#the way they wrote this scene is interesting to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 9 hours ago

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God, I just love these chapter titles! So perfect for each one! 😆💛

Ben’s brow shot up, coughing out a cloud of smoke. “She’s in the furnace?” “Checking my work,” the engineer added with bitterness in his voice. Ben bit back a snort. “Why the fuck would you let her crawl in there?” “Sir, all due respect, but she ain’t listening to me, and I hate arguing with her,” Fred told him bluntly.

lmfao I already love this opening. She too smart to take one iota of shit from men, and it's a joy to watch 😂

For two weeks, Ben had taken you out now every night, playing tour guide around Philadelphia and showing you everything the city (and 1942) had to offer.

This is so cute!! That's the first thing I picture when I think of a 1940s "date." But reading about all of their other dates, big and small, was like getting a deep dive into '40s culture and Philadelphia history, complete with "jitterbugging." 💗

And seeing the progression of how her powers are slowly coming back on line is both so interesting and a great narrative element for the pacing of all this.

The click was your ability to fast forward, backward, pause and play. Like the movie with Adam Sandler! Get it?

Absolutely got this one! 😂 This aspect of her powers matches so well with her mischievous "Puck" nature lolll

(Though she strikes me as too classy for this^, you get my point lmao)

Anyway, you’d frozen Homelander long enough for Soldier Boy to charge up, your nose had started bleeding, your brain had almost exploded, you’d landed in a coma for three days afterward, and that was that. Never had tried doing it again since. That had been some scary shit.

Oooh shit, no wonder she lost her "click" for a while, poor thing. 😰 I wonder how worried Ben was during her coma, since he already remembered her and tried to get her out of the final showdown with Homelander. ❤️‍🩹

Thinking about them made you realize how much they would surely judge you for your actions here. Shit. Honestly, that only made you want to avoid home even more.

lmfaoo honestly so valid. They'd judge her sooooo hard 😅😅 (though I love Frenchie's imagined reaction the most LOL)

On the other hand, you missed parts of your old life – your friends, your own clothes, your own space. Worst of all, your memories of the future began to fade a little more each day.

This is such an interesting side effect of being so long in the past where she "isn't meant to be." I wonder if that resolves once she returns to the future and spends enough time there, or are those memories just gradually wiped like an Etch a Sketch? 🥲

Spread your wings, little butterfly, and cause a hurricane!

Ah yes, the Butterfly Effect! If only we had Jeff Goldblum to explain it to us 😂

JK, the reader needs no man to explain science to her. 😌

“Oh, big mistake, sweetheart.” With a mischievous grin, he placed his hands on your waist and pulled you flush against his strong and firm body, instantly conquering your mouth with a searing kiss. Ben always kissed you like there was no fucking tomorrow. No future, no past, no doubts, no regrets. Just you and him caught in a moment.

And this is right about where my brain fizzed out and melted 🫠🫠🫠

The way Ben kisses (aside from his other talents) is probably why he gets so many women hooked on his charms lol. I absolutely love how you wrote this first really romantic/smutty scene between them. 💛 My favorite smut is the teasing and the banter leading into the sensuous and sexy, which this absolutely nails (pardon the pun lmao) ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

But this part right here is where I malfunctioned, of course on this beautifully poetic line:

You found the magic word, and two perfectly thick and long fingers breached your entrance just like that and delivered you from your misery but added to your sins. You sang his name in fucking relief.

Weren’t you conning him a little? He didn’t know who you were or where you came from despite trying to warn him as much as you could. You didn’t want anything from him – not his money, not his secrets, not his death. You didn’t even know why you were doing this – why the fuck you were still entertaining this charade! Your insides were full of butterflies and bees these days.

Goddamn it, why'd you have to remind me of this??! lmao

"Butterflies and bees" is such a subtle but brilliant way to describe it -- lovely butterflies, warm feelings of falling in love, but the sting of knowing you shouldn't. 😭

But Ben gave you a kind smile in return, his features softening with something deeper than the playful attitude. “That’s okay. There’s no rush, sweetheart. You’re worth waiting for.”

*cryingcryingcrying*

She's losing her memory and living a lie, but it's ok, she built him a projector and gave him his first genuine gift ever. It's ok. 🫠🩵🩵

Also, I really feel bad for Ben on this side of things. He's starting to get clues that there's something off with her, can't figure out why she still doesn't trust him entirely, even though he's giving all he has of his heart to her. ❤️‍🩹

And now with that ominous cliffhanger of the parents arriving, you really get the sense that this is the real point of no return...

Time After Time – Chapter 6

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language and smut, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, FLUFF, a bit of an angsty cliffhanger

Word Count: 6.8k

Posted on Patreon April 4, 2025

A/N: And here comes the smut (at least the beginning stages of it). Ben might not know a lot about economics, but he clearly knows his way around the ladies 😜 ✨ Chapter title comes from The Maltese Falcon (1941)

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Chapter 6: I Don't Mind a Reasonable Amount of Trouble

Ben checked the big clock on the wall of his office and sighed. Of course you were late again, probably lost somewhere between math equations and arguing with Fred.

He treaded down to the factory floor, finding Fred with his hands on his hips and a grim expression on his face, standing idly by the furnace they were currently upgrading. Ben’s brow knitted when he couldn’t find you anywhere near, however. He told Fred to fucking watch you. What was so hard about that?

“Where’s our little physicist?” Ben prompted, glaring the engineer down as he lit a cigarette.

Fred swallowed nervously and nodded toward the furnace. “In there, sir.”

Ben’s brow shot up, coughing out a cloud of smoke. “She’s in the furnace?”

“Checking my work,” the engineer added with bitterness in his voice.

Ben bit back a snort. “Why the fuck would you let her crawl in there?”

“Sir, all due respect, but she ain’t listening to me, and I hate arguing with her,” Fred told him bluntly.

Fair enough, Ben thought. He hated arguing with you, too. There was never any winning. He was still wondering how you fucking did that.

“I can hear you guys, by the way! This thing isn’t soundproof,” your amused voice echoed out of the furnace in sing-song.

“Sweetheart, you okay in there?” Ben checked, leaning a little closer to the opening to peek inside.

But you jumped out at that very same second, letting Ben help you out when he offered you his hand. You dusted off your clothes with a smile, your skin covered slightly with ash.

Ben eyed your outfit, tilting his head. “Why are you wearing overalls?”

“Oh, Fred lent them to me. Didn’t want Ms. Vivian to yell at me for getting my dress dirty,” you replied, giggling.

Ben chuckled and then gestured toward the furnace. “How’s it coming along?”

“Good! I think we can throw it on tomorrow and test it before we move onto the next one. Fred has done a great job these last two weeks,” you reported happily, and Ben could audibly hear the engineer pass a breath of relief upon your praise.

“Perfect!” Ben smiled warmly and tucked a strand of wild hair behind your ear. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me change and wash up first,” you told him, returning his smile with blushing cheeks.

“Where are you taking her this evening, sir?” Fred asked curiously.

“Oh, he’s taking me to the pictures tonight.” You grinned excitedly.

For two weeks, Ben had taken you out now every night, playing tour guide around Philadelphia and showing you everything the city (and 1942) had to offer.

For your first date, he’d chosen an intimate and charming French restaurant, which had led you to chat with the waiters in French all night. Ben hadn’t minded as much since you’d been smiling brightly the whole time and everything you’d said had sounded incredibly sexy.

The next night, he’d taken you to the restaurant at the top of the Six Towers Building, offering the most stunning views of the city. When the two of you had watched the starry night sky, you’d told him all about planets and universal theories that he couldn’t possibly understand, either. But again, you’d been smiling all the way through, and so had he.

The following nights, the two of you then had explored Philadelphia’s vibrant nightlife, which definitely had been more Ben’s area of expertise. He’d taken you to two night clubs and two jazz clubs, enjoying live music the whole night before Ray had to pick the two of you up in the early morning hours.

Ben had also taught you how to swing dance and explained jitterbugging in great detail to you. As far as you’d understood it, it was the twerking of the 1940s.

Another night, he’d taken you to the Philadelphia Opera House for a musical (Gershwin’s Of Thee I Sing) before the two of you had gone ice-skating together.

Then there had been the daylight dates: He’d taken you to the Philadelphia zoo, to something called a soda fountain (and no, to your disappointment, there hadn’t been a giant fountain spewing soda), and to the Museum of Art.

Some days, you’d come to work with him and annoy Fred, while others you’d stay home and either tinker in the shed or play piano in the drawing room. You hadn’t played properly in ages and were getting really good. So far, you’d perfected Cyndi Lauper’s Girls Just Want to Have Fun to air out your frustrations about this period’s blatant sexism and some All Through the Night to calm yourself again.

Moreover, you did a little more than just tinkering in George’s shed and were trying to overcome your blockage and get your powers working again.

And you’d even made some progress. Eureka!

While the memory bank, which was what you called the weird part of your ability that let you see little glimpses throughout time, worked just fine (much to your dismay), you hadn’t been able to click since that night you all took down Homelander.

The click was your ability to fast forward, backward, pause and play. Like the movie with Adam Sandler! Get it?

Yup, Homelander had fought tooth and nail against your little spell, and you still had no fucking clue how he’d done it. You’d easily done it to Be–

Soldier Boy! Fuck. You’d easily done it to Soldier Boy all the time till he had started watching clocks around you like an eagle and be pissed as fuck whenever he’d realize an hour had suddenly passed (and then you’d started to pause the clocks in whatever room he was in, too).

To be fair, most of those times had been due to the relentless begging of Butcher and Hughie.

Butcher with a “Oi, can you make the cunt shut up for a second? I’m trying to bloody think ‘ere.” And Hughie with a “Please, make him stop. I need-, like, I just need a ten minute break from this gross piece of shit.”

Thinking about them made you realize how much they would surely judge you for your actions here. Shit. Honestly, that only made you want to avoid home even more.

You hated facing consequences, which was a bummer with an ability like yours.

Butcher would probably tell you he was disappointed in you, mostly for not killing Ben in the most brutal and messiest way possible. Then, he’d tease you for the rest of his cancer-ridden life about you throwing out your morals for good cock (which you hadn’t even done!).

Both Hughie and MM would look at you full of disgust and confusion, repeatedly asking why. Frenchie would say something along the lines of: “Mon cœur, pourquoi n'as-tu pas dit que tu avais besoin d'une bite ? Je te l'aurais proposée. C'est ce que font les amis.”

Why didn’t you say you needed some dick? I would’ve offered. That’s what friends do.

Then there would’ve been the girls. Annie and Maeve would’ve questioned your sanity and, after more wine, asked you if it had been the huge cock that eventually convinced you, to which Kimiko would’ve leaned in and proceeded to gesture different length variations with her hands till you would’ve picked one.

And no, you hadn’t slept with Ben yet.

He kissed you and touched you and held your hand, but he never pressured you or pushed you to do more. It was all PG-13 and above the waist. Ben was the perfect gentleman.

Honestly, no one was more baffled by that than you.

The problem was, however, Ben could be the nicest, sweetest, and kindest person on the planet, more innocent than little Hughie, and you’d still have a hard time fully trusting him with your heart.

But you tried not to let it affect you, to judge him preemptively, although the nightmarish memories of his dirty deeds were still plaguing you every goddamn night. They never stopped, and you weren’t sure they ever could, considering the sheer body count Soldier Boy had left in his wake during his reign of terror.

On one hand, you loved your somewhat quiet time in Philadelphia. People were different and life was different. No one was stuck to their phone all day, no one really had a fear of missing out or cared about their social media following, no one was obsessed with binge-watching trashy reality TV shows, and the extensive consumerism took a backseat altogether.

Even with a war going on, life ran at a more peaceful, unhurried pace. You sort of even began to understand some of Soldier Boy’s grievances with the 21st century. You’d always thought he had exaggerated, but he really hadn’t.

On the other hand, you missed parts of your old life – your friends, your own clothes, your own space. Worst of all, your memories of the future began to fade a little more each day.

You couldn’t remember Annie’s birthday, Hughie’s last name, Butcher’s first name, Fenchie’s face… What the fuck does MM stand for? Kimiko was from… You wanna say Vietnam? Japan? No… Fuck!

This wasn’t good by any means. You should start writing down what you could remember to read it whenever you’d forget.

Your theory regarding this particular problem was that the timeline was starting to reshape and rewrite itself. The longer you stayed in the past, the bigger the changes in the future had to be.

Spread your wings, little butterfly, and cause a hurricane!

Your fading memories were the reason why you still were trying to get yourself fully powered up again. You at least needed a Plan B, an exit strategy, a goddamn insurance policy in case things went south.

So far, you could throw an object into the air and pause it and freeze staff members around the house, even two at a time.

The click was back.

It was your remote control, while the memory bank was your Google (although a lot more graphic – memory-searching someone’s birthday brought you right to a baby’s head crowning through a vagina).

But hey, everyone’s superpower had its downsides. At least you didn’t have to time travel butt-naked.

You had the memory bank, you had the click, and now all there was left for you to find were your ruby slippers.

While you didn’t necessarily hate your life here – far from it even – a part of you missed your independence and despised the societal norms of the time. Feminism was basically considered sailor talk.

But Ben tried to never make you feel like less, even when he’d slip from time to time. You couldn’t really fault him for that. He was just doing and saying what he was raised to do – what everyone around you was raised to do.

However, he slowly began to respect you and your opinions, taking your advice more often than not. He fucking tried, and you could tell, even when he never said too much. He also never missed a beat to back you up whenever Fred or anyone else dared to doubt you.

“Oh, how nice! What are you two going to watch?” Fred asked, and you knew he was only all too eager to get rid of you again. He probably cursed Ben in his sleep for ever bringing you to the mill.

“We’re doing a double feature at the Boyd,” Ben replied.

“Yes! We’re seeing The Lady Eve first and then The Maltese Falcon,” you added with a big grin. You’d really been looking forward to visiting an old school movie theater. Who wouldn’t be?

Ben chuckled warmly and rubbed your back. “And as you can see, she’s apparently very excited. It’s almost like she’s never been to a theater before.”

Recently, Ben had started to tease you whenever you got too exuberant about a 1940s thing (not that he was aware you called them that). But it was sometimes hard to fully hide your enthusiasm once your geek brain lit up like a Christmas tree.

1942 had its pros and cons, its ups and downs, but you tried to adjust as best as you could, getting used to the idea of staying here for good.

So did Ben.

After washing off the dirt and slipping back into your clothes – an emerald green silk dress with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves – you strolled cheerily into Ben’s office, where he was already waiting for you.

“Alright, I’m ready. We can leave,” you told him, the excitement swinging in both your voice and smile.

“You sure about that? Aren’t you missing something?” With an amused smile, Ben then held your pair of shoes into the air. “Found them in the furnace.”

“Oh, I didn’t even notice! However did they get there?” you feigned your innocence, shifting around on your bare feet.

Ben chuckled and sauntered over to you. “I’m sure you have not the faintest clue, sweetheart.”

“Well, cut me some slack, okay? Ms. Vivian isn’t making you wear pantyhose all day long,” you sassed, grimacing.

Ben only smirked. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t wear them.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, but I think I am.” Ben’s smirk rose higher with a devilish gleam in his green eyes.

“Fine,” you huffed playfully, accepting the challenge. “They’re coming off!”

Your fingers worked eagerly to unfasten the clips of your garter belt – and oh God, how much you hated that fucking thing – and then rolled each stocking down your legs, finally tossing them on the leather chair.

Ben always kissed you like there was no fucking tomorrow.

No future, no past, no doubts, no regrets. Just you and him caught in a moment.

He twirled you once and spun you backwards into his embrace like he’d shown you during your dance lessons, causing an eruption of giggles to spill from your throat. His breath ghosted along your skin in the nape of your neck, his broad chest pressing against your back, strong arms around you, holding you tight. His mouth trailed wet kisses along the exposed parts of your shoulder. His hands smoothed up and down your curves.

And then, they became a little more daring, a little more adventurous.

His right hand palmed a gracious amount of your ass over your dress while his left hand lingered dangerously close below your breast on your ribcage.

“And what exactly is your plan here, huh?” you incited, causing him to chuckle against your throat. It wasn’t like he’d never tried to test the boundaries before with you.

“You know, I’ve been thinking–“

“Uh-oh, that can’t be a good sign,” you quipped with a bubble of giggles.

“Are you teasing me, hm?” Ben pinched your sides where you were ticklish, laughing puckishly when you squealed and squirmed in his hold.

Needless to say, Soldier Boy wouldn’t have reacted with a tickle attack upon that comment.

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” you swore between your infectious laughter till he stopped and welcomed you back into his arms. You let yourself fall back against him. “So, what were you thinking, huh?”

“Well, I know we’re not sleeping together yet–“

“Yet? Wow, that’s some confidence you got there,” you continued to tease him.

“Yes, and completely your loss, by the way,” he retorted, spreading kisses down your neck to prove his point.

“Obviously.” You laughed softly to indulge him, but you couldn’t deny or ignore the little electric shockwaves traveling to your throbbing core. You clenched slightly, pressing your thighs a little tighter together, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

But he did and smirked triumphantly against your skin.

“As I was saying,” he continued, still carrying a smirk, but his voice dropping seductively low as he nibbled a path down your throat. His hand slid from your ass to the front of your thigh – slow, deliberate, knowing – rising higher and higher with each sinful syllable that left his plump lips. “Just because we’re not doing that yet–,” you felt the sharp smugness against your pulse point, “–doesn’t mean there aren’t… other ways I can make you feel good if you want me to, sweetheart.”

You laughed it off – barely, weakly, unconvincingly. “Ben…”

But there was no ‘I can’t,’ no ‘please,’ no ‘stop.’

“Yeah?” Amused, he kissed each vertebra down your neck, your little shivers pleasing him, his knuckles dragging along your ribs over silky fabric. “Need me to convince you a little?”

His perfect fingers tiptoed up your inner thigh – a brush, soft and fleeting. You bit your lips hard, close to tasting iron. Then, those five little sins traced up under your skirt, tugged teasingly at your garter straps, and ghosted along the hem of your panties.

And you fucking whimpered.

He smiled against the back of your head. It was like an invitation. A celebration! He’d finally won an argument.

“Yeah? You want me to touch you… there, sweetheart?” he tantalized raspily into your ear, your lobe caught between sharp teeth. His fingers teased along the cotton material, never going beyond where you wanted them.

Needed them.

His other hand then slid up your ribs, up and up and up, till he palmed your tit with the same ferocious grip he’d shown your ass.

“Or here?” His knuckles only lightly rubbed over your nipple, but it peaked underneath the thin material of your dress.

“Ben…” you moaned softly, not noticing how you sunk into him more and more. You were lost.

Pleasure. Bliss. Euphoria.

“Here it is, then.” He chuckled, victorious.

Gently, slowly, tortuously, his fingers ran along the cap sleeve before letting it fall down your shoulder. And as soon as it did, his hand generously cupped your breast. Massaged, groped, and fucking squeezed.

But his thumb and forefinger did the worst damage, tweaking, rubbing, and twisting your pebble between them till you sighed his name.

“Ben…”

“Yeah?” he answered in that same smug tone, enjoying you fall apart at his every touch. “You want more?”

“Yes,” you sighed breathlessly, grinding against him, desperate to find friction goddamn anywhere.

“Beg.” His diabolical chuckle caused your whole body to vibrate and catch fire.

You felt the outlines of his hard cock press against your ass, slotting himself right between your luscious cheeks. Each roll of his hips was deliberate. Teasing. Always teasing.

Fucking bastard…

His teeth sunk into your shoulder. His hand slipped inside your panties, cupped your whole pussy before two fingers stretched out, middle and pointer, and dove between your wet folds. Dragged and rubbed over your fucking clit.

“Well, look at that,” he chuckled into your ear. He palmed your tit roughly, fingers sliding over that little bundle of screaming nerves down low in relentlessly slow and measured strokes, gathering your wetness like it were the last drops on Earth. “And here I thought I never have any effect on you…”

“Ben…”

“Ben, what?”

The heel of his palm pressed against your pelvic bone, pushing you more against the hardness straining his slacks. Each rock, each push, each roll of his against you aimed to make you feel each inch of solid, thick, long mass. Aimed to make you wonder what he’d feel like inside of you.

Aimed to make you crumble enough for him to catch you when you’d finally fall from grace.

“Ben, please…”

You found the magic word, and two perfectly thick and long fingers breached your entrance just like that and delivered you from your misery but added to your sins.

You sang his name in fucking relief.

He curled his fingers in your drenched heat, right against that deliciously throbbing spot, scratching and coaxing every drop of arousal out of you, letting it trickle into his palm as if he were fucking saving it to drink later.

“You know–,” he rasped, breath hot against your cheek, “–this is why Ms. Vivian tells you to wear a fucking bra, sweetheart.” He rolled your aching nipple between his fingertips. “So men like me don’t have easy access and take fucking advantage of it.”

You clenched around his fingers. He grinned against your jaw.

“Although, I wouldn’t have minded if you forwent the panties, sweetheart,” he continued, deep voice thick with filth. “Wouldn’t have minded at all for those guys down there to see you fucking drippin’ for me to touch you.”

A moan bled from your lips as he ploughed his fingers harder through your wrecked pussy with every letter.

He brushed your hair to one side, hand lazily moving from your breast to your throat to your jaw, lifting your gaze to find his lust-laden and filth-filled eyes.

“You’re goddamn perfect,” he murmured, smirk twitching in the corners of his lips, making you chase them but never giving in to your desire. You whimpered, and he chuckled. His thumb pressed against your clit, adding slow circles to his torturous pumps. “Can’t wait to own every little part of yours. Can’t wait to make you mine.”

In 2023, you would’ve wanted him to choke on the possessive vile spewing out of his mouth.

But here, in 1942, with his fingers deep inside you and his voice cursing your mind, you fucking shattered.

You squeezed his fingers hard with a moaning and shuddering fuck, the last part of your resolve focusing even harder on not goddamn breaking them.

Sometimes, you still forgot he wasn’t a supe yet, made out of the same steel that was created below you, and that you could actually hurt him.

With a strangled scream that drowned out the factory noise of hammering steel beams (and red fucking cheeks), you came undone and soaked his goddamn hand.

Your frame shook, muscles trembled, and knees gave in, only to be caught and saved by him.

And then, finally, when your breathless lungs had wrung for enough oxygen, when your wild heartbeats had steadied, he let you catch his lips, perfectly desperate and starved and needy.

Your hand reached to cup his face, pulling him closer, fingers tangling in his hair, tongue down his throat. Ben groaned into the kiss, wrecked and just as desperate as you.

You twisted in his embrace as his fingers dropped from your heat. You faced him, kissing him with the sole intent to rob him of air. Your lips trailed down his jaw, his throat, and the little bit of exposed skin on his chest that was visible through the first opened buttoned of his dress shirt.

He growled when your hand reached down and eagerly palmed his rock-hard cock through his pants. Your trembling fingers hurried to unbuckle his belt, wanting to return the favor, but his hands snapped to your wrists, holding them still before gently moving them away.

“Oh no, sweetheart. We’re gonna be late for the pictures.” He smirked that smug smile again and gave you a cheeky wink. Coolly and completely unbothered, he then stepped away from you and grabbed his coat, swinging it over his shoulders and closing the front to hide his massive boner. “C’mon, let’s go!”

With an amused grin, Ben lit a cigarette and waited patiently by the door for you to snap out of your stupor and take his hand.

The crisp February air hit your face, your breath coming out in little swirling clouds as you and Ben emerged from the warmth of the movie theater. The snow-covered streets of Philadelphia were hushed, the city falling asleep as the glow of streetlamps bathed the cobblestone sidewalk in amber hues.

You adjusted the collar of your coat against the chill, tucking your hands into the pockets. Ben, sensing the shiver that ran through you, pulled you a little closer, interlacing your fingers with his.

“How’d you like the movies?” he asked, smiling softly and giving a quick peck to your temple.

“I loved them! Can’t go wrong with Bogart and Fonda,” you replied with a smile that soon turned teasing. You playfully nudged his shoulder. “So, you scared yet I’m gonna pull a fast one on you like Barbara Stanwyck did to Henry Fonda?”

Ben laughed loudly, throwing his head back. “I don’t know. So far, you haven’t really been interested in my money, so I think I’m safe. ‘Sides, I’m not as easy as Fonda.”

“You sure about that? You do look a little naive and fresh-faced to me,” you quipped, grinning.

“Well, just so you know, if you’re really trying to con me… it’s working,” he joked and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling you into his arms with a fond smile and whispering a kiss onto your lips.

Your heart wildly fluttered for a beat but was swiftly slain by a sting in the same breath. Weren’t you conning him a little? He didn’t know who you were or where you came from despite trying to warn him as much as you could. You didn’t want anything from him – not his money, not his secrets, not his death. You didn’t even know why you were doing this – why the fuck you were still entertaining this charade!

Your insides were full of butterflies and bees these days.

“Oh, yeah? Guess I’m the one who’s in trouble then,” you replied with a soft smile as you got lost in the green galaxies of his eyes.

“I don’t think you have any idea how much you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, sweetheart,” Ben said and lifted your chin softly to meet his lips in a sweet, tentative kiss. An affectionate smile grazed his face as his large palm warmed your cold cheek. “But I think I know something else, too.”

“And what’s that?” You bit your lower lip, leaning in closer, your hands sliding up his chest to drape around his neck.

“I think you’re falling for your mark, sweetheart,” he replied with a quiet smile, resting his forehead on yours.

Your heart stopped, his words stunning you into silence, tears beginning to brim in your eyes that you tried to swallow down. Was that what you were doing? What kept you tethered here? Were you falling in love with him?

“Maybe, I am,” you admitted softly, watching a hint of a smile flash alive before he pulled you to his lips in a searing, wanting, claiming kiss.

“You know, if you were the Maltese Falcon–,” he said, voice rough and low, thumb stroking up and down your cheekbone, “–I’d follow you across continents just to keep you safe.”

“Hmm, I can see you as Bogart. You like to brood in the shadows as well,” you teased him, feeling the vibrations of his chuckle against your body as his words sunk in.

Was he–… No. That’s ridiculous.

“Well, I did always want to be an actor when I was younger,” he shared, laughing self-consciously.

“Really? I guess I can see that. You do have a very Hollywood look,” you entertained his idea with a warm smile. You figured it was best to breeze over his actual acting skills altogether. He had looked pretty on screen when Soldier Boy had forced his movies down your throat. “And what would you want in return for saving me, huh?”

“Well–,” he licked his lips, his hands slowly, deliberately, seductively opening your coat and slipping them inside around your waist, “–there’s still a few things I’d like to unravel about you.”

Your cheeks hurt with a smile. Oh, he was a charming devil. It was hard to deny.

“I’m not quite sure I’m ready to be unraveled yet,” you said with a coy giggle, fingers gently carding through the hair in the back of his neck like a nervous tick as your heart hammered in your ribcage.

But Ben gave you a kind smile in return, his features softening with something deeper than the playful attitude. “That’s okay. There’s no rush, sweetheart. You’re worth waiting for.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead as if he was making a vow at that moment. The night felt intimate, like it was just a world for the two of you.

And you realized then that you were truly falling head over heels in love with him, unaware that Ben was already miles ahead of you.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know that, much like the Maltese Falcon, you were only a fake – a mere illusion, too.

“Lying in my bed, I hear–” You adjusted your fingers on the ivory keys.

Em.

“–the clock tick, and I think of you,” you sang softly, holding the note.

Am.

“Caught up in circles, confusion–”

“–is nothing new...”

“Flashback, warm nights. Almost–” your fingers switched back to E minor, “–left behind.” Am. “Suitcases of memories…” F. “Time after–”

You exhaled a soft sigh, your fingers sliding from the keys with a few random notes. How did the chorus go again?

Why were you forgetting the lyrics? You knew that song by heart. Earlier, you couldn’t play Sia’s Elastic Heart either.

“If you’re lost, you can look, and you will find me–” Em. “–time after time.” Am. “If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting–” F. “–time after time…”

You expelled a breath of relief. The memory fog was getting worse every day. You wondered how long you still had before not being able to remember anything at all.

“Why are you stopping?”

With a small yelp of surprise, you startled and turned to Ben, leaning against the doorframe and watching you. You didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. You hadn’t even heard him come home.

“Oh, uh, I can’t remember the rest of the song,” you replied, your cheeks blushing as you rose from the little stool to greet him, tiptoeing up to meet his lips for a sweet kiss. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Ben chuckled. “Luckily. Otherwise, I might have missed your little performance.” He winked, caressing your cheek in his palm. “The only proof I had of you actually playing so far were the bedazzling whispers of the staff. Glad I finally got to catch it, too. You have a beautiful voice, sweetheart.”

Your brow quirked unnoticeably at his last sentence. Why the hell did that sound familiar to you? It felt like déjà-vu.

“Thank you.” Your cheeks turned pink under the soft light of the crystal chandelier in the drawing room.

“What song was that? I don’t know it. Did you write that?” Ben asked curiously.

You shook your head quickly, brushing it off. “Oh no, just something I heard once somewhere…”

“Huh. I like it,” he said, and you internally sighed in relief. He then hauled a full bouquet of sunflowers from behind his back, holding them out to you with a smile. “Got something for you.”

You took the bouquet gratefully, burying your nose in the beautiful smelling flowers. You’d told him not too long ago that they were your favorite.

“For me? Thank you, uhm… Where did you even get sunflowers in winter?” You shook your head then suddenly. “You know what? Don’t answer that. It’s probably a rich people trade secret,” you muttered, making Ben snort. “What exactly are those for?”

He offered you a warm smile. “We threw on the second furnace today. The two new ones now produce ten times as much as the others. We’re gonna get that government contract, all thanks to you.”

Should you be concerned you had a hand in helping rich people get even richer?

“I’m glad it worked out,” you said instead, smiling softly.

“Fred seemed a little nervous since you hadn’t checked his work on the second one,” Ben said jokingly.

“I’m sure it was fine.” You laughed with a playful eye roll. “Oh, uhm, I actually have something for you, too!”

You hurried back to the piano and laid the bouquet down on top of it, knowing Florence would pick them up in the next five minutes, already noticing her scurry down the hall upon hearing Benjamin’s voice. Then you walked over to a long, polished side table, gesturing Ben over to you.

His brow knitted a little more with each step he took, jade green eyes focusing on the somewhat big and clunky machine propped up on it. And then, finally, he looked at you, his expression somewhere between completely bewildered and bountifully confused.

“It’s a movie projector,” you told him while Ben kept silently staring at you like you were an alien. “Because you said you liked movies? Now you can watch them at home. You just have to steal a white bedsheet out of Florence’s linen closet. And of course, you’d have to get a movie from somewhere, but I’m sure that won’t be a big problem for you. You just need to make sure it’s 35mm.”

Ben’s eyes widened; lips curled. “Where-, uhm–” He scratched the back of his neck. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh, I built it,” you replied.

“‘Course you did…” Ben clicked his tongue.

“George had most of the materials in the shed, and he was nice enough to get the rest of them for me,” you added, barely hiding the excited grin. “Do you like it?”

Ben’s features softened, a smile curving his lips. “Yeah, I like it very much, sweetheart. Thank you.”

There was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite place – like your gift was special, which confused you greatly. He could buy himself anything he ever wanted to, including a movie projector, and you were sure he had also received plenty of gifts throughout his life. You didn’t even really want to imagine what kind of spectacle his birthdays probably had been.

“You’re welcome,” you said, and Ben pulled you closer by your hand, kissing you.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked as he withdrew from your lips, your cheeks still safely in his warm palms.

Uh-oh.

Ben had gotten curiouser and curiouser about you the last couple of weeks. It was as if he expected you to open up more, the longer the two of you were going out, which would’ve been a pretty fair assumption to make in a regular relationship. But the problem was nothing was normal about this, and you couldn’t share more with him. Not more than you already had. You’d never be able to tell him the full truth.

“I guess?”

Ben chuckled lightly at your response, caressing your cheek as if to assure you. “Where did you learn how to do all of this? I mean, this seems to go a bit beyond… regular schooling. Not that I’d know for sure.”

Ben’s little self-deprecating laugh was supposed to calm your nerves, but your heart only pounded faster by the second.

Hesitantly, you pursed your lips and exhaled a long breath. “I suppose you have a point. I-, uhm, I learned it in college.”

And downloading instructions from the memory bank.

“College?” Ben’s brow almost met his hairline, green eyes wide in surprise. “You went to college? Where?”

“I-, uhm, I studied physics at McGill. It’s a university in Montreal,” you told him the truth. Luckily, you remembered your college’s long history of co-educational programs, including the sciences.

“French…” was all Ben mumbled, nodding along as if puzzle pieces were falling into place. “Are you from Canada?”

You snorted a giggle, shaking your head. “No, I just studied there.”

“Physics?” Ben checked once more like he couldn’t believe it, his brow intensely furrowed. But it wasn’t doubt that caused the creases – only disbelief.

“Yes,” you confirmed slowly. “I have a… PhD.”

Ben’s brows raised a little higher. “You-, uh, you’re a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re actually… smart-smart,” Ben deduced, causing you to laugh slightly, visibly seeing the gears turning in his head.

“I guess you could say that,” you replied, worrying your lower lip as you watched his various expressions.

“Huh.” Ben hummed and smacked his lips. “Why wouldn’t you have told me that?”

He wasn’t offended but generally baffled why you’d hide an achievement this big, one you should be proud to show off.

Your lips hitched a smile of amusement. “I’m not a man, Ben. Not as easy for someone like me.”

“Right…” He nodded quietly, still thinking. Still considering you.

But he didn’t have more questions afterward. You couldn’t really read the look on his faintly freckled face, and before you could figure it out, he claimed your lips in a deep and long kiss that robbed you of your breath.

However, pulling back, his smile faltered at the corners, brows shaping back into the familiar creases. His gaze trailed down your throat, landing on a particular spot at the slope of your neck. His fingers reached out and tentatively traced along the curve.

“What?” you asked with a small giggle upon his questioning look and the ticklish touch, but your eyes were wary, your heart accelerating its beats again.

“Nothing.” He shook his head as if the thought that had crossed him was silly. An amused smile then curved his lips. “Did you know I’ve been trying to leave my mark on that little spot for weeks now? Doesn’t seem to take.”

Fuck!

You hadn’t even thought about that. He was getting way too observant. How long could you possibly keep this up before he’d burn you on the stake?

“Oh, uh…” Self-consciously, your hand clasped that very spot on your neck, feeling your eyebrows shoot up before you tried to rein them in and keep your composure. “I don’t… bruise easily, you know? Kinda neat…”

Fortunately, Ben seemed to buy your lie, his smile widening in kind. You really had him wrapped around your little finger. And shit, did you feel guilty about it, but you were also fucking relieved.

How long would that last, though? This wouldn’t be the last time he’d ask you questions or take note of oddities.

“Yeah, guess you don’t.” The smile morphed to a smirk. “Guess I have to try harder then, huh?”

The challenge sparkled in the deep green of his eyes before he entangled you in another kiss, tongue breaching past your lips as the hands on your waist dragged you flush against him. His hands slid higher, his embrace tightening as he retreated a few inches from your lips, only to place a gentle kiss on your temple.

“You’re special, sweetheart,” he said against the top of your head as he held you, deep voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I promise I won’t ever forget that, okay? And I’ll make sure everyone else fucking sees it, too.”

Shit.

Your heart dropped. You fought against the flood of tears in your eyes and tried to keep your breathing steady. Don’t fucking cry, you reminded yourself.

No one had ever said something like that to you. How did he know? And why on Earth did it have to be him?

And you knew then why you were still here and hadn’t ended this madness yet – because Ben was the one, across the vastness of the universe and the infinity of time, that saw you in a way no one else ever had.

He was the only one.

“Ben, I–”

Before you could form the right words to say, both your heads snapped to the hallway upon hearing the heavy thud of the front door. Who was at the door? Did he finally decide to get Mrs. Helen for you, after all?

But the tension that crept into Ben’s broad shoulders and the deeply creasing brow told you he hadn’t expected the visit either, and your stomach sank as it dawned on you.

“Shit,” Ben muttered, telling you enough with that one little curse word.

“Your parents?” you asked quietly. Ben nodded, but his worried eyes were fixed on the hall that led to the foyer. “I thought they weren’t supposed to come for a few more days?”

Ben had never explicitly said it, but you knew he was nervous about you being here when his father eventually returned. A week ago, he’d subtly introduced the idea of getting an apartment for you in the city, so you’d known Florence’s suspicion had been right all along.

You were not welcome here and were only trouble for Ben.

“Yeah, uhm…” Distraught, he turned to you then, and you swore you could see his heart beating in his throat. “You think you could, uhm–”

You nodded without him needing to say more. “I’ll sneak up to my room through the servants’ quarters and lock myself in there, alright?” you said and quickly kissed his cheek in reassurance, Frances already knowingly holding the door open for you to follow her upstairs.

▶️ Chapter 7: Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

Poor girl never stood a chance with him 😅 How did you enjoy their dates (and their little office session)? Are you nervous or excited to get a glimpse of Ben's parents in the next part?

✨ TRIVIA FACTS: The title is a quote from The Maltese Falcon (1941) with Humphrey Bogart. The movie is about a group of people hunting a valuable artifact, the Maltese Falcon, before it is revealed at the end that it was only a fake. The second movie mentioned is The Lady Eve (1941), which is about a female con artist trying to scam a millionaire on a cruise ship before she falls for her mark. I found both of those very fitting for obvious reasons 🤓

Coming Up:

And then, his eyes landed on the bed – on your clothes spread out, half-packed. He froze, demeanor shifting immediately, color draining from his face. “What the hell is going on here? Are you fucking leaving me?” The baritone voice was suddenly sharp now, carrying an edge that cut through the haze of his drunkenness.

“I don’t wanna cause more trouble for you,” you confessed quietly, panic rising in your chest.

“So that’s it? Just like that? You’re just gonna fucking walk out on me?” His voice was jagged with emotion, gripping a handful of his hair in disbelief.

“No, but I-… I don’t belong here, okay?” you argued, your tone laced with desperation. What else could you say?

“Dammit, you think I don’t fucking know that?” His jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat, there was an unsettling silence between you two. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck Dottie told you, but this-… this isn’t some game to me. You think I do this with everyone? That I’m using you because I’m bored? That I’m just some spoiled rich kid who gets whatever I want?” He stared at you, disappointment, incredulity, and betrayal swimming in his eyes.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei

@perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming @hunter-or-the-hunted

@k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways @muhahaha303

@ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith @nesnejwritings

@samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02 @impala67rollingthroughtown

@star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v @youroldfashioned

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sskk-manifesto · 4 months ago

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The best 68 seconds in anime history (and a 22 minutes 32 seconds of prelude to that, I guess)

#A good episode. Some interesting politics talks.#But also episode that reminds me how boring b/sd is - to me - when it's not about ss/kk…#It's just that a season finale that isn't centered on ss/kk feels unfair ahah #I like fuku/fuku's relationship and their arc is interesting but man Fukuchi's plan is really so stupid… Like so so stupid…#And I suppose it's the kind of nonsense that's fairly in brand for b/sd. But still‚ man…#Idk. I don't have much to say that I haven't already plenty commented here and there.#Very solid episode. Spectacular animation and art direction by b/sd's standards. Just try not to miss ss/kk too much while watching it lmao #Oh the Teruko scene makes me soooooo mad.#I'm so pissed at that scene it's my least favourite scene in the whole manga. Makes me want to break the screen.#The moment when Fukuchi holds Fukuchi is???? So intimate????? Really has one be like 🏳️‍🌈⁉️⁉️#I know that's definitely not the point but every time watching I can't help but go #“world war or not‚ activating such a large scale military mobilization is probably going to cause the end of the world–#due to all its consequent pollution either way”.#I mean even ignoring the tanks and fighter aircrafts and aircraft carriers the THOUSANDS of missiles dropped in the sea. Lol #Well... At least we got ss/kk homoerotic bloodsucking. A special tool that will come useful later I'm sure I'm sure #I don't have words left about the final ss/kk scene but seriously. It's incredible under every aspect.#I can't believe Akutagawa stepped in in a new outfit to rescue Atsushi and exchange homoerotic lines.#You had to be there you had to be there. Lifechanging night national holiday worthy event #random rambles #This one + the last episode: episodes that make me go “wow whoever wrote this plot has no idea how UN works”#Like seriously (╥﹏╥) Seriously. I mean it's all good it's just an anime but that's so not how the UN works lol

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silentsockfeet · 5 months ago

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ugh it’s just. i really do love arcane so so much. which is why s2 is stinging so bad. i’m disappointed in a lot of it and i think i’m always gonna mourn the potential it had. but all i’ve been doing since act 3 dropped is stewing over it and talking with my friends about it and airing out our grievances and i’m tired. i’m tired of being grumpy over it. i just want to love it for everything it did right and accept it for everything it fell short in. but it’s gonna hurt for a while

#i’m never gonna get over how sidelined vi is specifically #and i saw a tweet by christian linke where he addressed how she got less screen time s2 #and he literally said ‘yeah as writers we were interested in other characters idk what else to say’#LIKE HELLO???? YOU WROTE THE SHOW ABOUT TWO SISTERS AND THEN YOU STOPPED CARING ABOUT ONE OF THEM?????? HOW DOES THAT MAKE SENSE #i’m just. UGH. as soon as i feel like im getting over it i remember something that makes me grumpy again #but then it’s also like. god i loved when me and my friends were watching together and we’d all react to how gorgeous a shot is or how cool #a fight scene was or smth. and even after when we were talking about what we liked and didn’t liked it still was just like.#wow i love how much this show has brought all of us together and made us think and feel in ways we never have before #after all of this i’m still like i love you i love you i love you #anyways i just needed to get this out #other people have made posts that say shit better than i have so im not gonna bother trying to write my own in depth rants #i’m just gonna leave it here #my posts #personal

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natasha-in-space · 10 months ago

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Hey so I see you reblogging lots of RE content and I wonder if it's okay to ask if you have any fics for it maybe? It's okay if you don't, just wanted to check in '^^

So, uh, funny answer? Lots and lots in my private drafts. Also lots of RP lately (unironically working on an art piece for it rn bc it's fun). I write for it pretty much daily at this point, haha. RE4R sucked me back in, and I'm staying put so far. But that's all for me because I'm insecure about posting my stuff without heavy tinkering and editing to make it good 💀

But honest answer? I am actually working on a full Leon fic! And yes, this one I do plan on posting once it's done. I have no idea when it'll get finished though, because I am interchangeably working on it along with the Saeyoung one... Also, it's at <3 500 words currently, and I'm only, like, about halfway done through the plot.

For my MM followers: Saeyoung fic is at <4 000 words currently (yes I know, it was supposed to be a drabble. Things went out of control. There's no going back now). I do hope it'll be worth the wait! And yes I am working on it! My love for MM is not going anywhere.

I am a bit of a slow writer, admittedly, and real life has been kicking my butt lately.

#mia talks #yes i did break my habit of only working at one fully fledged fic at a time bc i just have too many ideas sob #btw i am still very much on the fence about the saeyoung fic bc like.....#initially it was supposed to be the y'know traditional 'fade to black' sort of suggestive piece #then it was changed to actually writing out the intimacy but fading to black somewhere in the middle #but now i'm like....#does it even make sense to do the 'fade to black' thing if i already basically wrote out the deed #i know it's bc i'm insecure about my smut scenes but like-#i wonder if it'll be frustrating to the reader if you do get some action but it fades to black somewhere in the middle #ughhh i don't know!!!!#my friend was happy with it and that fic IS her gift so like #i'm conflicted #and if i do decide to actually write out the entirety of it all - it'll definitely take me way longer to complete LMAO #but yes there will be an added tag for those who want to avoid smut #...i'm saying this like i'll be writing for it often lmao #on the topic of re though - the fic will probably be posted on a separate blog bc i don't want to clog this one too much #i'll think about reblogging it here if more people are interested!

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pyrriax · 1 year ago

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HI TUMBLR late footnote posting before i go to bed (i took a nap today........ ate up most of my time)

not a lot to talk about with footnotes today since i was Busy and my brain wasnt working pfndkmlfd i blame seven hours of modded oneblock

#haunted ecosystem #haunted bookshelf #i might make a tag for these footnote posts? i think its a fun way to document what ive written about without sharing All of it #also yes thats a random crack au that i've have in the back of my head for a bit what about it #i dont think its canon in the slightest its just a funny little thing in my head for writing random bs #honestly i might start trying to work on more wtds stuff. this is kind of a perfect excuse #also! i think how i might work this is that if i work on a larger project during the day then i'll just do the daily prompt #since its a good exercise and an excuse to keep some kind of writing streak going #i actually asked one of my partners for a prompt since i was struggling to find an interesting one #ended up with 'last man standing' for spoke... very fitting tbh #i might write a more canon take for that. the concept i wrote down was much more set in an au than anything since i was also thinking #about asomatous zam at the same time so i kind of just incorparated both of them into it with it being paracosm-era #OH did i ever mention that i have a general title plan for the other parts of that kind of. world #its very set in stone that if i do write more it'll be two more parts #metamorphosis (5 part) and paracosm (1 part with multiple scenes. functionally 3 part maybe?)#asomatous goes in the middle of that. i need to kind of plan all of them out better and see how it wants to flow #metamorphosis was started as a concept because i had a few bad things happen bingo prompts i wanted to be used for asomatous #but didnt end up using. so metamorphosis is my excuse for that. paracosm is just a Concept thats been really plaguing me basically since i #originally wrote asomatous... i should probably come up with a temporary series title. i think something about shattering skies?#its a reoccurring theme and symbol throughout all of them....... i just think its neat #ANYWAYS goodnight to you especially if you actually read through all my tags :)

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archaeren · 11 months ago

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How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

#creative writing #writers block #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writers and poets #writerscommunity #fanfic writing #writeblr #writing advice

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viir-tanadhal · 11 months ago

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no no listen i see the vision

what were the other ones then

#'but sarah very is camp and essentially neil's coming out album and bilingual has metamorphosis--' shh give me a second #yes all of their albums are essentially gay/queer in a sense due to the fact their experiences as gay men are going to influence #the songs and themes and perspectives and narratives #that's absolutely true #HOWEVER #in the case of very and im going to steal my friend's quote but it is gay as a byproduct of the relationship neil was in when they wrote it #but the album by and large is about neil falling in love and then that relationship breaking up #yes the visuals and aesthetic are camp but that doesn't mean then nonetheless as a whole isnt as well even though its not camp #(and classifying very as 'camp' is a whole other thing but you get it)#what makes nonetheless interesting is how queer themes and people and inspirations are woven into the album #new london boy is undeniably queer given it covers neil's queer experience and finding himself and moving to london #i view nonetheless and its queerness as essentially a successor from will-o-the-wisp on hotspot #you have that intrigue. the longing. the mystery. the tension #neil drawing from christopher isherwood as inspiration #and he describes the song as queer #elements of nonetheless reflect that #feel deals with a gay relationship based upon intense devotion but also immense longing. neil mentioned wilde as a partial inspiration so #that play on the narrator using friend when obviously the other person being their partner/lover adds some intrigue there #dancing star deals with nureyev and his defection and a core theme of psb and queer experience of escaping to a better life #a new bohemia references gay activist wisconsin group les petites bon-bons and the loss of community and artistic spaces and scenes #that largely had queer artists and theorists and activists as a part of them #love is the law is influenced by oscar wilde in france after he left prison #all of these queer references and experiences and themes are essential aspects of the album and an overall queer theme #it's all neil having a nostalgic reflection onto a queer past and history and experiences that in some ways no longer exist #or don't exist in the same way #even schlager has that theme of looking to the future and why am i dancing focuses on releasing inhibitions and embracing oneself #and then each music video has been queer. loneliness is. yeah. dancing star w nureyev + new bohemia w margate and majority queer cast #the key thing is intentionality. the queerness and references and experiences and all of it has been intentional #rather than a byproduct of their personal experiences and reflections of what is happening around them that just is in their work #anyway i will shut up now sorry this is long omfg. fair to disagree btw

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luveline · 6 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬

Aaron sets the record straight when an overheard conversation convinces you that you’re not good enough for him. 5k

c: fem, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive theme (non-graphic implied sex scene). hotch is a good husband. requested here

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Honey, this is Clint McMoore. We went to college together.”

You step into Aaron’s side. Clint McMoore is a handsome older man with silvering hair and a beard that looks out of control. His bowtie is loose around his neck, and his cheeks are blotchy with drink, but Clint smiles at you and offers his hand. “How do you do?” he asks.

“Quite well, thank you.” You’ve been practising fancy dinner talk with Aaron’s friend Emily for weeks. She has all the political background you’d needed to see yourself into the culture. “It’s nice to meet one of Aaron’s school friends.”

“While you still can,” Clint says with a chuckle. Something about being in your forties is obscene to these men, as though death waits for fifty candles to snuff them out.

“Clint and I were in the Student Theatre club together, our first year.”

You grin, smile laced with teasing. Each time you’re reminded of Aaron’s young interest in drama, you have to focus very hard on not laughing; the Aaron who has his hand to your shoulder isn’t one you could envision on stage. “Did you perform together?” you ask.

“Saturday Night Fever,” Clint says.

They laugh and reminisce. You find these sorts of events hard to keep up with, but you come when Aaron asks because he so rarely asks you for anything. He hasn’t mentioned knowing that you don’t like coming, But perhaps he hasn’t noticed —it’s not like you to frown, not when you’re with Aaron. The way he treats you, he probably thinks you’re the happiest girl in the world.

There’s a contentedness to be found when he touches you. He spreads a hand against your lower back and you let yourself sink into his side, curled into his embrace and amazed at the giggly laugh he lets out as Clint brings up the ‘King of the River’ tattoo Aaron has hidden beneath his shirt. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek.

Clint asks, “Isn’t that right?” and forces you back into the conversation.

You’re wearing a dress you panicked over for days. It’s black, cut playfully just above your knees with small petal sleeves. Your necklace is of a delicate chain and a not so delicate pearl —a black Tahitian South Sea pearl that glows pink and green in the light. For you, Aaron wrote, his pretty scrawl inky across a square of scalloped card from atop the box. I’m in love with you. Forgive me for not having the courage to tell you in person.

Your Aaron is quiet. Some days he comes home from work and doesn’t manage more than a sentence. Some days he can barely speak at all. But there are nights when he holds you to hold you and talks in murmurs against your ear, and he’s good at making calls when he’s away. Talking or not, smiling or otherwise, Aaron finds a way to let you know he loves you, and that’s all you care about.

“Excuse us,” Aaron says, giving Clint a rare, warm smile, “I’m being flagged by my boss.”

Sure enough, Erin Strauss is beckoning Aaron with a strange pained look.

“Nice to meet you,” you say quickly to Clint. He repeats your goodbye, and you and Aaron swerve around him.

“He was nice,” you murmur.

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“How come you fell out of touch?”

“Oh, you know how things go, honey, you forget all the people you meet and make room for new ones.” He kisses your cheek. “And besides, he used to gossip like my mother. Why don’t you go find JJ?”

“You’ll be alright?”

“No, maybe not.” He squeezes your elbow quickly. “Go, find some hors d’oeuvres, at least.”

You find neither JJ nor finger foods. The gala you’re attending is being held in a hotel in the richest part of D.C, and the events hall is huge. The ceiling is a fantasy, glass and miles upward, overhead chandeliers dangling lower, dousing the crowds below in a light that’s clean. The rich and powerful gather at the edges of the room, though the performance toward the back of the room is watched by a few tens of couples with flutes of champagne held in gloved hands.

You hadn’t worn gloves. Hadn’t thought about it until you got here. Honestly, you felt grateful enough that JJ texted you to tell you to buy a shawl; if you weren’t wearing one you’re sure you’d feel bare.

What you’re lacking in fancy is made up for by your earnestness, or so you’d like to believe. You aren’t rich nor powerful, but Aaron’s a good man and you his good wife. You work hard, which is more than some of the richest in the room can say. You hold your head high without a second thought.

The hall is confusing. Tables are set but you aren’t sure Aaron said anything about a dinner service. Wait staff carry silver platters and hold bottles of champagne, but each time you approach one they seem to have already headed in another direction. JJ and Derek are both supposed to be here tonight, but you haven’t seen either of them since you arrived. You cast your gaze for Derek’s figure, searching for an easy gait and a strong set of shoulders. You cock your head waiting for a hint of JJ’s practised, polite laughter, but any familiar signs are gone. You can’t even find Aaron anymore, and your shoes are pinching your toes.

Disaster. You should’ve listened to Aaron when he told you to size up, just you doubted his knowledge of ladies shoes considering how rarely he wears them. Stupid man, you think to yourself, lovingly yet ruefully as you sit down at one of the uninhabited tables to the very side of the room. Knows everything. Tonight, you’ll limp back to the car and he won’t bother saying I told you so, he’s too good for it, which is worse. He’ll give you one of his amused smiles. He might offer you a massage.

Ridiculous man, you further to yourself, biting back a cheesy smile as you peel your shoe from a sore foot. If you shove your hand deep enough into the toe you can stretch them out a little.

“Darling.”

You look up. Clint McMoore’s resurfaced just a table away with his back to you. A sweet-faced woman with brown hair sits adjacent to him, her shoulder under Clint’s hand.

“You’ll never guess who I just bumped into,” he says.

Me, you think.

“Aaron Hotchner and his new wife.”

“You didn’t,” the woman says.

“I knew you’d be envious of that,” he laughs. “Charlotte, she’s unbelievable.”

Your stomach does a strange flip. He’ll say something nice, you insist, but you know his tone is a precursor for gossipy nonsense.

“I’ve never seen such a mismatched pair,” he says.

Charlotte rolls her eyes at him. “Well, what were you expecting? They were married after six months of knowing one another. I couldn’t so much as tolerate you until our first anniversary.”

“Hardy-har.”

“What’s wrong with her, then?” Charlotte asks.

“Nothing like that, Charlotte. She seemed perfectly pleasant–”

“But?”

“But, she’s nothing like Aaron’s usual woman.”

“Hm, I said as much when we saw their wedding photos.“ They both laugh. “It’s not like she had much of a chance. First Haley, and then that Beth, the designer, she’s in Milan now–”

“He seems rather besotted, in any case,” Clint says. “Very lady and the tramp.”

“Gentleman and the tramp.”

“Don’t be cruel, Charlotte.”

You know in a way that Charlotte is kidding, but you boil up with anger the moment you recognise what it is they’re implying. Then they laugh, and your anger quickly finds itself taking a crueller shape.

You slip your foot back into your shoe slowly. Your throat feels dry and then warm, like a crux of smouldering coal stuck in your windpipe as you stand, jerkily, hand stiff where it holds your weight on a silken tablecloth.

You blink and stare at the floor. It’s marble. It’s shot through with dark veins like a drop of ichor in water.

What the fuck?

You aren’t sure why you’re leaving the hall until you’re walking down the steps of the hotel and turning along the skirts of a hedge. A low brick wall lies in front of it, just short enough to sit on with your heels. Your coccyx stings with the force of how hard you go down.

Your head races with hurt feelings.

You’re not unaware of your husband’s past loves. It comes as no surprise to you that people regard Haley and Beth highly —Haley was extremely beautiful and veritably brave, intelligent, kind-hearted. Beth was funny, Aaron said, and not too much else. Being a designer in Milan hasn’t been mentioned before, but it’s impressive. They’re both impressive, and– and his usual woman.

You rub the starchy stockings stretched over your knees.

What had they meant by usual woman?

Mismatched?

It hadn’t felt mismatched when Aaron asked you to marry him. It wasn’t six months after knowing one another as Clint’s wife suggested, but it wasn’t much more than that. He proposed to you after eight months together, and you were married two months later, which is incredibly fast to some people but it just hadn't felt fast when he asked. It was exciting —it still is.

“Would you marry me, if I asked you to?” he’d said, some seven months after you’d agreed to be his girlfriend. Your head in his lap, his fingers rubbing at the soft skin of your nape. A sleepy Sunday morning like any other, you suppose that was a proposal in itself, but you hadn’t realised that when you murmured, “Yeah, handsome. I would.”

You thought it was just love. Making innocuous comments about the future is part of falling in love. It’s terrifying to tell someone that you’d like to live life in their lap, but you tell them, and they tell you to go ahead if you’re lucky.

He asked you to get married a few weeks later. “I had to talk to Jack,” he explained, “or I would’ve asked you then and there.“

You’re a wife suddenly, a step-mother, a partner. Aaron would’ve sold the house and bought you a new one if you wanted him to, but you like his life. You’ve always felt like you fit right in.

Angry again, you scrub at your knees with itchy palms and practise how you’re going to tell Aaron about his cruel friend. Gossipy was right, what a lark, and you’re not perfectly pleasant, you’re a delight, you hadn’t said one bad word to Clint and you didn’t deserve to be whipped and twisted into a bad joke between sips of Cristal.

Your eyes burn with the injustice of the thing.

Rawness overtakes. A thudding in your chest turns painful, neck wrought with tightness as you hang your head. Hiding from the cold air. November brings with it a promise of chapped lips the longer you stay there, biting into your thighs as your hands turn stiff with disuse.

She was unbelievable.

“Y/N!” The shout is sharp. You’ve never heard Aaron’s voice at that level or with that level of formidability, carrying from the bottom of the hotel stairs. You twist in shock on the wall and watch in real time as his face fills with relief. “Honey,” he says, calling but not half as scary as he jogs to you, “are you alright?”

“What?”

“You scared me,” he insists, bending down to hold your shoulders. “Nobody’s seen you for the last fifteen minutes, sweetheart, we talked about this. You can’t just disappear, you left your purse on the table, I thought something happened to you.”

You startle at his scolding. “I–”

“You should feel my heart.”

“I didn’t mean to come out here.”

“I wish you would’ve let somebody know,” he says. His frown softens slowly, but the concern around his eyes remains. “What?” he asks.

“Sorry.”

His eyes finally soften. “No, I’m sorry. It’s alright, I just worry when you’re not with me.”

“That’s romantic.”

He holds your cheek, pulling you in, and gives you two gentle kisses. Your lips part instinctively to receive them. “We’ll get our things and go home. It looks as though dinner isn’t happening.” He smiles. “Why were you out here?”

“Scavenging for food.”

That gets a laugh out of him, and another nice kiss. “You tried your best.”

—

Aaron takes you home, and when dinner’s been cleared away, when you’ve showered and he’s undressed, he pulls you toward the bed and kisses you warmly. His eyes track from your face to the tucked corner of your towel, a silent Can I?

You let him take it off. He lays you out, and for a while you’re only his. His wife, his half, his to tease and turn and delight. He says “Beautiful,” against your thigh, says, “Honey, is that okay?” says, “Please, I’ve got it, I have you, just let me have you…”

After, he tells you he loves you, his voice still ever so slightly high in contrast to usual dulcet tones.

“I love you, too,” you say.

His breath comes fast. Your lap is a mess he’d wiped as clean as he could manage, the memory of him bearing down on you yet to fade. He lies on his stomach beside you with his arm over yours, his face turned into you, his nose on your cheek.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. “You feel tense.”

“Mm.”

“No, did I hurt you? You’re rigid.” His hands fret a line down the side of your chest. “You didn’t…”

You hadn’t said anything, because he really hadn’t hurt you. But the thoughts you’re having now are intrusive —am I okay? you think. Do I measure up? He’s never made any indication that you’ve let him down, not in sex or anything else, but you’re unbelievable.

You swallow a lump. “Sorry,” you say, the lingering ebbs of pleasure twisting into tears faster than you can stop it.

“Are you crying?” he asks under his breath.

You suck in a breath as he pushes onto his hands.

“These aren’t good tears,” he says.

He’d know. They’re not.

Aaron reaches over you to turn on the lamp on the nightstand before settling, his hand cupping your waist. It’s too much suddenly, too bare, he’s too much to look at as you squeeze your eyes closed. “Sorry,” you squeeze out.

“What did I do?” he asks, holding you carefully. “Please, sweetheart, what’s hurting? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not you.”

“But something does hurt?”

“No, no, I’m okay.” You cover your face with your hands. When you start to sob, it shakes the entire mattress, Aaron’s hand wobbling where it cups your ribs.

“Please.” His thumb works a soft spot into your skin. “Honey, please, you can’t cry now without telling me what’s wrong.” He tries a laugh, but it falls flat. “Honey. Honey.”

It wasn’t the sex. He never does anything wrong, he’s so gentle even when he isn’t, and if he did you’d only have to tell him, but the rush of being touched by him so nicely, fuck, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he took your face into his hand as he moved —you’re not trying to be a crier, but he makes you feel like you’re everything and you’re just not.

He looks sick.

“It wasn’t you, it was at the gala,” you manage.

For a long while after, you can’t get a word out. You shiver and sob as Aaron scoops you into his chest, his nose in your shoulder waiting for you to calm down. He rubs your waist, fingers parted and waving slowly as he shushes you. Not to make you stop, though. He’s reassuring.

“What happened at the gala?” he asks quietly.

“It’s so stupid.”

“No, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?”

You wrap your arms around his head. It really is stupid, you feel smaller than an ant under the shadow of a giant heel. Aaron doesn’t waver when you struggle to answer, feeling around behind you for a pillow and helping you against it. He kisses your forehead. “Let me get you something to wear.”

You catch his wrist. “It wasn’t you, wasn’t–” You lift your chin.

He kisses you. “Okay,” he says simply. “Let’s get dressed.”

He dresses quickly, bringing you underwear and one of your sleep shirts, a loose fit. You shuffle into them and watch him patiently as he cleans the small mess of the evening away. You’re sniffling softly when he returns to you, sitting with his back to your thighs.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry if I read things wrong. I never would’ve initiated anything if I knew you were feeling like this.”

You laugh weakly, worriedly, looking at him through your lashes. “It made me feel better,” you admit.

“If this is better, you must’ve been feeling awful.”

You relax as he puts his hand on your thigh.

“In the time I left you to talk to Strauss, something upset you. JJ and Morgan didn’t see you. So someone in the gala said something or did something that made you leave. If you tell me who it was, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“You’re trying to bargain with me,” you mumble.

“I’m just telling you what can be done. I can take care of things.”

“It’s nothing… nothing so severe. You’ll wonder why I–” You give an unexpected sob. “Made all this fuss.”

“I don’t think I’ll wonder,” he says.

You laugh through tears. These ones are slow, your eyes already itchy from crying.

“Please tell me.” He tries teasing instead of sternness, lowering his face to yours. “Or I’ll cry too.”

“Aaron.”

“I will. You think I can’t, but seeing you crying like this, it’s more than enough ammunition.”

You let out a breath, admitting defeat. “Your friend, Clint? I overheard him with his wife. He didn’t have very nice things to say about me.”

“What could he possibly have to say?” Aaron asks with a frown.

You pull the sheets up your legs. “He said I’m… unbelievable, and I don’t think he meant it kindly. Said that I’m not your type, and that I… I had no chance of measuring up, because of who you’ve been with before. They were laughing about our wedding photos.” Your throat feels pressed into by a hot poker. “They said we were the gentleman and the tramp.”

His eyes squint. He looks disgusted, and for an uncomfortable moment you feel like it might be directed at you, but then he scoffs. “What a crock of shit.”

“Aaron!” you laugh.

“What could Clint McMoore possibly know about marriage? This is his fourth wife. And to imply that you’re any sort of calibre below the women I’ve dated before isn’t just misogynistic nonsense, it’s not true. You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and what’s that supposed to mean, gentlemen and the tramp?” He gives you such an earnest glare of confusion that you can’t for a second doubt what it is he’s saying. “I’m sorry, honey, I think he’s allowed himself a few too many nightcaps over the years. Perhaps he’s suffered a stroke.”

“Aaron, don’t say that,” you chide, secretly very pleased.

“Our wedding photos,” he says, his hand drifting further down your leg to rest just shy of somewhere more intimate, “are beautiful. You look beautiful. Clint would’ve writhed in jealousy in the pews if he’d been invited, because he would’ve seen it for himself.”

“I just sat there while they laughed at me,” you mumble.

“What were you supposed to do?” His hand travels out, to your hip, and then he holds you by the waist with both of his hands. They have a way of making you feel encapsulated, big and strong and careful on the bump of your hips.

“I don’t know.”

“Nothing,” he says, meeting your eyes with his usual tender-hearted compassion. “You weren’t supposed to do or say anything.” Aaron appears younger than he is for a second, his eyebrows raised, eyes big and brown as they track over your lips. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise he was like that. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“I guess I’m just worried he’s right.”

“He’s not right. You are everything to me.” Again, he puts weight on the word, roughly said, like it takes a lot from him to say it. “I’m lucky to have been with women who were beautiful, and intelligent, but if there’s a question of you measuring up, there’s no competition. I’ve never been this in love.”

You take a shaky breath. “Never?” you ask.

He holds your gaze. “I knew it when we met. That's why I couldn’t wait to ask you to marry me.”

“You said you weren’t getting any younger.”

“Well, I’m not, but not everything’s about my age, you know,” he says, giving your waist a playful squeeze.

”You said it.”

“I did. That felt easier to say than, if I don’t marry you soon I might implode,” —he shuffles forward, encroaching on your legs and pressing his lips to your cheek— “would’ve just,” —he kisses your cheek, before turning your head— “wasted all that time waiting for someone else’s idea of the right time,” —and he kisses the other cheek, his nose skirting up your face— “wishing I was your husband when I could just,” —he smiles into your eyebrow as his hand slips under your shirt, holding your bare back— “ask.”

“I’m glad you asked me.”

You’d cried then, too, but it was less to do with a rush of adrenaline that knocked you out of balance and more to do with how lovingly he’d taken your hand as he asked. You knew from that moment on that someone was going to take care of you for the rest of your life. He’s doing it right now.

“I love you,” you say, forcing your arms over his shoulders.

He pulls you in so much that you lift from the mattress.

“I love you. Are you sure it wasn’t me that upset you? I have to check.”

“No. What you did to me wasn’t particularly upsetting.”

He laughs. “Are you sure? You can look a little teary–”

You shush him quickly.

He tips your head to the side to kiss your ear. “Maybe next time, you can tell me about whatever upset you beforehand.”

“And you can make me feel even better.”

His laugh is nearly inaudible, but his lips are by the side of your head. You hear it, the warmth of his breath kissing the shell of your ear.

—

Aaron likes to see you in your sweatpants. You look nice in everything, especially your dresses for the evening events he often drags you to, but he likes it when you wear sweatpants because it opens a window. You’ve purchased the wrong size, too big and too long, but you’ve tied them at the waist and you make do. You’re wearing the big shirt he helped you into the night before, sitting on the couch with your ferried breakfast.

The night before has been washed away, no sign of tears or upset. You have a clean, bright face, one he’d quite like to kiss, or hold, or have pressed to his neck, but none of this is unusual. Your eyes look sore, if he really looks. He’ll make you a compress after breakfast.

Dropped off by Jess an hour ago, Jack sits beside you picking at the breakfast tray. You’re sharing a plate. You don’t ever mind.

“Are you eating that one?” you ask.

Jack immediately nudges half of a chocolate chip pancake your way. “Was the gala fun?”

“Uh, sure. Saw your dad’s friends. But they had a weird thing with the caterers and we had to get dinner on the way home.”

“You could’ve made dad cook.”

“I guess, but we were tired. What did you have for dinner?”

“Jess made spicy chicken. It was amazing.” Jack squints at you. “Your eyes are puffy, Y/N. Are you sick?”

“I think I might be a little. Not enough to make you sick too, don’t worry.”

Aaron piles the last of the pancakes onto a plate and carries them to you in the living room. “Here, you two.”

“Did you eat?” you ask.

He loves you, bending over to kiss your forehead right in the middle. “Yes.”

“How come they didn’t have dinner at the gala, dad? I thought that was the whole point,” Jack says.

He sits down next to Jack on the couch. You cut a big square of pancake and grin at him, seemingly pleased with your breakfast and Jack’s sense of humour.

“It was a disaster, that’s all. No food, barely any wine, and terrible, awful company.”

“I thought Miss Jareau went?”

“She did. But besides her and a handful of others, it was a party for sad old people.”

“And you didn’t have fun?” Jack asks.

You laugh so hard tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Aaron cups Jack’s shoulder, surprised when his son doesn’t duck away from the touch. The older he gets the less affection he requires, so it’s nice for Aaron to hug him sideways and be allowed, better that you finish your choking laugh with a hug of your own. “Jack, thank you for that. I think you cured whatever illness I had,” you say.

“Hey,” Aaron says.

You run your hand up his neck. Your wedding ring catches against his jaw.

“It was worth going, though, to see your step-mom in her nice dress,” Aaron says, peeling away from Jack so he has room to breathe.

Jack turns to you, and his smile is audible, “Do you have any pictures?”

“I didn’t take any, sorry.”

“Just think of her now but in a dress, and that’s how beautiful she looked,” Aaron says.

“Dad, don’t be gross,” Jack says, cutting into the pancakes with his fork.

“It’s not gross, it’s just a fact.” Jack drops pancake down his front. Warm chocolate chips stain his t-shirt. “Missed your mouth, bud. I’ll get a rag.”

He’s up as quickly as he sat down, running his fingers along your arm and to the palm of your hand, touching you until he can’t. He heads back into the kitchen. His phone is beeping on the table, screen flashing with each new text.

Penelope: boss, I think the thing you asked for is illegal

Penelope: also, I assume you were kidding?

Penelope: so while making it that every link on McMoore’s computer freezes the desktop would’ve been very very funny, I didn’t do that

Aaron had been kidding, emphatically, because illegal activities aren’t his style. It was a sarcastic suggestion, and yet he’s disappointed nonetheless.

Penelope: I just signed him up for a bunch of recovering narcissists forums and an email subscription for self help, and maybe also a free online class about manners and etiquette

Penelope: And I ordered that big canvas for you. It was the one of you guys cutting the cake, right?

Aaron texts her back quickly: Thank you, Penelope. I couldn’t work out the dimensions online.

Penelope: You’re welcome! I live to serve :D

The canvas will look good in the entryway, Aaron believes. Somewhere you can see it, and remember exactly what it is he thinks of you; his eyes glowing with love where he’d been staring at your face, his hand guided yours atop the knife as he traced your features, and you cut that first, fat slice of cake.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

thanks so much for reading! please think about commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed I love knowing what you think!❤️

also small note: this fic is in no way meant to diminish haley im a haley supporter usually (these days at least!) and I just didn’t mention her for brevity’s sake

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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cutehoons02 · 3 months ago

Text

Your favorite hot nerdy boy!

*pairing: hot nerdy idol Heeseung x writer Girl

*trope: brother best friend

*synopsis: What would happen if your crush from 4 years now found out that you wrote an extremely detailed one-shot and a little spicy with him as the protagonist? A disaster! Having a crush on Lee Heeseung was exhausting for you both because he was an idol, but also because he was your brother’s best friend and also because he was always surrounded by beautiful idols and fans who would do anything to attract his attention.

*tags: Lots of tension, Heeseung loves to tease the protagonist, slight wrinkling, possessive, jealous, both the protagonist and Heeseung are perverts, false shyness, a lot of kisses, fluff, masturbation (f. receives) unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) +18, reading of spicy scenes, fake innocent girl,pet names (good girl, princess,baby) (Hee)

(English is not my native language)

6.8k (🍬)

Sunghoon pt Jake pt

Heeseung was your favorite idol. He was your brother’s best friend, and to your bad luck, you had seen him debut and grow up with your brother. Every week, you had to see him on your social media, in the subway ads, on TV, and even when your brother made you some video calls. Lee Heeseung was always there.

That night, almost all the members had gone out to an event, and there was only Sunghoon with his girlfriend, Heeseung, and you, who had been visiting T/L Sunghoon’s girlfriend. Now they were spread out on the couch watching a movie, and you did not want to be a comfortable third.

You didn’t know exactly when it started. It was a silent crush, a little secret you had kept for years. You grew up watching Heeseung become more confident and brilliant on stage, always surrounded by beautiful and charismatic idols. Yet, every time you watched him in his natural habitat: the gaming chair, the messy hair, the focused expression while he played, your heart beat a little faster.

That night was no different. Sitting on the couch behind his you stared at Heeseung squatting in front of the computer, headphones that seemed to be glued to your ears, fingers flying on the keyboard as if he was orchestrating a digital symphony. On the table next to him, a tower of empty ramen bowls told the story of another intense gaming afternoon. Your gaze shifted from the figure of Heeseung to the computer screen, where digital characters moved frantically. He was immersed in the game, his hands dancing on the keys with an almost hypnotic precision. You stayed enchanted for minutes, even forgetting to scramble on the phone.

You didn’t understand what was so striking about Heeseung. It wasn’t just his appearance, although he was objectively charming. It was the contrast. The way he went from being the self-confident idol on stage to a simple and shy boy who got lost in video games and ramen.

«Do you like the show?» asked Heeseung suddenly, without taking his eyes off the screen.

You jumped, surprised by her statement. "W-what?"

Heeseung turned around just enough to show you his mischievous smile. «You were staring at me, princess. If you want to learn how to play, I can teach you, you know?»

You blushed and looked down at your phone, pretending to be busy. "I was just curious. It’s not that I’m interested in it so much."

«Mh-hm,» he did, raising an eyebrow as he returned to focus on the game.

Some notifications invade your field of view on the phone and you already know from which app they came: Tumblr. One evening months ago you downloaded the app out of curiosity and found #Enhypen x reader and there were thousands of one-shots on each member including your brother! , but as you were running you just like Heeseung’s and after weeks of reading stories about him you had the unhealthy idea to write one about him and published it on Tumblr under a pseudonym.

It was born as an innocent outburst, but by the time the story went viral - with hundreds of comments, reblogs, and likes you had experienced an explosive combination of embarrassment and pride. But no one knew that you were the author.

You heard Sunghoon’s girlfriend call you from the living room and went to her without taking your phone with you and this thing would have had repercussions that you didn’t even imagine or maybe, yes, only in your dreams.

You got up from the couch, stretching slightly. "I’m going to T/L. I’ll be right back."

Heeseung nodded distractedly, his eyes still glued to the computer screen as he dodged some virtual opponent’s attacks. He didn’t even notice that you had left your phone by the keyboard, with the screen still on; only when a notification sound caught his attention did he look down. The small blue Tumblr logo was shining in the top corner.

Tumblr?

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, more amused than anything. He knew that by now most girls read fanfiction about the famous one-shot, but that you even had an active profile that intrigued him a lot.

Another notification sound. A like. A comment.

"Wow, this story is fantastic! It’s so detailed! It seems the author knows Heeseung really well."

Heeseung slightly opened his eyes. Wait a minute. Like? Comments?

He looked at the screen and found the original post. And then he saw it.

Title: "Your favorite hot nerdy boy."

For a few seconds, he just stared at it, struggling between the urge to laugh and the one to feel vaguely offended. Nerdy. Pervy. Gamer Boy?

The smile spread over his lips as he opened the post. And when he started to read, he had to hold back a laugh.

The plot was simple, but so detailed that he had some doubts about your level of observation.

The story described him in his room, exactly as he was at that moment: sitting at his desk, immersed in video games, with a ramen tower next to it and his glasses slightly lowered over his nose. In the story, the protagonist entered the room timidly, finding him playing, and he, instead of ignoring her like any obsessed gamer, lured her to himself with a smile and then started provoking her.

-You wanna play with me, baby?" had said the pervy nerdy Heeseung, with a mischievous smile, before taking her wrist and pulling it on his knees. -

Heeseung covered his mouth with one hand so he wouldn’t burst out laughing. Baby. Knees. Nerdy. Pervy. What the hell was he reading?

He leaned a little more on the phone, scrolling through the comments.

"This is the version of Heeseung we needed, thank you for this pearl."

"Please tell us you will write a pt2l! We need more nerdy Hee ruining lives with her video games and dangerously sexy tone."

"Wait... why does everything seem so accurate? 🤨 Are you sure you don’t really know him?"

Well, that was the comment that really made him laugh. Because yes, you did know him. Maybe a little too well.

He let himself go on the chair, crossing his arms. So the small and innocent Y/n was not so innocent, eh? Not only did he read these stories, but he wrote them. And not on any generic idol. About him.

He heard footsteps approaching and just got around to putting the phone back where it was before you came in.

"What are you laughing at?" you asked, looking at him with suspicion as you sat down on the couch again.

Heeseung turned slowly to you, with a smirk on his face and eyes shining with fun. «Oh, nothing. I was just thinking...» He leaned against the back, studying it carefully. «Do you like gamers, Y/n?»

You stared at him for a second, confused. "What?"

He crossed his arms, leaning slightly forward. «I mean... Do you find charming the boys who spend nights playing, with glasses on the nose and a little bit of a husky voice for too many hours at the microphone? Maybe those who have a bit of a nerd side, but also a little... pervy?»

Your heart stopped. No. No, no, no.

Heeseung looked at you with that damned cunning smile, and suddenly you knew. Had he read? Did you look where you had placed the phone and it was upside down so he had rummaged in YOUR phone?

"Oh my God," you murmured, putting your hand to your mouth.

He chuckled. «No, no, go on. I’m curious. What happens next in the story? The nerdy pervy Heeseung keeps playing or...» He leaned over to you, lowering his voice. «Does he decide to have fun in another way?»

You jumped up, cheeks burning. "You read, didn’t you?! Oh my God, Heeseung!"

He moved before you could hit him with a pillow, laughing openly. «Hey, it’s not my fault that someone left their phone right in front of me. You shouldn’t have written such a good story.»

You were mortified. Destroyed. Could the floor open and swallow you, please?

Heeseung stood up, still with that damned amused air. «You know, if you wanted to write about me so much, you could have asked me for some more details.»

"I’m going to kill you," you hissed.

He laughed again, raising his hands in surrender, you wanted to leave that room and never see him again and you started to get up but Hee looked at you with a look. «Don’t go away Y/n, it’s not over for you!»

You sat on the couch, hands nervously entwined as you tried to concentrate on Heeseung’s computer screen.

The game that obsessed him so much seemed to her a jumble of colors, explosions, and strategies you didn’t understand, but at that moment the problem was not that.

The problem was that you couldn’t face him anymore and the most brazing thing was that you knew he was enjoying every second of your awkward expression, and the tense silence between you two was proof of how much he was having fun.

«Strange, eh?» broke the silence Heeseung, with his voice steeped in amusement.

"W-what?" He turned on the chair, leaning his elbow on the armrest and looking at you with glittering eyes. «You. You are always so sweet and innocent with everyone, the little sister that everyone wants to protect...» He took a dramatic pause before adding with a smirk: «...and then write one-shot hot about me?»

You’d sink into the couch, your face on fire. "They weren’t that hot and then I wrote one, not more!"

Heeseung burst out laughing. «Ah, so you admit that you wrote it?»

You opened your eyes wide, realizing the trap she fell into. "No! I mean, yes! I mean... Ugh!" You covered your face with your hands. "You shouldn’t have read it.»

«And I did but not quite,» he said, in a tone all too satisfied. Then he came slightly closer, folding his arms on the table and leaning towards you. «You know, I could tell your brother.»

You felt a shiver of panic across your back. "You wouldn’t do that."

«Oh, I would,» he replied, holding a grin. «I can already imagine the scene: 'Hey, did you know that your adorable little sister spends her time writing stories in which I’m a pervy nerd boy?'»

"I hate you," you hissed, glaring at him with your gaze.

«No, you don’t hate me», replied Heeseung, resting his chin on one hand. "In fact, according to Tumblr, you love me and have a little obsession with me!» You threw a pillow in his direction, but he blocked it with a laugh. «All right, all right. We can make a deal.»

"What kind of deal?" you said in a low voice because you already knew that it would not bring anything good

Heeseung leaned back into the chair, enjoying the moment. «If you don’t want me to tell your brother... you must read it out loud.»

You were speechless. "You’re joking."

He shook his head, the smile that did not seem to fade. «Not at all. I want to hear with what tone you described me.»

"No, absolutely not," you said, shaking your head in panic.

Heeseung shrugged. «All right. Then I’ll call your brother.»

You stepped up, reaching out to stop him. "Wait! You’re a real idiot."

«And you are indeed a secret writer,» he replied with a grin.

You had two choices: to die of shame in front of him, or to die of shame in front of your brother and probably all the members of Enhypen.

"Okay," you murmured. "I’ll read it."

«Perfect», said Heeseung, chin-leaning on his hands, ready to enjoy the show. «I want to hear every word, from first to last.»

You never thought it would end this way, yet here you are, forced to read your own one-shot hot... in front of the guy who inspired it.

You wanted to disappear. You wanted to take the phone, erase everything, run away, and forget forever that that night ever happened. But you knew that Heeseung wouldn’t let him.

He was still sitting in his gaming chair, phone in hand, scrolling through the words of his one-shot as if it were the best novel he had ever read.

«So... », he said with a small smile as he glanced at her. «Where had I been?»

You came close, trying to rip the phone out of his hands. "Give it back! You didn’t have to read it!"

Heeseung easily leaned aside, lifting his arm and moving the phone out of her reach. «Oh no, princess. Now I want to know how it goes and if you don’t read it I’ll read it for you, you promised otherwise I’ll tell everyone your dirty secret.»

He opened the text and, with a low and amusing voice, began to read aloud.

"He was sitting in his gaming chair, headphones around his neck and the controller still firmly in his hands. But when she came closer, he dropped it on the desk, taking it for life and making it sit on its legs..."

"Heeseung"

He did not stop. With an almost theatrical intonation, he continued:

"As he played, his hands slowly slid on her back, fingers tracing invisible paths across the thin skin of her shirt. It was a distracted gesture, but at the same time so intimate that you can’t breathe..."

Heeseung put down his phone and looked at her with a clever smile. «Interesting.»

"Enough, okay? You’ve had your fun," you mumbled, trying to grab the phone again.

But Heeseung stopped you, gripping your wrist gently. «Wait,» he said, in that low tone he used when he wanted to put you in trouble. «Have you ever been on a boy’s lap while playing?»

"What?!" you pulled your arm back as if his skin was scorched. "Of course not!"

He leaned against the back of the chair, clapping his hand on his thigh. «Do you want to try?» felt your face become glowing. "You are completely crazy."

«It’s not true», said Heeseung, laughing quietly. «I say only that it would be a shame to write these things and not test them in reality.»

Clenched your fists, trying to think of a clever answer, but the problem was that... You couldn’t say no. Because yes, the idea made you die of embarrassment, but it was also what you had written. Why did you write it, if you never thought you wanted it?

Heeseung looked at you, studying you as if he could read your mind. Then he tilted his head to one side. «Then?» close your lips. "No."

He didn’t answer immediately, but he glanced at you, looking at the way you were holding your phone in your hands, and how your breath was slightly more irregular. Then he smiled. «Lie.»

He made you think. "I’m not lying!"

«Mh-mh» he did, unconvinced. Then he reached out to you with a hand, without stopping looking into your eyes. «Come here, little writer.»

You stood still for a few seconds, torn between rationality and desire. You knew it was a bad idea. You knew that if you got close, you wouldn’t be able to pretend this was a game anymore; but in the end... you took a step forward. Then another one.

Heeseung took your hand and gently pulled you towards himself, guiding you to sit on his legs.

You held your breath. You felt the warmth of his body, the solidity of his arms that held you still. He settled down better in the chair as if it were the most normal thing in the world. «See? It’s not so strange.»

you did not answer, too busy to hear the beat of your heart go crazy. Heeseung came back to get the controller, turning on the game screen. With naturalness, without even thinking too much, he let a hand slide on your back, caressing it slowly, exactly as in the story and you shudder.

He smiled, he had noticed. «Do you like it?» he asked, his voice slightly lower.

You looked down, biting your lip. "Yes," you admitted, barely a whisper. Heeseung made a little satisfied sound, returning to focus on the screen and at the same time continued playing as if nothing had happened. But his smile said otherwise. because he wanted to drive you crazy and the game had just begun.

The silence in the room was broken only by the sound of the keys pressed and the ticking of the mouse while Heeseung, with one hand, continued to play. The other one, instead, was slipping lazily down your back, making little circles on your skin through the thin fabric of the mesh.

You were completely stiff in his arms, his cheeks burning, his heart beating so fast that you could hear it in your ears.

«Mh?» he said, as if nothing had happened, the warm breath that touched your neck. «You are so rigid. You must relax.»

"How can I relax if"

«Shhh,» he interrupted you, and with a slow movement, he took back his phone. «Where were we? Ah, right.» He cleared his voice, then began to read aloud:

"As the sound of the game continued to fill the room, he let slip a hand under her shirt, touching the warm skin on her side. Then he bent down and left a soft kiss on his neck, feeling the body shivering under his touch."

You stared and tried to get away, but Heeseung held you with a gentle but firm grip.

«Too?» he asked, with a funny smirk.

"Yes! Too much!" you exclaimed with your face on fire.

But Heeseung didn’t seem to want to stop. Instead, he slowly lowered the phone, tilted his head, and let his lips touch the sensitive skin on your neck just as described in the story.

You held your breath, a shiver passed through your back. "Heeseung... what are you doing?"

«I’m just following the plot,» he muttered against your skin, his voice slightly amused but also lower than usual.

Then, without saying anything else, he let his hand slip under the edge of your shirt, hot fingers touching your side, just like in history.

You wanted to disappear, you wanted to protest, but your body was betraying every single rational thought.

"Hee... I will..."

He stopped for a moment, his lips still close to his skin. «Do you want me to stop?» you stood in silence for a few seconds, desperately trying to find an answer.

Then, with a little voice, you admitted: "...No."

Heeseung smiled at your skin. «Good girl.»

The room was now immersed in an electric voltage. The sound of the game was now a distant memory; Heeseung had turned off everything, but not his fun.

With the phone in his hand, he kept reading the one-shot as his fingers slowly traced your warm skin under the shirt.

«Let’s see what happens next,» he muttered, in a low and slightly husky voice. «Ah, here we are...» 'He took her by the hips and turned her, placing her on top of him in a horseshoe. She stood on him, with her heart beating fast, while he grabbed her face and kissed her with arrogance as if he did not want to let her escape.'

Heeseung paused for a moment, looking down at her with a dangerous smirk. «Interesting. What do you say, princess? Should we try this part too?»

You opened your eyes wide, the body stretching out instantly. "Heeseung, no, it’s an unreal thing, I wrote it so much at random. Let’s finish here."

He chuckled softly, but there was something in his eyes that looked slightly darker than usual. «You always say no, but you don’t move.»

Before you could argue, you felt his hands gently clench your hips. In a moment, with almost humiliating ease, Heeseung lifted you slightly and turned you around, putting you on his horse.

You could feel Heeseung’s warm breath against your face, the way his hands were still resting on his hips, holding you there as if he wasn’t going to let go.

Your heart was beating like a drum. "H-Heeseung..."

He bowed his head, looking at you with those dark eyes that seemed to pierce her soul. «Tell me something, Y/n.» His voice was low and calm but with a shimmering edge of authority. «How long have you had a crush on me?»

You felt the heat explode in your face. No. No, you couldn’t admit it.

You clear your throat, trying to take a more confident tone. "Me? For you?" You laughed nervously, turning away. "Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have a crush on you."

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, his lips curled into a sort of predatory grin. «No?»

"No," you said, crossing your arms to give you a sense of security. "And anyway... I may have also written a one-shot about the other members. You’re not as special as you think you are!"

For a moment, Heeseung said nothing. But then, without warning, your Tumblr profile started to scroll and after a few seconds, the screen lit up with one unique, unambiguous truth and put it in front of you.

There was only one shot on his profile. That.

Over 4,000 likes. Hundreds of comments. All about him.

Heeseung looked at you, and this time his smile was different. Darker. More confident. More... arrogant.

«Here I see only a one-shot and it’s on me, eh?» whispered, the voice steeped in satisfaction.

You wanted to die of embarrassment. "It was an accident," you murmured weakly.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. «Don’t lie, princess». Then, without giving you time to react, he grabbed your chin with one hand and forced you to look him in the eye, and for a moment the world stopped.

And then, Heeseung kissed you.

The kiss was not gentle, it wasn’t sweet. It was pure domination. Arrogant. Self-confident. His lips moved on yours with a confidence that made you tremble, as if he wanted to show you exactly who was in control at the time.

You blew when you heard his tongue asking for access to yours and you instinctively grabbed the collar of his sweater to find a grip. He squeezed you a little more by the hips, holding you firmly above him as his mouth explored yours with an exasperating slowness.

When he parted, he had a smug smile on her lips. «Tell me again that you don’t have a crush on me.» you tried to recover, the irregular breath. "I..." But Heeseung shook his head. «No, you know what? It doesn’t matter.» He came up again, touching your earlobe with his lips. He was very happy. «Because now I know the truth.»

And again slammed his lips on yours with exasperating slowness, as if he wanted to drive you crazy, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to your mad heart. The kiss was a perfect mix of sweetness and mastery. He was determined, sure, but not aggressive if he wanted to take his time as if he wanted to savor every second.

His hands, resting on your hips, held you exactly where he wanted you to, without giving you the chance to escape and you were completely lost in that feeling, in the heat of his mouth against yours, the way every movement made you feel like you were falling into a vortex that you didn’t want to get out of.

Then, without realizing it, you missed a sound. A small, involuntary groan. "Hee..."

Time seemed to stand still.

Heeseung was stuck for a moment, then slightly detached from you, enough to look you straight in the eye and the smile she gave you was something dangerous. Sure. Of cheeky.

«Say it again.»

You felt the heat rise up your neck to your cheeks. "What?" You tried to deny it, but his voice trembled.

Heeseung looked down at your lips, then he looked back at you with that hot nerdy boy look that made you crazy. «You have just groaned my name.» He stroked your back slowly, sliding his fingers along your uncovered skin. «I want to hear it again.»

You clenched your fists against the fabric of his sweatshirt, trying to ignore the way his voice made you shiver. "Stop..."

But he didn’t want to stop. He brought his mouth closer to your ear, his voice low and almost hypnotic. «I want to hear my name on your lips. Only mine. No other boy.» You felt your heart stop for a moment, then start beating even harder and honestly, you didn’t know how to handle that version of Heeseung-too confident, too cheeky, too irresistible.

You were desperate to find a way to shift the conversation.

"I should go..."

He just leaned back, tilting his head with a funny smile. «And the story? You haven’t finished it.»

Bite your lip. "I don’t... I don’t want to tell you what happens next."

Heeseung leaned against the back of his gaming chair, still with you on his lap, and looked at you with a smug look. «Why not? So far we have been faithful to the plot, no?» shook your head with force. " Until here it could also be there, but... after becomes more..."

He raised an eyebrow, amused by his hesitation. «More?»

You looked down, playing with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "More... spicy."

Heeseung’s laugh was low and deep as if he had just heard something extremely interesting. «Oh? How spicy?»

You shrugged. "Enough."

He looked at you for a few seconds, then came closer again, touching your chin with his fingers. «Tell me.»

"The protagonist... I mean, you..."

Heeseung nodded impatiently. «Continue."

"... makes the protagonist feel good with her fingers and mouth."

He laughed softly. «Oh, really?»

You wanted to sink into shame. "Heeseung, I can’t..."

He looked at you with a dangerous smile. «Y/n, you wrote a one-shot hot about me and posted it on the internet for thousands of people. But you can’t tell me to my face, what have you written so forbidden about me?» he said laughing.

Hit him in the chest. "Stop laughing like that!"

He became more serious, but his gaze remained intense. «Ok, I ask you differently.» He took your chin between two fingers, forcing you to look him in the eye. «At the end of the story, you and I... do we have sex or love?»

Your heart lost a beat. The way he said it, in that low and sure voice, made you tremble.

"N-no. We don’t make love."

Heeseung stopped. «No?»

You looked down. "I... knew that you were not in love with me. So, in the story... let’s say we would only have sex."

For a moment, there was only silence in the room. Then, suddenly, Heeseung burst into laughter.

It was a warm, deep, amused... and slightly unbelieving laugh.

You looked at him with a frown. "Why are you laughing?"

Heeseung stared at you with a mixture of fun and something else-something deeper, more dark. «It’s just that...» He shook his head, still laughing. «Everyone sees you as the sweet and innocent girl. And here you are, sitting on my lap, telling me that you wrote a one-shot about me where we 'just' had sex.»

You cover your face with your hands. "Oh, my God, will you stop saying that?"

He smiled, tilting his head. «No. It’s too funny.»

Then he lowered his voice, the tone again full of that dangerous charm. «But tell me, Y/N... in the story, at the end, does the protagonist repent?»

Shook your head without looking at him. "No."

He approached, almost whispering against his skin. «And you? Would you regret if what you wrote became reality?"

Your heart lost a beat before you lost 1,000 years of life when you heard that question from the lips of Heeseung and the boy you had a crush on for 4 years. Without thinking for a moment it was your turn to take the reins and you kissed him, this time the kiss was more passionate, sloppy and you put your arms around his neck to feel it even more and he put his hands around your ass and got up slightly stumbling from his gaming chair and as he approached his bed he said:

«Tell me to stop now or I won’t do it anymore because I want you all for myself from today on» you made no head and Hee put you in his big bed, Hee looked at you with his eyes of children, and said:

«Princess, maybe we didn’t understand each other but you must use your lips and your mouth to speak, to tell me what you want me to do. I don’t want to do things you’ll regret, what do you want right now?»

Heeseung slammed your pants with his big hands and you just jerked slightly because he had a little cold hand.

"I want you to touch me," you mumble shamefully, and his lips rise with a smile of a grin.

«You are so pretty, really, who would have thought that you would ask her sweet and innocent Y/n to touch her.» Hee sighs, smiling fondly, but there is a sneaky gleam in his eyes as he looks at you; Hee begins rubbing his overalls length into the center of your core. You wanted to be touched with his hands not with his cock that pushed and then lowered, the friction made you moan a little "Mm-mm," protesting, but the way your hips move against him, rolling back and forth and rustling brazenly in search of relief, He tells another story, Hee laughed because he wanted to ruin you but at the same time be also cautious with you.

«Don’t you like it? But wait... what did you say before?» he asks, with a mocking cadence in his words. «I want you to touch me,» echoes your earlier request in a very bad imitation of your voice. «Well, I’m touching you, princess, don’t you like it?» When your only answer is a small nod, shake your head with disapproval, and the look becomes dark. «Words.»

"Yes," whimpering, without wasting a minute, slipping his smooth fingers over your underwear band and starting to caress your folds, fingers that slip through your excitement with embarrassing ease.

«You’re a disaster down here», he comments, her eyes lit up with joy and something wild, primordial as it teases you. «Do you like me so much? Hm, when you read and write those dirty things about me you touched?» He seems to need no answer as he smiles at you brazenly, scrutinizing your face intensely to absorb every reaction to his touch, no matter how small.

It slides your fingers up, up, up until it touches the lower part of your clitoris, and you wail, wriggling.

«Answer me Y/n» nodding weakly and laughing with a low voice and husky

«Show me», he croaks, and you blink, too embarrassed by her request. «Show me how you do it when you are alone when you think of me».

"I never did it at all Hee" he shrugged and gave you his hand and with a glance invited you to proceed; with the cheeks in flames, guided his hand to massage your clitoris in circles, Your abdomen stiffened by reflex every time it fingers touch the sensitive lower part of your clitoris.

«Speak to me, princess, don’t be shy», she gently urges you

"I only rub it in circles like this," you mumble, with a slightly husky voice for desire, and the change does not go unnoticed if Heeseung’s intensifying gaze means something.

«Don’t you go in?» he asks softly, and you shake your head.

"I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that to you," you whine, and he breathes in abruptly, swearing quietly, taking your panties off with already some leaks, and your pussy was already excited.

«I want to try something, do you trust me, princess?» you made myself with my head «I want to touch you as you like and at the same time I will touch you, suck and bite those turgid buds that are almost about to escape from the mesh for how hard they are and I will make you come»

"okay," you pulled up your shirt, and with a strong movement you took off the bra and your breast flipped slightly at the sight of your breast Heeseung cursed under his voice, with one hand she wrapped a breast and with her mouth, he started to suck and bite and at the same time with the other hand he taunted your clitoris and without warning you put one of his fingers in your core and you arch your back for the various sensations of pleasure that you felt.

"Hee" He sucks your buds with an almost ferocious ferocity, alternating breasts as if he never had enough, and his hand creeps around your side to draw you closer to him. As she pops your nipple back and forth with her tongue, her fingers pump into your pussy and stroke you closer to your orgasm until you’re so close that you can practically savor the sweet, intoxicating sensation of ecstasy. «Show me what sound you make when you come, princess.»

"It’s so beautiful," you whine, and he hums in agreement.

«Say my name, darling".

"Heeseung," you groan brazenly, and he makes a sound halfway between moaning and growling as he pulls your nipple with his teeth.

Does not stop taking care of your breasts alternating sucking and clicking and rolling his tongue around the buds until you fall, your body cools against the bed to support you as you come, and at the end, pulls out his fingers covered with excitement from your pussy, Sliding them over your lower lip before pushing your fingers into your mouth to suck.

You do it with an awkward look and he was watching every movement of your lips as you suck his finger.

«I bet that wasn’t in your story!» with a little shy smile you did no head and after a while, you saw Heeseung put one of his little pillows under you and push down at the same time your pants and boxer shorts, he spread your legs, fits between them and aligns the tip with your entry

«Ready, princess?» asks, and you nod cautiously, the eyes that come down from his face to where the thick head of its length presses against your core. «Good girl» whispers before slowly pushing into you, covering your mouth slightly with the palm of your hand while breathing loudly, Heeseung was seriously afraid that Sunghoon or his girlfriend could hear him fucking with you but who cared; he heard him groan, and come up with his girlfriend’s name.

"So beautiful," you whisper in amazement, and he chuckles softly into your ear, his lips pressed on the spot just behind your lobe.

«Feel so tight around me, darling, feel how you’re taking me,» he grunts, gasping breath in your ear. «So fucking good...»

"Heeseung, move," you whisper urgently as it touches the bottom within you, and he obeys, pulling out the tip and pushing back into you. A loud hiss of air comes out of your lungs, and he sucks on your ear lobe, making you emit a loud groan.

«God, do you want to make everyone hear who is fucking you? I remind you that we are not alone»

"Mm-! No, I don’t" you insist among your cries of pleasure, and he shakes his head with a mocking smile.

«Yes, you do» he teases you. «You want everyone to hear my name moaning and what will they think of you? The little and innocent Y/n is getting fucked like the perfect little doll obsessed with me and my dick»

"Hee-seung-" stutters, small noises leave you with every powerful push of his hips. It is so good, so big and thick, and it is filling you in the right way and hitting all the right spots, and it becomes too very quickly, an overwhelming amount of pleasure flowing through your body as it fucks you. He was much more good and realistic at all the times you had written, read on Tumblr, or thought about what it would be like to be his. His fingers find your clitoris, rubbing it in quick circles just as you showed him before. "Fuck, stop, too..."

«Stop lying, you said too much today so I should punish you for not letting me fuck you?» Whispers, moving to tilt the hips towards you in the right way so that each shot of the hips sends its tip directly into your G-spot.

You feel heat behind your eyes and the first tear comes down before you can dry it, another tear follows after that as the pleasure consumes you almost completely.

«Princess, don’t cry, I’m making you feel good and I’m giving you all that you wrote about me", he reached out his free hand to wipe the tears.

"So good, too good," you stutter, and he laughs, «Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry.»

"Please let me come" plead, and his movements stutter,

«Yes? Does the princess want to come?» he grunts, his eyes closing for a moment as your walls bend again around him. «Fuck, it’s so nice-come for me, baby.»

Without any need, you promptly collapse around him with a series of curses and "please" and you just say his name while your nails stick in the back, making him slightly drool. You sure look disastrous, your eyes moist and shiny as tears run down your cheeks.

«I’m close-dick-» grunts. «I’m coming, where do you want it?»

"Inside me, please..." moans weakly, and he makes a sound that is a mixture of a smug laugh and a groan.

«I can’t believe everyone thinks you’re a saint, an innocent girl and now you’re begging for my sperm. Do you want me to fill you up?» Breathe, the hips that penetrate you.

"Please..." you whine, and he swears to himself.

«Fuck, take it all», he pushes, his hips pressing against yours while he buries himself in you and unloads his load. «It’s all for you,» he says breathlessly as its length contracts inside of you.

It stays inside you for a moment, both of you try to catch your breath until he comes out from you and kisses you.

The room was immersed in a warm and comfortable silence, broken only by the slow and still slightly irregular breaths of you and Heeseung.

The sheets were a messy tangle around your bodies, while the soft light of the lamp illuminated the soft contours of your figures. Heeseung passed a hand through your hair, fingers gently intertwining between the strands, as if he wanted to memorize every detail of that moment. You were still with red cheeks, playing with his fingers, drawing little circles on the back of his hand.

After a while, he spoke in that relaxed and slightly amused tone that always made her heart beat.

«How much?»

You looked up, confused. "In what way?"

Heeseung laughed softly, shaking his head as if it were obvious. «How long have you had a crush on me?»

You flashed your eyes and instinctively covered your face with his hands. "No... I don’t know," the men lied, trying to hide their embarrassment.

He gently extended his hands, forcing you to look at him. «Y/n». His tone was low, amused, almost hypnotic. «Don’t lie to me.»

You looked down, biting your lip, then sighed. "Perhaps... four years."

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, surprised. «Four years?»

You slowly stare, feeling ashamed. "I didn’t know it myself at first, but then it became clear to me when I saw you for the first time on stage."

He looked at you for a long moment, then burst out laughing. «Four years?! Baby, it’s so much.»

You punched him lightly in the chest, sulky. "Here! And stop teasing me."

Heeseung chuckled, holding you close to him. «I’m not kidding, it’s just... absurd. Four years.» He shook his head, then lowered his voice, almost as if he was confessing a secret. «I have had a kind of crush on you for a couple of months.»

You raised your head of the shot, eyes wide open. "What?"

He smiled, stroking your cheek with his thumb. «Yeah. You didn’t really think I hadn’t noticed you, did you?»

You looked down, still incredulous, and he squeezed you harder.

For a while, they just stood there, embracing, enjoying that new sweet silence that spoke more than a thousand words.

Then, with a clever smile, Heeseung whispered against your ear: «So... if it worked so well, do you think you can write more one-shots about me?»

You lifted your head from the shot, hitting it lightly on his chest. "NO!" «Come on, you could at least make me the protagonist of an entire series.»

Shook my head, my eyes glistening. "No, I don’t need to imagine anything anymore. Better to hear it live."

Heeseung looked at you satisfied. «Excellent answer.»

And he kissed you again.

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