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nereidprinc3ss · 8 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were.

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you.

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive.

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later.

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost.

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go.

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question.

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you.

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet.

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong.

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours.

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms.

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close.

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want.

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel.

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart.

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you.

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you.

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure.

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger.

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes.

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies.

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch.

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes.

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way.

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak.

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear.

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you.

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to.

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him.

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise.

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important.

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra.

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him.

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked.

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands.

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“Not right now,” he agrees.

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides.

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown.

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range.

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff.

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight.

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles.

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing.

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs.

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought.

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning.

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you.

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together.

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles.

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage.

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair.

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess.

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you.

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you.

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this?

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself.

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches.

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply.

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone.

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck.

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him.

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff.

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again.

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod.

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze.

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction.

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him.

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions.

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core.

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry.

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious.

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest.

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him.

Thankfully, he delivers.

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl.

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you.

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds.

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second.

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh.

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer.

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit.

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light.

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous.

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning.

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan.

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it.

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection.

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat.

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core.

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first.

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

part three

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

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swagging-back-to · 1 year ago

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i decided to return my ipad which is really sad bc i have soooo many drawings on there and I'll probably lose them all :/

i uploaded em to icloud but i doubt I'll be able to edit them on my new ipad. oh well ig....

#gonna sell my laptop maybe in a week or two. if i start working by then that is #and hopefully I'll have the chance for a yard sale by that point. too #hoping to be able to get a new macbook by july.#crying actually it hurts soooo bad #i need to find my thumb drives to save all my mods #soooo sad.#idk I'll probably sell the macbook for like $400 #like $350.#it idnt much but it'll get me closer to affording the $900 refurbished mac....#same with yardsale profits.#ugh #this is such a headache.

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luludeluluramblings · 2 months ago

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Smalltown!Neglected! Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Seven

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’m not sure if I’m satisfied with this. But, I doubt I’ll ever be satisfied with this. I want Reader to come off as more Bruce like with the emotional suppression and planning. And, this was my actual first and third attempt at dialogue. I’m gonna need some practice. But, I tried.

A/N: Up next we get some yandere!Bats vs. yandere!Smalltown action. (Holy frick is that gonna be hard to write.) I’m also going to start work on the Dick Obsession now. Gotta fight the temptation to write the Vigilante!Smalltown!Reader story while this is still in the works.

Warning: Yandere Themes.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

As the coming months passed by, Reader could feel Gotham starting to wear on them. Or, they at the least Wayne manor starting to wear on them. They haven’t been given permission to leave the manor since the kidnapping. Not even to drive their truck for some unhealthy, but soul healing fast food. Of course, that doesn’t stop the other residents of the house from leaving whenever they wish.

They see the Bat Burger wrappers in the trash the morning after another soundless night in the manor. God, how they’d love to try it one day.

But, as time moves on something draws closer. An important date. Reader’s legal eighteenth birthday. They’re excited, by all means. But, there’s something significantly more important coming sooner.

Reader’s Younger Brother’s Birthday was just a week before Reader’s. There had been many fond memories made while growing up with the week between the two different dates being filled with fun and excitement. (And love.)

With such an important date coming up, and with Momma and Daddy no longer being here, Reader had plans to make it a fun week.

They just have to convince Bruce to let them go back to Smalltown. Just for the week. They’re all too busy to spend time with Reader anyway, besides this is important to them. They’ve stayed in the manor like asked. They’re grades are good. They do their chores. They don’t ask for much. It should be perfectly reasonable to request to let them visit back home.

But, just in case, Reader approaches Dick next time he's in the manor and is smothering them in affection before he goes to disappear into the library.

“Can you help me convince Bruce to let me go, please, Dick?”

It’s a simple request. And, it makes Dick’s heart melt a bit. Reader’s the only one in the family to easily give into his affection and to have them finally ask him for help in such a sweet polite voice was heart melting.

Wholeheartedly, he agrees and he is rewarded. With Reader bouncing into his arms with an impressive amount of enthusiasm that he hasn’t had a chance to see previously. Probably due to always being so busy. Maybe he should make more time for Reader if they shower him with such genuine gratitude and affection like this.

The thought lingers in his head as he makes his way towards the Batcave. A spring in his step despite the glares he receives as he makes his way down the stairs.

The manor cameras had caught the entire thing, leaving the occupants in the cave to get a front row seat to Reader being sweet on Dick.

He can’t stop the tiny smug smile from forming on his lips as Barbara gives him a disapproving ~~jealous~~ look. Or, the look of straight bitterness on Damian’s face. The mild satisfaction from Duke’s face being as blank as Cassandra’s. Stephanie’s forlorn expression. The way that Jason looks like he wants to shoot him with the gun he’s cleaning that makes him want to laugh with glee..

Tim doesn’t even look at him. Too annoyed with Dick as he sits at the Batcomputer furiously clicking and typing away on something.

Bruce had been out at the moment for League Business. But, the entire family now has a competition forming. Whoever could convince Bruce for Reader would win. The prize being the winner possibly getting showered in Reader’s affection. And, the hope of visiting Reader’s hometown with them. The very idea of it makes some of them shudder with some particular emotions.

The bombardment of pleading and puppy-dog eyes began almost as soon as Bruce stepped back into the cave. It was nearly comical how everyone petitioned Reader’s case.

Hell, Bruce was nearly convinced they should all make the trip when Tim threw his bid in.

Pulling up all the research on Smalltown and how apparently harmless it was. He even managed to remotely bug Childhood Friend’s Brother’s phone just to double check.

That’s when things spiral.

Right at that very moment, a call comes through to the phone. It seems harmless at first. The guy talking to his boss. The two had immediately talked about Reader returning to town. As if the two knew without a doubt that they were coming back.

That sparked suspicions, but it's not what ignited the fire.

The fire came when the two started talking about Reader's time in Gotham. The whole kidnapping incident. Childhood Crush admitted that Reader tried to down play the incident to Nana. After which his boss ask a horrifying question.

"Do you and Grand Daddy need some help killing this guy? It might be a bit harder than the last one y'all killed."

The last one.

Immediately the phrase makes questions arise. But, once again things get worse.

"Nah, we'll let him live. He's from Gotham. He'll probably never come out this way. And, if he does them we'll drag him out where we drowned the last sorry son of a bitch. He was just in it for the money."

"That's right. The other guy just wanted to kill Reader to keep 'em for himself. Still..."

It was difficult to give the rest of the conversation their full attention after that.

It was like the blood had crystalized in their veins. Both cold fury and hot rage filling them till it seemed to shred their minds apart.

There was no way in heaven or hell or high water that they were possibly going to let Reader go back to that vile little town filled with monsters. As if Gotham wasn't filled with abominations of it's own designs.

Without a moment to delay Bruce Batman jumps into action, barking orders for Tim, Barbara, and Cassandra to start digging up everything imaginable on Smalltown. Every resident, every social media post or mention, every single person that has ever lived there, visited, and gone missing. "Find me the name of the bastard that nearly took my child to the grave. I want the memory of them wiped of the face of the earth as their bones rot in it."

The other's are ordered to cover his patrol and redouble their efforts to capture the remaining Gotham Rouges by any and all means necessary The Court of Owls is low priority until more is uncovered about Smalltown and what the hell happened.

Reader's usual pacing around the unoccupied halls of the manor conversing on the phone is interrupted by Bruce Batman stalking towards with a violence simmering under the surface of an obsidian mask. Easy to shatter and sharp to the touch. Before a words is even spoken the phone the lifeline is ripped from their hands and shattered under a pair of designer loafers.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You could only stagger back as you watched his foot trample over the well used phone. You hadn't even chance to hang up the conversation you were having, when Bruce had come barreling down the extravagant hall way you roamed so often you 'd already practically memorized the brush strokes on each painting and the pattern of the wood grain on the walls. Not even the chance to put a hold on the plans you were making before it all came to an abrupt halt without your blessing.

For a moment your just baffled. Looking at the shattered phone screen with pieces of glass and plastic on the ground before looking up at the shattered facade your father Bruce wore.

His face was deathly still. Not even a twitch. It gave him an inhuman like visage that set off the same warning bells that Jason Red Hood had made you hear.

So that's where he got it from.

You can't help put think, trying to form the words to question his actions and confront him. It isn't long before he gives you the excuse explanation for his unwarranted action himself.

"You're not going." Is all he says. His voice was cold enough to burn.

It doesn't take a genius to know what he's talking about.

"If this is about me getting Dick to help convince you-"

"Dick agrees. Everyone agrees. You are not going." The interruption is rude, but the words sting. They thought that everyone else would be on board with it. Even the members of the family that didn't care for their presence should have been on board with it.

"I'm not asking for a vote. I was asking for your permission and yours alone." Another attempt.

"I am saying no. I am your father and you will listen to me about this." The totality found in his icy voice makes them finally feel that helpless. Like nothing they say will improve this situation. That continuing to smile will not solve a damn thing.

"What did I do?" The resentment that has locked up tightly inside beings to swirl. Ire churning into gales. The long withheld temper becoming a tempest. "What the hell did I do to make you treat me like this?"

"This has nothing to do with you. This is my decision on the matter. You need-" The sound of a notification going off interrupts his words, but they don't stop the ringing in you're ears. Even after Bruce abruptly dismisses himself, muttering about getting you a new phone, before moving towards the library. Again.

For once, you don't bother cleaning up the shattered pieces on the floor. Leaving them on the ornate carpet in the lavish and deserted hall. You have planning to do. Restraint is gone. Holding back is over. It's time to take things into your own hands. They want to ignore you, fine. You'll leave and you'll fucking live without them.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Consequently, incoming weather reports start showing some unusual patterns on the news that week. Meteorologist say there's a massive possibility of a potential hurricane brewing off the coast. Everyone is on edge. (Gotham is already a disaster as is. No one wants another one on top of it.)

Reader's not to worried. They grew up with Hurricane parties. Besides the manor has it's own power grid says Alfred. Gotham's power grid is a bit more vulnerable, but luckily the Hospitals and Arkham are on different power grids. Everything should be alright. (Everything should also go according to plan.)

The next time Dick comes by, Reader is a bit short with him. Giving him a disgruntled look that breaks his heart a little and makes it melt. Try as he might he gets nothing other than their annoyance. Even when he finally admits it was Tim's fault they had been denied the chance to go home. It does make them pout even more, how cute. Even when he gifts them a newer phone. Their not stupid, the damn thing is probably bugged to high heaven. And, it's missing all their old contacts since Bruce slammed the SD card under his big bat toe.

Their clearly in a foul mood and everyone is being subjugated to the silent treatment. As their birthday, and their younger brother's birthday, draws closer and closer, a dark cloud seems to hang over them and Gotham.

In a moment born from guilt and ignorance, Bruce buys them a car as an early birthday present. A grandiose little luxury model. With all the bells and whistles. It's even in their favorite color. Not that anyone in the family asked what it was. (Tim might have had something to do with it. After all he did get them banned from traveling. Not that he feels guilty. No way in hell was he letting you go. Especially without him or the others.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

"It seems kinda wasteful." You can't help saying it. To tired of putting on that pleasant people pleaser mask for once.

"I know it's a bit extravagant, but since everyone has their own car I thought you should have your own too." Bruce had such an eager smile on his face. Like the whole incident with the crushing your hopes and your phone never happened.

To bad you haven't forgotten nor forgiven.

"Still a waste. I'm not going to get to drive it anywhere." Vinegar coating your tongue as you look at the sleek design.

You can here everyone around you stop cooing and praising the gift. There's no need to further elaborate your point. He gets it. The family gets it. The very earth you stand on gets it. You're not leaving this house. There's no need for the tank of gas to be filled. Or the damn thing to be charged since its some fucking electric hybrid, and probably filled to the brim with all sorts of nasty little tracking bugs.

You could have left it at that. But why not sink that needle deeper into his chest. Not a knife. Never a knife. You want your words to sting and stick. No taking the cut and letting it heal overtime. Let it be tattooed on the skin.

"Besides I already have Daddy's old truck. I don't need this." Don't those words hit like a strike to the soul. Bruce grows visibly still at them. That practiced mask going up and hiding the tells from all of them. Except Cassandra. There's no hiding things from her. They're all laid bare in front of her and she can tell everyone has somethings to say. While you have something to scream.

"You could at the very least be grateful for Father's gift" Damian spoke. He had been so well behaved to far. Keeping quite and watching with attentive green eyes. He could tell this wasn't going to go in the family's favor. He didn't necessarily blamed you for being disgruntled. But, would it kill you to give them a smile. They missed those. Hell, he missed those.

Something in you crackled, but you managed to hold you're tongue. The side-eye you gave him, however spoke enough volumes for you instead.

Astonishingly, it was Duke that set off the electric charge.

"I mean, it is a really nice car. You sure you don't want to take it for a spin?" You can here his attempt at trying to defuse the static in the are, but as fond of him as you are compared to the others, it just sets you off.

"Oh, and where to exactly?" You can't help but snort. "Down the driveway and back?"

"You're acting like a brat." Jason throwing in his two cents. Of course he would say that. And, he's rewarded with a voltaic look from you eyes and a snarl from your lips.

"I. Don't. Care." The words echo in the massive car garage. Bouncing of the walls and the other sleek fancy model cars in it. Your apathy and anger is reward with quiet.

It doesn't last long.

"Let's all just calm down." Dick steps between them, trying to play reconciler. All it serves to do is make you feel more isolated. The way he steps between you cuts you off from the rest of the group and makes it seem like he's singling you out.

"I am calm!" The words coming from your clenched jaw.

"They're the one acting like a spoiled little-"

"Jason, enough." Bruce finally steps in. That stoic look still on his face. Internally, he knows he miscalculated. He made a mistake, and it's humbling to know he can still make them at his age and with all his experience. Still, he wears the mask. He's too busy recalculating and coming up with another plan. Perhaps he was putting to much focus on the wrong thing. That didn't stop him from glaring at that classless truck in his garage.

"Of fucking course Daddy's princess gets away with acting like a brat." Jason doesn't stop though, looking directly at you. Always looking at you. Everyone is always looking at you. But never speaking these days.

"Fuck you." You whisper. Caution and hesitance thrown into the stirring winds.

"Uh-oh, looks like the princess finally snapped." That sickly green look appearing in his eyes. God, does he love this. He knew they had some fucking bite in them. Some spice. Something that made them even more delicious. That just enhanced their sweetness tenfold.

"Jason. Knock it off." Barbara murmurs after Cassandra places a hand on her shoulder. Signaling the direction this could easily head in.

"No, I don't think I will." He sneers, making an attempt to step around Dick and get in your face. It's Tim and Stephanie that try to stop him this time. Both muttering to him and trying to get him to calm down.

You can clearly see it. Their family dynamic. Clear as day. It's right in front of you for you to watch unfold while you stand on the outside looking in. Only getting stray remnants of it when they deem you worth it. You're always worth it though, silly little sugarplum. They’re just terrible at showing it, you poor poor thing. That'll change soon, don't worry. Actually, you should worry.

There's no need to stick around any longer. No fucking need at all. Your feet echoing as you leave the room filled with strangers family and cars. You're leaving. You're going home. And you're going home tonight.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

That night, the news is blaring over Gotham. A sudden hurricane off the coast is set to hit by nightfall. People are being asked to evacuate, already there is panic in the streets.

As much as they don't want to leave things unresolved, the family has no choice, but to respond. Making sure evacuations go smoothly. Keeping the mobs at bay in the stores. Checking that the Arkham inmates are both secure and safe.

It gets worse when the reports further come in. There was lightning spotted off the coast. A lightning storm predicted to hit before the hurricane. That would double the difficulties everyone in Gotham was dealing with.

Most everyone, but Reader.

With the family busy they had plenty of time to pack a few belongings and necessities for a long drive. Glowing eyes taking inventory as the electricity crackled under their skin and the distant skies. Brewing excitement in their chest as the skies filled with dark clouds. Some might think it ominous. But, for Reader it was freedom.

In Gotham that ominous feeling continued. It was as if Gotham itself knew what chaos was about to unfold. Chaos that it would have reveled in if not for the impending feeling of loss found not only in the empty streets, but in Wayne Manor.

As the wind started to wail, nightfall seemed to come earlier with how dark the clouds made the sky. Rain poured in sheets. Most of the Bats took cover, but when the lightning began to strike is when things really when to hell.

By luck or something else, the Gotham power grid was hit. Shutting down over half the city in the first moments of the storm. The downpour hadn't even soaked the concrete when it struck.

The darkness washed over the city and the family knew it was going to be a long long night.

Barbara, in Oracle mode in the Batcave, was focused on keeping everyone updated on new alerts and any looting. She didn't have a chance to glance at the manor cameras and see Reader walking through the halls with a bag on their shoulders before. Multiple strikes of lightning reverberated through the manor. They could be heard echoing all the way down in the cave.

And, they caused the power to go out.

It was only out for twenty minuets. Twenty long minuets of Barbara and Alfred trying to fix the power and get everyone back in contact with each other.

A lot can happen in twenty minutes. Like a garage door opening and closing manually. Like someone driving down the long driveway out of the security gate without being noticed. Like someone could escape without notice in those twenty minutes.

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@starsdotalk @sleepyghoster @maicenitas @box-of-kinderjoy @yandereheros @skwunkler @cl0esblogg @delias-stuff @rosecentury @lilyalone @addie-r-u-ok @space1crow @imaginarydreams @dhanyasri @rosalietodd013 @rissareader @rando2509 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @interobanginyourmom @heyitsaloy @myanyan-me @animegoddess15 @resident-cryptid @schaarfyx

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere dc #platonic batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #smalltown!reader #yandere jason todd #yandere bruce wayne #yandere cassandra cain #yandere tim drake #yandere stephanie brown #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson

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hoshifighting · 4 months ago

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Rivals to Lovers — Mingyu

— Synopsis: You were willing to do everything to win the science fair and claim the $500 prize, hoping to outdo Mingyu, your college rival. You successfully win the prize, but your excitement took a hit when you found out that Mingyu actually wanted to use the prize money to support a dog adoption campaign. — WC: 9.1k — WARNINGS: smut, angst, fluff, some messages archives! sabotaging a school project, which could be interpreted as a form of cheating, pet adoption, rumors, guilt/regret, oral (f. receiving), bulge kink, face slap, dirty talk, mentions of fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, creampie, creampie eating, big cock!mingyu.

You never thought you'd have a rival. Enemies? Definitely not. You never even wanted one. Why bother? For what? Life is hard enough without unnecessary drama. But things have just changed.

Your science professor has announced a competition. The task? Create a clay volcano for the upcoming college science fair. It’s a throwback to middle school projects, something you haven’t done in years. The prize, however, is enticing: $500.

"Easy," you think to yourself, a small smile tugging at your lips. Your name is consistently at the top of all your class grade scores. This should be a walk in the park.

But then there’s Mingyu. You and Mingyu are always neck and neck academically. Your rivalry isn’t born out of animosity, but there’s a real tension between the two of you. It’s as if the universe decided to pair you up as academic sparring partners.

As you sit in the lecture hall, the announcement still fresh in your mind, you can’t help but glance over at Mingyu. He’s already deep in thought, probably planning his volcano. Typical. You shake your head and chuckle quietly to yourself.

The whole college is buzzing with talk about the upcoming science fair. Everyone seems to have an opinion on who’s going to make the best volcano and walk away with the prize. Your name comes up a lot, but so does Mingyu’s, along with a few other students. The competition is heating up.

One afternoon, you’re in the library when Mingyu saunters over, a cocky grin on his face.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, leaning casually against the table. “I hope you’re ready to lose. My volcano is going to blow yours out of the water.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling a spark of irritation. “Oh, really? And what makes you so sure?”

He shrugs, his grin widening. “Just a hunch. You might as well not even bother showing up.”

You narrow your eyes, your competitive spirit ignited. You didn’t intend for this to be such a cutthroat competition. It doesn’t even affect your grade; you just wanted the prize. But now, with Mingyu’s teasing, you’re ready to do whatever it takes to win. Even if it means cheating.

The week before the fair, you’re working overtime. Your room is a chaotic mix of clay, paint, and scientific paraphernalia. Not only are you perfecting your volcano, but you’re also hatching a plan to sabotage Mingyu’s. You overheard him mentioning he’s going to use bicarbonate for his lava. Perfect.

It’s late one evening when you spot Mingyu in the hallway. He’s carrying a bag of supplies, looking as smug as ever. You can’t resist the urge to confront him.

“Hey, Mingyu,” you call out, walking up to him. “I hope you’re not getting too confident. You might just be setting yourself up for disappointment.”

He stops, turning to face you. “Oh, please. I’ve got this in the bag. Maybe you should focus more on your project instead of worrying about mine.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I am focused. More than you know. Just don’t come crying when you lose.”

Mingyu’s expression darkens, and he steps closer. “You know, for someone who claims to be so good, you sure talk a lot of trash. Maybe it’s because deep down, you’re scared you’re not as great as you think.”

Your blood boils, and you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. “Watch it, Mingyu. You might be good, but you’re not unbeatable.”

“Neither are you,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with irritation.

The tension is thick, and for a moment, it feels like you might actually come to blows. But then a passing professor gives you both a stern look, and you back off, muttering under your breath.

That night, your resolve hardens. You’re going to win this. You’ll work doubly hard on your volcano and ensure Mingyu’s project doesn’t go as planned.

On the day of the fair, the hall is packed with students and faculty, all eager to see the displays. You manage to sneak into the lab when no one’s around before the presentations begin. You swap the bicarbonate inside Mingyu’s volcano for salt, ensuring his project will be a complete flop.

Your volcano stands proudly, a testament to your hard work and determination. As you watch Mingyu set up his project, you can’t help but smirk, knowing what’s coming.

When the time comes for the demonstrations, you go first. You add the substances, and your volcano erupts perfectly. The foam drips beautifully over the clay, drawing gasps and applause from the other students. The professor praises you, saying, “Perfect as always, Y/N.”

You beam with pride, soaking in the admiration. As you watch Mingyu with crossed arms, you can’t resist a little tease. “Good luck, Mingyu. You’re gonna need it.”

He gives you a sharp look but then turns his attention to his volcano, the picture of confidence.

But as soon as he adds the final ingredient, nothing happens.

The salt just mixes with the vinegar, and the expected eruption is a complete failure. Mingyu gives a strained smile to the professor, who watches with disinterest, as he tries to stir the mixture, but nothing happens.

The crowd murmurs, and you see Mingyu’s face fall. You look on from your table, feeling a rush of satisfaction. As Mingyu continues to fumble with his project, you walk out like nothing happened, feeling no guilt at all.

Your name is called as the winner, and you step forward to accept the prize. As you hold the trophy, you feel a surge of triumph. Maybe this rivalry has gone too far. But for now, you’re on top, and that’s what matters. The envelope with the $500 is in your hand.

As you leave the university building, you slip the envelope into your bag. Some students congratulate you, and you give them your best smile as you advance to your car. Turning the key in the ignition, you glance at the group sitting by the fountain. There, a very frustrated Mingyu sits with his friends Joshua and Wonwoo, who are trying to comfort him. You look over your shoulder at them before getting into your car and driving away.

Over the next few days, the campus buzzes with talk about the volcanoes—mostly about your perfect eruption and Mingyu’s epic fail. Every time you stumble upon him in the hallway, you flash a devilish grin, ready to tease him, but he just walks away, mumbling an apology.

Was this really too much? You begin to wonder. The comments about the science fair slowly die down within the week, but Mingyu remains resentful. This puzzles you. Determined to confront him, you find him alone in the grandstand, reading some books.

You sit down beside him. He immediately starts gathering his things, but you hold his book down, stopping him.

“Are you really going to be all pitiful because of this stupid science fair?” you ask, your tone sharper than intended.

He huffs, looking up at you with frustration. “What do you want, Y/N? You want me to congratulate you? Fine. Congratulations! I don’t know what the fuck you did with that stupid money, but I wanted it. I really wanted that $500. Is that what you want to hear?”

You stay in shock, his words and tone catching you off guard. You and Mingyu have never argued like this before. You've never seen him lose his cool.

“Mingyu, I—”

But he doesn’t let you finish. He gathers the rest of his books and stands up, looking down at you with anger.

“You know what? Forget it. Just forget it,” he mutters before walking away, leaving you alone in pure disbelief.

Why did Mingyu want that money so badly? You try to ask some of your classmates, but no one knows. As you walk out of the university door, you hear Joshua's voice nearby. Glancing around, you see him apparently alone. Deciding to take the moment, you approach him.

“Hey, Joshua,” you say, trying to sound casual. “Can I ask you something?”

He looks up, surprised, but nods. “Sure, what’s up?”

You ask, “Do you know why Mingyu wanted that $500 so much?”

Joshua frowns, contemplating whether or not to reveal the reason. After a moment, he breathes out and says, “Mingyu is a volunteer at a dog shelter. He wanted to use the money for a dog adoption campaign there.”

Your shoulders fall. “That’s why he wanted the money so badly?“

Joshua nods. “Yeah, he’s been volunteering there for years. He’s really dedicated to those dogs.”

Back at home, you sit on your bed, staring at the envelope on your bedside table. You haven’t even used the money yet. Closing your eyes, the regret beats at your door, relentless and insistent. You grab your notebook and start stalking Mingyu's social media.

When you pull up his LinkedIn, you see that he’s been volunteering at the kennel for five years. There are countless photos of him playing with puppies and grown dogs, some with disabilities, some older. Your heart clenches at the sight.

As you scroll through the photos, you see the joy and love on Mingyu's face, surrounded by the dogs he cares so deeply about. The realization hits you hard—his frustration and anger weren’t just about losing a competition. They were about losing the chance to help those dogs, to make a change.

You look back at the envelope, untouched and alone. The victory that once felt so sweet now tastes bitter.

You know what you have to do.

The next morning, Mingyu arrives at the dog shelter, adjusting his volunteer shirt on his torso. He greets Mrs. Lee, who immediately coos at him.

“Why are you here today, Mingyu? It's Saturday, the sun is shining. You should be hanging out with your friends.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I was planning to make up some extra hours here and help with the donations later.”

Mrs. Lee's eyes light up, and she claps her hands. “No need for that, dear. A kind lady came by today and covered the donation. She gave us $500! Isn't that great?”

Mingyu frowns in confusion. Donations of that size are unusual for this shelter. “Really? Who was it?”

Mrs. Lee continues, “She's outside playing with the puppies. It's such a cute scene—you need to see it!”

She holds his hand and leads him to the open field. There, you are, lying on the ground, surrounded by a flurry of excited puppies. They lick your face and jump on you, their clumsy movements making you laugh. The scene is one of pure joy and innocence, and Mingyu can see that both you and the puppies are enjoying every moment.

He stands there, watching in awe. As if sensing his presence, you look up and meet his gaze. A smile spreads across your face, and you gently push the puppies off you, standing up and dusting off your clothes.

After a moment, Mingyu's expression turns serious. He waits for you to notice his presence. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice sharp.

You look down, avoiding his eyes. “I heard that you volunteer here and—”

“Yeah, I know. Joshua told me. What do you want?” Mingyu cuts you off.

You take a deep breath, looking everywhere but at him. A puppy cries at your feet, trying to get your attention, and you pick him up, nestling him in your arms as you caress him. “I’m sorry, Mingyu. If I had known that this was the reason you needed the money, I would have helped you with your volcano. Or I would have donated this earlier.”

He stands there, reluctant. “Did you really donate all the prize?”

You nod. “Yes. I’m really sorry.”

Just then, Mrs. Lee appears again, beaming. “Look, Y/N, who’s ready to go home!” In her arms, she holds a caramel puppy with a cute pink bow.

Mingyu's eyes widen. “Lola!”

Mrs. Lee continues, “Yes! Lola is finally getting a home. She’s such a sweet girl.”

Lola was a caramel dog who had a problem at birth and only had one eye.

You smile softly, looking at Lola and then back at Mingyu. “I heard about Lola from Joshua. She deserves a good home.” “I fell in love with Lola,” you continue, sniffling the head of the puppy.

Lola wriggles in your arms, her little tail wagging furiously. Mingyu watches you, trying to hide the way his heart throbs at the sight.

“Lola had a hard time getting adopted,” he says quietly. “I never thought you’d be the one to take her home.”

You smile, looking down at the puppy who’s now nuzzling into your neck. “I couldn’t resist her. She’s special.”

Mingyu nods, his expression softening even more. “Yeah, she is. She’s been here for a while, you know. I was worried she’d never find a home.”

You lift your eyes to meet his. “Well, now she has one. I’m going to make sure she’s happy.”

He pouts a little, thinking about how Lola won’t be teething his pants or his shoelaces when he arrives at the shelter anymore. “I’m going to miss her.”

“You can visit anytime,” you offer, then stop to think if it hadn't sounded too appealing. “I mean, if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, a small smile forming.

You shrug, feeling a sense of relief and a twinge of regret. “It’s the least I could do. I’m really sorry for what I did, Mingyu. I hope this makes up for it, even just a little.”

“It does,” he admits. “Seeing you with Lola… it’s a good sight. She looks happy.”

“She is,” you say, watching as Lola’s eyes droop sleepily in your arms. “And so am I.”

Mingyu chuckles softly. “I guess she found the right person after all.”

For a moment, you both stand there in comfortable silence, watching the puppies play. The rivalry that once felt so consuming now seems distant, replaced by a shared understanding and a newfound… respect.

“Maybe we could work together next time,” Mingyu suggests, breaking the silence.

“I bet you want to work together because you know I'm the best, right?” you tease, a playful glint in your eye.

Mingyu rolls his eyes, laughing. “Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, Y/N.”

As you turn to leave the shelter, Lola nestled contentedly in your arms, Mingyu watches you go, a smile lingering on his face.

[...]

In the days that follow at college, Mingyu's friends find it strange to see the two of you greeting each other kindly, for what they believe is the first time. You don't force anything, knowing that pushing for kindness right now would feel hypocritical.

Mingyu always wondered why you were so gentle to everyone but him, but he also remembered that he wasn’t the easiest person to talk to, given your rivalry and his constant teasing. Now, seeing this different side of you, the resentment he held begins to fade.

In the quiet moments of your day, you reflect on the past weeks. How quickly things had escalated between you and Mingyu, from academic rivals to almost enemies. It felt strange, now that the tension was easing, to think about how much energy you had spent on trying to outdo him. You wonder if it was worth it.

The next day, you see Mingyu in the hallway. He’s standing with Joshua and Wonwoo, and they glance at you as you approach. You give them a small wave and a genuine smile.

“Hey, Mingyu,” you say.

“Hey, Y/N,” he replies, his tone surprisingly warm.

Joshua and Wonwoo exchange bewildered looks, but you don’t pay them much attention. “How’s Lola settling in?” Mingyu asks.

“She’s great,” you reply, the memory of her wagging tail bringing a smile to your face. “She’s already made herself at home.”

Mingyu nods, his expression softening. “That’s good to hear.”

As the days pass, you notice the way people react to your newfound harmony with Mingyu. They seem curious, whispering to each other as they watch the two of you interact. You and Mingyu aren’t best friends overnight, but the hostility is gone, replaced by a cautious but genuine friendliness.

Well, that's what you thought until now.

You walk into the hallway, the usual buzz of students replaced with an unsettling silence. Eyes follow you, not with curiosity but with judgment. The whispers you once ignored now feel like sharp blades. You push the bad feeling down your throat, trying to keep your head high as you make your way to the courtyard.

As you approach your friends, you notice their uneasy expressions. They exchange nervous glances, unsure whether to walk away or stay put. “What’s going on?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

One of your friends steps forward, looking uncomfortable. “There’s a video, Y/N,” they begin hesitantly. “On the university blog... it shows you sabotaging Mingyu’s volcano. It’s a little dark, but it’s you.”

Your heart sinks, a cold chill spreading through your chest. “What?” you whisper, the word barely escaping your lips.

Another friend chimes in, their voice low. “People are saying you might get kicked out of the university. They’re already talking about disciplinary actions.”

You feel the weight of their words settle on you, heavier than you could’ve imagined. Your thoughts race as you try to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Kicked out? You’d worked so hard to get here, and now it might all be over because of a moment of weakness and petty rivalry.

Your mind drifts to Mingyu, the awkward but promising start of a truce between you two. You wonder if he’s seen the video, if he knows the full extent of what you did. The thought makes you feel sick.

You glance around the courtyard, suddenly hyper-aware of the stares and whispers. Your friends stand by, uncertain and uncomfortable. You can’t blame them; they didn’t sign up for this drama. The fear of repercussions, the shame of being caught—it's all too much. You swallow hard, fighting the urge to cry.

“I—I need to go,” you stammer, turning away from the group. You don’t wait for their reactions as you walk briskly toward the building's exit. The video, the possibility of expulsion, Mingyu—all of it spins around in your head, a chaotic mess you can’t straighten.

The thought of your parents, the disappointment in their eyes if they find out, makes you feel even worse.

You sit in your car in the parking lot, tears streaming down your face as you watch the damning video on your phone for what feels like the hundredth time. The grainy footage shows you sneaking into the lab, swapping out the bicarbonate for salt in Mingyu’s volcano. Your heart sinks with each replay, the weight of your actions pressing down on you.

Then, a notification catches your eye. A new comment appears right after the post, marked by the blog admin so that it's fixed at the top. It’s from Mingyu.

kmingyu_1577: "hey everyone, just wanted to clarify that this video doesn't tell the whole story. the truth is, i had already messed up my volcano. the bicarbonate i used was expired, and i didn’t realize it until it was too late. y/n knew about it and was just trying to help me out. it’s not her fault. please stop the hate."

You blink through your tears, rereading the comment to make sure you didn’t misinterpret it. The comments below start shifting, the tide of public opinion turning. Relief and understanding replace the initial anger and disappointment.

“Wow, Mingyu’s so mature about this.”

“Glad to know the truth. Poor Y/N, she must have been so scared.”

“Thanks for clearing this up, Mingyu. You’re a good guy.”

You sit back, stunned. Why would Mingyu do this? After everything, why would he cover for you?

You hear a knock on your window, and your heart sinks. There he is, Mingyu, standing outside your car with a serious look. You’re too embarrassed to face him, but you roll the window down slowly, your hands trembling. He gestures for you to step out, his expression softening just slightly. You nod and step out of the car, trying to discreetly dry your tears, but the redness of your nose and eyes betrays you.

Mingyu stands in front of you, his posture relaxed but his eyes full of unease. He takes a deep breath, his voice calm as he speaks. “Why did you do this, Y/N? I mean, you're incredibly talented and intelligent. You’ve always been at the top, outshining everyone. There’s no need for you to resort to something like this. It doesn’t make sense... not for someone like you.”

His words hit you like a wave, and you can’t bring yourself to look up. You feel the weight of your actions pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. But then you feel his hand gently lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and you see the genuine concern in his gaze.

“Y/N, you’re so much better than this. You’ve always been more than just your grades, more than just this rivalry we’ve had. You have so much potential, so much to offer. Sabotaging my project... it’s not who you are. It’s not who I believe you can be.”

You sniffle, trying to hold back the tears, but it’s no use. They spill over, running down your cheeks. Mingyu’s eyes soften even more, and he sighs.

You feel the lump in your throat grow, and a sob escapes your lips. “I’m so sorry,” you choke out. “I just... I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to win so badly, I lost sight of everything else. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Mingyu steps closer, his expression easing as he listens. He hesitates for a moment, then wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. You freeze for a second, surprised by the gesture, but then you melt into him, the sobs coming harder now. He holds you tightly, one hand gently rubbing your back.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers.

You cling to him, feeling the regret starting to lift, just a little. The heat of his embrace feels like a safe haven. Mingyu doesn’t let go, even as your tears soak into his shirt. He just holds you, steady and patient.

Eventually, your sobs quiet down, and you pull away slightly, wiping your eyes.

A question lingers in your mind, and you finally find the courage to voice it. “Why did you leave that comment?” you ask. “You didn’t have to say those things, you didn’t have to defend me like that. After everything I did... why?”

“I can’t lose my favorite rival that easily. Our rivalry... it’s pushed both of us to be better, to work harder. And I think, deep down, we both know that.”

You chuckle softly. “So, you’re saying you did it because you need me as your competition?”

Mingyu laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Instead of tearing each other down, why don’t we join forces for a change?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Join forces? What do you have in mind?”

He leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Well, there’s a whole new batch of freshmen who think they can waltz in and take over. They’re talented, sure, but they have no idea what they’re up against. I say we show them how it’s done. What do you think? Team up and teach them a thing or two?”

You can't help but smile; the idea sparks a sense of harmony you hadn’t felt in a while. “So, you’re proposing an alliance?”

“Just think about it,” he replies.. “We could be unstoppable. The dynamic duo.”

Later that day, you scroll through the university blog and notice a new post: a photo of you and Mingyu sharing a heartfelt hug in the parking lot. The caption reads, “The unexpected truce: rivals turned allies?” Below the post, a comment catches your eye:

JoshuaHong_223: “I always thought they would make a powerful couple.”

[...]

You walk into the library, scanning the rows of bookshelves. Your mind is still buzzing with the encounter you had earlier. As you turn a corner, you spot Mingyu sitting at a table, surrounded by a pile of books. He’s focused, scribbling notes, but your presence doesn't go unnoticed. He looks up, his eyes widening slightly as he sees the expression on your face.

You stride over to him, your steps quick. When you reach his table, you crouch down to his level, trying to keep your voice low but unable to hide your frustration. “Mingyu, can you believe what just happened? One of the new freshmen had the nerve to confront me in the hallway. Can you imagine?”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, closing his book slowly as he leans back in his chair. “Seriously? What did they say?” He keeps his voice calm, but you can see the curiosity in his eyes.

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “They came up to me, all smug and confident, and basically implied that they were going to knock us off the top spot. Like they could actually compete with us.”

Mingyu’s lips twitch into a slight smirk. “Wow, bold move. Did they really think they could take you on just like that?”

You nod, still fuming.

Mingyu chuckles softly, leaning forward with an amused twinkle in his eye. “Guess they have no idea what kind of competition they’ve signed up for. Ya! this could be fun. A little extra motivation to keep us sharp.”

You roll your eyes, though a small smile tugs at your lips. “Fun for you, maybe. I just don’t like the idea of someone thinking they can walk all over us.”

He reaches out and gently taps the back of your hand, a reassuring gesture. “Relax, Y/N. We’ve got this. If they want a challenge, we’ll give them one.”

You sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease a bit.

You’re walking towards your car, the weight of the day heavy on your shoulders, when you hear that all-too-familiar voice. It’s one of the new freshmen, and her tone is dripping with smugness. You freeze, feeling a surge of irritation as her words cut through the quiet of the parking lot.

You turn around sharply, spotting her standing a few feet away with a smirk on her face. Her attitude is infuriating, and you feel your patience snapping. Mingyu, standing a distance away, watches with a knowing look, sensing that you’re about to lose your shit.

As you close the distance between you, you see her expression shift from confident to slightly uncertain. You get right up in her space, your chest touching hers. “Listen here,” you say, your voice low and controlled but bounded with anger. “I’ve had enough of your crap. I’m not afraid to beat your ass.”

She narrows her eyes, not backing down. “Oh? And what are you going to do? Risk getting kicked out of the university again?”

You scoff, shoving your bag through the open window of your car. The motion emphasizing your frustration. “Really? You think you can scare me with that? You’re just a freshman, and you’ve got some nerve talking to me like that. The parking lot is outside university grounds. No one here can touch us. And I'm not afraid to beat your ass.”

Her eyes widen as she processes your words, the confidence draining from her expression. “You think you can just intimidate me and get away with it?”

You lean in closer, your voice a dangerous whisper. “I’m not here to play games. If you’ve got a problem, we can sort it out. But don’t think for a second that you’re going to walk all over me without consequences.”

As you push your chest into the girl’s, you feel her shove back, her rage matching yours. The confrontation is heating up, and just as you’re about to respond, Mingyu strides over and steps in between you, pulling you back against him. His arms wrap around your shoulders and arms, his chest pressing against your back.

“Hey, hey, that’s enough,” Mingyu says, his voice authoritative. “Let’s not escalate this further.”

You struggle slightly, but his hold is steady, keeping you securely against him.

“How about you give me a ride and let me help you get away from this situation?” He whispers exaggeratedly.

You look over your shoulder, meeting his gaze, and sighing. Mingyu releases you from his embrace but keeps a protective hand on your back as you both walk towards your car. The freshman watches, but she doesn’t make a move to follow.

As you open the car door and slide into the driver’s seat, Mingyu gets in beside you, placing your bag on his lap, and settling into the passenger seat.

As you focus intently on the road, your jaw clenched and your eyes angrily fierce, Mingyu can’t help but notice the vigor of your expression. The anger from the conflict still simmers beneath the surface, and every so often, you grip the steering wheel a bit harder, your knuckles white. His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than he intends, his eyes admiring the mad energy that radiates from you.

He’s seen you angry before, but this—this is something different. There’s a raw, magnetic energy about you when you’re like this, and he can’t help but be captivated by it.

Mingyu bites his bottom lip, trying to steady himself. Part of him is charmed by how hot you look when you’re mad. It’s as if your anger fuels a side of you that’s irresistible. He shakes his head, trying to dispel the distracting thoughts. This isn’t the time for that.

He straightens up in his seat, looking out the window, focusing on the blur of trees and buildings rushing by. The silence in the car is thick, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional shift of gears.

Mingyu knows he needs to break the silence, to offer some kind of reassurance. But he’s also aware that now might not be the best time for his usual teasing.

Oh, maybe that's why he liked to tease you—the sight of you mad.

His hand, initially resting awkwardly at his side, slowly finds its way to your thigh. The touch is tentative at first, his fingers feeling the warmth of your skin through your jeans. He gives it a firm squeeze, trying to offer some comfort.

“Hey, Y/N,” Mingyu says softly. “Try to relax a bit. You’re too wound up.”

You soften your jaw, releasing some of the tightness, and let your shoulders relax. You lean your head slightly against the headrest. Mingyu’s thumb begins to make slow, soothing circles on your thigh. His touch is like a balm, easing some of the tension from your body.

You pull up in front of Mingyu’s home, the car coming to a gentle stop. The quiet of the night envelops you both as you turn off the engine. Mingyu glances at you, his eyes softening as he gives a small, grateful smile.

“Thanks for the ride, Y/N,” he says sincerely.

He reaches out, his fingers pinching the tense curve of your neck.

“Ouch!” You pout.

“You’re so tense,” he teases with a soft laugh, his fingers lingering for a moment.

You can’t help but sulk slightly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Well, you did just see me almost start a fight.”

Mingyu’s smile widens, and he leans in closer. “Let me help with that. I’m pretty good at taking away tension.”

Before you can respond, he starts kissing the curve of your neck with an unhurried, conscious trail of saliva. The sensation of his warm lips against your skin is making you melt against the seat. His hand moves to the other side of your neck, his fingers kneading the tense muscles with gentle strokes.

The combination of his kisses and the soothing massage leaves you in a state of blissful ease—but probably wet. You close your eyes, your head tilting back slightly as you surrender to the feeling.

Mingyu’s touch eventually slows, and he pulls back, a satisfied smile on his face. “Thanks for letting me help with that. You’re much better now.”

You nod, still slightly dazed from the unexpected massage. “You’re welcome. I—”

He cuts you off with a soft chuckle, opening the car door. “Oh, and before I forget,” he says, glancing back at you with a touch of playful seriousness. “Send me a message when you get home, okay?”

You nod again, managing a small smile as he steps out of the car. “I will.”

Mingyu closes the door with a final, lingering look, his smile wide as he heads up to his front door.

As Mingyu is about to open his front door, you call out to him. “Hey, Mingyu!”

He pauses, turning back with a curious eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“You nasty! Making a move like that right before you leave.”

Mingyu chuckles, his eyes twinkling with naughtiness. “Oh, was I too forward? I just wanted to help you relax. Maybe I got a bit carried away.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “A bit carried away? You practically turned my neck into a love nest.”

He grins, stepping closer to the car. “Well, if it means getting you to loosen up a bit, I’d say it was worth it. Besides, I thought you might enjoy it.”

Your cheeks flush slightly as you fight to keep your composure. “I—well, I did. But don’t think you can just get away with it.”

Mingyu leans against the car door, his expression smug. “Oh, I’m not worried about that. I’m sure you’ll be thinking about it on your ride home.”

You give him a mock glare, trying to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks. “Fine, fine. Just don’t think you’re off the hook for being a tease.”

Mingyu’s eyes twinkle with delight as he starts to head back toward his door. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances to get back at me. Until then, keep that bottom lip tight between your teeth. It’s kind of sexy when you do.”

You let the bottom lip escape from your teeth, your expression gawked.

“Don’t forget to text me when you get home, or I might have to come check on you.”

With that, Mingyu heads inside, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a tight grip on your bottom lip as you drive away, the naughty exchange lingering in your mind.

(open the photos)

The next day, Mingyu looked like he’d barely slept. His pristine appearance was disheveled, his eyes a bit glassy, and there was a certain exhaustion about him that was hard to miss. It was clear that your midnight message had taken a toll on him.

His tired eyes and the slight stubble on his face made it evident he’d been up all night, likely replaying your audio moaning and the hickey photo in his mind. You couldn’t suppress a smirk at the thought of how your little game had left him looking so disoriented.

“Morning, Mingyu. Rough night?” you teased, unable to resist the opportunity.

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. “You have no idea. What was that last night?” His voice was incredulous.

“You looked like you needed a wake-up call.”

Mingyu’s face flushed slightly, though it was hard to tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. “I didn’t expect you to take it that far. Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“Just keeping things interesting. You know, making sure you don’t get too comfortable. Besides, you started it.”

He shook his head, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. “Yeah, well, you definitely made your point. I think I might be feeling this one for a while.”

“Glad to hear it. I'll consider it a compliment.” You smirked, enjoying the way he was visibly trying to regroup.

Mingyu gave a reluctant chuckle, finally being able to see the humor in the situation. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you that. Just don’t make a habit of it. I need to survive the rest of this semester.”

Certainly, you and Mingyu hadn’t exactly become best friends overnight, but the dynamic between you two had undeniably shifted after what happened last night.

There was a new kind of tension in the air, an electric undercurrent that had nothing to do with animosity and everything to do with the teasing games you both seemed so fond of.

Mingyu was too attracted to your fiery expressions to let things slide, and he had to admit—something was thrilling about the way your usual small spats had taken a new direction.

But the teasing? That still remained, stronger than ever.

You were in the last class of the day, and you could tell from the way Mingyu’s gaze kept drifting toward you that he was aware of everything you were doing.

Earlier, you had been sliding your middle and ring fingers slowly inside the slit of your book, your smile widening as you noticed his eyes glued to your movements. Mingyu hadn’t missed a thing.

In the lab, he had been at the table right next to yours, and when you crouched down to pick up something “accidentally” dropped, you made sure to lift the front of your skirt just enough to give him a glimpse of your thighs. The fabric had risen provocatively, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes blackened, nor how he subtly adjusted his position as if to ease some tension.

On the third provocation, it clicked for him—he finally understood the game you were playing, and he was more than ready to play along.

Now, in the current lecture, you found yourself seated right beside him. You were doing your best to focus on the lecture, but when you glanced sideways, you saw him palming himself through his pants.

The motion was subtle enough not to draw attention from others, but obvious enough for you to notice the perfect outline of his cock pressing against the fabric. Your breath hitched as your thighs instinctively pressed together under the table.

Mingyu caught your reaction immediately, and you saw a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He licked his finger slowly, before using it to turn the page of his book, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. It was a blatant taunt, a silent challenge that he was not backing down.

But you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand. Not just yet.

You shifted in your seat, leaning back slightly as you let one of your legs brush against his under the table. The touch was light, almost accidental, but the way his body tensed told you he felt it.

You let the edge of your shoe graze up the inside of his calf, teasing your way higher as you pretended to be engrossed in your notes. Mingyu didn’t move, his breath growing shallower, but he didn’t pull away either.

Your hand slowly made its way to your lap, where you began tracing small circles on the fabric of your skirt, inching the hem higher just enough that he could see your fingers playing with the material.

You knew his eyes were glued to the action, his own hand still resting against his thigh, tense, almost daring you to keep going.

Without warning, you let your fingers dip beneath the hem of your skirt, brushing over the sensitive skin of your upper thigh. You could practically feel the restraint he was forcing on himself. His stare darted between your face, your hand, and the bit of exposed skin, as if he couldn’t decide which to focus on.

Then, leaning in slightly as if you were about to whisper something in his ear, you let your hand trail higher, just shy of the edge of your underwear. You didn’t touch yourself, but the implication was clear. Mingyu’s breathing hitched, and you could tell he was holding back a groan. His eyes were burning into you, the heat between you two palpable.

He wasn’t going to let this go unanswered. Not a chance.

Mingyu’s hand moved from his thigh to the edge of his desk, fingers tapping rhythmically as he tried to maintain his composure. But when you let out a small, barely audible sigh—one that could have been mistaken for frustration, but you knew better—his resolve broke.

Mingyu leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “Keep going like that, and I won’t be able to focus on anything but you. Is that what you want?”

You bit your bottom lip, glancing at him through your lashes, and nodded ever so slightly. Mingyu’s eyes darkened further, and he let out a quiet, almost desperate laugh.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Because I’m going to make you regret teasing me like this when we’re alone.”

The moment the bell rang, signaling the end of the lecture, you didn’t waste any time. Gathering your things quickly, you slipped out of the classroom, moving fast through the hallways with a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.

The rush of the chase made your heart race, knowing full well that Mingyu was right behind you. The game was on, and you had no intention of making it easy for him.

You headed straight for your car, hoping to put some distance between you and Mingyu, but before you could reach the driver's side, a firm grip caught your arm.

A strong hand grabbed your arm, spinning you around. Mingyu was right there, his expression a mix of amusement and challenge.

“Running away from me, are you?” he teased, his voice low and laced with a smirk.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a laugh as you looked up at him, your eyes gleaming with the same playful energy.

But before you could respond, Mingyu’s hand slid up to your jaw, his fingers firm yet gentle as he pressed you against the side of your car. Your back hit the cool metal, and you widened your eyes in surprise, your breath catching in your throat.

There were people around—students lingering in the parking lot, walking to their cars, chatting in small groups. But the way Mingyu looked at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race, made it clear that he didn’t care who was watching.

And from the heat in your gaze, he could tell you didn’t either.

The next thing you knew, the scene had shifted.

You were no longer in the parking lot, but somewhere far more yours. Your clothes were discarded in a trail leading to the bed, and now, Mingyu’s body was pressed flush against yours.

The teasing, the back-and-forth, the playful banter—it had all led to this moment, and now there was nothing holding either of you back.

You hated yourself for not being able to resist him.

Despite everything, despite knowing you shouldn’t be this weak for him, here you were, looking into his eyes, your jaw slack as you practically drooled.

Mingyu had already made you cum more times than you could count, his fingers and mouth driving you to the edge and beyond, and now, as he hovered above you, you struggled to take him in, feeling stretched to your absolute limit.

“Too big, too big… Mingyu—ah!” you cried out, your voice breaking as his cock pushed into you, filling you to the brim.

Mingyu’s lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he licked his lips, clearly enjoying the way you were unraveling beneath him. “Too big, huh?” he teased. “Should I have mercy on you?”

Before you could respond, his fingers reached down to your clit, pinching it just hard enough to make your back arch off the bed. The loud moan that escaped your lips was involuntary.

You felt a flush of embarrassment wash over you, ashamed of how desperate and clingy you were being for him, how you couldn’t control yourself around him.

“Shhh,” Mingyu chided softly. “You don’t want to be too loud, do you? Lola’s right in the next room.”

You had made sure to put the dog away, closing the door before things heated up. Frustrated, you slapped him lightly on the chest, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it only made him chuckle.

“You’re such a crybaby,” Mingyu whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy as he started to rock his hips, each thrust making you sob. “First crying on my shoulder… now crying on my cock. What am I going to do with you?”

Your eyes drifted down, catching sight of the bulge from his cock pressing against your belly, making the stretch inside you all the more real, all the more intense. Mingyu noticed too, his gaze following yours before his hand, the one that had been tormenting your clit, moved up to caress the bulge. He pressed down on it, the added pressure making you gasp, your legs spasming around him.

“Motherfucker,” you grit through your teeth, the words almost a growl.

Mingyu only smirked at your reaction. “Watch your mouth,” he scolded, his voice low as he began thrusting harder, each word punctuated by a sharp thrust. “You… need… to… learn… some… respect.”

With every thrust, your body tensed and then melted back into the sheets, the rhythm pushing you further into a state of desperate need.

Your chin quivered as you cried out, your voice trembling. One hand slid up his back, fingers digging into his skin, while the other wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you as your legs locked around his waist. You held him tight, clinging to him as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Mingyu smiled, leaning in so his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke. “You’re so cute when I fuck you like this,” he murmured. “All grumpy and stubborn outside, but here… you just melt for me.”

You wanted to respond, to say something back, but the pressure was too much, too intense, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body strung tight like a bow ready to snap.

And then it did.

Your entire body tensed, every muscle tightening as the pleasure yanked through you. Your back arched off the bed, pressing your chest against his as your nails dug into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks along his back.

Your legs tightened around him, trapping him in place as your body convulsed, your walls clenching around his cock in a desperate attempt to pull him even deeper. Your vision blurred, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes as you sobbed his name, the sound of it broken, completely broken.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—everything was white-hot pleasure, consuming you completely.

Mingyu stayed with you through it all, his own breath hitching as he watched you come undone beneath him.

Your body was still trembling from your orgasm, but Mingyu didn’t give you a moment to recover. He continued thrusting into you, relentless despite how tight you were around him.

Sensing your haze, Mingyu pulled back slightly from your embrace, his strong arms still cradling your trembling frame. His hands found their way to your face, and before you could process it, he gave you a light slap, just enough to snap you back to reality.

The sting on your face was a shock, but it was the way your body reacted—clenching tighter around his cock—that caught both of you off guard.

He watched your eyes widen. The effect it had on you was unmistakable, and Mingyu, ever the tease, decided to test it again. Another slap, this time a bit firmer, and the response was immediate—your walls squeezed him so tightly that he hissed through his teeth.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me—” His voice broke off into a moan as his hips stuttered, a hand flying to the pillow under your head to brace himself.

He came hard, a deep, guttural groan escaping his lips as his head fell back, eyes rolling as his release filled you. He stayed there for a moment, savoring the high, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he drank in the way your body clung to his.

You looked up at him, your breath still coming in uneven gasps, annoyed at how effortlessly he pulled you under his spell.

He looked too good, too smug, and it pissed you off—especially when he came with that full, satisfied grin plastered across his face. The sight of him, made your irritation spike, but it was quickly overshadowed by something else when he started to move again.

Mingyu wasn’t done. He raised himself up slightly, and you couldn’t help but feel confused. What was he planning now? Before you could ask, he began to lower himself, and your confusion turned into shock as the realization hit you.

He’s not going to… You thought to yourself, eyes widening as you watched him get lower.

But he was.

Mingyu was about to do the nastiest shit, and the excitement was written all over his face. The look of surprise + disbelief on your face only fueled him further, making him more determined to see this through. He lowered his mouth to your core, the mix of your juices and his cum still leaking out of you, and without hesitation, he began to eat you out, his tongue lapping up the mess he had made.

The overstimulation, plus, something so dirty it made your head spin. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him in a trance. You could barely process what was happening—his lips, his tongue, all of it working on you again, despite the fact that you were already so sensitive, and full of his cum.

“Mingyu, what the fuck—” you started, but the rest of your sentence was lost to a moan as his tongue flicked out to taste more of you—and… him. His own cum smeared across his lips and chin.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He teased even as he continued to lap at you, sucking and nibbling on your sensitive flesh until your hips were twitching uncontrollably. “Too much for you? Or do you like watching me clean up my own mess?”

You tried to speak, tried to tell him to stop or keep going; you weren’t sure anymore, but all that came out were broken moans and gasps. He hummed against you, the vibration sending shivers through your already overstimulated body. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place as his tongue worked you over.

He finally pulled back, leaving you breathless and trembling, your body still humming with the orgasm he'd just given you. You looked down at your pussy, glistening from his attention, but something didn’t add up. There was no trace of the mess he had made earlier, just the slickness from his saliva. Confused, your eyes flicked back to him, then back down to yourself, your mind struggling to piece together what the fuck had just happened.

Mingyu caught your fogged look and let out a deep, satisfied laugh, the sound was rich, deep, and so incredibly self-satisfied.

He stuck his tongue out, showing you the clean, pink muscle—without a hint of the mess you expected—and you nearly lost it. Did he really swallow it all? Your mind raced, and the disbelief was written all over your face.

“Fuck... did you just…?” you started, but the words got caught in your throat. You were too stunned to finish the thought.

He grinned, leaning on his elbows, completely unbothered by what had just transpired. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a low, teasing drawl. “Swallowed every drop.”

Your eyes widened, shock flooding your system. You could hardly believe it. And the worst part? He looked so damn proud of himself.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Not even you had tasted him like that, and yet he had done it without a second thought. The realization hit you like a truck, and before you knew it, you were pulling him back to you, needing to feel him, taste him, and confirm that it had really happened.

Your lips crashed into his, and you kissed him with an appetite that surprised even you. His mouth was warm and soft, the remnants of his earlier work still lingering, and it only made you more desperate.

Mingyu’s hands slid into your hair, tugging slightly as he deepened the kiss, feeding off your urgency. When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, he gave you a smug smile, his thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip.

“Taste good, doesn’t it?” he teased. “Thought I’d save you some, but… I couldn’t help myself. It was too fucking good.”

You stared at him, still trying to process everything, and he just laughed again, the sound rumbling through his chest as he watched you grapple with the situation.

[...]

You didn’t know how you managed to sleep after everything that had happened. By all accounts, you should have been wide awake, staring at the ceiling in disbelief. But exhaustion won out, and not only did you fall asleep—you practically passed out. The weight of the night’s events melted away as soon as your head hit the pillow, dragging you into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Morning crept up on you gently, the first thing you noticed being something warm and wet against your face. Your eyes fluttered open, and you were met with Lola’s excited little face, her tongue happily lapping at your cheek. You groaned, half-heartedly trying to push her away, but she was relentless, her tail wagging furiously behind her.

“Lola, come on… let her sleep,” came Mingyu’s voice, a shout-whisper from somewhere near the foot of the bed. You could hear the fun in his tone, despite the fact that he was trying to be serious.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, surprising even you with its lightness. It felt strange, this casual morning after, as if last night hadn’t completely turned your world upside down.

You wiped at your face Lola's excitement was contagious, and soon you were sitting up, rubbing your eyes and grinning at her.

Mingyu walked over, his hair still mussed from sleep, an easy smile on his face as he watched you. “Guess she missed you,” he said, shrugging as if to say he couldn’t be held responsible for Lola’s antics.

“Yeah, I can tell,” you replied, your voice still thick with sleep as you scratched behind Lola’s ears.

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hon3y-y · 11 months ago

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Mean nerd! Choso who is extreme intelligent and makes it known. He calls you dumb and belittles your intelligence, but is secretly in love with you. He offers to tutor you and every time you get a good grade he rewards by eating you out and being so sweet and loving, but when you get a bad grade punishment is the worst.

cw; dubcon/noncon (vv light), smut

He’s a meanie but it’s only to show his love:( he wants better for you, and he wants your dumb little brain to be filled with knowledge. He only calls you a “stupid slut” because he cares, not because he likes to see your pretty eyes tear up and your cheeks flush with humiliation. And he definitely doesn’t use that image when he’s pumping his fist full of his cum, his eyes rolling back as he forces himself through a third orgasm to the thought of your pretty tear stained cheeks.

In all honesty, He wants to make you sob on his dick and make your brain numb to anything but the way his cock drags against your tight cunt, maybe he could fuck the knowledge into you? He was willing to give it a try at the very least.

After weeks of torture, he finally convinced you to a tutoring session after saying that “you need him” if you want to pass the class with a decent grade. He worked you tirelessly, making you stay late to study and pulling your hair if you went to sleep(but not before putting his own head down and admiring your puffy lips and the light drool, cooing when your nose scrunched). The sessions usually ending with you in tears, your wobbly voice saying “I’m done.” and leaving mad.

You had full intention of quitting, sick and tired of the endless torments until you looked at your next exam. The score higher than all the rest and a bitter taste in your mouth when you realized he actually did help you.

At the next session you showed him the perfect score, reluctantly saying thank you. You were surprised when he gave you a genuine smile and even more when he had you face down on his bed, eating your pussy like a man. He’s spitting and licking from your clit to your ass, pushing his tongue in and smiling cheekily when you gasp.

Your head is in sheets that smell like him, arching your back as you whimper out praises and begging for him to not stop. He places a teasing kiss to your clit, pulling back to watch his fingers pop through the tiny hole of your pussy, biting his lip to stop a groan as he feels you flutter and nearly creams his pants when you look back to plead with him. “It’s okay baby, I got you~” he leans down to kiss your ass cheek before continuing to eat you out until you’re thrashing and squealing at the lightest touches.

He works you into overstimulation because he loves how you look when you cum, the tiny noises you make and the sound of his stuttered name making his cock twitch. He’ll reach down in the middle of slurping your juices to rub his hard-on through his sweats, letting out little puffs of hot air on your pussy when he brushes over his sensitive tip. He’ll probably make himself cum in his pants, reaching his dirty fingers to push into you or swirl over your soaking lips to make it creamier, watching the two of you mix together, making his soft dick hard again.

But god forbid you bring him a bad grade, you’ll leave sore and bruised. He’ll spank you until you’re sobbing and then slap your pussy until it’s raw, “you’re nothing but a slut huh? What, I treat you well once and you go and get stupid on me?”

He had you in mating press, cock hitting your cervix as you let out a choked sob. You’re sore cunt aches for him. he’s been edging you for hours and refuses to let you cum, leaving you to plead and wail as he pushes you closer to the edge again. “C-cho, please—been s’ good!” You slur, not being able to form words as he bullies his cock into you and uses his hand to cut off your circulation.

He scoffs, “good girls get good grades.” He pulls out completely, groaning as he pumps his cock and cums on your face with a whine. You shut your eyes when it lands on you, eye brows furrowing. “But I haven’t—“ he cuts you off with a tut, shaking his head as he catches his breath. “Only smart girls get to cum, sweetheart. let’s get cleaned up.”

**bonus**Will perform aftercare anyway because he’s not a monster</3, you’ll just pout the whole time and he’ll enjoy every second of it.

#jjk #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #chubby reader #need him so bad #choso x female reader #jjk smut

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ellecdc · 4 months ago

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Can we get a James potter pregnancy fic like the moon water one? I just on ow he’d be so sweet and doting and wouldn’t let you lift a finger.

it's so true though - he would be a master coddler, & sorry to leave you waiting since April, this fic gave me a run for my money 🥺

James Potter x pregnant wife!reader who interrupts game night

CW: mentions of pregnancy, gambling?

Sirius was not too proud to admit that he felt immediately guilty when he realised the mistake he had made.

As you got further along in your pregnancy, James had become increasingly less inclined to leave your side for any extended amount of time.

It got to the point that James actually took a leave of absence from work, and was now debating whether or not he’d ever go back once the baby was born.

Remus, Sirius, and Peter all had bets on how long that was going to last, knowing how…involved James could be, not withstanding the potential pregnancy hormone related fits of anger and exhaustion.

So, this week's game night (and likely every remaining one until perhaps your child went to Hogwarts) was being hosted at James’.

“Sorry boys, I just don’t want to risk not being here in case she needs anything, you know?” He had said.

And they did know; and quite frankly, Sirius was looking forward to not having to clean up after his sodding friends, so there were no complaints from him or Moony. And your place was closer to Peter’s flat, so he was happy for an excuse to take an evening stroll.

So when the four friends were sitting around a circular dining table, bickering over whose turn it was in their game of muggle poker and you were - what was only now very clear to Sirius - tiptoeing down the stairs of your townhouse, Sirius really shouldn’t have made your presence known.

“What are you doing up?” James asked as he quickly dropped his cards - face down, dammit - onto the table to make his way over to you after being alerted to your presence by Sirius’ traitorous smile and wave.

“I just wanted a snack, Jamie.” You admitted, half bashful and half frustrated at the fussing, though you accepted James' embrace willingly.

Sirius thought the hug looked awkward, seeing as how the two of you needed to leave so much room for your belly.

“You should’ve told me, angel; I would have gotten it for you.” He chided gently as he ushered you (forced you) into his seat with a gentle hand on your back.

You smiled apologetically at the boys as you sat in James’ seat with only a small groan and a hand on your belly.

“Sorry, Trouble.” Sirius apologised quickly. But you - the sweet ‘angel’ that you were - simply waved him off.

“Even if I had made it to the kitchen, he would have heard me rummaging in the fridge.” You said simply, picking up James’ cards and reorganising them.

“Has he got anything good?” Peter asked quickly, causing you to shake your head no before putting the cards back down.

“Damn sod’s been bluffing; he was always such a terrible liar at Hogwarts when he was the lookout for our pranks, how on earth can he bluff?” Remus asked incredulously as he dropped his own hand down on the table (face down, damnit).

“He’s not bluffing; I don’t think he has a clue how to play this game.” You explained simply.

“You should come to all of our game nights.” Sirius chuckled as he gently nudged your arm with his elbow.

You chuckled and looked towards the kitchen. “The point of gamenights was for you four to get together, and for me to have a quiet house.”

“Please.” James called as he made his way out of the kitchen with a tray of various treats in one hand and a large cup of ice water in the other. “You gave up having a quiet house the second you said ‘I do’.”

You accepted a loving kiss to your temple as he handed the cup of water to you and placed the tray in front of you on top of his cards.

If Sirius didn’t get a peak at someone’s cards really fucking soon-

“How many more weeks do you have?” Remus asked you then; probably a polite thing to ask a pregnant couple but Sirius was a little preoccupied wondering if there was an X-ray vision spell he could use to see through Peter’s cards.

“Too many.” You responded as James offered a jovial “It’s gone by so quickly!”

“Jamie, I really don’t think you get to say that.” You admonished him, though Sirius could tell the furrow of your brows was all for show.

“What? Why? I feel like this pregnancy has just flown by!”

“Oh, well I’m very glad you feel that way.” You sneered. “But you’re not the one who had to stretch and grow and carry around a bowling ball.”

Sirius felt himself swallow nervously in James’ honour, but the dumb sod simply beamed at you lovingly and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s because you’ve done it so beautifully, angel; you made it look easy.”

And damn James and his smoothness; he had even Sirius blushing.

“Alright, I’m in.” Remus announced then as he pushed a pile of chips towards the centre of the table.

“Me too.” Peter agreed as he followed in suit.

Sirius felt like he was grasping at billywigs, but he felt he had a better chance than James, so he, too, bet a couple of chips.

“What say you, Prongs?” Peter asked then.

James turned back to the game, looking surprised as if he’d forgotten they’d been playing at all.

“Oh, I fold.” He said simply.

“What!?” Sirius screeched as he threw his cards down on the table.

Remus made an exasperated groaning sound as he also placed his cards face up.

“Yeah, I had nothing.” James responded with a casual shrug.

“Nice.” Peter murmured quietly as he took in the state of Remus and Sirius’ cards before placing his own down on the table and pulling the chips towards himself.

“For fucks sake!” Sirius shouted.

“Pads! Little ears!” James chided.

“Are they even fully developed yet?” Sirius muttered back, earning him a swat up the back of the head from his boyfriend.

“Oh yes.” You said solemnly. “Babe has been very active everytime Uncle Pads talks.”

Sirius paused in his tussle with Moony to whip his head towards you. “Really!?”

You smiled and nodded, holding your hand out for his which he took willingly and allowed you to place it to a particularly hard spot on your stomach.

“Say something.” You instructed.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good!” He chanted, the end of his sentence rising an octave (or two, if you asked Moony) when he felt a little kick right underneath his hand. “Oh my godric!”

“I wanna feel.” Remus murmured as he reached over his boyfriend to swap places.

“Mischief managed.” Sirius continued, feeling the slight jump of excitement in Remus’ body at the movement he obviously felt beneath his hand.

“Oh gods, you’re gonna have a trouble maker.” Peter remarked with a shake of his head, though his smile let you know the comment was made in jest.

“Oh, there was never any doubt about that, considering who the father is.” You quipped back, smiling lovingly up at James who simply beamed down at you in turn.

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair, boys.” You said as you made to stand. “Let you get back to your games.”

Your sentence was met with a round of dissent.

“No, no mama. We’ll leave.” Sirius argued as he too stood.

“What? Why are we leaving!?” Pete asked then.

“Peter, you already took all our money, leave the expecting parents to their evening, yeah?” Remus reprimanded, causing the three of them to look over only to see James blanketed over you from behind with both of his hands resting on your stomach as he murmured softly into your ear.

Your eyes were closed as you allowed James to rock the two of you back and forth with a soft smile spread across your face.

“Come on Petey, we’re officially intruding.” Sirius added as he tossed another chip at his friend. “Take this for the road - I’ll be winning it all back at our next game night.”

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #james potter #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter drabble #james potter ficlet #james potter blurb #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter fanfiction #kid fic #pregnant!reader #james potter x pregnant!reader #ellecdc fics

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moonstruckme · 3 months ago

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hi i love your blog! could you write poly!marauders where james is away on a business trip and everyone is moping because they miss him

Hi, I love you! Thanks for requesting :)

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 863 words

You feel a bit guilty resting your head on Sirius' shoulder while longing for another. But you reason that it’s not so bad if the one you’re longing for is Sirius’ boyfriend, too. And you like to think that if it were James’ warm, cushiony shoulder you were leaning against, you’d be missing Sirius instead.

“How was everyone’s day?” you ask.

Remus turns to give you a peculiar look. “It was fine. We talked about this already, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I just feel like we’re not usually so quiet during the commercial breaks.”

“Well, our yapper’s gone,” Sirius says sulkily.

“James does usually start the conversation,” admits Remus. “But we don’t need him to talk, yeah?”

“Right.” You nod, sitting up with what you hope looks like conviction. “Sirius, you can yap just as well as James can.”

“Yeah, but I need him to get me going.” Your boyfriend sighs heavily. “He’d probably ask something like ‘If we were all in a circus, what would our roles be?’ and I can’t come up with shit like that.”

“No, that’s great!” You try to sound peppy. “Um, okay. Sirius would probably be a trapeze artist, right?”

Remus nods. “And I could see you being a tightrope walker.”

You both look to Sirius for his analysis, but he looks unimpressed. Still, he plays along. “Rem would be one of those blokes who eat fire, likely.”

“Yeah,” you laugh.

See, you can have fun! This is fun, right? But then your film comes back on, and you all lapse into silence again.

“James would’ve never let us watch this,” you say after a few minutes. “He’d have made us pick a comedy or something.”

“And he would’ve been right,” Sirius agrees. “This is fucking bleak.”

“It’s not so bad,” Remus says, making you and Sirius exchange a look. For as much as James loves Remus, he’s most often the victim of his film vetoes. Remus’ taste is bleak.

It’s another few minutes before an actress on-screen says a line, and Remus clears his throat awkwardly.

“That’s what she said.”

You and Sirius look at him with a mixture of befuddlement and alarm.

“What?” He shifts in his seat. “I’m trying to fill a gap.”

Sirius appears scandalized. “James’ jokes are far more advanced than that.”

“He said ‘that’s what she said’ just last week.”

“Yes, but in a completely different context!”

“We could call him,” you point out.

Remus’ expression creases longingly. “No, he’s been in meetings all day. I’m sure he’ll want to rest.”

But Sirius clicks the speaker button on his phone, letting the dial tone play aloud. Remus looks almost relieved.

James picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hi,” you all say loudly, voices each trying to be heard over the others.

“We need you to come home,” Sirius whines.

“What?” James sounds closer to the speaker now, like he’s holding the phone tight to his face. “Is everything okay?”

“Don’t say that,” Remus hisses at Sirius. “Everything’s fine, Jamie.”

“We just miss you,” you clarify.

“Oh.” The relief is obvious in your boyfriend’s voice, and you notice your other two boyfriends smiling fondly at the sound of it. You think your own expression probably looks just about as humiliatingly smitten. “Awe. I miss you guys, too. Like crazy, you have no idea.”

“I think we have some.” Sirius raises a brow at the phone. “Rem just tried to make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke.”

A sharp cough crackles through the speaker. “Did he? How did it go?”

“Poorly.”

“Ah, well.” You can practically feel the warmth of James’ smile from hundreds of miles away. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll work on it when I get back.”

“I’d rather not do it again, actually,” Remus grumbles.

“How was your day?” You lean on Sirius’ shoulder again, getting close to the phone like James is contained within it.

“Boring,” he says emphatically. “I got told off by some old woman for tapping my pen on my pad too loudly while someone was giving a presentation. The hotel they’ve put us up in isn’t bad, though. Free breakfast in the morning to get us energized for another day or torment.”

“Ooh, could you see if they have those little blueberry muffins?” Sirius asks. “And if they do, wrap me up a few to bring home with you.”

“Sirius,” Remus chides.

“I’ll check,” James agrees easily. “Rem, do you want some chocolate ones if they have those?”

If James could see the way your boyfriend flushes pink, he’d be grinning ear to ear. “Yes, please,” Remus replies.

“Brilliant. And for you, lovie?”

“I’ll just mooch off of Sirius’ blueberry ones.” You snicker when Sirius gasps, sneaking a hand around your waist to pinch at your middle.

“Oh, perfect,” says James. “I’ll make sure to grab a few less, then, so you can really fight over them.”

“Prick,” Sirius accuses.

“Love you, too. So, how was everyone else’s day?”

You catch yourself smiling a second before seeing a similarly contented expression reflected on Sirius’ face. Remus moves from his armchair to the couch, and you all lean into the phone as you tell him.

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solxamber · 1 day ago

Text

And I Pick...

In which you choose the club that caught your eye

Part 1

After much contemplation you've finally decided to pick the:

Basketball Club

The basketball court was quiet for all of two seconds after you announced your decision.

Then Ace exploded.

"HA! I knew you’d pick us! I called it!" He was practically doing laps around the court, pointing at nothing in particular. "Ace Trappola: the ultimate recruiter, the club MVP, and now the guy who brought you on board! This is the best day of my life!"

"Eh, it’s about time," Floyd drawled, stretching lazily. "Took ya long enough to figure out where the fun is." His sharp-toothed grin widened. "Now we can play my version of full-contact basketball. Hehehe."

"Absolutely not," Jamil cut in, but Floyd wasn’t listening.

"Don’t worry," Floyd said, throwing an arm around your shoulders like you’d been lifelong teammates. "If you survive the first practice, you’ll survive all the practices. Probably."

Ace jogged back over, breathless but triumphant. "I told you we’re the best club! No boring rules, no endless laps like in Deuce's lame track team, and best of all—" He struck a dramatic pose, arms wide. "You get to hang out with me every day!"

"Please don’t make them quit on the first week," Jamil muttered, giving you a look that seemed to say, Are you sure about this?

"Quit? Nahhh!" Ace grinned. "They’re gonna thrive here. I’ll even teach them my signature moves—like my no-look, backwards, mid-air layup."

"You can’t even do that," Jamil said flatly.

"Not yet," Ace shot back. "But it’s the thought that counts."

Floyd leaned in closer, his grin somehow growing wider. "You better keep up, shrimpy. Otherwise, I might have to… spice things up a little."

"Spice things up?" you echoed, immediately suspicious.

"He means doing things like replacing the basketballs with watermelons," Jamil deadpanned.

Ace snorted. "Or throwing the ball at the hoop so hard it breaks the backboard. Oh wait, that actually happened. Twice."

"It was fun," Floyd said, completely unrepentant.

Jamil sighed like a man who’d aged a decade in the last five minutes. But then, to your surprise, he turned to you and offered a small, genuine smile. "Still… I’m glad you’re here. Welcome to the team."

The words were simple, but coming from Jamil, they felt like a warm endorsement.

Ace clapped his hands together, clearly ready to move things along. "Alright, enough talking! Let’s get you on the court and see what you’ve got!"

"Or we could start slow," Jamil suggested, but Ace was already dragging you toward the center of the court, Floyd trailing behind with a basketball under one arm.

"Don’t worry," Floyd said, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly. "If ya mess up, we’ll just laugh at ya a little. No big deal~."

"No one’s laughing at anyone," Jamil said firmly, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ace threw an arm around your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Ignore him. We’re gonna have a blast! First practice starts now!"

You weren’t sure what you’d gotten yourself into, but judging by their enthusiasm (and Floyd’s maniacal laughter), you were in for one chaotic ride.

Track and Field Club

The moment you declared your allegiance to the track and field club, Deuce’s face lit up like someone had just told him he passed his midterms.

“You’re… really joining?” he asked, like he needed double confirmation. When you nodded, his grin widened, the kind that made him look both relieved and excited. “That’s awesome! Uh—welcome to the team! Seriously, it’s great to have you.” His usual earnestness shone through, and he scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m still kind of learning the ropes, but we can figure things out together. It’s gonna be great!”

Jack, standing beside him, gave a firm nod of approval. “Good call. Track and field’s a solid choice. You’ll fit right in.” His tail wagged just enough to betray how happy he was, even if his tone stayed calm.

"Yeah!" Deuce agreed. “And, uh, don’t worry about keeping up or anything. It’s all about improving at your own pace. Right, Jack?”

“Sure,” Jack replied, glancing at you. Then he added, almost casually, “We’ll work on your stamina. You’re gonna need it.”

It took you a second to catch the faint glint in his eye, and then you remembered—oh no, the fridge comment. Jack had been disturbed ever since.

Deuce, oblivious to the subtext, chimed in, “Yeah, Jack’s great at that stuff! He’s got this crazy endurance. Like, he can run forever. I’m still working on it, but, uh, you’re in good hands!”

Jack’s tail swished again. “Just be ready to push yourself. But don’t worry—we’ve got your back.”

“Exactly!” Deuce said, his fists clenching like he was ready to run a marathon right there. “This is gonna be awesome. I mean, not that it wasn’t already great, but now it’s even better. Right, Jack?”

Jack gave a small, satisfied smile. “Right.”

As they led you toward the field, you couldn’t help but wonder what you’d just signed up for. One thing was certain, though—Jack’s still thinking about that fridge, and he will make sure it’s not an issue anymore.

Board Game Club

The moment you declared your allegiance to the board game club, Azul adjusted his glasses, looking smugly pleased with himself, like he'd just negotiated the deal of the century.

"An excellent decision," he said, his voice as smooth as the perfectly polished board games stacked behind him. "With your addition to our club, I foresee a new golden age of strategic victories."

Idia, sitting half-hidden behind a pile of unopened game boxes, choked on his energy drink. "W-Wait, you’re serious? They actually chose us?" His hair flared a brilliant shade of pink for a moment before he pulled his hoodie tighter around himself. "Th-this isn’t some prank, right? Like, I’m not gonna look up and see them bolting out the door laughing, right?"

"Nope," you replied with a grin. "I’m all in."

Ortho, ever the enthusiastic hype man, zipped into the room with his jet thrusters. "Welcome to the club! Now we have a full party for dungeon raids. This is amazing!"

Azul cleared his throat, waving a hand. "Ahem, while cooperative RPGs are certainly an option, I believe we should start with a game of strategy and wit to introduce them properly. Perhaps a round of Chess of Betrayal?"

Idia groaned, sinking further into his hoodie. "Ugh, that game takes, like, three hours. If you’re gonna scare them away, at least wait until they’re too deep in to quit. Why don’t we start with something easy, like Goblin King Gauntlet?"

Ortho clapped his hands. "Ooh, I love that one! It has a random trap mechanic! Let’s play that!"

Azul raised an eyebrow, his smile shark-like. "Trap mechanics are hardly a proper welcome. It would be far better to demonstrate the finer nuances of strategy, wouldn’t you agree?"

Idia muttered something about Azul turning everything into a power play, but you interrupted before they could spiral into a full-blown debate. "Honestly, I’m fine with anything. Just deal me in."

Azul’s smirk widened. "Very well, then. I shall prepare the game board. And don’t worry, I’ll make certain you’re fully equipped for our upcoming campaigns. You’ll find we offer more than just fun—we offer victory."

Idia peeked out from his hoodie, a small, hopeful smile creeping onto his face. "You’re not bad at this whole club thing. Maybe this won’t be so terrible."

As they started setting up the game, you felt an unexpected warmth. Sure, it was just a board game club, but there was something endearing about their chaotic enthusiasm.

Though one thing was clear—Azul would probably try to sell you game tokens at some point, and Idia would absolutely try to teach you how to min-max your dice rolls.

But hey, you were ready for it.

Film Studies Club

When you announced your decision to join the film studies club, Vil paused mid-sip of his herbal tea, one elegantly arched eyebrow rising. For a moment, he looked like he was considering whether he had heard you correctly. Then, with a practiced air of nonchalance, he set the teacup down.

"Hm. Acceptable," he said coolly, though his tone betrayed a slight uptick of satisfaction. "It’s rare to find someone with enough taste to appreciate the art of cinema. I suppose your presence will be… useful."

But the slight curl of his lips gave him away.

He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat, and gave you an appraising look. "We have much to discuss. If you’re serious about this, you’ll need to commit entirely—no half-measures, no excuses. The camera is unforgiving, and I have no intention of allowing this club to falter under subpar contributions."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already pacing, gesturing dramatically like the star of an avant-garde production. "Lighting, blocking, composition—they are all integral to creating art, not merely entertainment. I trust you won’t embarrass yourself, or me, for that matter."

Despite his words, you caught the faintest hint of pride in his gaze as he turned to face you fully. "And, if for some reason, acting isn’t your strength, there are other roles. Cinematography, set design, editing… Perhaps backstage work would suit you, should you fail the audition."

He didn’t say it to be harsh; this was Vil’s version of encouragement. And as he continued outlining the club’s vision—"a modern renaissance in storytelling"—you realized he was genuinely excited to have you there, even if he’d rather gargle poison than openly admit it.

Finally, he stopped and gave you a small, approving nod. "Welcome to the film studies club. Don’t make me regret this."

Translation: I’m glad you’re here.

Science Club

The moment you announced your decision to join the science club, Rook’s eyes lit up like you’d just declared him the ruler of the universe.

"Ah, mon ami! What a magnifique choice!" he exclaimed, sweeping you into a theatrical bow so deep you thought he might topple over. "You possess the soul of an explorer, a true seeker of knowledge! Together, we shall unlock the mysteries of nature and celebrate its beauty in all its forms!"

"Uh… don’t scare them off, Rook," Trey interjected, though he was smiling. He adjusted his apron, clearly relieved that you hadn’t bolted under Rook’s enthusiastic greeting. "We’re glad to have you. Really. It’s nice to have someone else around who won’t accidentally set the lab on fire."

You raised an eyebrow. "That’s a low bar."

Trey shrugged. "You’d be surprised how many fail to meet it."

Before you could respond, Rook was already spinning grand plans. "Imagine the adventures we will have! Scaling mountains, crafting elixirs, nurturing delicate blossoms—ah, the poetry of science!" He clasped his hands to his chest, radiating so much joy that you were worried he’d break into song.

Trey, ever the grounded one, sighed fondly. "What he means is: we do a little bit of everything. Growing plants, chemistry experiments, cooking—you’ll fit right in. Assuming Rook doesn’t scare you off first."

Rook turned to Trey with an exaggerated gasp, as if the very suggestion of him being overwhelming was the greatest insult he’d ever received. "Chevalier des Roses, how could you wound me so?" He turned back to you with a theatrical flourish. "Fear not! I shall be your guide, your companion, your—"

"Assistant," Trey cut in, giving you a knowing look. "We'll assist you. Don’t let him take over your projects."

You grinned, feeling oddly at home already. Between Rook’s boundless enthusiasm and Trey’s steadying presence, you realized the science club might just be the perfect balance of chaos and calm.

Pop Music Club

When you announced your decision to join the Pop Music Club, Lilia was the first to react. He shot up from his chair with a dramatic flourish, his cape—where did the cape come from?—billowing as if on cue.

"Ah, an excellent choice! Welcome to the most electrifying club in the entire school!" Lilia declared, his voice reverberating like an arena announcer. He played an imaginary riff on an air guitar, complete with sound effects that you were almost certain were magically amplified.

Kalim clapped his hands, beaming as brightly as the sun. "This is going to be so much fun! We can sing duets, make up dances, throw a party for every new song we write—oh! We should have a welcome party for you right now!" He was already halfway to grabbing balloons out of thin air before Cater stopped him.

"Easy there, Kalim," Cater said with a laugh, pulling out his phone to snap a picture. "We haven’t even started jamming yet! Gotta document this first—‘New Member Alert 🚨🎶! Welcome to the coolest club at NRC!’” He posed next to you, flipping through filters. "Ooh, should we do a pastel vibe or go all-out neon?"

"Why not both?" Lilia suggested, somehow holding a tambourine he hadn’t been holding two seconds ago. He shook it with gusto, the jingles creating an impromptu beat.

Kalim joined in instantly, dancing around the room with energy that could probably power a small city. "This is going to be amazing! Do you play any instruments? Can you sing? Or maybe you’ll write the songs? Wait, can you do all three?!"

Before you could answer, Lilia leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "Don’t worry, even if you’re terrible, I can teach you. After all, I’ve had centuries of experience."

"Centuries of experience at what exactly?" you asked, though you weren’t entirely sure you wanted the answer.

"Everything," Lilia replied cryptically, shaking the tambourine once more for emphasis.

Cater gave you a wink. "Don’t let him intimidate you. He’s mostly harmless. Mostly."

As the chaos swirled around you, you realized joining the Pop Music Club was probably going to be as much about managing everyone’s energy as it was about making music.

But looking at their genuine excitement, you couldn’t help but feel you’d made the right choice. It was going to be loud, unpredictable, and—most importantly—a lot of fun.

Equestrian Club

When you chose the Equestrian Club, Riddle’s reaction was immediate and deeply Riddle. He straightened his posture, cleared his throat, and gave you a small but dignified nod, though his ears turned the faintest shade of pink.

“A wise decision,” he said primly, but his voice wavered just enough to give away his excitement. “The Equestrian Club values discipline and care, and I trust you will uphold those values. Welcome.” He paused, then added with uncharacteristic softness, “I’m glad you chose us.”

Sebek, on the other hand, reacted with his usual intensity, which was to say, very loudly.

“AS EXPECTED OF SOMEONE WITH DISCERNING TASTE!” Sebek bellowed, saluting for no discernible reason. “THE EQUESTRIAN CLUB IS A PLACE OF HONOR AND DILIGENCE. YOU HAVE MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE, AND I, SEBEK ZIGVOLT, SHALL PERSONALLY ENSURE YOU MEET OUR HIGH STANDARDS!”

“You’re going to scare the horses,” Silver muttered, patting a dozing mare who didn’t even flinch at Sebek’s volume. Clearly, she’d built up an immunity.

Silver turned to you with a sleepy but genuine smile. “Welcome. It’ll be nice having another person around who actually seems calm. I’ll show you the best places to ride, and we’ll make sure you’re comfortable with the horses.”

“And with the rules,” Riddle interjected, already retrieving a stack of laminated pages. “Equestrian care is not something to take lightly. You’ll need to memorize these guidelines to ensure both your safety and that of the horses.”

Sebek leaned over your shoulder to inspect the stack and immediately saluted again. “AN EXCELLENT INITIATIVE, HOUSEWARDEN ROSEHEARTS! I, TOO, WILL MEMORIZE THESE IN CASE THEY EVER REQUIRE REINFORCEMENT!”

“I think they’re fine,” Silver said. “We don’t need to make this harder than it needs to be.”

Riddle frowned. “Standards exist for a reason, Silver. Though I appreciate your enthusiasm, perhaps we can—Sebek, stop shouting—perhaps we can go over the basics first before overwhelming them.”

As Riddle and Sebek debated, Silver handed you a carrot to feed one of the horses. “Don’t worry,” he said, as the horse happily munched away. “It’s not as intense as it seems. Usually.”

You glanced at the stack of rules in Riddle’s hand and the fervent look in Sebek’s eyes. It was definitely going to be an adjustment. But seeing how genuinely happy they all were to have you—yes, even Sebek—you felt like this would be worth it.

Magift Club

When you announced your decision to join the Magift Club as their manager, the reaction was instantaneous and… surprisingly chaotic.

Ruggie let out a whoop, immediately dropping to the floor in a mock bow. "Ayo, everyone, bow to the boss! Finally, someone who can keep this circus in line!"

Leona, lounging on the sidelines, cracked open an eye and smirked. “’Bout time. Herbivores usually flake out, but I knew you were better than the rest.” He stretched lazily, like he’d personally orchestrated your decision. “Just keep the snacks coming, and we’ll get along fine.”

Epel looked between them and grinned, his enthusiasm much more grounded. “It’s great to have ya! With you around, maybe Leona will actually show up to warmups... or not just sleep through it.” He shot a pointed glance at their captain, who was, of course, ignoring him entirely.

“Eh,” Leona drawled, flicking his tail dismissively.

“You could work on that attitude,” you muttered, earning a low chuckle from him.

“See, I told you they’d fit right in!” Ruggie said, gesturing at you dramatically. “They’re already roasting him. This is gonna be great!”

Epel, suddenly inspired, added, “And they’ll keep Ruggie from stealing the fresh apple juice we get after games. That’s worth it alone.”

As the reality of your new role settled in, you felt a bit like a lion tamer walking into a den of mischievous cubs and one very lazy big cat. But their enthusiasm—expressed in their own peculiar ways—was endearing.

Ruggie threw an arm around your shoulder. “Alright, boss, first order of business: snacks! Let’s discuss our game day budget and whether I can convince you to sneak me a sandwich before practice.”

Leona snorted but didn’t argue, which you took as a sign of approval. Epel pumped his fist. “We’re gonna crush it this year!”

Maybe managing this bunch wouldn’t be so bad after all. If nothing else, it’d definitely be entertaining.

Mountain Lovers Club

When you joined Jade for a hike to "test the waters" of the Mountain Lovers Club, you had your doubts. You were prepared for a lot of things—maybe getting lost in the wilderness, maybe Jade pulling out his eerie cryptid knowledge, or maybe just a weirdly formal lecture about moss. What you weren’t prepared for was… actually enjoying yourself.

Jade led the way with an unhurried confidence, pointing out various wild plants, their uses, and fun facts about the environment. He wasn’t his usual enigmatic self, either. He seemed lighter, almost enthusiastic, as he described a tiny wildflower you would’ve missed entirely.

“This particular species only blooms during the autumn months,” he said, crouching to show you. “Quite fascinating how it adapts to the cooler temperatures, don’t you think?”

You nodded, trying not to stare too hard at how his face lit up when he spoke. Jade was… cute? When he wasn’t talking about mushrooms in a way that made you question your mortality, he was actually kind of charming.

By the time you reached a rocky outcrop with a gorgeous view of the campus, you realized you’d been smiling for most of the hike. Jade noticed too.

“It seems I’ve made a decent impression,” he said, turning toward you with a soft grin. “I’m pleased to see you enjoying yourself.”

“It’s… relaxing,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. “I didn’t think it’d be this fun.”

Jade tilted his head. “Does that mean you’d consider joining the Mountain Lovers Club?”

You hesitated for a moment, but as you looked at the breathtaking view and the rare, genuine smile on his face, the answer came easily. “Yeah. I’ll join.”

For a split second, Jade’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly schooled his expression into his usual composed smile. “Wonderful. I must say, I wasn’t expecting this outcome, but I’m glad. It’s not every day someone sees the beauty in what I love.”

There was an odd warmth in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. As he turned to lead the way back, he added, “Now that we’re a team, I look forward to our next adventure.”

Jade Leech was genuinely happy. And, you realized, so were you.

Gargoyle Research Society

When you told Malleus you were joining the Gargoyle Research Society, his reaction was almost imperceptible at first. A slight widening of his eyes, a pause as though he was waiting to see if you were serious, and then—pure, unfiltered delight.

"You have an interest in gargoyles?" he asked, his voice both surprised and reverent, as if you'd just confessed to enjoying a rare and ancient art form.

You nodded. "Yeah. I think they're fascinating. The designs, the history… They’re like stone guardians with stories etched into them."

For a moment, Malleus simply looked at you, his emerald eyes shimmering like the light of distant stars. Then, as if unable to contain his joy, he smiled—a soft, genuine expression that sent a wave of warmth through the chilly Ramshackle evening.

"This pleases me greatly," he said, his tone unusually light. “Not many share my appreciation for gargoyles. Often, I speak of them, and others… how do I put it? Pretend to listen.”

“Well, I’m definitely not pretending,” you said, grinning. “I’m in for real.”

Malleus clasped his hands together in what could only be described as regal excitement. "Then I must share something with you. Sometimes, I create gargoyles myself."

“You what?” you asked, laughing in delight.

“Yes,” he replied earnestly, his eyes alight. “Carving stone requires patience, but there is a certain satisfaction in breathing life into something lifeless. Well, not literal life, of course, but a soul of sorts.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, the image of Malleus with a chisel and hammer popping into your head. “I never would have guessed. That’s… really cool.”

“I can show you some of my creations, if you’d like,” he offered, almost shyly.

“I’d love that,” you said, genuinely glad to have joined him. “I think I’m going to enjoy this club.”

The glow in his expression was impossible to miss. It wasn’t just that you had joined his club—it was that, for once, someone truly shared his passion. “And I am glad to have you,” he said softly.

In that moment, under the watchful eyes of the stone guardians scattered around campus, it felt like you had chosen exactly the right place.

Masterlist

tags: @techno-danger

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ahsokaismyqueen · 5 months ago

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Steve Harrington x HendersonSister!Reader Masterlist

Welcome to the Steve x HendersonSister! Universe! I have so many ideas for these two, and will probably never go through them all, but I wanted to keep them in one place! They will not be posted in chronological order, but I will list them here that way. Hope you enjoy!

Idiotic Decisions - Working on a project with douchebag Steve Harrington was not something you were looking forward to doing. However, you’re surprised to find that maybe he’s just a little less of a jerk than you thought. (Season 1)

Disappointed Revelations - After working on a school project together, you had actually started to believe that there was more to Steve Harrington than meets the eye. All of that changes after an interaction with Jonathan Byers. (Season 1)

The Evolution of Friendship - After Steve is attacked by Billy Hargrove, you’re shocked to find the guy still attempting to protect you as you two go into the hub to try and buy Eleven some more time. It makes you wonder. Are you and Steve Harrington actually … friends? (Season 2)

Hold Me Tight - Ever since Prom, Steve and you had been growing closer to crossing that line from friendship to something more. During a hot summer day, a little more of that line gets crossed. (Before Season 3)

Conversations On Top of an Elevator - Well, your brother has gotten you and Steve into another mess, this time on top of a Russian elevator. While Steve stresses out, you reassure him that you’ve gotten out of this shit before, you can do it again. (Season 3)

Saving Steve - Steve Harrington has already saved your life, so it’s time to return the favor. Little did you know that would feel a little less like an action movie and more like taking care of rowdy toddlers. (Season 3)

You Feel the Same? - The tension that’s been rising between you and Steve all summer has finally been set to boiling after spending time trapped in Russian elevators together and overhearing his confession to Robin about the new girl he likes who sounds suspiciously like you. After everything, you don’t care if it ends up burning you anymore. You just know you can’t waste another second not being with him. (Season 3)

Those Three Little Words - 18+ ONLY. Steve gets upset when he finds a letter on your table from Indiana University, and it forces the two of you to confess something you’ve been trying to say for a while now. (Before Season 4)

Reunions and Future Plans - For the first time in a long time, you and Steve haven’t seen each other in three weeks since you started college. So he decides to surprise you. (Before Season 4)

Holding You to That - Steve Request. You go to get your boyfriend Steve from Family Video when Robin tells you you’re a distraction, and of course you’re not! Okay, maybe a little. (Before Season 4)

A Not So Good Day - It’s Spring Break in Hawkins, and you can already tell that it’s going to be a great, relaxing time. Well, until you find out that your best friend might be dead and the gate to the Upside Down might not be as closed as you thought. (Season 4)

Finding Eddie - After a long day of trying to find Eddie, you, Steve, your brother, Robin and Max all find your way to Reefer Rick’s house where the time finally comes to tell the truth to your ex-best friend. (Season 4)

Watergate - Dustin has a theory that there’s a new gate, and Nancy has a suspicion of where it might be. The best swimmer needs to go to the bottom of Lover’s Lake and check it out. Unfortunately, much to Steve’s displeasure, that happens to be you. (Season 4)

Travelin' Man - Well, you didn’t love Eddie’s plan, but you also didn’t see many other options. (Season 4)

Saving the World or Not - Steve’s gone off to fight Vecna while you’ve stayed behind to distract the bats. What could possibly go wrong? (Season 4)

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine

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runariya · 13 days ago

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Beyond Probability JJK (m.)

summary: Matching with an idol? Unlikely. But with a 99% compatibility? Beyond probability. pairing: idol!Jungkook x f!reader genre: idolvers, S2L, fluff, smut rating: 18+, MDNI! warnings: fluff, fluff, a bit of self doubt, fluff, fluff, explicit sexual content, shower sex, unprotected sex, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 4k

a/n: It’s a rly cute and short oneshot, light and mainly fluff, nothing too deep, no big words etc this time. Just had to get it out of my system since the idea’s been on my mind for months now (unedited bc I fell ill halfway through writing it 🤒)

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

Your biological clock’s ticking—has been for some years now—and even though you’re only now nearing 30, you’re painfully aware that the life you pictured as a kid might never come true.

It’s not like you’re unstable in who you are or what you’re doing. You’re fairly successful at your job, you’ve got your own place, and you’re more social than most people these days. Still, you’re only what most would call average-looking, and even though you’ve got a good career, you’re too soft to keep it up forever. You picture yourself more as a loving wife and mother than a corporate boss bitch climbing the ladder of success.

That’s also why your dating life has been rocky all along. Men see what you put out there, but they don’t like who you really are or what you want from life, which has left you single for most of it.

So, when a new project starts—after the K-pop industry finally acknowledges that idols need partnerships and a life of their own, and fans finally understand that these people are human too, that they deserve to experience love and happiness like everyone else—you decide to take your chances too.

Funnily enough, all the labels have teamed up, hiring not only the best scientists and psychologists from Korea but from around the world to create a program that can find ideal matches for their idols. Sure, science shouldn’t determine who you fall in love with, but… what if it could?

After being pre-selected—just to confirm you’re not some crazed fan—you’ve spent over two weeks going through tests. Recorded interviews, personality assessments, even physical evaluations… now you’re staring at your company’s computer screen, listening to Dr. Song explain the results through the phone.

“Ninety-nine percent?”

“Yes. The chances of such a high compatibility score are next to impossible. We see it as a perfect match and would like to introduce you to your match.”

“Sure, of course.” Even though your voice is steady, you can feel your nerves flaring up like never before.

“Is tomorrow at 8 p.m. alright for you?”

“Yes, that works for me.”

“Perfect, we’ll see you then.”

Well, joke’s on you, you didn’t expect this outcome.

Meeting an idol feels surreal, and the closer you get to 8 p.m. the next day, the more you can feel the anxiety and doubts inside you rising. Every last detail in Dr. Song’s calm, clinical rundown replays in your mind, the ninety-nine percent match, the endless rounds of testing, the surreal realisation that, somehow, all those numbers and algorithms miraculously spat out a name next to yours.

You want to trust that there’s a reason for this, that somehow science isn’t just working with chance, but the tension of actually meeting someone this special is so overwhelming you barely notice yourself entering the lab building until you’re standing outside Dr. Song’s office.

“Right on time,” she chirps, giving you an approving nod. She seems to sense your nerves, and as she leads you down a hallway you’ve never been before, she gives you a reassuring smile. “I know this is all a lot. But he’s likely feeling the same way. The tests told us that he’s, well, quite like you.”

Her words would make you laugh in any other situation, though disbelief and a strange kind of comfort floods through you still. Like you. An idol, standing here in a lab somewhere to meet some random stranger, feeling just as out of place as you. You’re not sure of that but still like to think it must be true.

You don’t have time to process it fully before you’re led into a quiet room with yellowish walls so plain they almost blur in the corners of your vision, a low, comfortable couch and a couple of chairs standing there and none of the lab equipment that surrounded you in the testing rooms all those weeks ago.

And then you spot him, sitting on the couch, alone. He stands the second you walk in, hands half in his pockets, a slight, almost unsure smile grazing his lips as he glances down at you. He’s got that casual look about him, the same dark eyes you’ve seen a hundred times on a screen that somehow feel warmer and more human here.

He looks not quite better than he does on screen, but not worse either. Somehow, he’s realer, if that’s a word—close enough that you can see the little flecks of colour in his irises, the slight tension in his posture, the faintest trace of nerves hiding under his composure.

“Hi.” Jungkook’s voice is lower, softer than you expect from an idol. “Nice to meet you, I’m Jungkook.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m ___.” There’s a pause, and you can tell he’s just as unsure what to do with the space between you two as you are. The click of the door makes you turn around briefly, only to realise Dr. Song has left you both alone. “This is, um, weird, right?”

He nods, a quick, breathy laugh breaking through. “Very. I mean, this isn’t exactly a ‘normal’ kind of meeting, right?”

His words are awkward but disarming, and suddenly, you’re aware of all the tiny, meticulous details of him that somehow make him feel more relatable than his polished, on-screen persona. The way his hand keeps moving to rub against his thigh or abs, his tongue playing with his lips and piercing ever so slightly—everything about him is familiar but also somehow close enough to feel completely new.

“I don’t think I was ready for this,” you admit. You aren’t really talking to him but more like letting your own thoughts slip out in the safest way possible, like saying it makes it feel less absurd.

“Honestly, same.” He laughs, and you think there’s a light flutter in your chest now. “I kept thinking about this whole ninety-nine percent thing. Like… how does that even work? Isn’t it supposed to feel, I don’t know, obvious? Like you know the moment you see someone?”

You nod, understanding exactly what he means, and somehow you move on autopilot, walking towards him and sitting down on that couch with him beside you. It feels like you should both somehow know, like there’s a sign or an instant connection, something that would make all of this feel simple, easy. But it’s just the two of you in a quiet room, barely knowing each other, held together by nothing but a number on a report.

“Yeah, that’s so wild. I didn’t think I’d have a match, this close to a hundred even less. Might be a glitch if our score is this high.”

Jungkook nods with sparkling eyes, seemingly relieved by your honesty and humour. “Yeah, I get that. I kept thinking about it too. Wondering if maybe the tests were wrong, or maybe I was just…thinking too much.” He lets out a sigh, his gaze meeting yours for a long, meaningful second. “But I think maybe this is about finding out, right? Not having it all make sense right away.”

“Hm, makes sense.” You giggle, because what else can you do in the presence of him.

The two of you sit there in a momentary silence, as if testing each other, feeling out the small boundaries that keep you both distant.

“So, what did the report tell you about me?” You ask the question half-jokingly, trying to break the quiet, but also curious. You want to know what he knows, how much of this supposed ninety-nine percent compatibility is actually something that either of you feel.

He lets out a silent breath, looking down as if slightly embarrassed. “Honestly, not as much as you’d think. They told me you were kind of… soft-spoken but resilient? And that you have a job that’s, uh, stable and…” He trails off, the tips of his ears slightly pink, like he’s embarrassed to keep going.

“And?” You can’t help but push further��not maliciously, just way too curious and playful for your own good. Jungkook’s expression shifts from embarrassed to surprised, and then to a look that’s just as playful.

“And that we’re, apparently, very much sexually compatible.”

Really, you should be the one feeling embarrassed or shy now, but you can’t help the laugh that slips out. You know exactly what he’s hinting at—your report clearly showed the same.

“Well, it might be not wrong. And they told me…” You pause, realising that you barely remember the details in the face of the reality in front of you but alas. “They said you’d be a good match because, I think, there was something about humour?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Humour? Never heard of it.” And it makes you laugh all over again. “I feel like they just told us things we’d want to hear, to make it seem easier and normal.”

His words hit close to home, but they’re strangely comforting in the way he says them. You reckon, he’s just as bewildered by this as you are, maybe even more so. And somehow, in the middle of all the awkwardness, you find yourself genuinely smiling at him, naturally gravitating towards him, finding that there’s a softness and reassurance in his gaze, a gentleness that cuts through your nerves like a knife through melted butter in the sun.

You start talking more freely after that, exchanging stories that are too mundane to make sense in any real context but feel right here. You tell him about your last trip to the beach, how you got sunburned and spent the whole evening sitting on your balcony, nursing it with iced water and aloe, wishing for a helping hand that you didn’t have. He laughs, nodding along as if he can picture it exactly and tells you about how he tried to make pasta he ate in Italy for the first time a few months back and ended up burning the whole batch, because no one was by his side, so badly his kitchen smelled like smoke for days.

The more you talk, the more you notice the little things about him that aren’t so polished, aren’t so perfect, and make him feel more human and real than anyone you ever met. He has a way of listening, eyes intent on yours, like he’s trying to pick apart every word to understand it better. When he laughs, it’s with his whole face, even body, not the careful, composed look of an idol but a natural, carefree laugh that makes you feel like maybe he’s as relieved as you are to be here, to have someone he doesn’t have to impress.

At some point, you both lapse into a comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts but somehow still connected. The tension from earlier has faded away, replaced by a soothing aura you know you don’t want to miss for a day in your life.

Eventually, Jungkook glances over at you, his eyes sucking you in without much resistance. “I kept thinking this would feel forced, you know? Like we’d be sitting here, struggling to find anything in common.” He leans back, drapes his arm around the back of where you’re sitting, glancing up at the ceiling as if searching for the right words. “But… it doesn’t feel that way. You feel… I don’t know, right?”

The slight flutter in your chest has now swelled into a full-blown hurricane, and you’re not sure if it’s that ninety-nine percent compatibility causing it. But you don’t let yourself think too much—not when you’ve both been inching closer with each word, not when you take a chance and lean in, resting your head against his side. Especially not when his arm settles directly over your shoulder, pulling you a little closer, his other hand finding yours, fingers intertwining just to see how it feels.

“Yeah, it feels right. I really like this.”

As you absently play with his fingers, breathing in his scent for the first time and deciding it’s like heaven, you let yourself trust science. Because this feels like exactly where you’re meant to be.

While the first meeting with Jungkook went better than you’d ever hoped, you’re painfully aware of your overthinking nature. Overthinking in a way that makes it painfully clear there are countless women out there who, on the surface, would seem a better visual match for him than you.

Overthinking to the point where you wonder why Jungkook would even need matchmaking when he could so easily choose a partner on his own. It’s also why staying focused at work isn’t exactly easy today, knowing that soon his label will be sending a car to pick you up for your next meeting with him.

You understand the precautions they’ve taken and completely agree it’s better to meet in a private, safe space rather than making headlines this early on. That’s why, as the tinted car arrives, you feel a bit more at ease than you have all day.

Soon enough, you’re driving down the path to the label’s underground garage, and while you fix your makeup real quick, the car comes to a stop. The driver nods and guides you towards the lift, where the lights are dim and everything has this quiet, professional atmosphere you’ve only seen on screen.

You try to take it all in, letting your thoughts settle just a bit more as you follow through to the hallways upstairs, past doors labelled with room numbers and studios, and then finally, you’re outside the door to Jungkook’s studio, right where you’re supposed to meet.

Your heart beats a little faster as you hear Jungkook’s familiar voice call out, “Come in,” and when you open the door, you find him leaning casually against the chair before his equipment with an easy smile that somehow manages to be both happy and slightly flirty.

Again, Jungkook’s dressed just like uniquely him, with a few silver rings glinting on his fingers. And while you didn’t think he’d even get up to greet you, he steps forward and embraces you in hug so tight, it leaves you drowning in him.

“Hey,” he greets with that disarming grin, eyes boring into you, taking in your formal work attire, as he gestures to the coffee set up besides his laptop. “Hope you don’t mind the casual vibe.”

You laugh a little, settling onto the free chair beside him, feeling a bit strange but somehow not. “I think it’s perfect. And to be honest, I don’t think I’d cope well with the whole five-star dining treatment and whatnot.”

He laughs, nodding in agreement, taking your purse from your hands and draping it casually over the back of his chair. The fact that he’s still so attentive, even though he’s clearly in his element here but completely relaxed, is rather fascinating and pulls you in even more.

Like the day before, talking with him comes easy, and while there’s nothing groundbreaking in your conversations, every word feels meaningful in the bigger picture.

Eventually, you feel yourself relaxing like you were at home by your own, getting comfortable enough to let out the thoughts that have been swimming in your head since last night. “I’ve thought a lot about how all of this could play out,” you admit, taking a sip of your coffee, trying to find the right words, though knowing there won’t be any wrong words when talking with Jungkook. “And honestly, I’m not really interested in taking things public if they did work out. I know that’s probably strange to say, but I’m not cut out for the spotlight.”

He tilts his head, watching you thoughtfully. “No, it’s not strange at all. I get it.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as you go on, “I just want something real. A partner who’s loyal, someone who’s there because we get each other, not because we’re some public ‘it’ couple, parading around every chance we get. Does that sound crazy?”

He shakes his head, while he swings from one side to the other. “Not at all. That actually sounds perfect to me.” There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes you feel, for the first time, like there’s some truth to your report. “The whole ‘idol’ thing is just a job. It’s not who I am, not at the core. And having someone who sees it that way, is what I want too.”

It elates you to know that you could have something like this, with him, someone you could genuinely share your life with.

Then, in a thoughtful voice, he asks, “What do you want for the future? I mean, outside all of this.”

You take a breath, feeling a little nervous but wanting to be honest. It’s not like it’s news to him, seeing that this information’s written in the report he was handed. “I want something traditional. A home, a family, maybe staying home with kids, having that steady, grounded life. It sounds simple, I know, but it’s what I’ve always pictured.” You look up at him, expecting maybe a hint of judgement, but instead, you find him nodding, his eyes lighting up like a candle in the night.

“I don’t think that sounds simple at all, but meaningful.”

A shy smile forms on your lips as you add, “Sometimes I feel like people don’t see that side of things anymore, you know? Like everyone’s so focused on careers and success and everything else… and I get that, I do, but I’ve always just wanted something steady. Something I can hold on to.”

His hand finds yours, his fingers like second nature intertwine with yours, and the gesture is so simple yet so heartwarming that you feel like squealing out of happiness. “That’s exactly what I want too.” It’s nothing new to you too, but him saying that, seeing the honesty in his eyes, is better than any data shown to you. “I want that sense of home.”

You feel yourself falling a little harder, a little faster, and maybe that scares you a bit. You’ve seen the kind of attention he gets, the kind of girls that throw themselves at him, and it’s hard not to let those doubts creep in. Especially now. “I know this probably sounds insecure,” you start awkwardly, glancing away, “I think, I don’t know, maybe I’m not the kind of person someone like you would go for. I mean, you could have anyone, and not just because you’re an idol.”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin. And while his mouth opens to say something, the pull against your hand surprises you as much as him settling you in his lab. “Hey, don’t think like that. I’m here because I want to be. And trust me, I’m not looking for ‘anyone’. I’m looking for someone who gets me. And that someone is you, no?”

The look in his eyes is so genuine, so unguarded, that it’s hard to keep your heart from doing all sorts of stunts. He’s not the polished idol right now; he’s just Jungkook, being flirty, being compassionate, being so him, sitting in a cosy studio with his tattoos, his piercings, his moles, his beautiful smile, his whole presence more comfortable and inviting than you could have imagined.

And as he sits there, looking at you like you’re the only person in the world, you realise that you definitely don’t have to doubt this. Maybe it’s okay to let yourself believe that he’s here because he wants to be, that he’s falling for you irrevocably just as you’re falling for him.

“Sooo… that means?” You know you need to be brave now, because if this isn’t a dream, you’d never forgive yourself for not taking the leap.

“That means, if you want to, I’d love to have you as my girlfriend.”

“Isn’t it a bit rushed?” You don’t actually think so, but you still need to be sure.

“I’m all in if you are. I don’t want to waste any more time, and even though it’s just a report, I can feel there’s real truth behind it.”

Fast forward seven months, and you find yourself pressed against the shower wall like you do every night. But this time, it’s different—just hours ago, you made your first public appearance on a music show with Jungkook, just because you both felt ready, where he was not only nominated for Best Singer of the Year but won as well.

“Koo, right there, right there.”

It still amazes you how his cock seems to find your g-spot as soon as he enters you, though you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Yeah? Right there, hm? Or is it…” he trails off, shifting his hips ever so slightly, making you realise he’s actually hit the centre point of your g-spot now, his hard, unrelenting thrusts pushing you over the edge without warning.

“Oh my goooddd,” your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open against the cool shower wall, as your cunt keeps gripping him even though it’s already creaming around his cock.

“Good girl, keep going, love. Show me how many you can take tonight.”

There’s nothing you can do, not that you’d want to do anything other than let him rearrange your insides. Especially not when his tattooed hand finds its way from the back of your hair to your jaw, tilting your head to the side, giving you the perfect view of his upper body—rivulets of water cascading down his chiselled form, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed.

He’s the epitome of perfection. Not just a ninety-nine percent but a hundred.

His eyes, though hooded, bore into your soul as his hips pick up the pace. It’s this connection you share with him make being with him feel so special.

“Koo…”

“I know, love, just a bit more. Can you be a good girl?”

“Yes,” you moan, because hell, you can. “Yes, for you…ah, winning the trophy.”

Even though you shouldn’t feel his cock twitch with the pace he’s set, you do, realising instantly what he needs tonight.

“Best singer, Koo…fuck…best boyfriend, only fucking me when, hmm, the whole world wants a piece of you.”

“Only you. Always you, ___, love.” You think you catch him licking a drop of saliva from his lips as he stares down at where your bodies connect, sending another wave of arousal from your stretched-out hole.

“You’re so big.”

“Just for you, fuck, squeeze a bit more.”

It’s not that you did it on purpose, but when his hand shoots down to your clit, circling it just right, your body responds as though it’s never felt this good, soaking him even more and gripping him tight as a vice.

“Like that, love, like that.” Jungkook grunts and pants, holding you harder, tighter as his cock seems to swell even more, pumping frantically in sync with your impending second orgasm.

When Jungkook can’t hold back any longer, it’s all you need to let go too, the rush flowing through your veins just as fiercely as the love you feel for this man.

After some time, Jungkook pulls out, helping you straighten up and lean against his chest under the stream. His veiny hands trail down your body, washing away his release dripping out of you, as he plants kisses along the side of your face.

When he’s had enough, he, like always, turns you, brushing the wet strands of hair from your face. And as you do the same to him, captivated by how content and in love he looks, you can’t help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world when, for the first time, Jungkook declares his feelings.

“I love you, till the day I die, ___.”

“I love you too, and beyond.”

Because this, because having Jungkook calling you his, is beyond probability.

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! 👀 If you liked what you read, pls consider buying me a ☕️ Ko-fi.com/runariya 💕

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