your expensive clothes. It seems so natural for you. Simon wonders what you were ever doing with the 141 when posh city living fits you like a second skin.

Simon inches his hand higher up your leg as you speak. He doesn’t get very far, but it’s enough so that he can trace patterns into the soft skin of your thigh. It’s too much, though, because your eyes lock onto his. But you’re not mad. You don’t tell him to stop. Rather, you examine him, and in your eyes Simon sees what looks like mirth.

“I missed this,” Simon says. He cringes at the words leaving his mouth. He’s succumbing to the domestic bliss you’ve created, looking at the past through rose-tinted glasses.

You reach for a third bottle of wine and a corkscrew, furrowing your brow in thought while twisting the screw. “I didn't want to abandon you,” you say. Simon, watching you pop the cork off with ease, almost forgets that you’re talking to him until you lock eyes. He watches you sniff the cork, pause, then sniff it again before topping off your glass. You take a heaping swig, like that Pinot Noir worth more than Simon’s monthly pay is unremarkable. “I left for a reason, you know.”

Oh, Simon certainly knows. The rumors had been inescapable in the first weeks of your absence. All around base every soldier had entertained the question of what happened to the American chick in the 141. Simon had only so many threatening looks to give privates before curiosity got the better of him. He abated the desire to ask John for so long, but there was only so much longing he could handle coupled with the cacophony of voices asking the same thing he desperately wanted to know.

John didn’t flounder when Simon finally came to him, demanding to know why you left.

She was discharged.

Why?

For… mental reasons.

Simon lost his shit in Price’s office that morning. He collapsed onto the couch with a gasp, a hand grasping and squeezing his heart. His breath left him, but Simon was too bloody stupid to understand what the hell was going on until Price was handing him a brown paper bag.

Breathe, son.

“Simon,” you breathe, your saccharine voice the most tantalizing sound Simon has ever heard. You lean forward, your finger tracing the scar parallel to the cut of his jaw. You were there for it, saw the knife slice through his mask and the skin underneath. You bandaged it in the helicopter after, making Simon promise to go to medical afterwards. He promised he would. That night he closed the wound with superglue. “Why did you really come?”

Because you disappeared. Because Price said you were on the brink of becoming a statistic. Because I fucked up. Because I said things I didn’t mean and I thought that it killed you.

“Johnny’s dead,” he lies. But it isn’t a lie. It’s true, sure, Johnny’s been reduced to ashes and scattered in the Scottish highlands. But that isn't why he came.

“I know.” You sniffle. Christ, Simon’s made you cry. Nausea washes over him. A voice in his head screams, fix it, idiot! But emotions were never Simon’s strong suit. Instead, Simon reaches for the bottle and tops off your glass of wine, probably a bit more than he should have, but it seems like you need it.

You mutter a thank you and down a bit more than half of the glass. You come up for air and hiccup. “John told me.”

“Price?” He asks, as though there was any other John. Anything to get you talking rather than crying.

You nod. “He dropped by around Thanksgiving. Asked if I wanted to be there when you all…” You wave your hand in the air, “You know.”

Something ugly festers in his chest. Maybe if he actually went to a therapist, Simon could recognize what it is.

“You said no?” He asks.

“I didn’t think I could.”

Simon nods, holding your gaze in a way that he hopes conveys his sense of understanding.

“How’d it happen?” You croak. Your eyes are glassy, a reminder of the ever-looming threat that you could fall apart again. Simon reminds himself that you wouldn’t be crying if he had just kept his distance.

“Bullet in the head.”

You tense, your head flying to Simon. Your eyes are frantic, searching for something in his face. “He…he…?”

Christ.

“No, no,” Simon scrambles to get his next words out, “Makarov. It was-” His voice cracks. Unusual. “-was too fast to stop it. To save himself.”

You hum, slumping down like it’s comforting to you that Johnny had his life torn from his arms. Like it’s comforting that Johnny couldn’t go on his own terms, but on the terms of a Russian terrorist.

“You know,” you say like you know he knows, “Johnny’s the reason I got out.”

Simon shifts. Johnny never talked about your discharge, always responding to speculation like he was none the wiser. “He is?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. It’s deep and watery. “Things were…bad one night. He found me. Talked me through the night. Listened to me.” You throw your head back, eyes tracing imaginary patterns on the ceiling.

“He told Price?”

You nod.

“That was after we…”

You nod again. Simon feels sick.

“It had nothing to do with you, Simon.”

“I never thought it did.”

“Then why,” you ask, “did you bring it up?”

Simon shifts. “Thought it was relevant.”

You smile, though your eyes are still lined with tears. “Guilty conscience?”

“Of course not, love,” Simon laughs, hoping you buy it. It works, he thinks. You seem to deflate, slumping a bit. You take some time to think. Simon, panicking at the thought that your self-reflection could send him out the door, pulls out the one trick he has over you.

He lets your legs fall. They bang against the cabinets with a soft umph from your lips. Simon slides off of the counter and stalks your way. You watch him and put up no fight as he slots his wide body between your knees. You don't even complain as the parting of your legs forces your skirt to ride even higher.

Fingers card through Simon’s hair. He hums.

“Why did you do it?” You ask.

Simon tilts his head, and with the wine in his veins and your hand in his hair, the world spins. Your other hand slips under the hem of Simon’s shirt. Warm fingers graze the skin of his stomach and then side, before your hand settles on his back, palm splaying across scarred flesh.

“I–” Simon croaks, “–I felt something for you.”

You snort. Simon’s chest burns and he takes some deep breaths to calm himself. He imagines Price’s paper bag, inflating and crinkling over and over.

“You knew I would leave. That’s it, isn’t it?” You accuse with a gleam in your eyes. “I was in a bad place and was leaving so it didn’t matter if you hit it and quit it.” You laugh. “You got what you wanted without risking your position.”

“That’s not true.”

Your thighs bracket his legs, trapping him against you. Your words curl around your wine-stained tongue. “‘I don’t love you’. Isn’t that what you said Simon?”

“Love–”

You tense, thighs squeezing him like a vice. “Love,” you coo, the imitation of Simon’s long vowels curtles unnaturally on your tongue. “Love, love, love. You know Simon,” you wrap your hands around the back of his neck and lean into the crook of his neck. Your lips brush against his skin as you speak, “You say it, but you’ve never meant it.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon utters, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your skirt.

“You’re not.”

He’s not. He doesn’t argue. He could– should, rather –but he can’t think straight with you this close to him. The scent of your perfume itches the deepest part of his brain. You never wore perfume when on duty, rather, always coated in the aroma of base-issued shampoo and sweat.

“I really cared for you, you know,” you whisper, your lips millimeters from his, them parting when his fingers rub you through the fabric of your underwear.

“I know,” Simon closes the distance, capturing your lips with his.

He pushes you back onto the counter, you let him, lets Simon cage your body like he has the right to. You groan into his mouth when he traps your bottom lip between his teeth and melt when his fingers slip past the hem of your panties, his fingers plunging through the wetness into your cunt.

It’s obscene— the noises you make as he thrusts his fingers into you. With his free hand, Simon pushes your skirt up over your hips so he can watch your cunt squeeze around him.

He slides his thumb up to your clit and you gasp. “Simon,” you moan. He nearly stops. It’s been years since he’s heard you say his name, let alone moan it. Fuck, Simon can’t help but grind his cock against the island counter, groaning.

It doesn’t take much to work you into an orgasm. Before he knows it, your moans become softer, higher pitched, and you’re coming apart, clenching hard on Simon’s fingers.

He works you through your orgasm, whispering praise into your ears. Simon gives you no time before pouncing, fisting his hands in your hair and devouring you. You wiggle underneath his weight, uttering something, but the words are lost into Simon’s mouth. He pulls away, his eyes meeting your expectant ones.

“What?”

“Upstairs,” you say, chest heaving. “My room is upstairs.”

***

Simon wakes before dawn. He’s lying on top of you, your strong breath rocking him up and down. Your limbs are impossibly tangled. He’s reminded of an identical morning, years ago, of what he did then, and what that choice led him to. But that was years ago. You were different then, broken. How was he supposed to know that his choice would make you shatter?

He untangles himself slowly. It feels like the process takes hours, though the sun fails to make an appearance by the time he slips out of bed. The clock reads four in the morning. That explains it. It also explains the way the room around him is spinning slightly. He’s still drunk– or at least buzzed –from the night before.

His pants are an easy find, discarded by the door. His shirt though… Simon spins around the room, eyes glazing over the space. He tries not to take anything in too deeply, too personal for this morning.

He spots his shirt on your vanity. Simon yanks it off, but something hard and heavy comes with it. It nearly drops to the floor, but Simon catches it before it can hit and wake you up.

It’s a perfume bottle, heavy and half-filled. Simon can’t suppress the urge of his half-drunk brain to sniff it. The scent— the scent of you —explodes in his synapses. He tosses a glance over his shoulder, ensuring you’re still asleep, before pocketing the bottle.

The dog follows Simon as he walks through the house. Luckily, as he slips on his shoes, the dog disappears into the rest of the house.

Simon lingers with a hand wrapped around the door knob. It warms under his touch.

“Are we doing this again?”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, “I ‘ave to.” Simon stays facing the door, though he doesn’t make a move to turn around. He knows how he must look to you, too cowardly to face you. He’s reminded of the last time he spent the night with you. He got out scot-free. What would have happened if you found him then? Simon can’t say for certain whether or not he would have left then, if you called out for him in the same delicate voice.

“Stay.”

“What?”

“In New York,” you say, voice dry with sleep. “With me. Get out of the SAS, the 141, all that bullshit.”

“‘S not that easy.”

“It is. I left. You can leave. Or you can stay and end up like Johnny–”

“What do you know about Johnny,’ Simon growls, turning on his heels. He straightens his spine, puffing his chest up like you’re a threat. Your dog buys it, growling and worming himself between you and Simon. You don't take the bait though. You honest to God laugh in Simon’s face.

“I know enough.” You step closer to Simon. The pooch gets the memo, clearing the way for you. Simon almost does the same, he wants to. Some instinctual part of his brain needs to cave to you. “You mean something, Simon,” you flick your eyebrows up, letting them drop immediately. It feels like a challenge, like you were asking Simon the silent question. Do you matter?

“You’re more than a soldier– more than a body on a field, waiting to drop.” There are tears in your eyes. You don't let them fall. Simon hopes you’ve finally realized that he isn’t worth your heartbreak. He’s never been, but at least your realization would stop his cruel cycle of him chewing you up and spitting you right back out.

“Come to New York, Simon, please. There– there’s a butcher shop up the block, they’re always looking for help. You said you used to do that stuff, right?”

Fucking hell. He had said it to you, years ago after a mission. Simon went drink for drink with Johnny and Gaz and got positively wasted. It was the night he first set his sight on you, when your tenderness sunk its claws into his heart and refused to let go. You didn’t know then what it would lead to. Simon did. Every love Simon had wilted in his claws. Why would you be different?

“Come here,” you plead, “Take the job with them. I can help you find an apartment or you can live with me but–” You grab Simon’s shoulders, tugging. It isn’t strong enough to turn him around, but he does. Your cheeks are wet and eyes glassy as you stare up at him. “Simon, it’s too late for us, but don’t let it be too late for you.”

Simon lifts his hand to your cheek, fingers grazing the plump skin. It slides to the back of your head and tugs– yanks you into his embrace as he crashes your lips against his own. The morning makes you soft though, as Simon nips your lips with his teeth, you melt, softening and slowing your movements.

It’s you that pulls away first, staring at Simon. You let him swipe his finger across your cheek, caressing you.

“Please,” you beg, kissing the palm of his hand.

Simon lets his hand fall from you. It sits achingly cold at his side.

It would be cowardly to leave you without a goodbye after forcing himself back into your life, even if it was for one night. Simon considers himself to be many things, but never a coward. Yet, standing in front of you, staring into your expectant eyes, words don’t come easy.

You step towards him. Simon steps back. The door knob presses into his back. His heart is pounding, the blood in his eyes deafening him. Your scent wafts his way, your perfume. The one whose bottle he knocked over, nearly let slip through his fingers and shatter. The one which you never got to wear in the 141. The one weighing down his back pocket.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Simon says.

He doesn’t look back. Not when you gasp his name. Not when he opens the door. Not when he walks down the snowy street.

Price and Gaz will ask about his holiday. They’re kind like that. In the cab to the airport, passing the bottle of perfume between his hands, Simon considers his answer. Single word answers are his forté, but won’t suffice with the prying curiosities of his captain and sergeant.

The answer comes to him when he sniffs the perfume once more.

In the coming week, when Gaz claps him on the back, he will ask, “How was the holiday, Ghost?”

Simon will answer, “I had a meal with an old friend.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #cod fanfic #ghost x female reader

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agneslovestheinternet-blog · 2 months ago

Text

FUCK YOU, don't leave me

Part One: Paper Thin (Part Two, Part Three)

Gally x Fem!Reader

You were the first female greenie to arrive in The Glade and your continued feud with Gally is legendary among your fellow Gladers. It’s about to dazzle them even further tonight because it’s bonfire night. Which means you’re both excessively drunk, hopping mad, standing right next to an enormous open flame and contemplating one question; is arson really that bad?

Genre: pure plot, the set up to enemies to lovers

Word Count: 2.7K Read Time: 9.5 mins

Warnings & Info: strong language, brief mention of needles and flesh wounds, underage drinking, Your POV, Movie!Gally, the only Glader slang I use is “shank” because the rest sounds dumb to me (sorrryyyy), minimal Y/N use, you’re not the only girl I added several unimportant OC’s, Thomas is there but the plot of TMR doesn’t move forward

Author’s Note: I was originally going to write this whole fic in one part but then I got too excited and it got really long, so I broke it up. The other parts will be coming very shortly, let me know if you want to be tagged when I post them! This is the first fic I’ve ever posted so all constructive criticism is welcome! The Maze Runner community on Tumblr is amazing & I just wanted to throw my hat into that very talented ring; thx for reading! fun fact: Gally’s name appears 62 times in this fic :)

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I can’t fucking stand Gally. And everyone knows that. Everyone also knows that he can’t fucking stand me. If it weren’t for saint Alby’s most sacred rule, (“Never harm another Glader”), I would’ve split his lip with my knuckles a long time ago.

It started with The Box, obviously. That clanging, rusted, menacing machinery that brings life-sustaining supplies and headache-inducing complications. Like me. 38 months in a row The Box brought up a flushed-faced, wide-eyed, scared-shitless teenage boy. Every month, like clockwork. Until lucky month number 39 when it sent my sorry ass up. The first girl. Since then, The Box alternates between male & female greenies each month. No one has any idea why those who control The Box suddenly decided to make The Glade co-ed. But Gally’s working theory is that it’s to destroy everything they built before me.

He has a well-deserved reputation for having the loudest mouth in The Glade and he wasted no time using it against me, starting on my very first day. The first memory I have of him is watching his tanned face contort with confusion and anger upon opening The Box’s gates and finding me at the bottom.

“Why’d they send a girl?” he’d barked, piercing through me with his gaze even though his question was directed at the several dozen boys standing around him, also peering down at me.

“We’ll just welcome her like any other greenie. Maybe they thought it was getting too rowdy in here with only boys,” Alby had responded calmly, parting the sea of boy’s shoulders as he strode up to Gally’s side. He stared down at me with a much kinder expression on his face.

“I’d like to get rowdy with her,” a boy interjected loudly, sending a cascade of wolf-whistles and whoops through the group around him. I was still lying on the cold metal ground of The Box, dazed and barely aware of what was being said. But at the sound of the whistling I’d instinctively covered my chest with my arms, blocking any sight of the skin exposed above my top. Gally sharply lifted his head to meet the boy’s eyes.

“Stop thinking with your dick, shank. She,” he pointed harshly at me, “is only going to cause trouble,” He turned to Alby and lowered his volume but not his scathing tone. “If you want to welcome her like any other greenie, be my guest. But you know that a change like this could ruin everything we’ve built. Don’t expect any sympathy from me when it does,” He strode off in a huff, grabbing the set of tools he’d abandoned in the grass and going back to his construction site on the other side of The Glade.

That was my first impression of him. At the time, I didn’t know my name, where I was or what was happening but I knew that Gally hated me. And since I didn’t know anything else, I decided that the first thing I would be sure of in this new place was that I hated him too.

It didn’t take long for our fellow Gladers to take notice of our feud and prepare accordingly. It became part of the tour for every new greenie that came up.

“That’s Gally,” Newt would say, pointing out his broad figure as he ordered his crew around with a pointed finger, “And that’s Y/N,” he’d continue, pivoting 180 degrees to the front door of the med hut, where I was helping a bloodied Slicer get inside.

“If you ever see them standing closer to each other than they are right now, run or grab the nearest weapon,” he’d finish with a devilish grin. The Builders and the Med-jacks had an open agreement to keep us away from each other at all times. Whenever a Builder got injured and Gally brought them to the med hut, I would be forcefully told to take my break in my hut. And whenever the med hut needed construction work, Gally would be told to do work elsewhere in The Glade until his crew finished.

Alby had declared bonfire nights to be the DMZ of The Glade pretty early on in our feud. Gally and I have a paper-thin agreement to not start shit, but tonight? Tonight that paper thin agreement goes up in smoke.

I’m sitting on a horrendously rotten log surrounded by the few friends I have that put up with my constant outbursts towards an otherwise pretty popular member of The Glade. Elsie, (the 2nd girl to arrive in The Glade & by default my closest friend), passes me the dusty glass bottle full of Gally’s elixir and I take a hearty swig, my vision already blurry from the first round of passing. The only thing I can respect about Gally is that his concoction gets you fucked up, fast. With all the horrors we all have to deal with at such a young age, (running a functioning town, trying to find a way out of the Maze, hiding from Grievers, trying not to get stung & coming to terms with the fact that we might never know who we are or where we came from), it’s good to have a reliable way to get drunk.

Chuck is babbling a retelling of Minho’s latest run in my ear excitedly when he suddenly comes into focus; Gally. He’s marching up to me, fists balled and face flushed. It took me a lot longer than usual to realize he was coming due to my inebriation.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N?” he snaps, jolting me out of the warm feeling his drink was bringing me. “Hank just told me he has a crush on you. Are you just going to seduce my crew? Or do you need to have the entire Glade under your control too?”

He’s slurring his words slightly and swaying where he stands, telling me he’s probably just as fucked up as I am. Gally rarely drinks from his own supply, so this must be why he has the sudden gall to confront me despite our agreement with Alby. I get to my feet unsteadily, anger replacing my calm demeanor, but before I can speak, Newt shimmies in between us and puts his hands up, metaphorically waving a white flag.

“Gally, mate, you’ve had a few. You don’t want to start something here. Just sleep it off and we’ll figure this out in the morning,” he says reassuringly, putting a timid right hand on Gally’s left shoulder. Newt’s keeping his voice purposefully low as he’s aware half The Glade has started staring in response to the confrontation.

“I’m not talking to you Newt, I’m talking to her,” he snarls, shaking his shoulder out of Newt’s grip, his blue eyes never leaving mine.

“I don’t know why you’d think I’d want to seduce a Builder. You all have the IQ of fruit flies,” I snapped back, my voice coming out far hoarser than I intended it too. At the sound of this insult, the rest of my group of friends get to their feet and several of Gally’s jog over from the other side of the bonfire. Elsie’s hand instinctively grabs my left wrist as Chuck holds onto my right forearm. Gally’s arms are also being held onto by Thomas & Ben, who are exchanging worried glances. Our friends mobilized so quickly that Gally & I barely had time to react. But despite Newt’s pleading & the four pairs of fingernails now digging into our arms, Gally continues.

“Please Y/N, like a guy’s intelligence has ever stopped you from opening your legs,” he chortles, before going in for his finisher, “Just stay the fuck away from my Builders. It’s hard enough to keep them working without some slut parading around The Glade like she’s God’s gift to teenage boys,” he spits, his eyebrows furrowing and his muscles flexing, as he rigorously pulls against Thomas & Ben.

His comment rings in my ears for what feels like an eternity. That choice of insult is vicious, even for Gally. Alby has all but banned that word in The Glade, chastising & throwing in the Pit any poor shank that dares to use it against any of the girls here.

My cheeks are hot and I feel Elsie & Chuck tighten their grip around my arms. Maybe it’s the alcohol in my system or the stress of the day finally coming down on me or the wolf whistles I got this morning for taking my jacket off echoing in my ears or the smug look on Gally’s face or the memory of crying myself to sleep last week or the nods of agreement to his comment by several onlookers, but all of it is too much and something in me snaps. Fuck the agreement with Alby, fuck controlling my anger and fuck dealing with any of this sober; this means war.

Before I’m even fully aware of my own plan, I’m ripping my arms from my friend's grip. Elsie & Chuck stumble to the ground as they call desperately after me. The crowd formed around our altercation parts for me easily as I rack my brain for the easiest way to cause Gally pain. The Glade is spinning haphazardly as I stumble to Frypan’s table with tonight’s feast set upon it. I search furiously for the rusted copper pot that holds the rest of Gally’s elixir.

Thomas and Ben, who are now joined by Newt, Minho, Chuck, Alby and Jeff, are trying to forcefully pull Gally away from the fire, towards The Pit. He is fighting this punishment with the spirit of an angry Griever, his voice echoing continued insults towards me that I can’t quite understand at this distance. Elsie & another Glade girl, Lireale, are sprinting after me, clearing the crowd and scanning the darkened clearing for any sign of me. Gally breaks from his friend's grip and has only a second to take in his surroundings before I’m back next to the bonfire, right in front of him.

I stare into his eyes with as much venom as I can muster, my left hand flat against the bottom of the pot, my right hand tipping it sideways. Months of swallowed anger and dismissed indignation swell in my chest. I take one last look in his eyes before chucking his famous elixir into the flames with as much might as my drunken body can muster.

The bonfire immediately swells to the height of our treehouse, quickly absorbing its new fuel. Gally’s drink has about as much alcohol in it as a bottle of medical antiseptic and I take a moment to drink in the cleverness of the destruction I’ve caused. Gally’s expression has melted from anger to fear.

I win

I watch the orange hues reflected in his wide eyes before feeling the electric shock of stray flames connecting to my body. As I fall to the ground in pain, I feel two sets of calloused hands picking me up and carrying me quickly in the direction of the med hut. My vision is tunneled as I watch two other figures pick up Gally and carry him in the same direction.

We’re going to have to be in the same room for the first time since our friends learned better. And after the stunt I just pulled, he’s going to murder me. I focus on preparing my mind for whatever counterattack he has planned, instead of the searing pain now blossoming in my hands and on my chest.

I come to my senses a little more in the bright med hut as I’m gingerly placed on a cot by Ben and Newt, wincing at the contact of charred skin and coarse fabric. Gally’s voice brings my ears back to reality with a ring. Though he can’t attack me physically through the pain of 2nd degree burns being sterilized, he still finds enough energy to take verbal shots at me.

“Fuck you, Y/N! I’ll be out of work for a week because of this,” he grunts emphatically, voice still slurring. I look up at him through the line of Runners & Builders standing between our two cots, trying to prevent the counterattack he’s in too much pain to plan for now. He’s balling his fists and wincing as Clint uses a damp cloth to wipe gently at the largest of his burns; a large red stripe on his right bicep. Thomas and Hank are standing at his shoulders next to the cot, helping pass supplies to Clint as he works.

“You don’t do anything but bark orders, your crew will be fine without you, shank,” I spit back. “Shank” was often used jokingly and with affection between other Gladers but when Gally and I use it, it sounds more like a slur.

I’m still smiling cartoonishly from the sight of him getting his comeuppance. I can deal with my own pain if it means Gally has to be in pain too. I’m lying on my back as Jeff places an aloe-soaked bandage on the burn I have on my cheek. Elsie kneels next to me, holding my left hand, whispering mixed words of sympathy and scolding that I don’t hear. I’m attempting to stare at Gally, bobbing my head from left to right, trying to move into a position where her head’s not blocking my view.

The med hut is swarming with people. Alby is standing by the door, arms crossed, eyes jumping between Gally and I, getting the story of what happened told to him by Newt and Chuck. The former is in damage-control mode, sticking up for me with an earnest tone and the latter is beaming with pride, unable to contain the excitement in his voice as he recounts how high the flames got. The several large Runners & Builders that formed a human chain in between Gally’s cot and mine are starting to relax and disband, as they finally take in the severity of our injuries. Lireale is passing supplies to Jeff on my left, who’s whispering instructions to her. There are several other lookers-on who snuck in to see the action before Alby started stopping people at the door and telling them to go to bed, lest they lose their right to lunch tomorrow.

“Oh yeah and what do you do, greenie? Besides seducing every poor shank that gets bloodied up enough to have to come here,” he yells back, voice getting hoarse and gaze softening as Clint bandages the site on his arm that he injected the anesthetic into. He sighs with relief at the sight of it kicking in so quickly.

I shouldn’t be surprised this sentiment is what started this mess. Gally is known to rant to anyone who will listen that girls are a distraction in The Glade, and any shank dumb enough to fall for that distraction deserves to be thrown to the Grievers. I’m not the only girl and haven’t been for a while; there’s four more of us he could direct his sexist anger towards. But he never looks at them the way he looks at me; as if my existence itself causes him offence.

“You wish Gally. Is that why you always get your wounds patched up in your hut?” I croak back, my voice starting to falter as Jeff pulls an identical needle containing anesthetic out of my arm. “Afraid you’ll get too riled up if I’m the one stitching you up?” I mumble, my voice barely audible as my eyelids flutter close.

I feel my shirt being pulled off gingerly by Elsie, exposing my bra. Jeff gets to work on a particularly nasty burn going from my collarbone to the top of my right breast. The last thing I see before being lured into a drug-addled sleep is Gally’s blue eyes, tracing my now-exposed figure. Maybe it’s the heat of the burns, or the stress of the pain, but I swear I can see his cheeks flush and his eyes widen before he quickly looks towards the ceiling and succumbs to the sedatives in his system as well. Like I said; Gally doesn’t look at me the way he looks at any other girl. But I’ve never seen that look before.

#the maze runner #maze runner #tmr #tmr gally #gally x reader #gally #gally maze runner #gally x y/n #the scorch trials #maze runner fanfiction #the death cure #tmr thomas #tmr newt #tmr aris #tmr frypan #tmr minho #tmr fandom

134 notes · View notes

its-not-that-weird-blog · 7 months ago

Text

On the wrong foot

Matt Rempe x Reader

Summary: Maybe starting off on the wrong foot wasn't as bad as everyone thought…

Warnings: A little angsty but nothing to bad, enemies to lovers.

A/N: Due to the lack of Matt Rempe´s fics, here you have one, hope you guys like it. Sorry for any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language :) Let me know what you thought about this little fic

2.8k words

Being an intern for the New York Rangers has its ups and downs. Some positive aspects are that you get to do what you like (having fun on social media and forcing the players to make TikToks) and having free access to all the games in the season. All of that makes you grateful for this amazing opportunity, but there is one thing that makes this job unbearable..

And that is Matt Rempe, a cocky, 6'7" rookie who acts like he has the entire world in the palm of his hand. His arrogance and overconfidence make every interaction with him a challenge. He struts around the locker room, flaunting his height and abilities, often disregarding the efforts of those around him. His constant need for attention and validation only adds to the frustration, making what could be an amazing experience a bit of a nightmare.

Y/N and Matt started off on the wrong foot, meeting under the worst possible circumstances. It was the worst day of Y/N´s entire life. She had woken up late, throwing off her entire morning routine, and had to rush out the door without even grabbing a quick breakfast. Her day only got worse as she hurried to catch the train, only to miss it by mere seconds. By the time Y/N finally made it to the rink, she was frazzled, starving, and running on empty. That’s when she ran into Matt Rempe for the first time. Their initial encounter was less than pleasant, setting the tone for our strained relationship from the very start.

“You know this is a private practice, right?” Matt asked the poor frazzled girl.

“Yes, I am very aware of that,” she answered, chuckling. “You must be Matt, right? The new rookie?” Y/N asked, looking up at the lanky, very tall boy standing in front of her.

“Yeah, I mean, hard for you not to know, I guess... And you are?” Matt trailed off.

Y/N was taken aback, mainly because the team directors always made sure to let the new guys know who worked in what, especially in the media and marketing department.

“Oh, umm… I’m Y/N, one of the media interns,” she replied with a tight-lipped smile.

Matt raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Media intern, huh? So, what do you do? Take pictures and post tweets?”

“Actually, I manage the team's social media accounts, coordinate player interviews, and create content for our marketing campaigns,” Y/N replied, trying to keep her voice steady despite her irritation. “It’s a lot of work and responsibility.”

“Right, sure,” Matt said dismissively. “Well, try not to get in the way.”

Y/N felt a surge of frustration but forced herself to stay calm. “I’ll do my best,” she said, her tone tinged with sarcasm. “And maybe you can try to remember who’s on your team next time.”

Matt smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

As he walked away, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a mixture of anger and determination. She knew she had to prove herself, not just to Matt, but to everyone. This internship was too important to let one arrogant rookie ruin it for her.

She brushed it off, but it still annoyed her the audacity of that boy.

°°°°°°°°°°°

A few weeks had passed since their first encounter and it has been a constant fight between Y/N and Matt, mainly because of Matt’s attitude towards her. December rolled around and the team´s marketing director told the staff that they needed to do a promotional photoshoot to use during summer break.

It was a chilly Tuesday morning, and the team was gathered for the photoshoot at an outdoor rink. The bright sunlight reflected off the ice, creating a beautiful backdrop for the shoot. Y/N had been working tirelessly to ensure everything was set up perfectly: the lighting, the props, and the shoot schedule.

Matt Rempe, on the other hand, seemed determined to test Y/N’s patience today. As the players gathered for their turn in front of the camera, Y/N called Matt over for his individual shots.

“Alright, Matt, let’s get started,” Y/N said, holding up a clipboard and checking the list. “We need you to do a few action poses first, then we’ll get some close-ups.”

Matt strolled over with a cocky and sarcastic grin. “Sure thing, but can I ask, why do we have to do this out in the freezing cold? Couldn’t you find a warmer spot?” Making his grin disappear and tuning his face into an annoyed frown

Y/N kept her professional demeanor. “It’s about the look we’re going for. The outdoor rink adds a unique touch to the photos. Plus, it’s only for a short while.”

Matt sighed heavily but positioned himself on the ice. As Y/N instructed him to perform a few drills and poses, Matt’s resistance became evident. He was slow to follow instructions, often taking a few extra seconds to reposition himself, and his expressions were lackluster at best.

Y/N tried to stay patient as she gave him clear directions. “Matt, please try to focus on the details of the poses. We need these shots to look sharp and engaging.”

Matt responded with a distracted nod but continued to make minimal effort. When Y/N asked him to adjust his stance, he grumbled, “I’m doing my best here, but this isn’t exactly my favorite way to spend an afternoon.”

Y/N took a deep breath, keeping her frustration in check. “Matt, I understand it’s not the most exciting part of the job, but it’s important for the team’s image. We need to get this right.”

Matt didn’t seem to take her seriously. He continued to make things difficult for everyone, giving half-hearted poses, shooting dirty looks at the camera, and maintaining his scowl. The photographer was visibly annoyed, and Y/N could feel the tension rising.

“Matt, if you can’t cooperate, we’re going to have to reschedule,” Y/N said, her voice firm.

Matt stopped his antics and looked at Y/N, realizing she was serious. “Alright, alright. I’ll play along. But can we make this quick? I’m freezing out here.”

With a reluctant nod, Y/N directed Matt through the remaining poses, this time with a bit more cooperation. Though his attitude was far from perfect, he made an effort to follow directions and get the shots done. Y/N was relieved to finish the session and hoped that Matt’s cooperation would improve with time.

Matt’s POV:

A few days after my awkward encounter with Y/N at the photoshoot, I was at the rink, trying to shake off the frustration of another rough practice. As I was heading to the locker room, Trouba stopped me in the hallway, looking a bit more serious than usual.

“Dude, you should leave poor Y/N alone,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re driving her crazy, and not in the right way.”

I raised an eyebrow, confused. “What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything that bad.”

“Really?” Jacob replied, his tone indicating he was unimpressed. “I’ve seen you giving her a hard time. She’s not just some intern; she’s part of the team’s media and marketing department. You’re making it difficult for her to do her job.”

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal. I thought I was just being straightforward.”

“It’s not about being straightforward,” Jacob explained. “It’s about showing some respect. She’s working hard behind the scenes, and she’s under enough pressure already. You don’t want to be the guy who makes things worse for her.”

I sighed, realizing he had a point. I hadn’t thought about how my behavior might be affecting Y/N. “Alright, I get it. I’ll try to be more considerate.”

Trouba nodded, seeming satisfied. “Good. Trust me, it’ll make things easier in the long run.” He started walking back toward the locker room but stopped and turned around to face me again. “And if you have a crush on her, that second-grade bullshit needs to stop.” He winked at me before finally leaving.

As Trouba walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to make things right with Y/N. It was clear that my attitude needed to change, and I had to start finding a way to work with her, not against her.

And maybe Jacob’s right; I might have a little—just the tiniest—crush on Y/N. She’s a gorgeous, smart, and driven girl, and because of my little game, she probably won’t give me the time of day. But first things first, I need to turn around the relationship we currently have, or rather, the lack thereof.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The next day, Matt found himself lingering outside the media office, trying to figure out how to approach Y/N. Apologizing wasn't something he was used to, especially when he wasn’t sure how she’d react. But he knew he had to start somewhere.

Y/N was at her desk, headphones on, focused on editing a video from the previous game. She hadn’t noticed Matt standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat, causing her to look up in surprise.

“Oh, hey,” Y/N said, pulling off her headphones and sitting up straighter. “What’s up?”

Matt rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward. “Hey, I just wanted to talk to you about the other day. You know, at the photoshoot.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly curious where this was going. “Okay…”

“I realize I’ve been a bit of a jerk,” Matt admitted, his voice slightly strained. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you, and I’m sorry for being difficult.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by his sudden apology. It was the last thing she expected from him. “Well, that’s… unexpected,” she said, not quite sure how to respond. “But I appreciate it.”

Matt nodded, feeling a small weight lift off his shoulders. “I know I’ve been giving you a hard time, but I want to make it up to you. Maybe we can start over?”

Y/N studied him for a moment, searching for any signs of insincerity. To her surprise, Matt seemed genuinely contrite. “Alright,” she said finally, offering a small smile. “I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Relief washed over Matt, and he smiled back. “Great. Maybe I can help out with some of the social media stuff, or anything else you need?”

Y/N chuckled, the idea of Matt willingly helping with TikToks and Instagram posts was amusing. “We’ll see about that,” she said teasingly. “But I’ll definitely let you know if there’s anything you can do.”

Matt grinned, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. “Deal.”

As he left the office, Matt couldn’t help but feel a bit more relieved. Maybe he’d been too quick to judge Y/N, and maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to turn things around.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°|

Over the next few weeks, Matt made a conscious effort to be more cooperative and approachable, especially when it came to Y/N’s work. It wasn’t always easy—old habits die hard—but he was determined to keep his word. Slowly but surely, the tension between them started to ease.

Y/N, for her part, noticed the change in Matt’s behavior. He was still cocky and sarcastic, but there was a noticeable shift in his attitude. He wasn’t as dismissive or difficult as before, and he even started to show some interest in the work she was doing. It was a refreshing change, and it made her job a little less stressful.

One day, as they were wrapping up a content planning meeting, Y/N decided to take a chance. “You know, Matt, we’re shooting a new series of TikToks next week,” she said casually. “We could use a player who’s good on camera… Interested?”

Matt smirked, recognizing the playful challenge in her voice. “Oh, so now you need my help?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “Only if you’re up for it.”

Matt pretended to think it over, then nodded. “Alright, I’m in. But only if you promise to make me look good.”

Y/N laughed. “Deal. But you’ll have to take direction without any complaints this time.”

“Fine,” Matt agreed, holding out his hand. “Shake on it?”

Y/N shook his hand, feeling a sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory, but it felt like a step in the right direction. Maybe, just maybe, this internship wouldn’t be so unbearable after all.

And as for Matt? Well, he found himself looking forward to working with Y/N a lot more than he’d expected.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°

As the weeks passed, the collaboration between Y/N and Matt grew smoother, and so did their relationship. They began to banter more playfully, their exchanges losing the tension they once had. Y/N started to see a different side of Matt, the side that wasn’t all arrogance and bravado, but someone who was actually fun to be around.

Matt, too, couldn’t help but notice how much he enjoyed spending time with Y/N. Her sharpness, her determination, and the way she handled everything with grace under pressure all intrigued him. The more he got to know her, the more he found himself wanting to be around her.

One evening, after a long day of content creation and practice, Y/N was finishing up some last-minute edits in the media room. The office was quiet, with most of the staff having gone home. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t notice Matt walk in.

“Hey,” Matt’s voice broke the silence, startling Y/N slightly.

“Oh, fuck!” Y/N yelped, “ Matt, you scared me!” she exclaimed, laughing as she turned to face him. “What are you doing here so late?”

Matt leaned against the doorframe, a small smile playing on his lips. “I was just wondering if you wanted to grab a bite to eat. It’s been a long day, and I figured you could use a break.”

Y/N blinked in surprise. This was the first time Matt had ever suggested something like this. “Are you asking me out on a dinner date?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Matt chuckled, his expression softening. “Yeah, I guess I am. What do you say?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then smiled warmly. “Sure, I’d like that.”

They ended up at a cozy little diner not too far from the arena, the kind of place that felt welcoming and unpretentious. As they settled into a booth, the conversation flowed easily. They talked about everything, from their families and childhood memories to their hopes and dreams for the future.

For the first time, Y/N saw the genuine person behind the cocky exterior. Matt was funny, thoughtful, and surprisingly down-to-earth. The more they talked, the more she found herself drawn to him.

And Matt? He couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful Y/N looked when she laughed, or how her eyes lit up when she talked about something she was passionate about. He realized that this wasn’t just a crush anymore, he was falling for her, and hard.

As they walked out of the diner, the night air cool and crisp, Matt felt a wave of nervous anticipation. He knew he didn’t want this night to end just yet.

“Y/N,” Matt began, stopping in front of her. “I know we didn’t exactly start off on the right foot, but… I really like you. And I want to see where this could go.”

Y/N looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, and it made her heart swell. “Matt, I like you too,” she admitted, a soft smile spreading across her face. “I wasn’t sure at first, but… you’ve shown me that there’s more to you than I thought.”

Matt took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “So… what now?” he asked, his voice low and hopeful.

Y/N’s smile widened as she closed the distance between them. “Now,” she said softly, “we see where this goes.”

With that, Matt leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tender, sweet kiss. It was soft at first, almost hesitant, as if both of them were testing the waters. But as Y/N responded, the kiss deepened, filled with a warmth and affection that had been building between them for weeks.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, but smiling. Matt rested his forehead against hers, his arms wrapped around her waist.

“I’m really glad you didn’t let me mess this up,” Matt whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

“Me too,” Y/N replied, her eyes shining with happiness. “I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?”

Matt grinned, leaning in to kiss her again. “Yeah, we really do.”

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms under the soft glow of the streetlights, it was clear that this was the beginning of something special—something neither of them had expected, but both of them were more than ready to embrace.

#matt rempe #matt rempe imagine #matt rempe x reader #matt rempe x y/n #matt rempe fic #ny rangers #nhl imagine

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takimakiiiii · 6 months ago

Text

“might sound crazy but it ain’t no lie, baby bye bye bye”

part 6! to the Cosmic Girl Records

summary: the gang goes to watch the new deadpool and wolverine movie. . . without you? oh no, that can’t be right.

ollie bearman x reader & platonic!grid x reader

all photos are found on pinterest!

warnings: swearing, nothing too bad this time lol

a/n: wow. this took forever to finally get out bc i started so many other fics 😭 but here it is, it’s a bit short but enjoy!

landonorris has posted on his story:

liked by alex_albon, georgerussell64, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, lilymhe and 5,292,402 others

landonorris: the gang is back 💪

tagged alex_albon and georgerussell64

view 11,482,493 comments

user1: uh oh, has y/n seen this yet 😬

alex_albon: 😰

georgerussell64: 😰

user2: may the 2019 rookies rest in peace 😔🙏

user3: rip lando he’s in for a mouthful

user4: why’s everyone freaking out

user5: just wait, give it a minute

unfortunatelyy/n: MF???

user5: and there it is.

unfortunatelyy/n: UMMM WHAT IS THIS

unfortunatelyy/n: WHAT HAPPENED TO OH I'M SORRY I CANT COME OVER FOR DINNER I’VE GOT A DOCTORS APPOINTMENT THIS FRIDAY

user6: OH NO.

user10: dawg’s dead fs this time 😔

user7: LANDO RUN WHILE YOU HAVE THE CHANCE 😭😭

user8: he’s probably left the country by now

landonorris: 😀

unfortunatelyy/n: PICK UP YOUR PHONE

landonorris: no.

landonorris: @alex_albon @georgerussell RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN

georgerussell64: YOU ASSHAT I TOLD YOU NOT TO POST IT

landonorris: YOU WERE LITERALLY THE ONE WHO TOLD ME TO POST IT

user9: oop 🫢

georgerussell64: i never took you for a LIAR

landonorris: @alex_albon you were there you believe me right?

alex_albon: . . . ummmm

landonorris: i see how it is i’m friends with a bunch of TRAITORS

user10: how does it feel to be betrayed by your best friends

alex_albon: 😶

unfortunatelyy/n: PICK UP YOUR PHONE

landonorris: omg i forgot about you

unfortunatelyy/n: oh you are so dead

liked by lilymhe, charles_leclerc, carlossainz64, alexandrasaintmleux, maxfewtrell, danielricciardo and 23,782,883 others

unfortunatelyy/n: whoever said revenge is best served cold clearly has never had chimichangas before

tagged landonorris

view 22,682,692 comments

user1: HELP SHES AT IT AGAIN 😭

user2: absolutely violated my poor boy 😔

user3: i fear he may never learn his lesson

landonorris: oh i hate you.

unfortunatelyy/n: just remember, you did this to yourself

landonorris: i hope you

user17: bro died mid comment

user4: his pr team got to him before he could ruin his life

unfortunatelyy/n: that’s what i thought punk

mclarenracingf1: 🖕

user5: LANDO?! 😭😭

user6: HE DID NOT LMAOO

user11: pr team probably took away his phone privileges so now he’s hacked into mclaren insta acc 😭

user12: lando rn: 🤓💻

user9: the side eye goes hard

user10: HELP WHERE DID SHE GET THESE PHOTOS

user14: she’s probably got a whole collection

| user15: mission: steal’s y/n phone

unfortunatelyy/n: 😓

user16: HELP HAHA

alex_albon: can you send me that second pic

unfortunatelyy/n: don’t even think about it, you’re next

alex_albon: 😨

alex_albon: @lilymhe your girlfriend is bullying me

user7: alex albon confirmed snitch

user13: at least he’s not in denial anymore

user8: can’t do nothing wrong in front of this guy otherwise next thing u know police are at your front door

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

lilymhe: do you deserve it

alex_albon: no?????

unfortunatelyy/n: HAH what a little liar

alex_albon: why do you hate me

alex_albon: no wait don’t answer that

alex_albon: wait i’m sorry

alex_albon: don’t embarrass me please

alex_albon: answer my texts y/n

alex_albon: please y/n

liked by lilymhe, charles_leclerc, logansargeant, landonorris, georgerussell64 and 23,832,993 others

unfortunatelyy/n: shhhh, my common sense is tingling, something you clearly don’t have

tagged alex_albon

view 11,482,399 comments

user1: the deadpool references, she is not holding back 😭

user2: dayummmm pop off queen

user3: can’t wait till it’s george’s turn i just KNOW she’s going to use the 2023 intro pose

alex_albon: HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO APOLOGISE

unfortunatelyy/n: @landonorris ?

landonorris: do i have to

unfortunatelyy/n: yep

landonorris: are you sure

unfortunatelyy/n: YES

landonorris: fine.

landonorris: she only takes apologies in cash no card 💅🎀💋

unfortunatelyy/n: mhm that’s right

user4: HELP

user5: girl has homie in a chokehold fr

user6: the second pic 😭

lilymhe: what is that first pic 🤣

unfortunatelyy/n: alex tried to steal my car so I ran him over

alex_albon: THAT DID NOT HAPPEN

landonorris: y/n doesn’t even have her licence

unfortunatelyy/n: HEY WHAT DID I SAY

landonorris: im sorry 😔

unfortunatelyy/n: as you should be

georgerussell64: why do i have a feeling that i’m next

unfortunatelyy/n: my goodness, he has a brain AND feelings would you look at that

georgerussell64: oh you think you’re so funny don’t you

unfortunatelyy/n: i do actually

georgerussell64: 🖕

unfortunatelyy/n: 😘

user7: they’re never beating the siblings allegations i fear

unfortunatelyy/n: negative. i would rather die than be related to this child

user8: child 😭 i’m wheezing

liked by landonorris, alex_albon, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, olliebearman, carlossainz55 and 6,923,749 others

unfortunatelyy/n: you look like something i drew with my left hand, which is coincidentally my non dominant hand

view 3,482,429 comments

user2: I KNEWWW ITTTT AHAHAHA I CALLED IT BITCHES

user1: HELP Y/N WHERE DID U FIND THAT SECOND PIC 😭😭

unfortunatelyy/n: dm me 😌

georgerussell64: nO STOP

unfortunatelyy/n: whatcha gonna do old man

user5: OLD MAN IM WHEEZING 💀

user6: so is george

user7: 😭😭

georgerussell64: call in the reinforcements @landonorris @alex_albon

unfortunatelyy/n: AHAHAHAHAHHA

georgerussell64: why are you laughing . . . guys? guys where are you

| unfortunatelyy/n: their loyalty lies with me peasant

georgerussell64: i can never win around here

unfortunatelyy/n: im glad you’ve come to terms with that

georgerussell64: OH YOU SUCK

unfortunatelyy/n: that’s what you get for being an ass

georgerussell64: IT WAS LANDO’S IDEA

unfortunatelyy/n: GASP

unfortunatelyy/n: WHAT

unfortunatelyy/n: jk i already know

user6: HELP 😭

georgerussell64: then why are u getting mad at me 😭

unfortunatelyy/n: cuz you’re fun to bully

georgerussell64: blocked and reported 🛑

unfortunatelyy/n: its ok you’re not the first

landonorris: she’s right 😐

unfortunatelyy/n: ugliness rears it’s head once again

landonorris: oh you are the worst

unfortunatelyy/n: 😘

a/n: tysm if you got to the end, have an amazing day xoxo santanasaintmendes

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin

#olliebearman x reader #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f2 #f1 #cosmic girl records series #santanaspeaks<3 #george russell #lando norris #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #george russell x reader #alex albon x reader #2019 rookies #deadpool and wolverine #Spotify

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stitched-mouth-vs-the-world · 1 year ago

Text

Edge You To Death

Pairing: Undertaker x AFAB! Reader or Undertaker x Fem! Reader.

Summary: Undertaker loves ruining your orgasms.

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Casual sex, Undertaker and Reader have a weird ‘situationship’, Age gap relationship, Mention of pedophila (not in reference to Undertaker! UT is not a pedo!), Reader is unaware Undertaker is a reaper or of what he does for Ciel, Reader has MY personal thoughts on pedophila (I don’t think they are controversial but just in case you don’t wanna here it skip the introduction), Oral sex (fem receiving), Edging, Daddy kink.

Writing Time: 1 hour.

Word Count: 1,317.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 20.

A/N:

I kinda forgot wtf I was doing here.

Most of my Kinktober works were written well in advance, but this wasn’t one of them. I wrote this 2 days before it was due. My requests are pilling up but I should start prioritising these now. I doubt I’ve gotten that Matthew Patel request done yet, I planned to do that when I got the requester’s first message about it, sent the same day I got the request, but not anymore. Sounds a lot like a request got ages ago on my previous account but deleted when I started feeling harassed by the requester. This is more for the Matthew Patel requester than anyone else but yeah… don’t harass people about requests especially if it hasn’t been that long since you sent it. Everyone, harass me over a request and I’ll just delete it. You can send one reminder after a week and that’s it. Anymore and I delete. I usually have requests done in a week or two and those kinds of messages just destroy my motivation.

Anyway! Please enjoy this Undertaker smut.

Here are my other Kinktober 2023 works.

—-///—-

You had been feeling dam good since you started sleeping with the Undertaker.

You had new relationship jitters, even if it wasn’t really a relationship. He was what you had fantasied about for years. An older gentleman who was kind and treated you like a Queen, but also open about wanting to ravishing you. With his age also came along a lot of life and sexual experience, a lot more than you had. He never mocked you for knowing less than him, he was just happy you wanted to know and happily taught you a lot.

Whilst age gap relationships have always been common and considered normal prior to the Victorian era, it was slowly becoming distasteful. Something many were unhappy with but also many other who were happy. Undertaker, years ago, would have been in favour this but with you now… he was in the middle and uncomfortable with it. Surely you and his relationship was ok because you was definitely an adult.

You were pretty set in stone on the matter. To you, age gap relationships were bad, unless it was you. You were a young woman who would never say no to an older man, even when you was a girl. You knew your exes were absolutely pedos, but you didn’t care as long as it was just you they were after. And no you didn’t consider yourself a victim.

You didn’t think of Undertaker in the same way though. You was an adult when you met him therefore wasn’t bad for perusing you. Well, you perused him but it didn’t matter.

Right know you was doing some dusting in the front of Undertaker’s shop, he was in the back. The first thing you took notice of when you first met your lover… was how nasty his shop is. It’s always covered in dirt and stinked of death. Obviously it would smell of death, it’s a funeral home, but the dirt was unnecessary and you was surprised that Undertaker had tried to do something about the smell. You figured he’s probably gotten used to it now and gone nose blind.

Once you had cleaned to a satisfying amount, you heard the bell go. You looked up and saw the familiar Earl Phantomhive and his butler. The young boy always looked so dam miserable, it depressed you. You didn’t like interacting with either of them and they never seemed to want your help, so you called your bedmate.

Undertaker came into the room, happy to deal with the Phantomhive and his butler. You was aware the two engaged in a different kind of business than coffins or funeral services, but it was none of your business what their business was. So you wasn’t going to ask…

Instead you headed out of the room and upstairs to bed, it was late and you knew Undertaker would join you after he was done with his ‘business’.

—-///—-

“Sort out the Earl?” You asked.

“Yes, Dear.” Undertaker smiled as he climbed into his bed, next you.

You sat up immediately and glared at him, “How many times have I told you Undie?! No sleeping in your day clothes!”

He laughed as you pushed him out of his own bed. Yeah, Undertaker had a bad habit of sleeping in his day clothes. He didn’t own PJs until you came into his life, nearly a year ago now.

“Ok! Ok!” Undertaker walked over to his drawers to fish out his sleepwear.

Once he did, he placed them on the end of the bed and looked down at you. You gave him a small smile, suddenly remembering this was his home and his bed and who are you say anything about how he sleeps? After all, you’re not even dating.

Undertaker grinned widely at you and slowly started removing his cloak. Ah, he was trying to indicate something.

He slowly stripped completely in front of you before getting back on the bed and crawling onto you. You kissed his lip gently and took hold of his arms, but Undertaker shook your hold off his arms and grabbed your face to pull you even closer to him, deeping your kiss. He quickly slipped his tongue into your mouth, desperate for a makeout session.

You moaned in between the kisses, you were started to feel a growing sensation in between your legs. If not dealt with quickly, it would become uncomfortable. Luckily for you, Undertaker could sense your arousal and was more than willing to help.

He let go of your lips and before you could even whine or complain, he was pulling the duvet and sleep shorts down and licking your lower regions. You made your hands comfortable, pulling on the pillow under your head and proped up your legs and planted your feet into the bed.

Undertaker ate you out like a mad mad. Sucking, licking, spitting and groaning like crazy. Your pussy and it’s sweet smell made him act unusual, way less calm and in control than usual. This was something you was proud of. You had the power (or pussy) to make Undertaker lose all composure.

You started to feel less prideful about your achievement as you started to feel yourself losing to Undertaker’s tongue. Your whimpered had become cries and moans, you begged him for release but you should of known better. It would be a long while before you got that.

Undertaker grinned evily against your cunt then looked up you, just go get a glimpse of your flustered expression. Having wait himself for release was a sacrifice he was willing to make if he got to see you cry and beg him for climax. He absolutely got a weird power trip from it.

“Oh please… oh please Daddy, I need to cum now!”

“Nu uh uh! You don’t get to cum until I say so, Dearie!”

You were still staring up at the ceiling and unable to look down, but you didn’t need to look down to know Undertaker was wearing his usual evil wicked grin. He always had that look when he was planning to edge you to death.

#stitched #stitched talks #stitched mouth #stitched writes #stitched’s kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #black butler #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji smut #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji undertaker #black butler x reader #black butler smut #black butler undertaker #undertaker x reader #undertaker #undertaker smut

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sweetchillipeppers · 2 months ago

Text

Heads or Tails?

Jason Todd x Reader - Teacher AU Pt 2

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral!Reader

While on a school trip, Two Face takes you and your class hostage in the Gotham Museum. After realising Damian is missing, you sneak away to find him, running into the Red Hood instead, who is of course, Mr Jason Todd, your colleague and forever rival, behind the mask. TW: Hostage-taking, guns, violence, blood, bad language

A/N The fic that started it. yeah I wrote this one first lol. I have not yet started writing part 3 and I have exams this week so it might be worked on next week. I don't plan on this series being longer than three parts but if inspiration strikes me, we'll see.

Tags: Rivals to lovers, mutual pining, teacher AU Word Count: 3716

Pt 1 Pt 2

Your students were rowdy on the bus. You could hardly blame them, it was far too early on a Saturday for your liking but you’d offered this history trip as an extra credit option open to your freshman class as part of your Ancient History topic and a surprising number of students were interested. So you, your teaching assistant and your 15 pupils all piled out the bus and into the Gotham Museum at 9am on a Saturday. The exhibition you were visiting was from Themyscira. Jewels, weapons, art: all very rare and very valuable. It was of course a walking advertisement to be robbed but the exhibition had been untouched for days so you had convinced your school board that this was a safe opportunity for the children to see some of the things you had been learning about in class.

The exhibition room itself was large. It had clearly been styled to replicate Themyscira’s Greek architecture, with tall marble columns and large braziers lighting the room dramatically. Your class settles near the start of the exhibition and a tour guide who introduces themselves as Sammy begins the talk.

“And this is the original axe that Wonder Woman used. Beside it you can see some of the armour pieces she donated when the exhibition was first organised. Later you might even get to hold some.” The students all started chattering excitedly at the prospect. Your group was then led around the large room over to a tapestry depicting the history and movement of Themyscira into the international community. “Themyscira is now a thriving nation with Wonder Woman acting as their UN diplomat.” The guide then turns, “And over here we have some pottery shards depicting different parts of her life.” The first half of the tour wraps up shortly after that and the students are given some free time to explore the exhibition themselves.

You make your way around the room, listening in and helping out the students with their worksheets until you overhear a group near the entrance.

“It’s a pity Mr Todd couldn’t come,” you hear a student say. He wasn’t there, you’d made sure of it no matter how much your students begged. It’s unfortunate that the trip was scheduled the same day as an important rugby tournament. “Wonder Woman is his favourite superhero.”

It’s a pity that you now have to hate Wonder Woman for the rest of your life. Okay that’s dramatic but now she’s been ruined. Why would he do this to you?

“My favourite is Batman. We’re Gothamites, remember?” One kid grins.

“Wonder Woman is an admirable hero but I must agree with Charlie, Batman is superior.” Damian interjects. You were glad he was starting to be more social in his classes after your conversation.

“I like Green Arrow.”

You can then hear raucous laughter as your student tries to defend her choice, until she locks eyes with you and decides that her safest bet is to offer you as a sacrifice instead. “Who’s your favourite hero?”

Well you can’t say Wonder Woman anymore- even if that was a huge part in why you wanted to come to the exhibition. “Well I quite like Superman. I think he’s an inspiration to us all.” Safest choice. You get a few nods, and a couple eye rolls, of course you made this into a teaching moment. “But my favourite is Robin.” you finish.

Damian gleams at that for a second, puffing his chest out like a preening bird. He then checks his phone. “I must go to the bathroom. I will be back soon.”

“Do you want someone to go with? The museum is pretty big.”

“I do not require assistance. Besides, the next half of the talk will begin soon. I will not be long.”

The next half of the talk started soon after Damian left. The next speaker was very informative and the kids were filling out their worksheets diligently. The guide brought out a couple pieces of real Themyscerian armour when it happened. It started with gunshots near the front of the museum. Then silence. You ushered your kids quickly to the one side of the room alongside other museum visitors, getting them all to crouch low while you and your teaching assistant, Ms Anderson, peered into the corridor. The two security guards in the exhibit had their guns drawn, watching the front entrance double doors with bated breath. Silence. Too silent. The emergency exit door flung open behind you. You turn swiftly, using your arms to corral your kids close together by the wall in a huddle. More gunshots have you flinching. Then the spray stops. You look over at the two guards. Dead. A voice grabs your attention instead.

Two-Face, flipping a coin absent-mindedly. “You will all be fine so long as no one plays the hero while we collect from this lovely display.” He says languidly.

Multiple armed thugs walk into the room pointing guns at the civilians. Now hostages.

“I would hate to hurt any of these cute kids” You scowl at him, not your smartest move but who could blame you. Two-Face smiles and flips his coin. Your eyes widen and Ms Anderson squeezes your hand. “Safe.”

Two-Face replies. “Anyone else want a go?”

You sigh in relief, forcing yourself to swallow your pride and your anger. Your kids are here and you will not be the reason any of them die today. He had almost killed you. Your life was tethered to that stupid coin.

Two-Face then demands everyone’s phones be handed in. You collect your classes. That’s when you notice it. Shit. You settle your class down, praying you miscounted, sitting them on the floor and doing a quick headcount. 14. Double shit.

“Cathy.” You whispered but it came out almost like a breath. Your teaching assistant turned to you. “We’re one kid short.”

“What?” She frantically replied, “Who?”

“Damian. He went to the bathroom, just before the attack started.”

“Shit.” Cathy paused, doing a quick headcount of her own. “Shit. When Batman gets here we’ll tell him.”

“We don’t have time to wait for Batman.”

“You really think they'd hurt him? We’re hostages, how would shooting a child help?”

“I am not taking that chance. I’ve got to find him.”

“During the active hostage situation? How do you plan to do that?”

You have no idea. You suppose you’d need a distraction. Something to draw attention to the rest of the museum so you can sneak out and find Damian.

A distant bang can be heard. More gunshots. Some of your students cover their ears. Two-Face directs three men to come with him when they leave to investigate.

“Batman will be here soon,” Ms Anderson says with an encouraging smile to the class. Some of your students nod to each other.

“Come on guys,” You chime up, “Do you really think Wonder Woman is going to let someone just steal all her stuff? I’m sure the entire Justice League is on their way”

Your students seem more relaxed by this. There are only two guards left in the room both with heavy weaponry. Some kind of assault rifle you’re sure. But you still need a way out to find Damian. Now more than ever seeing as Two-Face has left the exhibition.

You take a deep breath and stand up. “Um, excuse me, Mr Guard sir,” You ask, hoping you sound very innocent, “I really need the bathroom. Like super bad.”

“Hold it.” He grunts.

“Oh um, I can’t. I have IBS?”

“Fine. Come on. Where’s the toilets?” Well, he sure changed his opinion quick. But you know what they say, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“What, you're just gonna take her?” The other guard groans.

“Uh yeah. I have a wife with IBS. When they got to go, they got to go.”

“So you’re gonna leave me by myself for the Batman?”

“One: Batman's nocturnal. It’s lunchtime. I don’t think he’s coming.” Some of your students snicker at this but Cathy silences them quickly. “And two: you are the only one in the room with a semi automatic gun. And the emergency exit has two guards right outside. But I guess if you can’t handle it I can call in one of the boys from the prehistoric section.”

“No I can handle it… just be quick.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The goon turns to you, “Come on.”

Okay. Stage one complete. And you’re going to the toilets towards Damian which is good. Unfortunately you don’t know how to lose the guard you have. You want to observe him but he’s walking behind you so you have no idea if he has any back up weapons. You reach the nearest toilets quickly and you strain to listen for any noise coming from the men’s bathroom. Nothing. Either Damian was hiding very well or he wasn’t in there anymore. You still needed to check for yourself, just to be safe.

“Um sorry, can you go grab my bag? I don’t have my medication on me, they're in my purse. I left it in the other room.” You ask the guard, begging for a miracle.

“Oh no problem.” You breathe in full of hope that he’s just going to leave you unattended until he pulls a plastic sandwich bag with medication out of his suit jacket and hands it to you. You blink.

“They’re for my wife. Always good to be prepared. What kind do you need?”

You blink again.

“Uhhh. The anti-diuretics?”

He hands you the pill pack. “I’ll wait here, be quick.” He orders.

You walk into the bathroom.

You must be in shock. Yeah, that must be it. This is the strangest hostage situation you’ve been in. But you still needed to find Damian.

You’d only just started pacing in the bathroom when the door slams open and the goons body falls to the ground. Your eyes widen as the Red Hood stalks in.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands. The Red Hood is as imposing as one would expect an ex-crime lord turned vigilante to be. But you don’t have time to consider the politics of vigilantism.

“It’s one of my kids. His name’s Damian. He wasn’t with the group when the attack started. He was in the bathroom. You need to help me find my kid. Please.” You beg.

Red Hood stands there for a second stunned. Jason wasn’t really used to anything but cold and snide remarks from you, and maybe the occasional light-hearted jab. Aside from that heart to heart on parents’ evening that started sincere and well-meaning, when you remembered yourself, you returned to harshness or just plain avoided him. To see you so worried over Damian was a breath of fresh air. He stood unmoving for far too long so you decided you would at least check the other bathroom while his brain rebooted or whatever. Jason only saw a glimpse of you leaving the room, when he ran out after you, and watched you enter the neighbouring door.

“Damian.” You whisper-shouted “Damian. It’s me. Are you here? Tell me you're here.”

No reply.

Then you spot it. Damian’s backpack on the floor of a locked cubicle. “Shit. Damian!” You pull yourself up to look into the cubicle, praying to any and all gods out there that there was a perfectly good reason he wasn’t responding. You breathe a sigh but you don’t know whether you should be relieved or not. The cubicle was empty.

“He’s not here.” You say, absentmindedly as you pull the backpack out from under the cubicle door and swing it onto your shoulder.

“You can’t just run off like that.” Red Hood chastises. “You could get hurt.”

“So could my student.” You whip back at the man. “Who is not here and could be bleeding out somewhere. I need to find him. I have a duty of care to these kids.”

This was the version of you Jason was used to. An angry spitfire, although he hadn’t seen righteous fury before. The protectiveness you have over your students, his brother in particular, made him feel something. Although he wasn’t entirely sure what.

“Look, you need to calm down. Describe the kid.” he of course knew what Damian looked like. He also knew that you wouldn’t find him because he was in his Robin costume fighting Two-Face. He was sure Alfred would be having a conversation with him about smuggling his Robin costume onto a school trip in his backpack. But he needed to calm you down and convince you that Damian was safe.

“Damian Wayne. 5”4, dark black hair, green eyes.” You paused, thinking for a moment, “Angry eyebrows.”

He choked a laugh back.

“I already found him. He’s safe, outside with the GCPD.”

“Oh thank god.” Jason watches you release 10 years worth of stress from your body at that admittance. “We need to get back to the group. If I stay away too long the guards might get suspicious and something might happen to the kids.”

God, Jason had misjudged you. You had a heart of pure, shining gold. He feels bad about all the misunderstandings now. He promises himself that he'll be nicer to you on Monday but first he needs to focus on getting you out.

“There’s one guard in the room with the hostages and two outside the emergency exit. Do you think the GCPD has dealt with the two outside?”

Jason is attracted to competence, and holy shit you're competent right now. Making plans, working to protect the kids. Maybe his colleagues were right when they said you were amazing.

“No but Robin will have. Robin report.” He orders, pressing his fingers up to his earpiece.

You wait for a moment as he talks with Robin.

“Wait here.” He orders, “I need to deal with the one guard in the exhibition hall. Lock yourself in a stall. I’ll be back in less than five.”

And with that, the Red Hood leaves you alone.

You move into a stall, locking the door and pulling your feet onto the toilet seat. Five minutes feels like forever. And it can’t have been more than three minutes when you see the light of the outside stream in through the open door on the floor. You get down and unlock the stall. “That was hardly five minutes,” you start as you walk into the bathroom. Then you stop. That’s not the Red Hood.

“Fuck.”

Jason dealt with the last guard easily. No problems in the slightest. He got everyone out the emergency exit and reassured the nice old lady called Cathy that you were fine and Damian had been rescued earlier, that he was going back out for you in just a moment. He opened his com line: “Exhibition room secure, hostages with GCPD.”

“Hood, you did not save my teacher.” Robin’s voice was shaky down the line.

“Ms Anderson is with the paramedics and the rest of your class, I left (Y/N) in the bathroom with your backpack, I’m going back for her now.” Jason rolled his eyes and walked back into the building.

“Hood, building entrance. Two-Face has (L/N).”

Jason hasn’t felt this guilty in a while, running through the corridors of the museum and taking out at least 7 more goons on his way to Robin. He can’t believe he didn’t leave you somewhere more secure or at least with a weapon. Now he has to be the most nicest he’s ever been on Monday. If you make it to Monday. He spots a barely contained rage of a Robin trying to reason with Two-Face, who is holding you against himself, gun to your temple. Jason is glad he can’t see your face. He doesn’t know if he can take it. To see you so terrified when you were so strong just 10 minutes ago.

“Heads? Or tails?” Two-Face asks.

Robin is scanning for any way to disarm him, all his guards are gone but with you in the firing line there’s nothing that can be done. He starts to sneak toward the group.

“I know you’re back there, Red Hood. Stop sneaking around. Or this cute teacher gets it” Two-Face’s rough tone softens mockingly, “Make a bet, start a gamble, heads or tails?” Jason comes out of his hiding place and stalks towards his brother. He would blow Dent’s face off if he could. All he needs is an opening. He’d probably have to fight Damian for the honour though.

“Did my class make it out okay?” It’s the first words you’ve said since Jason entered the room and judging by Damian’s barely sealed expression it’s the first they’ve heard you talk as well.

“Yes.” Jason responds.

You smile and take another breath, adrenaline spiking. “Flip the coin.”

Jason’s eyes widened, he figured they could get at least a few minutes before you’d be forced into the 50/50 but you’d sped up the process. Why? Was this confrontation really so hopeless?

Two-Face flips the coin and as it arcs through the sky Jason shoots it, sending it careening of course toward the front desk. Two-Face lets out a wail and begins dragging you both toward where the coin landed while the vigilantes watch.

He pushes you down onto all fours, gun still at your head, “Find it.” You gulp and start searching for the coin that held your fate. There you see it, angled in a grout line and you see the coin's scars marked upwards.

Jason didn’t think Two-Face noticed your flinch, and if he did, he probably put it towards the general anxiety. But Jason saw. Jason knows you’ve seen that coin. And he knows you didn’t make it. He knows you’re playing on borrowed time now and borrowing from the house never ends well for anyone. He nods to Robin. They have to strike now. He waits for anything that could work as a distraction, he hopes to the Gods for anything but the Gods are silent. It’s you who takes charge again. “I think I see it, I just need to stretch more.” Two-Face moves his gun back as you flop onto your stomach and army crawl so you can reach that bit further. Maybe you could flip the coin, change your own fate. Would two-Face know? Your breathing wasn’t even anymore. Your thoughts didn’t make sense. You just want to go home. You shut your eyes tight and as you grasp the coin and cry “Got it!” Hood launches himself at Two-Face, who fumbles, not having seen the results of his coin and fires instead a warning shot next to your head. It doesn’t matter though because Robin has you and is dragging you towards the doors saying something that sounds like “You’re okay, you’re fine, everyone is safe.” and prying the coin away from your hands but you just don’t know anymore. He brings you to the paramedics but doesn’t head back inside. He doesn’t leave at all. Instead he stands silently next to you like a guard dog or loyal hawk. “Don’t you need to help Red Hood?”

“No.” He responds immediately.

The two of you sit in silence until Cathy comes stumbling over. “Oh my goodness we were all so worried. Are you okay? And before you ask if the kids are all fine, don't worry, everyone is accounted for.” She rambles.

“Even Damian?” You ask.

Robin tenses.

“No but I was assured by Bruce Wayne himself that he made it safely home when I called earlier.”

“Oh thank god. I’m so glad. How are you feeling?”

“Me? I think I might retire next week. I won’t be on any field trips for a while after this. I think it’s too much excitement for my heart.” Cathay laughs, “Do you have a ride home? I’m just getting everyone picked up or sent home and was going to head off myself. You are more than welcome to join me.” She offers, probably feeling somewhat guilty over your ordeal. For no reason of course. It was hardly her fault you were held at gunpoint.

“Don't worry Cathy, I’ll be fine getting back. When the last kid is gone, go home. I’ll do all the paperwork and incident report tomorrow.”

“Oh honey you are an angel, I’ll bring in a lovely cake for you and the class on Monday, we certainly deserve it.” She grins and heads off past the police tape and back to the stragglers of children who haven’t yet gone home.

It’s barely even a minute or perhaps it’s an hour before Red Hood drags Two-Face out of the museum, tied up. The police move in to gather the various unconscious thugs scattered around the building and the vigilantes walk toward you.

“Are you alright?” Red Hood asks, modulated voice heavy.

“I’m fine, no injuries.” You say. You’re really just tired. It’s been too long a day. You want to go home. “I’m sorry for leaving you in the bathroom by myself. I figured Two-Face was busy with Robin.”

“He was busy. It was some goons who dragged me there. It was just dumb stupid bad luck, don’t blame yourself. Besides, if I hadn’t left the group none of this would’ve happened. I’m sorry for making the fight harder.” You curl inwards.

Robin speaks up.

“Do not apologise. You were noble and brave searching for your missing student. I’m sorry you were not informed of his safety.”

“It’s okay Robin, you guys don’t have control over everything that happens in a situation like this.” You try to encourage the young hero.

“You have a good attitude. You would definitely be my favourite teacher.” Jason can’t help but bristle at Damian’s favouritism, wasn’t he the brother?

“Aww thank you. You’re my favourite hero, Robin. Superman’s got nothing on you.” You smile. God that smile would knock Jason out. He’s honestly quite glad you hate him at the school. He doesn’t think he could manage if you treated him so kindly. Unbeknownst to Jason of course, you suppose that, secretly, Red Hood was also your favourite. He had changed your fate. And after saving your life it didn’t seem that Wonder Woman could really compare to the Red Hood.

Dividers made by @/cafekitsune

Taglist: @theendofthematerialgworl @salvatt1 @insideoutjulie

#jason todd x reader #dc x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #Chilli's Jason Todd Teacher AU

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