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godslino · 4 months

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PIECE BY PIECE | minho first date series. friends to lovers.

pairing: minho x fem!reader word count: 6.2k genre: college au, mutual pining, fluff, angst warnings: drinking, referenced injury (very minor) summary: minho, on a drunken whim, asks you out on a date.

a/n: finally!! the minho part!! i’ve been sooo excited about this one since i first got the idea. i hope you guys enjoy! once again any and all feedback is appreciated, happy reading <3

“Dude, I think it’s clean.”

Minho looks up from where he’s scrubbing the counter, eyes narrowed. So what if it’s his third time going over every surface in the kitchen?

“Are you going to help me or are you just gonna sit there and make more crumbs?”

Jeongin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He holds up his hands in surrender, the bag of chips in his lap crinkling. “I’m just saying. You’re acting like she’s never seen the place before.”

That’s the problem. You’ve seen his place. Minho has to stop the shudder that threatens to overtake his body at the thought.

“So you’re not helping? Great. Get out.”

“I live here!” Jeongin whines. “Why do I have to get out? You can’t banish me like this.”

“I can and I will. Now leave. I have two hours to make sure everything is ready and I am not going to vacuum for a fourth time.”

“Yes mom,” Jeongin rolls his eyes as he unfolds his legs from underneath him.

He stops just short of the kitchen counter, points an accusatory finger at Minho’s disheveled figure still hunched over an imaginary stain.

“For the record, Chan hyung would never do this to me. He loves my crumbs.”

Minho throws the scrub daddy at him.

🏠

The night it happens, all it takes is approximately three shots and a pep talk from Hyunjin for Minho to finally find the nerve to ask you out.

“You’ve got this,” the younger boy says, words slurred, his hands steady on both Minho’s shoulders. The bass thumps loud in the other room, drowned out by the walls of the kitchen until it’s nothing but garbled nonsense going in one of his ears and out the other, vibrations low in his chest.

“I’ve got this.” Minho repeats, the thrum of alcohol already spreading to his fingertips. He feels warm, light on his feet. His limbs are starting to loosen up and his insides are turning to jelly. He might even be floating.

“You look hot.”

“I look hot.”

“She’s gonna say yes.”

“You’re gonna venmo me twenty dollars.”

“I’m gonna venmo you twenty dollars.” Minho parrots before he can even process what he’s saying. Changbin, who’d been watching the entire thing unfold from where he stands with his back pressed against the sink, snorts.

“Wait, what the f—”

“Go get her!” Hyunjin screams, pushing him through the door of the kitchen with one last pat on the back, “And send me my money!”

Minho stumbles over himself, just barely able to stop in time before he goes crashing into a group of people. The living room is crowded: there’s furniture pushed up against the walls, bodies pressed front to back in the middle of the floor, a makeshift DJ stand in the corner where Chan is controlling the music from his laptop, drink in hand. Minho catches his eye from across the room, the glow of the LEDs reflecting off the toothy grin he shoots his way, dimples on full display.

“Hey!” Minho feels someone grab his arm, and he turns to find you staring up at him. “Where’d you go? You said you were gonna get a drink.”

Minho follows your eyes down to where you’re staring at his empty hands. “I—uh, well. I ran into Hyunjin and we took a few shots.”

The pout you give him does nothing but spur on the fluttering of his chest, his brain still hyper aware of the way your hand was resting on his elbow. “Shots? I want shots!” you whine, and Minho has to avert his gaze from staring at your lips when your pout only worsens.

“How much have you had?” he tries to ask over the music. There’s a shitty pop song playing, high pitched and wonky. If he remembers in the morning, he’ll make sure he berates Chan about his DJ-ing abilities.

“What?” you scream back, tiptoeing to bring your mouth closer to his ear.

Minho is only a man. A man who's been in love with you since the moment you accidentally spilled your coffee all over Hyunjin in the quad during freshman year. He remembers that day well, remembers the way your eyes went wide and your lips parted. He also remembers the way he wished it was him with the large wet stain on his shirt, that way it was him that was offered to have his lunch bought as an apology.

He’d never admit it, but sometimes really late at night, when the moon is high in the sky and he’s feeling oddly sentimental, he counts his lucky stars that Hyunjin had been in a relationship at the time. Minho doesn’t know what he would’ve done had he been forced to watch the two of you hit it off—some form of arson, presumably. Anything to take the edge off. But because of the fact that Hyunjin was not trying to have his head cut off by said girlfriend at the time, he invited Minho along as some sort of collateral damage. That’s when the two of you became friends. Kind of perfect if you ask him.

With the jumbled mess of butterflies in his stomach that he gets whenever you’re near him, and the threat of the alcohol slowly seeping through his skin, his brain short circuits the minute your breath grazes the shell of his ear. When your hand follows not long after, fingers gripping the nape of his neck to hold him in place, he almost passes out.

“Min? What’d you say?”

Minho is rendered completely useless by you. Absolutely ruined. Your existence has thrown his entire plan to woo you off course and now his mouth is opening and closing like a badly programmed robot. Pathetic. Nuts and bolts for brains.

By the grace of God (or some other higher being that Minho’s never bothered to believe in until this very moment) he finds his voice, but not before you’re pulling back with a confused look on your face.

“I asked how much you’ve had to drink,” he says, straining against the music.

A saccharine sweet grin that has him seeing stars spreads across your face, “Not enough!”

Minho is not an enabler. Never has been, never will be. There was one time, back in that fateful freshman year that also introduced the two of you, that he let Hyunjin get blackout drunk. A terrible decision on his end, if the earful he got from Chan the next morning was anything to go by. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was finding remnants of the resulting hacking session for the following week. So yeah, never again.

But while Minho isn’t an enabler, he is smitten, and the way your hand feels wrapped around his wrist as you drag him into the kitchen has his soul threatening to leave his body. He thinks that maybe he could do anything as long as you asked. He also hopes you can’t feel the way his pulse is rabbiting beneath his skin, right under the press of your thumb.

“There’s, like, nothing here.” you say as you rummage through the cupboard near the window, nose scrunched and a frown on your face.

Minho laughs, rounds the kitchen island to crouch down and open the cabinet under the sink. “That’s because you don’t know where to look,” he smirks, pulling out a fresh bottle of tequila. “Also, Chan hyung is greedy. He knows people like you will go scavenging his supply if he isn’t careful.”

“I resent that.” you frown, taking the bottle from him. “Besides, people like me deserve to have fun too.”

“Mhm, sure.” Minho says, grabbing a solo cup. He holds his hand out for the bottle, pours just the right amount before sliding it over and following it up with a can of coke.

“A man after my heart.” you joke, holding your cup up to him in a mock toast before downing it in one go. Minho watches with so much focus, fighting against the way his head spins. He doesn’t even know if it’s the alcohol anymore, it might just be the effect you have on him. Dizzying—you flip his entire world on its axis in the best way possible.

Minho’s gonna be seeing your exposed neck in his dreams later, he’s sure of it—it’s branded into his memory.

“That…is so fucking bad.” you giggle, holding your cup out. “Another one.”

Minho clicks his tongue. “I don’t know…”

“Pleaseeee Min,” the lilt in your voice sounds oddly familiar. Minho holds his breath just in case you—yup. There it is. There goes that pout again.

It’d be so easy for him to lean down and kiss it right off your lips. He could blame it on the alcohol, maybe, but then that takes away from how he actually means it.

He sighs instead. “It’s gonna cost you.”

“An arm and a leg?”

“What? No—I meant some water.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Three shots and a full bottle of water later, Minho knows you’ve hit your limit. Cheeks flushed pink, a dopey grin on your face, pupils blown wide. Even in this state, Minho is certain that you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Anotherrrr,” you slur, waving your cup in his face.

Minho shakes his head. “No can do. You’re cut off.”

“Please,” you whine, placing both hands on his shoulders, “I’ll do anything.”

Minho, completely taken back by the sudden closeness of your body to his, freezes.

“Anything?” he asks before he can stop himself.

This is stupid. You’re drunk. There’s no way you’re going to remember anything in the morning, much less within the next thirty minutes. He’s pretty sure that you’ll lose control of all your senses soon, which is why he’s already texted your roommate Jiwoo to unlock the door so he can carry you inside. Nothing he hasn’t done before.

“Anything,” you repeat, eyes going cross-eyed where they’re fixing on the mole he has at the tip of his nose.

This is stupid. But then again, so is Minho. A big, stupid fool that blames everything on the fact that he’s so in love with you it hurts. This might be the only chance he gets to shoot his shot.

Minho takes a deep breath, says something similar to a little prayer that’s more like Hey, if anyone’s listening, help a guy out, and hopes that the twenty bucks he sent Hyunjin works.

“Go on a date with me.” he says slowly, wincing when your eyes snap up to meet his gaze.

Well, there’s really no going back from that. The only thing that could possibly grant him redemption now is banking on the fact that you don’t remember anything in the morning.

Minho waits with bated breaths, watches as your eyes search his for a long while. He waits for the anger, the disgust, the visible repulsion that he starts to think might happen the longer the silence continues.

He’s about to backtrack, quickly conjuring up an excuse about how Oh, haha, gotcha! when your hands suddenly drop from his shoulders. You grab the cup, your chin tipped upwards, and hold it out for him to fill.

“Okay.”

“O…kay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Pour me another one.”

The next morning, when Minho all but drags himself into the kitchen in search of water and something to soothe the throbbing in his head, he nearly spits a mouthful at Jeongin, the poor guy too busy eating his cereal to realize he’s gotten a front row seat in the splash zone.

Y/N [10:34am]

when do you want to do that date?

🏠

Are candles too much?

Minho has options: clean linen, lavender breeze, ocean mist, warm vanilla. He really just needs something to get rid of the smell of cleaning spray.

He thought that having a night in for a first date would be ideal—less pressure, no unwanted attention, a bathroom that he can run into when he starts to hyperventilate if you smile at him for too long. But now that it’s happening, he’s convinced that every surface of his and Jeongin’s shared apartment will scare you away if anything so much as looks off-putting.

Minho is, to put it simply, freaking out. All the other times you’ve been over to his place were on a completely platonic level. Movie nights with all the other guys in tow, dropping off food that you felt generous enough to buy every once in a while, one time because you’d accidentally worn Minho’s jacket home from a party and needed to return it to him.

But this is different. This is a date. Minho’s not dreaming—he already pinched himself a dozen times in the bathroom mirror, tiny red marks on the inside of his forearm to prove it. He’s going to open the door, invite you in, cook for you, and then proceed to resist the urge to tell you how beautiful you are for however long the night continues on after that. He can practically hear Jeongin’s laugh in the back of his head, sneering at how pathetic his inner monologue sounds right now.

He needs to find another stain to scrub.

By the time you’re knocking on his door, Minho has changed his outfit seven times. Sweats were too casual, a button up was too fancy. Should he not have done his hair? No, that’s just lazy, the way his fringe is swept up and out of his forehead adds a nice touch that doesn’t scream Hey! I’m trying to woo you! You’ve never been the type to be impressed by grand gestures and shows of confidence anyways, he knows that well.

One time, when a guy from one of the frat houses hired the campus quartet to sing a song for you in the quad as he stood there with big beady eyes and a bouquet of roses in his hand, you’d all but ran from the scene, Minho following close behind as you called out to him over your shoulder. It’s one of his fondest memories. As soon as the two of you made it around the back of the science building, you’d doubled over in laughter, the both of you in disbelief at what had happened. Minho has had that information tucked into the deepest parts of his brain ever since, saved just in case he needed it.

(Later that night, in the safety of his own bed, he’d laughed maniacally at the situation. Something about watching you reject another guy filled him with a sense of joy he couldn’t explain. He just hoped he was never going to be on the receiving end of it.)

He does a quick once over of the kitchen: double checks that all the ingredients are out, blows a speck of dust off the glass stovetop, spins the tiny floral arrangement he bought so that it’s sitting at just the right angle. When the doorbell rings, the chime bouncing off the walls of the apartment, he visibly pales.

He has to reel it in, to remember that it’s just you. You might not even be here with any intentions other than to fulfill your end of the deal; one date in exchange for the extra three shots he poured you the other night. Minho takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob with conviction, and decides that he’s determined to show you the way you deserve to be treated. The opportunity is there, and he’s gonna take it.

As soon as the door swings open, every nerve that had somehow crept its way into his brain disappears, the sight of you standing on the other side immediately sending the anxiety scrambling and replacing it with fondness instead.

“Hi,” you smile, and Minho sees images of you coming home to his apartment flash across his mind. After class, after work, in the winter when it’s cold and your nose is tinted pink, on rainy days where the ends of your hair are damp and you have a wet umbrella in tow. He could get used to it. He’s so in love that it hurts.

“Hey,” he breathes out, stepping aside to make way for you, “Come in. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, actually. Been saving myself all day since I don’t always get to have your cooking.” You hop on to one of the stools, your attention momentarily stolen by the flower arrangement. One point for Minho.

I’d cook for you every day, he wants to say. But that’s weird, right? So instead, “Well then I guess today is your lucky day.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” You say softly.

Minho can’t see you with the way his back is turned, hands moving to grab out the knife and cutting board, but if he could he’d see the way your eyes are staring softly at his back, the ghost of a smile on your lips.

Conversation flows easily after that, despite Minho’s original worries about it being awkward. You’re not necessarily treating it as a date, and he isn’t really either. It feels more like a glorified hangout, just the two of you spending time together with the added glances and smiles that normally wouldn’t be there.

Minho finds it easy to get lost in you. He finds himself craving to know more about your day, about the things that’ve been on your mind lately and the hobbies you’ve picked up. Most of the conversation is a continuation of stuff that’s fallen through the cracks during the times you see each other, but he doesn’t miss the way you ask about him too, your eyes shining with genuine interest. It makes his heart slam against his ribcage.

“How are your cats doing?”

Minho looks up from the cutting board, follows your gaze to where it’s fixed on the scattered pictures that litter his fridge. “They’re good,” he says, smiling down at a head of garlic, “My mom sends pictures all the time. She says they claw at the door to my room when they miss me.” He smashes the garlic under the knife’s blade by hitting it with the heel of his palm. “It’s cute.”

“You’re cute.”

Minho, in a very flashy demonstration of what it means to be cool, calm, and collected, slices his thumb mid-chop.

“Shit.” he mutters, dropping the knife.

It’s not that bad, just a little nick, the surprise was mostly what scared him. He probably doesn’t even need a bandaid. But despite how small it is, nothing stops you from hurriedly walking up to him and taking his hand in yours, his thumb held closely to your face for inspection.

“Are you okay?” You turn his hand over between your fingers, the soft pads of them against his calloused ones. Minho is dumbfounded, struggling to find the words to say.

“Yeah—um, it’s fine. My fault. I was distracted.” He stammers out, pulling his hand back and holding it up. He wiggles his fingers, making a show of bending and twisting his thumb that, at most, has just a small cut on the side. “See? Perfect.”

Your face relaxes, and then you’re laughing. Why are you laughing? Either Minho looks like a complete idiot or he’s suddenly the funniest person in the world for being clumsy and reckless and almost ruining the night by losing a finger. Whichever one it is, he doesn’t care, as long as he gets to hear that sound again.

“Let me help cook, please? I know you said you would do it all but clearly you’re a threat to the integrity of this meal.” You say, bumping your hip against his to move him away from the cutting board.

Minho scoffs. “I wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t catch me off guard.”

“So what? You admit that I make you flustered?”

Oh.

Minho wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for the—the flirting that’s clearly happening. You’re flirting with him, right? Why else would you have called him cute or given him that suspicious side eye after you asked that question?

You and Minho have joked around like this before, but it was always empty with no real feelings attached—as far as he could tell. You’re a naturally friendly person, getting along with others comes easy to you. He’s seen the way you talk to the other guys and has always just assumed he was no different in your eyes than they were. Sure, there were moments where maybe your hand lingered on his arm for a little while after he made you laugh, or the two of you would steal glances across the room. Sometimes when Hyunjin said something stupid you’d both catch the other’s eye and make a face, just another funny way of proving that you were both on the same wavelength most of the time. It’s kind of why Minho is so taken with you—he’s never met anyone that gets him the same way.

Reluctantly, Minho puts his pride aside and allows you to help. And as it turns out, you’re actually really good at cooking. Minho doesn’t have to instruct you much, and before he knows it you’re both working like a well-oiled machine, scooting past one another as you switch places between the stove and the sink, reading each other’s minds without even having to ask.

“Taste this.” You say, holding the spoon up to his mouth. Minho leans forward, front teeth poking out, and brings the spoon into his mouth. You cup your hand under his chin to catch any droppings, watching in anticipation as he smacks his lips together.

His eyes light up, big and brown and twinkling under the light of the kitchen. “Perfect.” He smiles.

“Oh you have—uh,” you stop him with a hand on his forearm just as he’s about to turn back to the sink, your other hand hovering next to his face hesitantly, “It’s just, um, your—here.”

Minho’s eyes go wide when your thumb swipes against the corner of his mouth, your touch feather light. It’s so intimate, the only sound being the music playing low from the speaker on the counter. He’s half convinced that you’re able to hear his heartbeat, blood pumping loud in his ears.

“You had some sauce…on your face.” You say shyly, your palm still pressed to his cheek.

“…Oh.”

Minho’s never really looked into your eyes from this close up before. He’s always known they were beautiful, the shape of them soft, full of nothing but the world. He can see himself in them from here, and, selfishly, he hopes you can see yourself in his, too.

He might be imagining it when your gaze flicks down to his lips for just a fraction of a second, but there’s no time to unpack any of that when the sauce starts bubbling over the edge of the pot, spilling on to the burner as loud sizzling and smoke fills the kitchen.

It’s chaos. The bottom of the pot is burnt and there’s only so much of it that’s salvageable. He only bought the exact amount of ingredients too, because this is a self-proclaimed no-food-waste household (as explicitly stated in the napkin contract he has with Jeongin, much to his dismay). So, hooray for conscious consumption of goods!

At the end of it all, there’s no one to blame. You’re both guilty of…whatever that was.

Minho tries to reassure you that it’s okay as he dials the number for the pizza place just down the street, simultaneously shutting down all your attempts to pay as an apology. It doesn’t matter to him, he’d do anything as long as it means he gets to spend time with you. At the end of the day, it’s another memory that he’ll hold close to his heart.

“Listen,” you say, swallowing down a mouthful of pizza, the both of you seated on his couch with a half-eaten box of pizza open on the coffee table, “I know you wanted to cook and all—which, by the way, I’m still sorry—but this is so good. However I’m sure whatever you made would’ve been better.”

Minho chuckles. “Stop lying,” he wipes his hands on a napkin, “I can guarantee you that whatever I cooked wouldn’t be as good as this anyways.”

“Stop selling yourself short, Min. You’re good at everything you do.”

The words fall from your lips so easily, like it’s something you’ve convinced yourself of long ago. Minho’s never been the type to bounce around from one thing to another, always choosing to stick with it until he has it down to a science. Cooking is one of them. Jeongin can attest to all the times Minho has berated him with tasting his latest dishes, chasing him around the apartment with a spoon. The words tighten themselves around his heart.

“I’m not,” he rolls his eyes, “But nine times out of ten, grease and mozzarella cheese are gonna win. I know that for a fact.”

You laugh, and the conversation gradually diverts into a debate about the top ten best greasy foods in existence. You’re heated, half kneeling on the couch with a finger pointed at him as you plead your case for onion rings, when your eyes go past Minho’s head and settle on the shelf of games in the hallway.

“You have games?” you ask, suddenly giddy with excitement as you hurry over to inspect the selection.

Minho watches with fond eyes, collects the plates and napkins to throw away. “Yeah, most of them are Innie’s. We don’t really use them. Sometimes when we’re drunk, other times when we’re bored and decide to wager money for fun.”

You hum, not really paying attention. Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, some decks of cards, Uno—you scan the shelf until your eyes light up at what you find hidden at the bottom.

“Min! Can we play Jenga?”

“Jenga?” Minho asks, re-entering the living room. The coffee table is clear now, and he sits between it and the couch, his back against the cushion. “Isn’t that kind of boring? We have other stuff there.”

“It’s only boring if you play it the way it’s supposed to be played.” You roll your eyes. Minho turns to you when you situate yourself on the floor beside him and only momentarily contemplates running to the bathroom when your knee knocks against his. He’s been holding it together pretty well so far, however The Sauce Incident had him ready to book it if anything had gone further.

“Well how else are we supposed to play it?” He frowns.

“We make up our own rules.”

The pieces scatter across the wood of the coffee table, clacking as you diligently begin putting them together. “This is a date, right?” You ask, stopping for a moment to turn and assess his response.

Minho stills. He genuinely forgot the grounds on which tonight had even happened in the first place. Spending time with you makes him forget everything else. And, despite his fears in the beginning, being on a date with you has felt so natural that it almost seems like you’ve done it a thousand times before.

Your eyes meet. For a moment, Minho lets himself wonder what it’d be like if he went for it right then and there. “Yeah,” he says slowly, unblinking, hoping you can see the sincerity on his face, “A date. One of the best ones I’ve ever been on, actually.”

He almost cries out in victory when your face flushes pink. “Now who’s a liar?” You ask quietly, going back to piecing together the game.

Minho has learned something new tonight: he really likes seeing you flustered.

“Why do you ask?” he decides to cut you the slack, “Or what does this being a date have to do with Jenga rules?”

He waits as you finish the stack, your tongue sticking out in concentration. You’re so cute. Minho mentally pockets that image for safe keeping.

“Sorry, okay, it’s done. But basically, if we pull out a block, we get to ask the other person a question.”

“And if the tower falls…?”

“Hmm,” you think for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip, “Oh! I know. If you lose you have to tell me why you asked me on a date.”

Minho’s stomach flips. “Okay. If you lose you have to tell me why you accepted the date.”

Something unreadable passes over your face, but it’s gone in an instant. You hold your hand out for a shake, and Minho wraps his fingers around it gently.

“Deal.”

“Why are you taking all of the middle pieces?” Minho pouts.

The two of you have gone through a couple turns by now, throwing out random questions for the better half of fifteen minutes. Favorite colors, childhood foods you wouldn’t eat, the best memory you have from high school. Minho’s learned a lot, has fallen for you a lot more. But that was always a given. It’s impossible not to when he can feel the warmth from your body where you’re seated next to him, your presence overtaking all of his senses.

“Because I’m trying to win,” you laugh, putting your freshly pulled piece at the top. Just a little crooked, too. To piss him off. “Favorite movie?”

“Ponyo. Easy. My turn.”

“Seriously? Why Ponyo?”

“One question at a time, princess.”

He means it as a joke, really. He doesn’t even realize what he’s said until after the fact, the nickname making your heart skip a beat. Minho notices, the corners of his lips tugging downwards as he suppresses a smile. He manages to flick one of the side pieces until it gives way.

“What’s one thing you regret?”

“Ooh, getting deep I see.” You laugh, taking a sip of your soda. There’s a long pause, and then, “I regret spilling my coffee on Hyunjin that day.”

Minho’s brow furrows. You…regret it? He runs through all the possible reasons in his head. Surely it can’t be because you regret becoming friends with them, friends with him, right?

“Why?” He chances.

“One question at a time, princess.” You echo, laughing at his shocked expression.

You remove the last middle piece. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate our first date?”

Minho’s brain is going a thousand miles a minute. “A ten. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.” He says it fast, wastes no time in moving forward to remove his own piece. He doesn’t even notice that your cheeks have gone pink again, too busy itching to ask his next question.

“Why do you regret spilling your coffee on Hyunjin?”

Minho watches you, lets his mind wander to the worst possible thing you could say in this situation, and mentally prepares to book it to the bathroom.

You take a deep breath, “I regret it because I wasn’t supposed to spill it on him. I was supposed to spill it on you.”

Wait, what?

Minho blinks. “What are you talking about?”

This is humiliating for you. A terrible thing to have to admit. Up until this moment, you’d thought that this information would follow you to your grave. You press the heel of your palms to your eyes, “This is so embarrassing,” you groan.

Minho pulls one hand away. He’s not really sure what to say, mostly because he’s confused, but, “You can tell me.”

“I had…” you start, looking up at him slowly, “A plan. With Jiwoo.” Minho nods for you to continue. “I’d seen you and Hyunjin walking through the quad a few times, and I thought that you were cute, but I didn't know how to approach you. So I did something stupid and decided that I would literally just crash into you. But I fucked it up.”

I thought that you were cute. The words echo in Minho’s ears like a bell. All this time, all those stolen glances and lingering touches, all the ways you would make hope spike in his chest that maybe you felt the same—they were real.

“So you, wait—” Minho shakes his head, “So you’re telling me that all this time…”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Min, really. All this time.”

Minho’s never been skydiving, but he imagines that this is what it feels like. Free falling—his soul hurtling towards earth at a horrifying speed, slamming back into his body right here in his living room with a force so strong it would knock him off his feet if he wasn’t already sitting on the floor. You were interested in him first.

Wordlessly, you lean forward, pulling out a piece with practiced ease. Minho waits with bated breaths.

“Can I kiss you?”

Minho feels like he might pass out. “Am I dreaming right now?”

“You didn’t pull out a piece.”

He scrambles forward, clumsily nudging a piece on the side that ends up sending the entire tower toppling over. You smile at him, soft and sweet. “Looks like you have to pay up with an answer. You know, since you lost.”

Minho doesn’t care. “Because I like you,” he breathes out, “I asked you on a date because I like you. I like you so much, ever since I saw you that day. And, funnily enough, I’ve always wished you’d spilled that coffee on me instead, too.”

The confession feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He’s spent so long pining after you, laying awake at night thinking about how this would go down if he ever got the chance. He never expected for it to happen like this, much less for you to possibly feel the same.

Panic slowly starts to rise in his chest when you don’t respond. He watches as you reach an arm over, build a small tower out of a few pieces, and then knock it over. You turn to him with a small smile, “Oops, I lost too.”

Minho is so in love with you that it hurts.

“I accepted the date because I like you, Minho. I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”

He doesn’t think twice before he’s surging forward, cupping your face with one hand and kissing you with a tenderness that has you melting into his touch.

There’s no fireworks behind his eyes, no big bang or grand display of whatever it is that happens in the movies. But there’s a warmth, it starts out small in the center of his chest and spreads throughout his entire body, lights his skin aflame and travels all the way to his fingertips. You’re like that. A gentle presence, someone who worms their way into the very essence of his being and burrows into the deepest parts of him, like it was never his to begin with. Kissing you is slow, and deep, and right. He wouldn’t want it any other way. Minho doesn’t ever want to stop.

He lets his other hand fall to your waist, pulls you closer until you’re practically straddling him with his back against the couch, your knees on either side of his hips. Minho lets out a long, drawn out groan when you tilt his head back farther, his lips parting and allowing you to lick inside of his mouth. It’s so good. So good. He can’t believe he ever lived without knowing what this felt like; lived without ever having you this close before.

After a while, Minho reluctantly pulls back, holding you by the shoulders. When he looks up, your eyes are half-lidded. You look utterly debauched, cheeks pink and lips swollen from how hard they’d been pressed against his own. “We should probably slow down.” He tries hard to convince himself, too. “Talk about it all, you know? I don’t—this isn’t a one time thing for me. I don’t want it to be. I like you. I want you to know that.” He says softly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

You lean into his hand, smiling when he flattens his palm to let your head rest there. “You’re like, so perfect that I want to kiss you until you forget your own name.”

Minho’s ears go red, his head falling forward until it rests against your collarbone. The feeling of his breath against your skin makes you laugh and run a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck fondly.

“This is gonna be so bad now that you say stuff like that.”

“Bad? No, I think it’s cute. You’re cute.”

“Shut up,” he whines, but there’s no bite to it. Not when he can look up and press a kiss to your lips. A dream come true. The entire world in his hands, exactly where it was always meant to be.

🏠

In the morning, when Jeongin comes back home, one hand covering his eyes just in case, he calls out,

“Everyone better be dressed! Or else I’m ripping up that napkin and making a new one with No fornicating on the furniture added into the fine print.”

When he doesn’t get a response, he rounds the corner, and finds the two of you nestled into the couch. Minho’s back is pressed into the cushions, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you nuzzle your face into his neck.

Jeongin huffs out a laugh, sends a quick text to Hyunjin that reads: Negative. Clothes are still on. But they’re so cute it’s almost sickening.

He snaps a picture to send to the group chat, grabs a piece of cold pizza, and retreats to his room.

Yang Jeongin Fanclub

jeongin: [Attachment: 1 image]

chan: AWWWWWWW

jiwoo: i’m gonna cry

changbin: dude is that the good pizza from down the street?

hyunjin: FINALLY

hyunjin: wait

hyunjin: does this mean i have to send back his $20?

[tags: @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @strwbrrychannie ]

#lee know x reader #first date series : minho #lee know fluff #lee know angst #skz x reader #lee know fanfic #skz fanfic #lee know fic #skz fic #lee know fanfiction #skz fanfiction #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfiction #lee know #godslino #first date series

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lovers-rck · 4 months

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little drabble about ellie and reader as the lady and the tramp (we all know who is the tramp)

☆

"c'mon" ellie says, a greasy fry resting between her lips "get the fry"

you frown your eyebrows, but direct your hand towards ellie's lips anyways. she moves before you could grab the fry in her mouth "not like that"

"with your mouth" she continues. you look at her, your hands leaving the keyboard of your computer

"what?"

"get it" ellie moves the fry between her lips, making faces to encourage you to do as she wants "c'mon"

"we aren't in the lady and the tramp ellie" you say, rolling your eyes and turning your attention back to the computer, resuming your task.

the light in your dorm is dim, you can hear people coming and going down the hall, talking about exams and subjects, complaining about teachers and longing for vacations.

"i know" ellie says, swallowing the potato and spinning around in the swivel chair "perhaps, they ate spaghetti, not fryes"

you smile slightly at the clarification. ellie had come to your dorm about 20 minutes ago, complaining about how hard her last assignment was and how her professor hated her, emphasizing the fact that she was sure it was because of that one time she fought with him in the middle of a debate. and with a tapper of fryes under her arm.

"i stole them from the kitchen" she told you when you asked, her lips in a pout and her eyebrows furrowed.

"cmon, get it" she repeated, placing another chip in her mouth "just for fun. i'll give you 20 bucks."

you looked back at her. you considered it for a moment, knowing that ellie wouldn't stop bugging you until you did, and you really needed to finish this assignment in time for your exam.

And something about being so close to her mouth made your stomach tingle.

"okay" you say, giving in to those puppy dog eyes "you are so weird".

she smiles "i know"

"I only do it for that 20 bucks" you reply, pulling your chair closer to ellie. but you knew that ellie didn't have 20 dollars. not even 5.

ellie rolls her eyes and nods, inviting you to proceed.

you try to think about how this is not normal behavior between friends as you move towards her mouth and feel the air from her breath against your face. the fry separates you and her by about 8 centimeters, so there is a bit of space between your faces, though not enough to avoid a nervous twitch in your stomach.

as your lips are about to grab the greasy chip, ellie pulls back, preventing you from catching it "ellie!" you exclaim, watching as ellie laughs uproariously.

"sorry, sorry!" she says, feeling your hand push her and almost knock her off the swivel chair "i had to do it. i'm sorry. now i'm serious."

when ellie gets back into her normal position, you move yourself to get close to her face again, trying to avoid the way ellie's eyes are staring at you with utmost attention, piercing your pores.

as your teeth are about to hunt for the food, ellie is quick and puts the whole chip in her mouth, causing you to stumble and end up with your lips on hers.

you feel ellie's salty lips against yours, greasy and warm. she rushes to rest her hand on your jaw, preventing you from pulling away from her but still giving you the chance to do so if that's what you want.

but you don't.

you reciprocate her kiss, which is not a kiss as such, as your lips only remain against each other for a few seconds, without moving, before they separate.

things are silent for a few seconds. you lick your lips, feeling the taste that ellie left you.

"we could agree that this is the modern version of lady and the tramp" ellie says, a playful tone tinges her voice and you can't help but giggle, feeling a warmth come over your cheeks.

"you idiot" you reply

ellie laughs and places another fry in her mouth "you didn't get it. try again".

you smile and move in again. the game goes on for five more rounds, five rounds where you fail to catch the fry and five rounds where you end up kissing ellie.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #tlou

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bluecollarmcandtf · 19 days

Text

Bros, Bros, and more Bros

I made a mistake! My cousin told me about this fortune teller that cast a spell on him. Apparently, it made every man he ran into act like a fatherly figure in his life. I had an awesome dad, but I've always struggled to connect with guys my own age, so I tracked the witch down and begged her for another spell. She eventually came around, but the effects aren't quite what I expected...

"Sup, dude! Wanna skip and hit the park?"

My eyes stretch wide to take in the sight of my own father, carrying a skateboard over his shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world. He's been acting like this for weeks; not washing his hair, barely even washing himself, and constantly wearing that stupid cap backwards. He's lost any sense of his old self!

"Dad, it's Monday. You've got work," I reply, not wanting him to piss his boss off.

"Work blows!" he sneers, "I hate wearing this stupid tie, and I'd rather hang with you, bro."

I sigh as my father tosses down his skateboard and extends a palm, pulling me into a cliche bro-hug where he claps me on the back. My dad used to give out hugs all the time, but it was never as performatively masculine as this. All this stupid curse did was turn my father into an 40 year-old frat guy.

"You're going to work," I say firmly, "And I'm going to school. We can play videogames or whatever when we get back later tonight."

"Bruuhhh!" he groans, "Fine. I'll catch you later, dude. There's pizza in the fridge if you want."

The idea of leftover pizza this early in the morning makes my stomach ache. My dad used to cook an entire meal every morning, complete with fruits and veggies. Now, he'd probably settle for a bag of chips.

The man leaves the skateboard behind and grabs his suit jacket, pulling it on with an attitude. He gives me one last head nod before bounding out of the house, hair flowing behind him. I imagine it's only a matter of time before my dad's boss is fed up with his new persona. I can't imagine a bro-personality is very conducive to getting work done in a corporate office. Hopefully, he'll mature soon.

With an empty stomach, I saunter out of the kitchen and walk to campus. I'm grateful to live close to the university. Hopefully, my curse won't get in the way of my day.

"Hey, how's my favorite student doing, bro?"

My professor yells and breaks into a goofy grin at the sight of me. I close the door to his office to give us a bit of privacy. Mr. Carlton only acts like this when I stop by, so his colleagues would be shocked to see such a drastic shift in his usually stoic personality.

"I'm good, Professor Carlton," I say, "I wanted to check on my grade for this course."

"No need to be so formal, dude," he smiles, clapping me on the back, "You can call me Daniel. Want a drink? I have some bourbon."

"I'm good. I really just-"

"Relax, bro," my professor says, shoving a glass in my hand, filled to the brim, "This is good stuff. I save it for special occasions, so sit down! Kick your shoes off! I don't care!"

The department head pulls off his suit jacket and leans back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk and stretching his arms behind his head. I'd never seen the man act so unprofessional, but ever since the curse, he's started treating me like his closest buddy.

"Professor...sorry...Daniel, I just wanted to hear about my grade."

"I got you, bro!" he laughed, "Just keep doing what you're doing. I don't care if you don't show up!"

My shoulders relax. That's what I want to hear. It's not that I don't want to attend his lectures, but the last time I did, he started acting like a jackass in front of the entire class of 50 students. His presentation went from ancient monetary systems to ratings of best celebrity nip-slips. It's a miracle he didn't get fired!

"Ok, good. I have to go," I say checking the time, "And you have class in 20 minutes."

"Shit, I know," he groans and gulps down the rest of his booze, "Another day another dollar, I guess. When can we hang out, man? Tonight? I really wanna hang out with my guy."

"Nope, sorry!" I tense up and grab my backpack, "Good luck with the lecture."

"Right on, bro," he holds a sad hand up for a high-five, swallowing the rest of the drink he poured me.

I give my tipsy professor a halfhearted clap and scamper out of the office as quickly as possible. These interactions make me cringe so hard when a grown man acts young and cool for me. It's especially awkward to see such a respected individual sink to such a low level. What would we even do if he came over?

"Dude! Long time, no see!"

In the hallway, I run into the football coach and two of the team's best players. The three of them look like they're getting back from an early morning conditioning session. They're all sweaty, panting, and happy to see me.

"Oh, hey," I muster, feeling increasingly less cool around these jocks. I hate to admit it, but guys like this wouldn't give me the time of day before I got that bro-curse.

"Hey, man! You gotta come hang out with us," the brunette grins, "The team's still changing, but you're cool to come in the locker room!"

"Yeah, bro!" the blonde quickly adds, "We'd love to have you in there!"

My heart pounds faster and faster. This is why I've never been able to connect with guys my own age. I find myself boning up every time they look in my direction. Now that these two athletes are practically begging for me to join them in the locker room, my erection is bursting out of my pants!

"We can take care of that too," the coach suddenly mentions, pointing a finger at the tent I'm trying to hide in my crotch.

"What?" I stammer with a dry mouth.

"What do you think bros are for?" the coach continues, clapping his two players on the back, "My boys would be happy to help a brother out!"

The two football jocks nod. It feels like I'm dreaming, and I don't know what to do. Before I can decide, the two athletes have approached and grabbed me by the arm. Their grips are firm, and I realize I'm being escorted into the changing room whether I like it or not!

"Who's this guy?"

My stomach drops as I enter the locker room, finding an array of footballers in different states of dress. They all glance up at me with confusion, like I'm not supposed to be there, but then their faces soften. The gypsy's magic sets in, and they don't see a stranger when they look at me. They see their bro.

"Oh, it's you, bro," the same jock says, letting down his guard. I think I recognize him as the quarterback.

"Oh yeah, dude!" the massive lineman stands up and pulls me into a sweaty hug, "Glad you're here!"

"That's right guys," the brunette at my side says, still holding me tightly in place, "Our best bud is here, and he needs some attention."

My face flushes as I suddenly remember the problem poking out between my legs. By now, the entire football team is staring at it. If anything, it's only become more rock solid.

"Let me take care of that for you, bro," the quarterback says, grabbing my crotch without any hesitation.

"Move, I'll do it," says the lineman, pushing the quarterback out of the way and getting on his knees. He opens his mouth wide and-

"Shut up, all of you!" the coach suddenly roars! The locker room falls silent: these athletes are really well trained. "If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right. Line up!"

"Yes, coach!"

The jocks back up and form a line in front of the lockers. Even the blonde and brunette that were holding me, release and join the rest of the team on the bench. Suddenly, I'm standing with the coach, looking at an entire team of well-disciplined football players. My throbbing erection is very apparent and pointing right at the small crowd of muscular men.

"Our bro deserves to be kept satisfied, right?" the coach slams a hand on my back.

"Yes, coach!" they shout back.

"So we don't just want to get our boy off once and move on, now do we?" he punctuates his question with another slap, this time lower on my back.

"No, coach!"

"We're going to set up a system for us to get him off whenever he needs it!"

"Yes, coach!"

The broad-shouldered and balding coach gives me one more slap, clapping me on the ass this time while staring into my eyes. "I'm gonna have my boys take turns sucking you off, bro. You just tell me which one's your favorite. Sound cool?"

I manage to mumble my assent, and with one look from coach, the quarterback is on his knees crawling towards my crotch. He pulls down my pants and unleashes my aching hard-on. "I got you, bro," he says, before putting his mouth to work.

After a few minutes, the coach pulls the jock off my pole and orders the linebacker to get busy. Before long, it's the brunette's turn, then the blonde's. I cycle through all 30 of the team's exceptional players, and I've gotten off more than just a few times. It's impossible to choose a favorite.

At the end of it all, the coach pushes the last player aside and says, "My turn, bro," before opening his mouth as wide as he can.

The entire football team watches as I spend the next 15 minutes just filling their coach's eager throat. When I'm finally done, I feel completely spent. I swap numbers with each jock and am repeatedly promised that they will be available whenever I call, but it isn't enough. They want to hang out with me now. They want to go out and party. I find it too difficult to say 'no' to a group of 30 eager athletes, so I let them sweep me up and take me to the nearest bar.

Needless to say, we end up causing a bit too rowdy of a scene.

"I got a complaint about a bunch of college idiots causing a ruckus. Would that be you?"

The officer was all business when he first walked in the bar. My football bros were dancing and yelling, barely even paying attention to the policeman scowling at the wild scene in front of him. He looked pissed, and his glare only softened when it found me.

"Woah, didn't know you were here, man," the cop says, cracking a slight grin on his hardened face.

"Well, I am!" I cry, feeling the effects of all the drinks my bros had been buying for me, "You should forget about work and party with us!"

"You got it, dude! Screw this badge!" the officer yells, pulling me into a tight embrace. I guess the bro-curse even works on law-enforcement!

Just like that, I'm dancing with a policeman in the middle of the dance floor. He doesn't have any moves, but he loosens up after we get some beer down his throat. The football team loves watching the cop party right alongside them. Apparently, this guy has broken up many of their parties in the past.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!"

The officer gulps down his seventh beer and slams the glass on the floor. It breaks, but the shattering is largely drowned out by the music. His onlookers go wild, but I can see the intoxication on his face. Beer is plastered around his mouth and dripping down his neck to soak into his uniform. I doubt this man has ever been this drunk in uniform before.

He stumbles over and throws a muscled arm over my shoulder, "Come here, bro. Let's do some shots or something!"

"I think it might be time to call it a night, officer," I yell in his ear.

"Oh, screw that!" he whines, "And don't call me officer! It's so formal!"

"Ok, what should I call you?"

"I dunno..." he mutters, "Buck! Call me Buck. That's what my wife calls me."

I roll my eyes at the mention of his wife. Of course this guy is taken. He's a complete stud of man. I've always liked a guy in uniform.

"How'd you like to come home with me tonight, Buck?" I ask sheepishly.

He lights up, "Bro, I thought you'd never ask!"

The cop grabs my arm with a wicked grin and stomps his way towards the door, dragging me along like I'm the prize he won at a fair. The players on the football team all stare at him with envy, mad that he's stealing their new best friend away for the night. I could see how badly each one of the jocks wished they were the one having a sleepover with me tonight.

"Hop in, I'll drive," officer Buck slurs his words and gestures to the police cruiser with his free hand.

"I think I'll handle the driving, if that's alright," I say, "Just hand over the keys."

"Anything for you, bro."

"Looks like someone got lucky!"

"Oh my God. Dad you're still up?"

"Bro, you said you'd play videogames tonight and then you never showed! What was I supposed to do?" he retorts, unbothered by the late hour or the cop hanging on my arm.

"You have to go to work in 4 hours!" I scream, "And you haven't even changed out of today's work clothes! What are you thinking?"

"Chill, bro," my dad says, turning to the drunk policeman holding my hand, "Take him to the bedroom and show him a good time. I'm sure you were going to, but the dude could use some extra help relaxing tonight."

The sound of my own father encouraging the man I brought home to 'show me a good time' makes me question everything again. My dad just witnessed his son bringing home a cop that's the same age as him. He doesn't even care! I want to tell him to grow up and be the man I used to know, but Buck is already jerking on my arm.

"Let's go, bro," he mumbles lowly, using his strong arms to drag me into the bedroom.

"Enjoy your new cop friend, bro!" my father calls and I hear the sounds of his videogames start back up.

I barely have time to worry about any of it. Has this curse gone too far? Will my dad make it to work tomorrow? Does Buck have a wife I need to worry about!?

It all goes away when I'm thrown on the bed. The intoxicated officer flips the lights down low, and stumbles in front of me. He may be drunk, but he is certainly not a disappointment. The cop stares down at me as he rips his state-issued hat off and unbuttons his dark uniform shirt, all the while moving his hips to the beat of gunfire from dad's videogame in the living room.

With his hairy chest exposed, he crawls on top of me and whispers in my ear, "Where do you want me to start? Us bros gotta look out for each other, don't we?"

#gay bros #male transformation #hypno story #gay ai art #gay hypnosis #gay mind control

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physalian · 2 months

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8 Signs your Sequel Needs Work

Sequels, and followup seasons to TV shows, can be very tricky to get right. Most of the time, especially with the onslaught of sequels, remakes, and remake-quels over the past… 15 years? There’s a few stand-outs for sure. I hear Dune Part 2 stuck the landing. Everyone who likes John Wick also likes those sequels. Spiderverse 2 also stuck the landing.

These are less tips and more fundamental pieces of your story that may or may not factor in because every work is different, and this is coming from an audience’s perspective. Maybe some of these will be the flaws you just couldn’t put your finger on before. And, of course, these are all my opinions, for sequels and later seasons that just didn’t work for me.

1. Your vague lore becomes a gimmick

The Force, this mysterious entity that needs no further explanation… is now quantifiable with midichlorians.

In The 100, the little chip that contains the “reincarnation” of the Commanders is now the central plot to their season 6 “invasion of the bodysnatchers” villains.

In The Vampire Diaries, the existence of the “emotion switch” is explicitly disputed as even existing in the earlier seasons, then becomes a very real and physical plot point one can toggle on and off.

I love hard magic systems. I love soft magic systems, too. These two are not evolutions of each other and doing so will ruin your magic system. People fell in love with the hard magic because they liked the rules, the rules made sense, and everything you wrote fit within those rules. Don’t get wacky and suddenly start inventing new rules that break your old ones.

People fell in love with the soft magic because it needed no rules, the magic made sense without overtaking the story or creating plot holes for why it didn’t just save the day. Don’t give your audience everything they never needed to know and impose limitations that didn’t need to be there.

Solving the mystery will never be as satisfying as whatever the reader came up with in their mind. Satisfaction is the death of desire.

2. The established theme becomes un-established

I talked about this point already in this post about theme so the abridged version here: If your story has major themes you’ve set out to explore, like “the dichotomy of good and evil” and you abandon that theme either for a contradictory one, or no theme at all, your sequel will feel less polished and meaningful than its predecessor, because the new story doesn’t have as much (if anything) to say, while the original did.

Jurassic Park is a fantastic, stellar example. First movie is about the folly of human arrogance and the inherent disaster and hubris in thinking one can control forces of nature for superficial gains. The sequels, and then sequel series, never returns to this theme (and also stops remembering that dinosaurs are animals, not generic movie monsters). JP wasn’t just scary because ahhh big scary reptiles. JP was scary because the story is an easily preventable tragedy, and yes the dinosaurs are eating people, but the people only have other people to blame. Dinosaurs are just hungry, frightened animals.

Or, the most obvious example in Pixar’s history: Cars to Cars 2.

3. You focus on the wrong elements based on ‘fan feedback’

We love fans. Fans make us money. Fans do not know what they want out of a sequel. Fans will never know what they want out of a sequel, nor will studios know how to interpret those wants. Ask Star Wars. Heck, ask the last 8 books out of the Percy Jackson universe.

Going back to Cars 2 (and why I loathe the concept of comedic relief characters, truly), Disney saw dollar signs with how popular Mater was, so, logically, they gave fans more Mater. They gave us more car gimmicks, they expanded the lore that no one asked for. They did try to give us new pretty racing venues and new cool characters. The writers really did try, but some random Suit decided a car spy thriller was better and this is what we got.

The elements your sequel focuses on could be points 1 or 2, based on reception. If your audience universally hates a character for legitimate reasons, maybe listen, but if your audience is at war with itself over superficial BS like whether or not she’s a female character, or POC, ignore them and write the character you set out to write. Maybe their arc wasn’t finished yet, and they had a really cool story that never got told.

This could be side-characters, or a specific location/pocket of worldbuilding that really resonated, a romantic subplot, whatever. Point is, careening off your plan without considering the consequences doesn’t usually end well.

4. You don’t focus on the ‘right’ elements

I don’t think anyone out there will happily sit down and enjoy the entirety of Thor: The Dark World. The only reasons I would watch that movie now are because a couple of the jokes are funny, and the whole bit in the middle with Thor and Loki. Why wasn’t this the whole movie? No one cares about the lore, but people really loved Loki, especially when there wasn’t much about him in the MCU at the time, and taking a villain fresh off his big hit with the first Avengers and throwing him in a reluctant “enemy of my enemy” plot for this entire movie would have been amazing.

Loki also refuses to stay dead because he’s too popular, thus we get a cyclical and frustrating arc where he only has development when the producers demand so they can make maximum profit off his character, but back then, in phase 2 world, the mystery around Loki was what made him so compelling and the drama around those two on screen was really good! They bounced so well off each other, they both had very different strengths and perspectives, both had real grievances to air, and in that movie, they *both* lost their mother. It’s not even that it’s a bad sequel, it’s just a plain bad movie.

The movie exists to keep establishing the Infinity Stones with the red one and I can’t remember what the red one does at this point, but it could have so easily done both. The powers that be should have known their strongest elements were Thor and Loki and their relationship, and run with it.

This isn’t “give into the demands of fans who want more Loki” it’s being smart enough to look at your own work and suss out what you think the most intriguing elements are and which have the most room and potential to grow (and also test audiences and beta readers to tell you the ugly truth). Sequels should feel more like natural continuations of the original story, not shameless cash grabs.

5. You walk back character development for ~drama~

As in, characters who got together at the end of book 1 suddenly start fighting because the “will they/won’t they” was the juiciest dynamic of their relationship and you don’t know how to write a compelling, happy couple. Or a character who overcame their snobbery, cowardice, grizzled nature, or phobia suddenly has it again because, again, that was the most compelling part of their character and you don’t know who they are without it.

To be honest, yeah, the buildup of a relationship does tend to be more entertaining in media, but that’s also because solid, respectful, healthy relationships in media are a rarity. Season 1 of Outlander remains the best, in part because of the rapid growth of the main love interest’s relationship. Every season after, they’re already married, already together, and occasionally dealing with baby shenanigans, and it’s them against the world and, yeah, I got bored.

There’s just so much you can do with a freshly established relationship: Those two are a *team* now. The drama and intrigue no longer comes from them against each other, it’s them together against a new antagonist and their different approaches to solving a problem. They can and should still have distinct personalities and perspectives on whatever story you throw them into.

6. It’s the same exact story, just Bigger

I have been sitting on a “how to scale power” post for months now because I’m still not sure on reception but here’s a little bit on what I mean.

Original: Oh no, the big bad guy wants to destroy New York

Sequel: Oh no, the big bad guy wants to destroy the planet

Threequel: Oh no, the big bad guy wants to destroy the galaxy

You knew it wasn’t going to happen the first time, you absolutely know it won’t happen on a bigger scale. Usually, when this happens, plot holes abound. You end up deleting or forgetting about characters’ convenient powers and abilities, deleting or forgetting about established relationships and new ground gained with side characters and entities, and deleting or forgetting about stakes, themes, and actually growing your characters like this isn’t the exact same story, just Bigger.

How many Bond movies are there? Thirty-something? I know some are very, very good and some are not at all good. They’re all Bond movies. People keep watching them because they’re formulaic, but there’s also been seven Bond actors and the movies aren’t one long, continuous, self-referential story about this poor, poor man who has the worst luck in the universe. These sequels aren’t “this but bigger” it’s usually “this, but different”, which is almost always better.

“This, but different now” will demand a different skillset from your hero, different rules to play by, different expectations, and different stakes. It does not just demand your hero learn to punch harder.

Example: Lord Shen from Kung Fu Panda 2 does have more influence than Tai Lung, yes. He’s got a whole city and his backstory is further-reaching, but he’s objectively worse in close combat—so he doesn’t fistfight Po. He has cannons, very dangerous cannons, cannons designed to be so strong that kung fu doesn’t matter. Thus, he’s not necessarily “bigger” he’s just “different” and his whole story demands new perspective.

The differences between Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi are numerous, but the latter relies on “but bigger” and the former went in a whole new direction, while still staying faithful to the themes of the original.

7. It undermines the original by awakening a new problem too soon

I’ve already complained about the mere existence of Heroes of Olympus elsewhere because everything Luke fought and died for only bought that world about a month of peace before the gods came and ripped it all away for More Story.

I’ve also complained that the Star Wars Sequels were always going to spit in the face of a character’s six-movie legacy to bring balance to the Force by just going… nah. Ancient prophecy? Only bought us about 30 years of peace.

Whether it’s too soon, or it’s too closely related to the original, your audience is going to feel a little put-off when they realize how inconsequential this sequel makes the original, particularly in TV shows that run too many seasons and can’t keep upping the ante, like Supernatural.

Kung Fu Panda once again because these two movies are amazing. Shen is completely unrelated to Tai Lung. He’s not threatening the Valley of Peace or Shifu or Oogway or anything the heroes fought for in the original. He’s brand new.

My yearning to see these two on screen together to just watch them verbally spat over both being bratty children disappointed by their parents is unquantifiable. This movie is a damn near perfect sequel. Somebody write me fanfic with these two throwing hands over their drastically different perspectives on kung fu.

8. It’s so divorced from the original that it can barely even be called a sequel

Otherwise known as seasons 5 and 6 of Lost. Otherwise known as: This show was on a sci-fi trajectory and something catastrophic happened to cause a dramatic hairpin turn off that path and into pseudo-biblical territory. Why did it all end in a church? I’m not joking, they did actually abandon The Plan while in a mach 1 nosedive.

I also have a post I’ve been sitting on about how to handle faith in fiction, so I’ll say this: The premise of Lost was the trials and escapades of a group of 48 strangers trying to survive and find rescue off a mysterious island with some creepy, sciency shenanigans going on once they discover that the island isn’t actually uninhabited.

Season 6 is about finding “candidates” to replace the island’s Discount Jesus who serves as the ambassador-protector of the island, who is also immortal until he’s not, and the island becomes a kind of purgatory where they all actually did die in the crash and were just waiting to… die again and go to heaven. Spoiler Alert.

This is also otherwise known as: Oh sh*t, Warner Bros wants more Supernatural? But we wrapped it up so nicely with Sam and Adam in the box with Lucifer. I tried to watch one of those YouTube compilations of Cas’ funny moments because I haven’t seen every episode, and the misery on these actors’ faces as the compilation advanced through the seasons, all the joy and wit sucked from their performances, was just tragic.

I get it. Writers can’t control when the Powers That Be demand More Story so they can run their workhorse into the ground until it stops bleeding money, but if you aren’t controlled by said powers, either take it all back to basics, like Cars 3, or just stop.

—

Sometimes taking your established characters and throwing them into a completely unrecognizable story works, but those unrecongizable stories work that much harder to at least keep the characters' development and progression satisfying and familiar. See this post about timeskips that take generational gaps between the original and the sequel, and still deliver on a satisfying continuation.

TLDR: Sequels are hard and it’s never just one detail that makes them difficult to pull off. They will always be compared to their predecessors, always with the expectations to be as good as or surpass the original, when the original had no such competition. There’s also audience expectations for how they think the story, lore, and relationships should progress. Most faults of sequels, in my opinion, lie in straying too far from the fundamentals of the original without understanding why those fundamentals were so important to the original’s success.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #sequels #kung fu panda

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powderblueblood · 3 months

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THE BOY IS MINE (POWDER'S VERSION)

delighted to be involved in @carolmunson's eddie challenge because when do i not want to write about the boy! looping in @vvitchwords and @howdidyouallgetinmyroom for no pressure funsies, and you if you're reading this and want to do it. tag me! cw: here you'll find eddie x fem!reader in almost an implied situationship... a little bit angsty, a little bit cosmic, a little bit meta. ambiguous ending! mentions of dick and horniness but no outright smut. wc: 2k

“Ding dong.”

Hey, it’s you! Eddie grins under the flickering porchlight, crossing his arms as he leans against the door frame, paint chips falling.

“Howdy, little hobo.”

“Tch– what a deeply unflattering and libelous nickname. Can I come in?”

“I don't know, it’s been a while…” he says, smacking his tongue against his teeth, “How do I know you haven’t caught something?”

“Look, can we dispense with the cleverness and give me a ‘y’ or an ‘n’ here? I've had a day.” You prop up the brown grocery bag like an infant against the dip of your hip. “and I brought libations.”

“Booze?!” Eddie's mouth bounces around the ‘b’ and he ushers you inside with a flourish. “Well, why didn’t ya say so? M’lady, right this way…”

And he’s right, by the way. It'd been a while, just the two of you. He'd been here doing god knows what with god knows who and you’d been up the walls doing a whole lot of nothing. But coming back together, it always felt like putting on an old shoe. Comfortable, reliable, broken in. Eddie watches you breathe in a lungful of the Munson trailer’s fragrant air, top notes of stale cigarette smoke and Beefaroni sparkling alongside Eddie's dark eyes as he hops up on the counter. Barefoot, beatific, lovely as all hell.

You wag your finger in warning.

“Don’t get comfortable, chicken. I have a very romantic meal planned.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Yeah!” you chirp, digging a bottle of horrible merlot out of the brown paper bag. Thunk. “I brought dessert…” followed by a tub of vanilla frosting. Thunk. “...followed by dessert.”

Eddie, from where he perches, tries to peer further into the bag. “Where's the rest of it?”

“There’s– what? that’s it.”

“Wine and frosting?”

“I cut to the chase,” you tell him, popping open the can and stepping into the living room, “Whose favourite part of the cupcake is the cake part? Get real.”

“You’re nothin’ if not pragmatic,” Eddie sighs wistfully, slipping back off the counter and casting a glance to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. He swallows and tacks on, “and that is why I like you so bad.”

Eddie shuffles around the kitchen, looking around for appropriate receptacles with absolutely none in sight. Shouldn’t matter, right? But even after all this time, he’s still trying to impress you. even with how… low maintenance this thing between you is.

“I ran out of, like, nice cups. Is this okay?”

You stare at the novelty mug he’s holding out to you. Like, really stare at it.

“I'll bring you my ten dollar-est bottle of wine and you’re gonna make me drink out of the haunted bear chalice?”

That thing is really fucking awful. It’s shaped in a convincing enough impression of a teddy bear, but pockmarked like a peanut shell and staring at you with the milky, demonic eyes of an ancient evil. Where does Wayne find this shit?

“Well, I never know when you’re gonna show up so I never know when I oughta, like, polish the crystal!”

“You’re too busy polishing something else in my absence, I'm guessing.”

Eddie's eyelids lower, his brows quirk, his lips curl over all Don Juan-like. “What happens between me and my buffering rag is none of your business.”

“How come you get the Garfield one?” you poke, gesturing to the bright orange cat shaped thing in his opposite hand.

“Because it’s my trailer and it’s my party and I'll Garf if I want to.”

“What if I wanna Garf?”

“Tough break, sweetheart.”

“I'm the guest, I should be allowed to Garf.”

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Garf me!”

“If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem,” Eddie says, all-mock glowery and stern. “Take your fugly little bear and pass the frosting.”

You brought red wine because you know how docile and touchy it makes him, and he knows that you know. Eddie relishes in it, that faint berry buzz staining his lips and the outer edges of his brain. He digs another fingerful of frosting out of the container and sucks it right down his gullet, so noisily that it makes you clear your throat. You look up from your end of the couch, from that notebook you’re always scribbling in. He wonders how you can even see, since the only real light source in the living room is from the television blaring Headbangers Ball.

“Oh shit. Am I distracting you?” he says, all mock-coquette, and sucks his finger right down to the hog’s head ring with an exaggerated slurp. “From your investigative journalism or whatever?”

You note something down, pointedly, and shove him in the thigh with your socked foot.

“Stop trying to seduce me. It’s not gonna work.”

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Robinson.” Eddie's voice is a smooth sing-song with some grumble under the surface, his bared, smiling teeth catching the light of the TV. Jeez.

“I'm writing the biography of some graceless idiot,” you prod a little further, scribbling on the page just to scribble.

Eddie hikes up in his seat, wine almost sloshing over Garfield's open cranium.

“I fucking knew it!” he cackles, jabbing a triumphant finger into your calf, “I'm your muse. I'm the reason for which your artistic heart beats. I’m your bottomless well of inspiration–”

“You have frosting on your nose.”

Eddie leans toward you, hand still on your leg. His tongue pokes out and swipes nowhere near his nose. “Did I get it?”

“No.”

Another attempt. “How ‘bout now?”

“Mm-mm.”

His dark eyes round out, pout very much pouting. He's a great pouter. That could be what you miss most about him, when you’re away.

“I think I need help,” Eddie whines.

You scoff, setting down the bear mug and the notebook on the ground.

“You’re fuckin’ relentless, you know that?”

With a couple of shuffles, you plant your thighs on either side of Eddie's lap and cup the back of his head. He's got a smug little look splashed across his face now, one that you know just how to wipe off. Your tongue licks a smidge of frosting from the tip of his characterful, unforgettable, rideable nose and Eddie's breath hitches. His hands, his fingers cuffed up in silver, dig into your thighs. Your faces, inches apart and his lashes falling as his hips ever-so-gently kick into yours.

“Shit,” he breathes, teeth pressing into his lower lip as his face tilts you-ward. “I’m at your mercy, you know that?”

You wind a couple of his curls around your fingers and Eddie presses his forehead to yours with a hum. He’s so sweet. so eager, even at the first touch. teasing his way into it but immediately losing the fight, already begging for more.

“You’re missing your show,” you inform him uselessly as his hands move up your thighs.

“Doesn’t matter,” Eddie tells you, with a hairline crack running through his voice, “It’s only fucking Mötley Crüe. I wanna run Vince Neil over with a ride on lawnmower. This is quelling my rage.”

You pull your head back a little and shake it. “You wait all week for The Ball, Eddie.”

“I wait—…” he nearly chases you as you move from him, neck going stiff. A grin masks the earnestness teeming out of him, but the wine has made it a little more obvious. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, but strong is all Eddie knows. “I wait all week for you.”

Your tongue clucks against your teeth and he kind of can’t stand that pitying way you’re looking at him, and it’s kind of all he ever wants to see again ever forever in his whole life ever.

“Baby,” you mumble, like it’s stupid, and he knows it.

Eddie’s slowly losing the last fuck he has to give. He chuckles, lightly, desperately.

“But I do!” he tells you, hands sure on your hips, “I do. I wrote you into a campaign this week, y’know—even though I knew you’d hate it.”

“Mm. Even though I told you not to.”

“Yeah, even though,” he shrugs, defiant. “She's great, though—she’s a creature of the fae that’ll bewitch you on sight. And she bends around the light, appearing and disappearing at will, but you can always kinda feel her there.”

“Like psoriasis.”

“Tchyeah. her flare ups are a bitch to handle.”

“Scabby and painful, just how you like your women.” You sit back a little. He registers.

“Aw. Don’t be like that. That’s not even—...” he runs a thumb along your cheek, more for him than for you. “She just needs some soothing and she’ll be okay.“

“Eddie,” you say, and your tone’s not dark, but it could be, “do me a favour. Don’t immortalise me.”

“Huh?” his brows knit.

“It's not good for you. It’s gonna make you think I'm something that I'm not.”

“But…”

“But but.”

“But what if that’s the only way I can get close to you?” Again, that facetious look on his face, that sardonic smile that’s masking everything except the spellbound look in his eyes. Dark stars dancing in his irises from the twilight of the TV. “And I really wanna be close to you?”

“Making up stories about me? Living in your own head?” It’s something he’s heard his whole life, but you phrase it soft. But he knows what you mean. “And you like that?”

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie insists. because it’s something worth protecting, actually. “Have you been outside lately? It sucks.”

You give a little. “Salient point.”

“Besides. You write about me, how is it any different?��

“Well, I write the facts. So I can remember you. You write fantasies, so you can enjoy me.”

Eddie shakes his shaggy haired head. you’re not winning this one.

“Sorry, smartass, but there’s no way you’re writing objective facts in there. It’’s all gonna be tainted from your point of view,” his clutch on you moves to your waist and he sits up a little straighter, “which, I don’t mind. I like your point of view.” A beat. “I like that you’re seeing me at all.”

“Oh. Eddie.” It’s not as if people don’t, it’s not as if… you know, he has nobody, but the way you dig him is special. The way you dice him up.

“God,” he groans, his forehead sinking into your chest, “How can someone make me so emotional and horny. Not right. Feels like a spy tactic. You workin’ for the opposition, trying to take me down?”

“Yeah, because you’re such hot patriotic property,” your hand pets at the crown of his head, “Who died and made you America's sweetheart?”

“This boner is a betrayal of my countrymen.”

“Try a couple of bars of the national anthem and maybe you’ll calm down.”

Eddie's head pulls back so he can look at you, trying to pull focus from the way his dick is straining in his flannel pants. But, tough shit, crapshoot. He wants to press you into this sofa and rut into you slow, feel the suction of you surrounding him.

“Why aren’t we doing this again?” he asks, bleary-kinda.

“Because you get too sad when I have to leave,” you say into his curls, “and sometimes I have to leave.”

“So why do you still come here?” and when he asks you this, he doesn’t feel sad. doesn’t feel a cold shock, an empty feeling like you’ve described before. Eddie just wants to know, now, while he’s in the warmth of you.

“Because… well… no one else is worth writing about right now.”

That's okay. It’ll do. He'll take what he can get from you, even if it isn’t everything. Because what he can get is great. you smile at each other, wineskinned and a little lopsided, and you ease yourself off to cuddle into his side while The Ball plays on.

“God, those pants really leave nothing to the imagination, do they?”

“What’s that?” Eddie or Vince Neil?

“I can see the full outline of your penis head.”

“And what a glorious sight, you ungrateful degenerate.”

“Never said it wasn’t. It’s a nice shape. But.”

You push a throw pillow into Eddie's lap and he hisses a little. “If you don’t stop…”

“You’re gonna hump that pillow and think of me?”

Eddie's brain staggers alongside the beat of Ride My Rocket by Pantera as it blares from the set, looking at you with a cocked open mouth. “Yes! Obviously!”

#published by powder #e. munson by powder #eddie munson x reader

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withacapitalp · 1 year

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Root Beer

Happy birthday @stevesbipanic !!! I had an idea for this so long ago, but then your birthday gave me the perfect excuse to write it. I'm so honored we are friends, I am still so shocked about it (Flashback to my OG post about Tumblr royalty liking one of my posts) and I cannot wait to get to spend even more time with you <333

“Remind me again why you always pay for Erica’s ice cream?” Eddie wondered as Steve dug into his wallet and forked over the dollar eighty five required for Erica’s scoop of cotton candy with rainbow sprinkles.

“It’s reparations for child endangerment,” Erica replied immediately, sticking her tongue out briefly as Steve rolled his eyes.

Eddie automatically stuck his tongue out right back at her, making her laugh as she skipped off to the other side of the counter and waited for her treat. The kids had asked for a ride to the ice cream shop, but in a rare display of discipline, Steve had refused to pay for any of them except Erica, and, shockingly, no one had complained. They had all pooled their money, ordered three sundaes to split, and were now sitting in the corner digging into their treats.

“I’ll tell you about it some other time,” Steve promised, keeping his wallet open as he turned towards his boyfriend, “Are you gonna get anything?”

“Still deciding,” Eddie said, bouncing on his heels.

The shop was no Scoops Ahoy, but it did have a wide array of different options, all with wonderful punny names. He was currently between getting a ‘Bloody Sundae’, which was a vanilla scoop with cherry syrup and chocolate sprinkles, or a ‘Mint to be’, which was mint chocolate chip with whipped cream and bright green sprinkles.

Maybe he could get both if he gave Steve the right amount of puppy eyes. That usually worked for other things. Dates, getting to pick the movie they watched at night…..other….things.

Eddie was still thinking through his strategy as Steve stepped up to order.

“Can I get a large root beer float with soft serve twist and a cone on the side?” Steve asked, using his customer service voice with a charming smile, making the girl behind the counter twitter and twirl her hair as she rang him up and walked off to make his float.

Eddie blinked a few times trying to register what Steve had just said, before groaning loudly and pulling a disgusted face.

“What?” Steve wondered, bewildered by Eddie’s vehement reaction.

“Root beer,” Eddie said with a grimace, waggling his tongue.

“What’s wrong with root beer?”

“It’s so…sweet,” Eddie finally got out, trying and failing to find the exact words to explain his complete disdain for root beer. He had given root beer a real try, multiple attempts and everything, but every time he had spat it out, unable to enjoy the taste.

“Eddie, I have seen you eat a frosting sandwich,” Steve said in a complete deadpan, giving Eddie a raised brow look, “Just frosting and white bread,”

“Don’t judge my trailer park cuisine, rich boy!” Eddie cried in an overdramatic tone, clutching his chest and shaking his head with his eyes shut tight, “I’m not the one having nasty icky sarsaparilla nonsense, making future kisses completely impossible until you have purged yourself of the disgusting concoction.”

Steve burst into bright loud laughter, lighting up the entire store like he was the goddamn sun. Eddie paused in his diatribe, watching Steve with lovesick eyes as he giggled uncontrollably.

“Sarsaparilla concoction,” Steve huffed out, continuing to chuckle, “God, I love you, you big dork.”

Oh.

Both of them paused, staring at each other with wide eyes as they took in what Steve had just let slip out.

It wasn’t like they didn’t both know. They had been dating for three months, crushing on each other for two before that, and every minute had been pure bliss. There was no doubt that Steve was the love of his life, and Eddie had been pretty sure Steve felt the same.

Now he knew for a fact, and that was a lot to take in standing in the middle of a subpar ice cream shop.

“I- um- I,” Steve stopped trying to stutter, giving Eddie a nervous little look, letting his eyes drop to his shoes as he shuffled in place. Eddie’s surprise faded into unbearably warm affection. He reached over and quickly squeezed Steve’s hand, knowing he wasn’t able to do more in public, but wishing he could kiss Steve until they were both drunk and delirious on their love.

“I’ll have a black raspberry shake with chocolate sprinkles, whipped cream, and hot fudge,” Eddie called out as the cashier walked back over with Steve’s float, delivering it with a flirty little smile. Steve didn't even look at her as he took his ice cream, and she rang them up lightning fast, clearly jilted by his non-response. Eddie couldn't care less, dragging Steve over to their tables and waiting for his order to be called.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Eddie said softly as they sat down, the words being overshadowed by the sound of their kids happily screaming at each other. He looked around and risked a quick kiss on the cheek, getting Steve buttered up and happy before he finished his sentence.

“Even if your taste is trash,”

#Steve harrington #Eddie munson #steddie #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #st #st 4 #stranger things 4 #erica sinclair #Steve and erica #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #st drabble #st4 #Happy birthday B

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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 8 months

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On thin ice (Hockey player! Miguel O’Hara x Ice skater! Fem! Reader

A/N: hiii, the usual, not proofread, Miguel might be ooc. There will be 2 chapters left in this series before I end it 😭🫶🏼. Also I need ideas for a costume for Miguel in the last chapter, if you have any ideas lmk in the comments.

(Y/N)- Your name, (N/N)- Nickname.

Cursing, mentions of throwing up, alcohol use, Miguel finally growing a fucking pair (reader too). Miguel being just a very very lowkey creep.

Word count: 2.1k

Series Materlist

Chapter 13: Crawlin’ back to you.

—

“I don’t get it, he keeps giving me the most mixed-fucking-signals.” You sighed, leaning your head into your palm, your elbow resting on the wooden table you were sitting at with Logan, Kate and Kate’s boyfriend. “Like how are you going to kiss me, then start dating another girl, then kiss me again, without saying any sort of explanation? For all I know he cheated on her with that last kiss.” You continued to rant, your free hand spinning your straw in your six dollar Chili’s Halloween themed margarita.

“Well… maybe things would be a lot less complicated if both of learned how to stop being stubborn and just, I don’t know, fucking communicated.” Kate lectured you (for the umpteenth time this month) as she grabbed a chip from the basket before dipping it into the small salsa bowl, then taking a bite out of said chip.

“Babe chill, you act we weren’t ‘just friends’ when you would sneak into my dorm room every night all of last year.” Kate’s boyfriend (whose name was Xavier) defended you with a sly smile, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her closer as he nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck. You couldn’t help but feel a slight ache of jealousy in your chest as you watched the two, they were so cute…

Kate scoffed and rolled her eyes at her boyfriend’s reply. “Whatever…” she grumbled, causing Logan to let out a small laugh as he leaned against the wall that was connected to the booth.

“Hey at least you guys were actually acting friendly towards one another, when (Y/N) and Miguel aren’t dry humping each other like horny teens-“ you sunk your face into your hand as a heat of embarrassment rushed your cheek, you couldn’t believe that Logan has the audacity to say that in a crowded restaurant, and it wasn’t even a true statement! You would only make out like horny teens… “then they’re at each other’s throats.” He finished as he playfully nudged you with his elbow, causing you to almost spill your drink, but he ignored your scowl as you brought your drink closer to you before taking a sip.

“It’s giving enemies to lovers.”

“Do you really have to relate everything in real life to book tropes, babe?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Okay-“ you jumped in, putting your hands up near your shoulders in a defensive manner, sitting up straight in your seat, “how about, let’s stop talking about my pathetic and complicated love life. Let’s talk about something else, like Logan’s pathetic and complicated love life.” You said with a small smile, your gaze shifting over to Logan as you attempt to shift conversation topics, your sentence causing Logan to scoff and roll his eyes.

“No thank you, next topic.” He murmured, before taking a bite of a french fry from his plate.

“Aww come on Logan, did you end up going on that date?” You teased him with a smile,going to snatch a fry from Logan’s plate but he swatted your hand away as he sent you a glare.

“Shut up, (N/N).” He grumbled. Obviously, it didn’t go well.

“All I’m gonna say (Y/N), is he either wants to one and done hatefuck you,wants a situationship, or he’s secretly madly in love with you and wants a relationship but is afraid to tell you.” Xavier chimed in, “and you can trust me because I’m a guy, and I know how guy minds work, right Logan?” Your skating partner just nodded his head in response.

“Well if it’s not the last one, I think it would be better if my delusions weren’t fed into…” you sighed, taking another sip of your drink. “Anyways, we should get going.”

—

“Alright guys, we've got a home game tonight, so don’t get too fucking wild.” Miguel said in a stern tone, his face in its usual scowl as he gets out of his car’s driver seat and walks towards the team, pointing his finger towards his teammates who had already been waiting for him to arrive in the parking lot, gathered in a small circle, some leaning against the other cars that they had traveled in. It was Friday night, the end of midterms and the beginning of fall break, and as a small celebration The spiders had decided to all go out to eat before the game.

“It’s a fucking Chili’s O’Hara, how wild can we get?” One of them asked rhetorically, as they all started to walk towards the restaurant together.

“There’s a reason we’re not allowed into Dave and Busters guys...” Miguel mumbled with an eye roll, causing some of the other members to snicker at his reaction.

It was honestly surprising how quickly they were able to get a table to seat 26 people despite it being fairly busy on a Friday afternoon. Miguel only had to remind the group twice as they waited for the table to not get absolutely hammered or not overly gorge themselves on food to avoid throwing up mid-game, the last thing he his coach ripping him a new one as he tried to keep the team focused while half of them were throwing up into their helmets or in a nearby alleyway while the other half way too drunk to walk let alone skate.

Miguel sipped on his coke, looking over at Peter as he listened in on him ranting to the goalie about the newest comic issue of Spider-Man that he had just finished reading, when he suddenly felt a hand lightly tap on his chest causing him to look away and turn his attention to Ben Reilly who was sitting to the right of him, once he his head was turned, he’s eyes followed the direction that Ben’s finger was pointing at, the words that were spoken from Ben not really completely registering due to the all the noise happening around him at the table. He really didn’t give a good look in the direction Ben and now a few of the nearby Spiders were looking at, a fleeting glance at most, half expecting them to be looking at a waitress that they thought was attractive or something in that nature. He was in the middle of turning his head back towards the opposite direction again when he caught a glimpse of a familiar face walking into the direction of the hallway where the bathroom was.

“Isn’t that ice princess?” One of the hockey players that was sitting a bit closer to Miguel asked in a teasing tone, but Miguel didn’t give him the satisfaction of responding, he didn’t give a response to some of the ones who overheard to question and attempted to provoke him, chuckling, or making sly comment, a few making kissing noises. Rather he stood up from the table, rather abruptly, causing some of the others to look at him in confusion and curiosity, and as if his body was suddenly possessed, he started to walk in the same direction you had. He didn’t know why he was following behind you, if he was being honest with himself he felt kinda like a creep, but he couldn’t get himself to stop and turn around. You haven’t even noticed him, you didn’t even glance in his direction, fuck-you didn’t even know you were in the same building as him, but your presence was like one of a siren to him, and he was the sailor caught in your entrancing song.

He didn’t care if you led him towards his inevitable demise, he’d gladly drown for you.

The second you disappeared into the women’s restroom, he came back to reality, his head filled with thoughts other than you once again. In an almost panic state, he quickly rushed into the male’s bathroom that was right in front of him, thanking the gods above that you didn’t turn around and saw him. He walked over to the sink and splashed some water on his face, before leaning against the bathroom sink and taking some deep breaths to help slow down his heart rate, he was thankful that no one else was in the bathroom with him. After a few minutes, he heard the faint sound of a door creaking on, for a split second, he gambled with the idea of leaving the door and hopefully be granted the opportunity to “accidentally” run into you, but before he could properly and rationally think about it, he found his hand already pushing open the door.

“Hey! Watch it-oh shit- sorry Mig, I didn’t know that was you…” You dusted yourself off, grateful that your hand shot up to the side of the wall to prevent you from falling down butt first on the Chili’s tilted floor.

“It’s okay, I didn't see you either.” Technically speaking Miguel wasn’t lying. He didn’t see her. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you right?” He asked in a slightly softer tone, a hand quickly coming up to gently grab your chin and moving your face slightly side-to-side as if checking for injury, his brows furrowed together as those ever familiar wrinkles appeared on his face. Your heart fluttered from the sweet and nurturing gesture, Miguel’s kindness was a trait of his you saw very rarely, at least towards you, so you couldn’t help your stomach from flipping. You brought a hand up after a second, a smile slowly but surely forming on your face (as well as a blush) as your hand came up and over his, and slowly brought it away from your face and back down.

“I’m okay Miguel, don’t worry.” You reassured him in a similar quiet tone, neither of you noticing that your smaller hand was still holding onto his larger one. Your response caused Miguel’s worried expression to turn into one of relief, his hand leaving your and going up to his chest instead as he left out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You attempted your best to not allow your facial expression to falter as you ignore the sudden ache in your chest once his warm hand leaves yours.

“Look…” Miguel begins after a second, hand traveling up to the nape of his neck and his gaze drops to the floor for a second before going back up to meet yours. “I wanted to ask you, if you would come watch our game tonight, it starts at 7, you could bring your friends if you want. I’ll make sure you all get good seats near the front if you do.” God he felt like he was asking his middle school crush to go on a date for the first time all over again. How did you manage to make him feel like a nervous wreck, make him feel like he could combust from anger and jealousy, make him feel like he’d never deserve you but also make him feel like he was meant to kneel and worship the ground you walked on. Is that what love felt like to him???

“Really?” Your face scrunched to one of confusion and you tilted your head to the side a bit. “Why not invite your girlfriend?” The question you just uttered took Miguel a second to process, girlfriend? What girlfriend? He didn’t-

Wait…

Ohhhhh…

He forgot he never got the chance to tell you he dumped her ass the same day he surprised you at the ice rink.

He brought his hand down and put it into his jean pocket, letting out a small chuckle as he shook his head before replying,

“Oh, no. I, uh, I dumped her.”

Was it bad that you felt relieved?

“So is that a yes?” His lips pulled up in that classic Miguel smirk, and you couldn’t help but give in.

“Okay, okay I’ll go.” You nodded with a smile, it took all of Miguel’s being to not grab you and pull you into a kiss. “But-“ you continued, bringing a finger up, pointing it at him. “If I go, you have to come watch me and Logan perform at Regionals next week, deal?” Miguel couldn’t help but let a small playful scoff leave his lips as he smirks.

“That’s it ice princess? Sounds fair enough.”

You smiled, despite his cockyness coming back at full force you couldn’t help but be a bit excited at the whole idea.

“You promise?” You asked, and Miguel chuckled, you sounded so adorable when asking that.

“Of course.”

Without another word you brought your hand back up towards him, all the fingers being curled into a fist except your pinky finger, that was outstretched. Miguel rolled his eyes and his smirk widened, releasing a small chuckle as he spoke.

“Really? What are we 5?” It was only a tease, but despite the tease he copied your movements, taking your pinky into his.

“Pinky promises are legally binding.” You joked, your smile growing as you giggled, your blush growing darker as well.

You really were gonna be the death of him.

—

Taglist: @tayleighuh @cowboylikeevie @coralineyouareinterribledanger @jukioku @loser-alert @miguel-ohara-eater @serpentstarr @littlexscarletxwitch @darksidescorner @sukioyakio @minimari415

#miguel o hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #on thin ice fanfic #spiderman 2099 x reader #astv miguel #astv spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara au #figure skating au #hockey au #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 fanfic

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gyueumz · 3 months

Text

love again.

abt heeseung x fem!reader fluff angst exes 2 lovers cw none wc 757 a/n tysm for all the love on my riki fic ><

you watch your friends figure out what movie to watch. it was midnight, and you decided to invite your friends over for a sleepover. you watched the tv as your friend scrolled through the list of movies.

“i’m gonna get us some food,” you said as you stood up to go to the kitchen.

you opened the cabinet to find nothing. checking the fridge, you find an almost empty carton of juice and your sibling’s leftover soup from a week ago. there was nothing to eat.

you reasoned, “might as well buy something.” you grabbed your jacket and left the house. you went to the local convenience store and thought about what to buy. you went to the snack aisle to find whatever you could find. just chips and sweets are fine. you grabbed a few bags of chips and candy and went to the checkout. you set the items on the counter and open your wallet to look for some money.

“12.59,” the cashier said. you look up to give them a twenty-dollar bill and recognise them. you were perplexed, and they were mirroring your expression.

you questioned the man in front of you, “heeseung?” heeseung was your boyfriend in high school. you’ve been dating him since your first year of high school, but after you graduated, he told you he was moving away because his parents got a better job in another city. it’s been three years, and now he finally appears in front of you, in a convenience store.

“y/n.” heeseung spoke up, and you two were silent. you tried looking away. he remarked, “it’s been a while.” you nodded, "yeah, it has. i didn’t know you were working here. i go here all the time.”

he said, grinning, “i just started working here last week. you looked behind you and saw no one in the store, then looked back at him. "how have you been?” he asked. “i’m doing great, how about you?”

“i’m fine as well,” he said. “so what are you doing in pyjamas at midnight? it’s not something you’d do.” he’s right; you would never go in the middle of the night in pyjamas buying food. you’re surprised he still has a vague memory of you.

you replied, “i have a few friends over, and i didn’t have food at my house, so i just walked here.

"you live around here?”

“yeah, i moved here last year.” heeseung smiled at your response. he always found himself grinning foolishly when he was talking to you.

“i’m sorry,” he said. his smile turned into a frown.

“sorry for what?” your tone grew softer. why would he apologise when he hasn’t done anything wrong to you since your breakup?

“for suddenly seeing you here,” what he really meant was he should’ve seen you at a proper place and proper time, “and for leaving you.”

he felt guilty for breaking up with you because he had to move. there was no reason to be mad at him; it was reasonable for him to break up with you.

“you don’t need to be sorry; i forgave you the day you left.”

“i’m still sorry. i should’ve never left you in the first place.” with each passing word, you could feel your heart dropping.

“stop crying; you’re making me cry.” you noticed tears starting to fall down your cheeks. your words made him laugh.

“why are you crying?” he asked while chuckling.

you said, wiping away your tears, “’cause you’re crying.” you weren’t wrong when you said you did everything with him.

“you’re pretty when you cry,” he said. you tried hiding your flustered face. you uttered, “i miss this.” you miss being around heeseung; his presence was already comforting enough.

“if you still haven’t moved on, we can try again.” he smiled at you while holding your hand. “i’d love that,” you responded with a smile. your phone started ringing, and you picked it up.

“where did you go?” your friend on the phone asked, “i went to the kitchen, but you weren’t even there.”

“i’m at a convenience store; there wasn’t any food, so i went to go buy some.”

they yelled, “well, you better come back; we’ll start the movie without you if you don’t come back sooner.”

“i’ll be there.” after hanging up, you turned to face heeseung. you assured him you had each other’s number, and you took your food. he called your name as you approached the door.

“your change!” he yelled as he opened the cash register.

“keep it.”

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hyuckbeam · 1 year

Text

hit or miss

you’re given a bet by your own best friend to finally earn you some kissing experience at the ripe age of 18, but what if he’s the one you’ve been wanting to kiss all along?

pairing | bff!haechan x reader

genre | fluff, just a bit of angst

warnings | y/n uses she/her pronouns, both y/n and hyuck are dumdums! kind of slow burn, curse words are explicitly mentioned, cousin!winter, i think that’s all but lmk if i missed anything!

wc | 4.3k words

note | this is pretty inspired by the webtoon “the kiss bet” because i currently have a hyper fixation on it and i absolutely love all the characters ;0; this is also way longer than intended but anyways,, i hope u enjoy! all rbs and likes are appreciated, thank you <3

D-15.

“in three, two, one, happy birthday, y/n!” your best friend, haechan announces aloud for everyone in your apartment complex to hear at 12 in the morning.

“come on! make a wish before the candles blow out!” winter, your cousin, urges you with a big smile on her face.

having just finished your night time routine and prepared yourself for a night's worth of sleep, you were rather shocked to see them with one of those trendy bento cakes and rainbow colored party hats adorning their heads.

despite your confusion, you walk up towards them with a grateful smile resting upon your lips. “seriously, when did you guys plan this?”

“oh, it was all my- ow, hey!” haechan gets cut off midway through his statement because of a nudge from winter’s elbow.

“what he was trying to say was it was all my doing. you’re welcome bubs!” your cousin beams, eyes creasing into crescents. “though i’d wish you’d hurry up. this cake isn’t holding itself up for you, y’know?” she adds on rather playfully but you can tell she truly meant it.

gathering a deep breath, you blow out the candles and cheers erupt from the people you deem closest to you. winter then sets down the cake on your coffee table in relief as your best friend slings his arm over your shoulder.

“sooo y/n, got anything planned for the year? a small resolution or something like that, i don’t know.” he rambles off, suggesting the idea of having a goal to work towards now that you were deemed an adult (though, haechan kept referring to this as the year that marks your jail-ability era).

you feel a little tingly from his touch, even when you know the two of you are just friends and nothing more. what you’re feeling is probably just a phase. it’ll go away.

“i’m not really sure, got any ideas for me?” you ask the two instead, eyeing them both in a back and forth motion.

“we can always work on that dating experience of yours- last i remember, it was up to the high number count of… zero.” your cousin chips in from the side as she slices the cake for the three of you to share, her tone sarcastic while she teases you.

it’s true, you didn’t have a lot (re: any) of experience in the dating sector, but perhaps that could change starting this year. “that… might not be such a bad idea.”

haechan’s interest seems to have been piqued — he’s making that look. that specific expression where the corners of his lips turn upwards, a brow raised, and that glint in his eye. oh, you know it all too well.

“come on.” you urge the boy. “start sharing your idea. i can practically see your mind ready to explode.”

“well, since you’ve asked me ever so kindly. how ‘bout a bet?” he starts, taking a few steps towards you with that cocky expression of his. “i bet you 10 dollars to kiss someone in two months. not that hard, right?”

“what- you want me to kiss some random person for 10 bucks?” you gawk out in surprise.

he only shakes his head, “i never said it needed to be a stranger. just, someone in general.”

you processed the idea thoroughly, running all sorts of possible scenarios in your head. wouldn’t it be much easier to kiss… haechan himself? that just seemed like the most plausible approach for you.

he wasn't a stranger — the furthest from one. you were comfortable with him. the kiss didn’t have to mean anything (though it might mean a tiny bit more to you), and in addition, you’d be making some cash.

everything seemed to check out. the only problem was that you had to ask him to kiss you. still, surely this was better than any other alternative, right?

“i’ll do it but… can’t i just kiss you and get it over with?” you finally voice out your thoughts, pretending to make your question sound playful in case the request backfires on you.

“you’re my best friend, that’s a little odd, don’t you think so?” haechan replies in the same tone, lightly ruffling your hair before going over to retrieve a slice of cake from winter.

ouch. way to have your first bit of “dating experience” be your best friend… friend zoning you. what a lovely start to your 18th birthday.

D-13.

a few days had passed since the bet you made with haechan had been established, but not one ounce of progress had been made.

to be fair, how were you supposed to kiss someone else when all you’ve ever wanted was for that kiss to be with your best friend? that’s tough luck.

you attending classes today doesn’t really help with your thoughts either, especially when both haechan and winter had been asking about said progress one after the other.

you’d be lying if they weren’t starting to give you a headache.

as if on cue, winter approaches you, some lecture books in hand and her bag slung on her shoulder. “y/n! how’s your progress?” here we go again.

“just as i told you yesterday, nothing yet.” you reply with a small sigh.

winter senses the frustration behind your words, encouraging her to suggest ideas to help you. “how about finding someone you like? it might make it easier for you know… to kiss them.”

“i don’t think that’s still a good- actually, you might just be onto something, minjeong.” your gears start to churn in your mind. in order to wash haechan off your mind, you might as well find someone else and maybe get an actual relationship out of it.

the idea was just perfect for you.

“have i ever told you how much i love you? i gotta go but i’ll see you after class, winter!” you excitedly bid her a goodbye, rushing to your classroom so you could better plan out your new gameplan.

though the most ideal situation was long gone, you now had a back up plan and you weren’t going to back down so easily from the bet.

you were now busily scribbling on your notepad, forgetting that a new student was to transfer into your class today. the teacher calls upon your attention and as you look up, your eyes land on a boy with great resemblance to a cute bunny.

apparently he’s the new transfer student.

the teacher gives him a moment to introduce himself. “hello everyone, my name is na jaemin. i hope we all get along!” so that’s his name, you thought to yourself.

surprisingly, he was told to take the seat in front of yours, offering you a small smile and a curt wave, one that you gladly return, before he takes his seat.

actually, maybe you really could forget haechan for just a teensy bit.

D-6.

a week goes by without haechan seeing you once. an entire week. was he always this eager to see you? to bask in the warm sight that is you? he thinks he must be going crazy.

the only time he ever gets updates about you is through winter which aren’t much to go on. he does remember a key detail she mentioned previously about how you’ve been spending time with that new student, jaemin.

what was so special about him anyways? well, he was surely going to find out soon.

as the bell rings to signal the start of recess, he dashes out of his classroom, taking big steps towards yours.

there, haechan finds you in his seat and he’s about to approach you until he sees you’re in the middle of a conversation with the one and only, na jaemin.

“this is how you do this, right?” jaemin asks you, directing your sight to a piece of paper that has a bunch of math formulas written on it.

“yeah! i’m surprised you got that rather quickly.” you compliment the boy in front of you with a small laugh.

your thoughts on jaemin have changed drastically since the first time you met him. he’s a sweet boy, someone you could never take advantage of. it just felt wrong to you so you just dropped your entire plan as a whole.

it was alright to lose the bet. at least you kind of made a new friend out of it, right? you smile to yourself at that thought.

to haechan, however, your smile is so bright in jaemin’s presence, it’s practically blinding everyone in sight. have you ever smiled at him like that? wait- why does that matter?

he doesn’t like you, no way.

you’re best friends, yeah. his love for you is as platonic as can be — at least that’s what he tells himself.

for someone as bold as haechan, he can’t seem to find the confidence in him to walk towards your table and steal your attention. instead, he steps out of the classroom, unnoticed by you.

D-5.

“JAEMIN DID WHAT!?” haechan yells into his phone, winter being on the receiving end of the call.

the girl tuts, “scream one more time and i’m hanging up on you. and yes, i heard he confessed to y/n. i don’t think she gave him an answer though.”

“sorry, look, i was just really surprised.” a deep sigh comes out from haechan before the call goes silent. he takes the time to process the situation, but the idea of you and jaemin being together just rubs him off the wrong way.

“doesn’t she see how bad he is for her?” he finally reasons out.

“uhuh, in what sense exactly?” winter retorts.

“he’s probably just using her to gain attention or something! can’t i look out for my own best friend?” the response is laughable, even to haechan, but he goes along with it.

winter laughs into the call, “are you even hearing yourself? that’s pretty baseless, even for you haechan.” she replies shortly afterwards. “seems to me like you’re jealous.”

“are you hearing yourself, winter? no i’m not! get your head screwed on properly!” haechan answers back in the same incredulous manner as she did to him just a few seconds ago. “who would i even be jealous of?”

“jaemin. who else? i think it’s pretty clear to most. you aren’t that great at managing your feelings, y’know-” the girl’s voice cuts off for a second, “-oh, i’m being called to dinner now but seriously, get yourself together haechan. i know you like my cousin. bye!”

the line goes beep and haechan tosses his phone onto his bed. she really did just leave him hanging like that. how could she after bringing that idea up?!

jealous? not a chance. haechan never gets jealous.

D-4.

haechan wakes up the next day feeling tired, having not slept a wink after winter’s words kept replaying in his head.

i know you like my cousin.

you like my cousin.

you like her.

and these same words follow him as he makes it all the way to school. perhaps seeing you in school would help him understand his feelings better.

he really just wants this to be over with.

with trudged steps, he makes his way to your classroom and luckily enough for him, there you were already in class before the first bell rang.

he blames it on the lack of sleep but you look so ethereal sitting down in your chair as you bop your head lightly to the music that’s presumably playing on your earphones.

the sight is something to behold- that is until he pivots his head ever so slightly and sees jaemin accompanying you. god, why does he have to be there.

so maybe haechan does get jealous. sometimes.

maybe that’s why he acts without thinking, swiftly dragging you from your chair and out to the school courtyard despite your protests.

“hyuck let me go-” you grumble, tugging on your arm but he doesn’t budge one bit. it’s only when you reach a bench in the furthest part of the courtyard he decides to get go of your wrist.

“seriously, what is wrong with you?” you scoff out in disbelief. “this is the first time we’ve spoken in days. i think you could’ve just asked me if you really wanted to talk.” with the addition of those words, haechan finally realizes what he’s done. he knows it was wrong but he isn’t going to back down from the argument that was brewing between you two.

“me? how about you? you’ve been so lovey dovey with mr. perfect all this time! don’t you have yourself to blame on why we haven’t seen each other in so long?” he spat out coldly.

your heart sinks, and yet, you can’t help but feel even more enraged. its true, you’re part of the reason for the lack of communication between you two. after all, communication is a two way system. but doesn’t that also mean he’s also to blame?

“i enjoy jaemin’s company a lot! is that so wrong?” you shoot back, biting your bottom lip before mumbling the latter part of your statement. “at least he isn’t as grumpy as the person standing in front of me.”

ouch.

the boy hears this and gets ticked off even more. maybe it really is the lack of sleep but he seriously can’t understand her reasoning anymore. instead, he assumes she’s just doing all of this for the bet.

“do you really want to win the bet so bad? if that’s what you want, just kiss me and be over with it. i’m literally letting you win. you can stop seeing jaemin now.”

and that’s when it hits you a little.

why is he bringing the bet up all of a sudden when you just want a genuine relationship with jaem- oh. he couldn’t possibly see you as someone like that right? he said it himself! he doesn’t like you and even denied your request to kiss him a few weeks ago.

but, if that were all true, what other explanation would there be to his actions?

he takes your silence as a no, prompting him to leave you in the courtyard all alone.

you couldn’t seem to understand him at all no matter how hard you tried.

as soon as you got home from classes that same day, you rushed yourself back home and into the comfort of your bed and pillows — treating them as if they were your closest confidants and cried while you shared your troubles.

it wasn’t productive on your end but it was much needed for you to at least think straight. you’d been bottling your contemplations all day long after all.

here you are laying lifeless on your bed, using all your braincells to dicern what the fuck happened earlier this morning.

you know haechan doesn’t like you. you’ve said it to yourself so many times now.

maybe he’s just jealous you’ve been spending more time with jaemin because, although you have different intentions before, you realized you couldn’t see him in that way nor had the heart to just use him for your own gain.

haechan was a different story though. you feel flushed just thinking about him, knowing full well the both of you are in the middle of an argument between each other.

remembrance of the frustration hits, making you groan at the thought of having to remedy it. if you and haechan had anything in common, it would be the stubbornness you both share.

the last time you both got into an argument this big was back in junior high. neither of you spoke to the other for an entire month. it got so bad that both your parents had to call each other up to devise a way to get an apology out from the both of you.

though it would make the entire situation much easier, your parents no longer delve into these types of problems — and neither do haechan’s. you’re both all alone to fix this one yourselves and you wish you’d been more grateful to your parents for mending your relationship with haechan.

deep down, you already know the both of you will struggle to find the right timing, but you certainly hope that day would come soon. you didn’t exactly like being away from him either (even if he made you feel like shit for the rest of the day).

you decide to sleep off your worries for the night, hoping and praying that tomorrow would be a better day for you.

D-3.

tomorrow is not any better of a day.

jaemin and haechan both invited you to eat with them for lunch which quickly escalated into a light argument between the two. you couldn’t even bring yourself to butt into their conversation, seeing how they were fighting over something so silly.

“i’m her best friend, we do this pretty much everyday!” you hear haechan yell at jaemin, his frustration for the other getting the best of him. “plus, i need to talk with her. without you.”

“if the two of you are just best friends, then what gives you the right to dictate her answers?” jaemin fires back, keeping a calm and collected appearance throughout.

this shuts haechan up and the entire cafeteria goes dead silent. oh boy, did you want to curl up into a little hole. everyone was staring and you didn’t like that one bit.

nevertheless, you decided to be the bigger person — uttering a small apology to jaemin before walking off to the table you usually sat at with haechan — the latter following you a few steps behind.

neither of you speak as you begin to eat your separate meals, another sign the relationship between you two was starting to fade out into dust.

winter joins your lunch table shortly after witnessing the drama unfold, she looks at haechan with an unreadable expression and the boy stays quiet during the whole meal.

didn't he say he wanted to talk? an apology for the day before would have been nice.

you get fed up by the silence, placing your food back on the tray before picking it up. you mutter a quiet “i can’t seem to understand you at all.” directed at hyuck before leaving and switching over to the table where jaemin and his friends are sitting.

it all happened too fast and haechan didn’t realize you were leaving until you already did. he really did want to talk but how was he supposed to do that after having that situation with jaemin?

he wanted to calm down first but you had other plans. you really left him in shambles this time.

winter can’t help but sigh at the ongoing conflict. she silently wishes she wasn’t involved this much if it was going to turn out like this.

D-2.

haechan knows he truly has to make it up to you (including a long overdue explanation of why he’s been acting weirdly the past few days) but doesn’t know how to do that. apologies never came easy to him. his mind couldn’t help but go blank everytime he tried thinking of a way to approach you without making things more complicated than they already are.

the sheer amount of times he’s hit a brick wall has him calling the only person who probably knows more about you than he, himself, does.

he picks up his phone, searching through his contacts before landing on a single person, now waiting for the phone to ring.

“hello?” winter’s voice reaches him through the call. “i knew you’d call after what happened at the cafeteria.”

it takes a moment for haechan to answer, “maybe if jaemin wasn’t so aggressive–”

“you both were. now spill, have you gotten your feelings sorted yet?” the girl pushes his dramatics aside, getting straight to the point.

“i… think i do. you were right all along.” haechan finishes. although it was hard for him to admit at first, now that he’s actually said it out loud, it might be the first time he’s been feeling a sense of clarity after so long.

winter hums at his confession. “at least you’re finally taking a step in the right direction. now, to win her back…” she smiles to herself, already having a plan in mind.

you, on the other hand, have been seeing haechan and winter together often for the past week. naturally, your mind begins to wonder if your own cousin is the reason why haechan rejected you way back during your small birthday celebration.

the evidence matches up pretty well — he probably couldn’t reject you directly because she was in the room with the two of you that day. he isn’t spending as much time with you anymore because he’s spending time with her.

they look good together.

those words linger in your head more than you’d like to admit.

you feel cast aside by the people you’ve known practically your entire life but you don’t have much of a choice but to return to jaemin’s company. after all, you chose to eat the rest of your lunch at his table instead of the one that brought familiarity to you.

D-DAY.

day after day, the two of you just seemed to grow even more distant and you wondered if the end of your long-term friendship was nigh approaching. you barely saw him roaming through the halls of campus anymore, much less your cousin.

you didn’t dislike the new friend group you had (jaemin introducing you to his friends after you finally told him about your situation with haechan, but you couldn’t help but feel… dissatisfied with your current situation.)

as your class ends, you prepare yourself for another silent walk home. despite having those new friends, you felt lonelier than you ever had. you missed them. you missed him. and yet, life seemed to have other plans for you.

even trudging down these halls filled with other students made you lonely.

truthfully, you would do anything to have them back- a pain to your forehead snaps you out of your thoughts. you had bumped into someone. well, not just someone, but the person you’ve been longing for the most.

haechan. he was right in front of you after who knows how long it’s been.

you felt like crying on the spot but held in your emotions to appear like your life was anything but lost. haechan knew that look on your face, presuming you haven’t been well ever since the two of you have spoken. he takes your hands that have slumped to your sides into his, and the small gesture reminded you of the warmth he’d bring into your life.

“are you up for a short conversation perhaps?” you only nod and he takes that as a signal in the right direction, though, he isn’t used to you acting around him like this. oh boy, this was going to be more than a short conversation.

haechan leads you into the gymnasium and the two of you sit down by the bleachers with no sight of other students in the area.

“before you get mad- i wanted to apologize first. i shouldn’t have acted the way i did. i was childish.” he begins, holding eye contact with you to show his sincerity. “frankly, i was jealous. jealous you spent more time with jaemin, and you seemed to enjoy you time with him more than the times we hang out together. i shouldn’t have made you feel sad in any way, but i did and that’s completely my fault. i’m sorry.” you know his words hold both his feelings and the truth.

he wasn’t going to lie to you. he never once did during the time you knew each other.

however, what he admitted to had you flustered.

he was jealous of you and jaemin? it was a little hard to believe until you remembered the latter confessed to you the past week. oh god, did word of that spread out? nevermind that, what happened between you and jaemin was the least of your worries, the boy in front of you was. what if haechan got the wrong idea from the rumors?

“it’s not completely your fault. we both were pretty stubborn.” you reply, a soft chuckle leaving your lips to ease the tension between you two. “and if… if you’re curious, i never returned jaemin’s feelings back.

haechan gets pretty taken aback by your statement, now wondering why you brought it up. “oh… i know.”

“you knew? did winter tell you?” you question in anticipation. “i guess the both of you are pretty close now.”

“she did but i swear our friendship is nothing like that!” it was his turn to get flustered. “she could never replace your spot in my life.”

“i’m a little confused though after all of this…” you gesture out, referring to the situation that has just recently moved past you two. “what spot do i even have?”

he pauses, taking his time to think of the right words he wants to tell you but they all get stuck in his throat. the expression on your face showed how you took his silence negatively, prompting him to speak. “i like you. i couldn’t admit it even to myself for the longest time and-” having enough of his rambling, you inch a little closer and give him a kiss on the lips.

it’s brief, and yet, it continues to linger on his lips. “you kissed me.”

“why do you think i never gave jaemin an answer to jaemin’s confession?”

“so you were really saving it for me? i’m honored.” he chuckles out, playfully holding his hand to his chest.

“well, you should be.” you add on with the same bright smile he’s seen you flash at jaemin, except this time, it was absolutely for him.

“i guess that also means you won the bet?” he recalls, a brow raising at you.

you give him a light nudge on his shoulder while suppressing a giggle, “oh, shut up and just kiss me. you owe me 10 bucks by the way.”

tags !!

#—hyuckbeam #nct fluff #nct angst #haechan #haechan fluff #haechan angst #nct #nct aus #fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct x reader #nct dream drabbles #nct dream aus #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst

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hotpinkstars · 3 months

Note

HELLO! may I request a elysia x reader :3 I LOVE HER SO SO MUCH OSMDHSJS okay

reader and elysia baking cookies together pls or reader bakes cookies for her and surprises her with them

-> cookie baking

synopsis -> you and your girlfriend, elysia, bake cookies together!!!

a/n -> I LOVE ELY TOO AHHH i lkke squealed when i saw this request shes so cute i love her so bad

warnings -> none! pure fluff :)

w/c -> 645

knowing your girlfriend, elysia, ideas like this were so common! so you took no surprise to her skipping into the living room and flopping down on the couch, kicking her shoes off and cuddling into your warm body.

“hiii~” she mused, smiling up at you. “i have a fun idea, hear me out.”

you listened as she spoke about how aponia and griseo baked cookies together that morning, on the behalf of griseos request. she saw and she thought it was cute, and now she wants to do the same thing with you, too.

you nodded, before lightly pushing her off of you and getting up to check and make sure you have the right ingredients.

you didn’t.

so, that made for an eventful late night shopping trip with elysia! you came in needing flower and chocolate chips. you both knew that. you both repeated it to yourselves with each other over 40 times, at least.

you spent over 100 dollars and have a cartful of grocery bags. whoopsies!

but it’s okay, you got to go out with your girlfriend. she made it fun anyways. but back onto the point!

you two immediately went to work in the kitchen, with elysia telling you the ingredients and you mixing them together. your ipad was filled with flour, due to elysia wanting to make the dry mixture but accidentally spilling a whole thing of flour everywhere. you laughed at the sight, making her laugh too.

there was also another accident in the kitchen, where you both “accidentally” put a whole entire bag of chocolate chips into the mixture (where you later on regret it), leading to even more laughter.

she tried to initiate a flour fight a couple times, but you didn’t necessarily feel like cleaning even more of a mess up tonight. she understood, so she just bounced around the kitchen, bringing you all the ingredients you needed.

thats when she brought out heart and flower shaped cookie cutters! when she laid them down on the counter, you swore you could see her eyes glimmer with happiness. you smiled, feeling incredible that you could bring such a heartwarming experience to your gorgeous girlfriend.

“alrighty, into the oven they go!” she laughed a little, before putting pink oven mitts on her hands and sliding the cookie pan onto the top rack. “these look sooooo yum. i hope they turn out alright…”

you pat her back, and she grins. “they’ll be fine, i just hope all that chocolate poured into them wont do too much harm. these are gonna be really sweet, but if they don’t turn out right, we can always make another batch.”

she nodded. “and we could relive this night all over again. this was a lot of fun, y’know.”

“you’re right, it was,” you chuckled, before turning around and looking at the mess awaiting. “but if we don’t clean this mess up soon, we’re gonna get a bug problem. i don’t think either of us could even fathom finding bugs all the time.”

“ew, i don’t even want to think about that,” elysia makes a disgusted face before turning around and wetting a washcloth. “bugs are so nasty, you’re gonna be the one squashing them if they find their way in here!”

you laughed, cleaning up your mess before taking a seat on the couch with a glass of cool red wine in your hand, elysia following you.

“how many more minutes until the cookies are done, did you check?” you look over at her, watching her pacewalk over to the oven.

“we can take them out now!” she calls, putting back on the oven mitts and sliding the cookie pan out of the oven.

when they cool off, you two turn on your show of choice, eating your heart shaped cookies. the chocolate was too much, but its the experience that counts, right?

#honkai impact 3rd x reader #honk impact 3rd #hi3rd #hi3rd x reader #honkai impact #honkai impact x reader #elysia #elysia x reader #elysia honkai #elysia hi3rd #elysia honkai x reader #elysia hi3rd x reader

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ringsofsaturnnnn · 6 months

Note

SATURN

Oh my god I love the crow club thing you came up with! It has such a dark risky air to it (like a casino, I suppose) and I love it.

I'm here to participate!

I'd like to play poker. I'll bet with the light blue chips (which you probably already knew). I'll have a shirly temple to drink please. Details of my order include: going with Armin to see snow for the first time (having already seen it yourself) and playing in it, having a snowball fight, snowmen, pictures, modern au, you can add other characters to the scenario like mikasa or eren if you feel like it (or only include Armin in the scene, that's wonderful too). Gn reader please as best you can, I'll leave the rest up to you.

That's all!

Stay safe lovely, rest well tonight <3

.˚ ❄️┊..⃗. 𝘀𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗱𝗮𝘆 ⌇

a.arlert x gn!reader

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 :: introducing your boyfriend to the snow <3

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨(𝘴) :: petnames

𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦 :: ahhh this was so cute! thank you for being so patient with me, april, while i got your request done! this was my first time writing a gn reader, so i hope i did an okay job! the end got a little messy, but i tried. fluff isn’t my forte 😭

𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥

tag list :: n/a

it wasn’t fair. it really wasn’t.

his ocean blue eyes were so entrancing that you couldn’t help but stare at them. letting out a soft sigh, you felt yourself get lost within the vastness of blue. if you weren’t careful, you felt like you might get lost at sea gazing into them.

“love? honey? angel? baby? love of my life?” shaking your head, you realized that your boyfriend, armin, was trying to get your attention. his cheeks were a soft pink color, a result of your staring. “oh, sorry. what’s up?” you flashed him one of your million dollar smiles, making his heart melt even more.

“i was just uhm, i was wondering. what’s that?” he pointed outside your window. turning your head, you realized that it had began to snow. laughing, you turned back to him. “min, that’s snow. have you.. have you never seen it before?” when he shook his head you couldn’t help but give him an incredulous look.

“how have you never seen the snow before?!” getting up, you immediately grabbed his hand and started pulling him towards the door. “wait! it’s cold outside! we need to bundle up!” armin exclaimed. groaning, you let go of him so you both could put your coats and hats on. armin was always so worried about you.

“okay, okay. now let’s go!” throwing the door open, you pulled him outside after you. armin was immediately shivering despite his warm hat and coat. without a second thought, you threw your head back and opened your mouth, trying to catch some of the flakes in your mouth.

“love, what are you doing?” armin laughed, his blue eyes watching every move you made. “i’m catching snowflakes.” your explained, tilting your head to look at him. “you try it!” snowflakes had landed on your cheeks and eyelashes. “uhm.. okay?” he mimicked your actions, laughing when a few landed in his mouth. “this.. this is fun!” he smiled.

by the next day, much more snow had gathered. at least three or four inches.

deciding to take advantage of the snow, you hastily pulled on your coat and hat once more. armin was still fast asleep, so you decided you’d leave him be. he could join you later.

rushing outside, you immediately plopped down in the snow, laughing at the coolness that suddenly seeped through your coat. the fluffiness tickled your cheeks and you couldn’t help but close your eyes to help protect them from the blinding white of the snow.

exhaling, you enjoyed the slight sting that shot through your nose when you inhaled once more. continuing to lay there in your own little world, you didn’t even notice that armin had came outside until he was calling your name.

lifting your head, you smiled at him before waving him over. “come here! make a snow angel with me!” while he looked confused, he did as you asked. making his way through the snow, he carefully plopped down beside you. “a snow angel?” he repeated.

nodding, you explained to him what to do. “o-okay.” he followed your directions as you made your own snow angel beside him. once you were both done, you helped each other up. looking down, a smile crossed your face. “look at our snow angels!” you giggled, turning your face to look at him.

his nose and cheeks were a soft pink color as he smiled down at you. “yeah, i see them.” he murmured before pressing his ice cold lips to your cheek. squealing, you immediately scooted away from him. “min! your lips are freezing!” you laughed. armin laughed at your comment, shaking his head. “well it’s cold outside! what do you expect?”

while he spoke, you had carefully made a snowball. once he was done speaking, you threw it at his chest, listening as it hit his coat. “hey!” he gasped. giggling, you immediately took off running. “get back here!” he tried to chase after you as you gathered more snow.

the two of you ran around like little kids, smiles decorating both of your features as you launched snowball after snowball at one another. after a few minutes, you tackled armin into a snow drift. his eyes widened as you landed on top of him.

looking down, you couldn’t help but laugh. both of your chests were heaving as you looked into each other’s eyes. “i love you.” armin whispered before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. returning the kiss, you carefully wrapped your arms around him.

the two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms in the snow drift, content smiles on your faces. however, it wasn’t long before you were climbing off of him.

“we should make a snowman!” armin gave you a look, one that you were familiar with. “a snowman?” he echoed. nodding your head, you laughed. “here! i’ll show you how.”

it wasn’t long before the two of you had created a snowman. “and now..” you searched around to find some rocks. once you did, you arranged them to look like eyes and buttons. “we also need sticks!” you gasped before scurrying off to find some sticks. “love?” armin was quick to follow after you.

once you had everything, you reached for armin’s hat. “hey! what are you-“ looking down at you, he frowned. his light blue stocking hat was now in your hands. “give that back.” shaking your head, you placed it on the snowman’s head.

“it’s the snowman’s now!” you laughed.

“you are ridiculous, you know that?”

laughing, you turned your head to look at him. your eyes met and you couldn’t help but sigh happily. snow had began to fall down around you once again, but you didn’t notice. all you could focus on were those ocean blue eyes of his..

main picture & dividers made by :: @strrynigghts

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lokis-army-77 · 1 year

Text

Fathers Day 1996

Dad!Eddie Munson x Mom!reader

Word Count: 1625

Based on the tiktoks of moms taking their children to Dollar Tree to buy Father's Day presents.

Warning: None

Masterlist

Mommy, Mommy, Daddy needs this." Alex shook the crayon box wildly in front of him.

"Oh, I think he does. Drop it in the cart sweetheart." I smile at him as he excitedly throws the box into the already full shopping cart.

It was a few days before Father's Day and since Alex was now three going on twenty-three, with how independent he was, I decided it would be fun to have him pick out Eddie’s presents.

The 10-dollar Dollar Tree budget had gone out the door as soon as Alex had walked into the store and started grabbing everything he thought his daddy needed. Pretty soon we hit twenty bucks and I had to cap him off or else he probably would have bought out the entire store.

"Alex, baby, I think we've gotten Daddy enough presents. Why don't we go buy them and then we can wrap them up when we get home?"

He grinned wide and nodded his head. "Otay Mommy." Then he grabbed the front of the buggy and led us to the cashier, an extremely bored-looking teenage girl.

With every item Alex placed on the conveyer belt, he explained to the girl, "Dis is for my Daddy because it's Father's Day and he's my Daddy."

The girl just nodded along to what he was saying and I gave her a small smile before handing her a 20 dollar bill and picking Alex up.

As I walked out the door, Alex darned in my arm and waved at the girl, "Bye-bye!"

............

When Sunday came, Alex couldn't contain himself. There was a lot of excitement in that little body of his and it had him bouncing off the walls like it was Christmas morning.

At around 7:43 I heard the bedroom door creak open and then the soft thud of toddler's feet making their way across the carpeted floor and to the bed.

A soft smile spread across my lips when I felt a tiny finger poke my cheek and then the soft whisper of my son. "Mommy, wake up."

I pry open one eye and squint at him. "Alex, sweetheart, it's not even eight yet." I sigh but sit up a little anyway, knowing that if he's awake, I'm not going back to be any time soon.

"Mommy, it's Father’s Day!" He whisper shouts.

"I know, love." I reached out to him and bring him close so I can give his chubby cheek a kiss. He giggles.

"Why don't we let Daddy sleep in? We can go make him some breakfast."

Alex seems to like that idea by the way he practically bolts out of the bedroom.

I try to crawl out of bed without waking Eddie who slept deeply on the other side of the bed. The hand that had originally gripped my hip during the night now laying limp in the valley between our bodies.

Leaning over I give him a quick kiss on the temple before getting up and hurrying into the kitchen before Alex can get into something he shouldn't.

With the help of an excellent sous chef, we made quick work of breakfast. Crispy bacon, waffles with mini chocolate chips sprinkled on top, scrambled eggs, two plain and one with hot sauce, a glass of orange juice, and 2 glasses of milk.

I plated all the food, giving Eddie his hot sauce-smothered eggs and OJ, and then set them on a big tray.

"Alex, why don't you go wake Daddy now? I'll follow so we can have breakfast in bed."

"Bweckfast in bed?" He asks.

"Yep, we're gonna eat on Mommy and Daddy's bed."

He was giddy at that answer, only ever used to having to eat at the dinner table. After that, he needed no encouragement to run into the bedroom and climb on top of Eddie.

"Daddy, Daddy. Wake up! Wake up!" Alex screamed. I walked in to see him sitting on Eddie's chest, bouncing up and down.

Eddie groaned at the weight of the boy. "I'm up dude. I'm up. Stop bouncing."

"It's Father's Day and you're my Daddy." He gushed, his tiny fingers pushing Eddie's eyebrow up to try and force him to open his eyes.

"Oh? Is it?"

"It is. Me and Mommy made you Bweckfast and a pwesent." His tone was matter of factly.

"I can smell it. Where is Mommy?"

"Right here, Hun," I answer, walking the tray of food to my side of the bed and placing it on the sheets as I sat crisscross next to Eddie's laid-out form.

He turned his head and smiled at me. "Morning Momma." He sat up carefully on his elbows, Alex sliding down his chest and into his lap, giggling.

"Morning." I gave him a slow, soft kiss on the lips.

"Eww, cooties." Alex cries, pushing us apart. Eddie and I chuckle.

"I don't think Mommy has cooties, little buddy." Eddie sits up more, back leaning against the headboard.

"No, but you do," Alex informs.

"Sweetheart, it's Father's Day, that means Daddy is cootie free for the day."

"Oh. Okay." Alex accepts my explanation no question asked before going on to the next thing. "Can we eat now?"

I nod and distribute the plates, handing Eddie his and taking mine, leaving Alex's on the tray so that hopefully if he spilled anything it would land there and not the duvet but a mess would most likely be made none-the-less.

.......

After breakfast, we moved to the living room where I made Eddie sit in his recliner and cover his eyes.

"No peaking," Alex ordered as we headed to the hall closet to grab his presents.

"Wouldn't dream of it bud," Eddie called.

With twenty cheap items from the Dollar store, the gift bag that held them all felt really heavy yet Alex insisted he could hold it.

I trailed behind him as he waddled his way back to the living room and plopped the bag down at Eddie's feet.

"Happy Father's Day, Daddy!" Alex clapped and I cheered along with him as I took my spot behind him sitting on the floor.

Eddie opened his eyes and smiled. "Oh wow, a present."

"I picked dem out all by myself," Alex informed happily.

"You did? That's amazing bud." Eddie bent over and grabbed the first thing out of the bag. "Oh cool, a red power anger mask that's also sunglasses." Another item. "Wow I have always wanted a bottle of olive oil," He laughed. Another. "Alex, buddy, Joe did you know I needed a Barny coloring book," he gasped out, and crayons to go with!"

I couldn't help the tears that came to my eyes as Eddie took out every item from the bag and thanked his son for all of it. Even if they were really only children's things that Alex would like or something completely off the wall. It was such a special moment and it had me close to bawling my eyes out there on the living room floor.

When we were done, Eddie grabbed Alex and gave him a bear hug. "Thank you so much, buddy. This was the best Father's Day present ever."

Alex just smiled and hugged his daddy back. "You're welcome, Daddy."

"Love you bud." Eddie gave him a big kiss on both cheeks.

"Wove you too." Alex followed his dad's action and gave a kiss on either side of his scruffy cheeks.

When Eddie put him down, Alex then ran off to his room, the excitement of Daddy opening his present gone.

I stayed on the floor, willing the silent tears from my cheeks.

"Aww baby." Eddie cooed. "Why are enough crying?" He knelt down beside me, pulling me into a hug.

"I don't know. I'm just so happy and I love you" I cried harder into his chest.

"Oh honey, I love you." He kissed the top of my head.

When I was able to talk without being choked the lump in my throat, pulled away. "I actually have a present for you too."

He looked down at me with soft eyes. "Sweetheart you didn't have to get me anything. You gave me that sweet boy in there, that's all I could ask for."

I smiled. "Well, I didn't buy it so.."

"Oh, you didn't? Then what is it?"

"Well." I take his hand and place it on my stomach. "We're gonna have another baby."

If Eddie were hooked up to a heart monitor I think the only sound in the room would be the flat line tone. He froze, eyes growing wide as he looked from my own down to where our hands rested on my stomach.

"Really? Are you sure?" He asked, voice soft.

I nod. "I took three tests, all positive, and I'm about three weeks late."

A giant grin spread over his face and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes surfaced. "We're gonna have a baby." He surged forward, kissing me hard. "Fuck baby, that's the best thing you could have ever told me." Another kiss.

I laugh. "I'm glad."

He pulled us apart and rested his lips on my forehead as he held me close. "How the heck am I gonna top this for your Mother's Day present next year?"

"Well, you could finish that bookcase I asked you to build me that you never started."

He pulled away and looked and me sheepishly. "I will definitely get on that baby. Like right now, no need to wait till May. He hurriedly stood to his feet, helped me up too, gave me another kiss, then walked toward the garage where the supplies for the bookcase had been sitting for a few months.

Ever so slightly could I hear, "Fuck yeah, I'm gonna be a dad again."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #dad!eddie munson #female reader #mom!reader #fathers day

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k-marzolf · 2 months

Text

+Northern Lights

//meet cute in a convenience store, implied smoking, poor!reader, kissing, fem!reader.

//tagging; @e-dubbc11 @terry2227 @snowkestrel @oops89 @aoi-targaryen @firequeensposts @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @vaguekayla @danzer8705 @rosaleenablack @firexfate @idaofinfinity @thejanecampaign

//I posted this earlier. I’m having trouble with the tags. Hopefully this time is the charm. Based on a good memory. Also, Billy is living in Maine here on the run from someone. x

//604 words.

You were barefoot as you ran across the parking lot of your apartment complex that morning with money you had found between the couch cushions in your living room. The pebbles dug into your feet, sharp and unyielding, but you didn’t care.

No thoughts about running around on your own as a woman in the early dawn, fingers clutching money obviously in your hand, or the eyes that could be following you.

The light of the convenience store was bright that evening, as you approached, and you pulled open the heavy door, noticing a handsome man buying cigarettes. His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore a red sweater, his beard neatly trimmed.

He was tall and lithe, and you immediately thought of a panther.

His eyes caught yours, and you looked down, face hot. You moved to the drink refrigerator, and found your frappuccino, caramel macchiato. The last one.

You closed the door, and grabbed a bag of Doritos. Something different than stale tap water, and ramen noodles. You could barely keep them down aymore, but still, you tried to be grateful for what you had.

You thought of homeless people, but you couldn’t help but think that just because you were only drowning in an inch of water, didn’t mean you weren’t drowning at all.

But when you moved up to the cashier, and he ran your items up, you were a dollar short. He looked unsympathetic as you counted and recounted, and dug around in your pockets. Maybe you’d missed something.

“I got it,” a soft New York accent said from behind you, making your insides feel warm.

You turned. It was the handsome man again. He was what Lucifer probably looked like before the fall, beautiful in the way the night sky was. “It’s okay, sir.” You said frowning, and about to take just the Doritos.

He put some money down, and the cashier bagged your stuff up while the man appraised you, a cigarette rolling between his lips. “No shoes?”

You shrugged, feeling excitement in your gut, “Wanted coffee.” You said, taking the bag, you couldn’t wait to get home and have your breakfast.

He hummed. “That isn’t coffee, that’s sugar.” He teased you.

“Okay, coffee snob.” You said, a smile playing at your lips. “And don’t you know cigarettes will kill you?”

He huffed a laugh, following you outside into the chilly and damp autumn air. “We all gotta die sometime, might as well enjoy the ride.”

You hummed, stepping over the curve. “Thank you…”

“Billy,” he supplied, eyes darker outside, almost looking like chipped onyx, and you wondered how you could repay him.

“Can I repay you in some way?”

He paused, still playing with the unlit cigarette between his long fingers.

After a beat of silence, you said; “I could split the bag of chips with you—“ He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your mouth, and could taste your lip balm, something sweet and warm like you. “That’ll do,” he said, sticking the cigarette back in his mouth, his cheeks flushed, fishing for his lighter in the pockets of his jeans.

Somehow you felt like you’d gotten even more out of it than he had. “Can I keep you?” You asked breathlessly.

“Yeah, frappe girl. You can keep me.” He husked, wiping your smudged lip balm on the corner of your lip, not missing how your eyes lit up. The way you leaned into his touch, your feet probably numb from the cold and gravel.

So he kissed you again, and there in that parking lot on a cold autumn morning, he was yours.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader

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bubybubsters · 6 months

Text

Three Shadow Boys

a/n: good day. Meh. I’m skipping homework for this. Sorry I’ll update something at one point.

masterlist

wc: 1450

summary: just 3 shadow boys hanging out! Ruhn, Azriel, and Xaden.

*****

Crescent City- Ruhn

Ruhn grinned at his new found friends as he lead them around the city. They’d already been to see Bryce and his sister had flirted shamelessly. After an hour of Hunt, Xaden, and Azriel having a pissing contest, Bryce kicked them out to make it up to her boyfriend. So he gave the idiots a tour of the city and naturally, they insulted and laughed at everything that was Ruhn’s. Like how his headphones were navy blue instead of black because apparently ‘we’re the shadow boys, you’ve got to get black.’

When he introduced them to Tristan and Flynn they got along perfectly! Not even a pissing contest over Flynn’s hot girlfriend! They were currently playing poker and Azriel was winning with a giant stack of chips triple everyone elses.

“I swear, he’s cheating,” Xaden’s complaint was met with much agreement.

“I would never! I’m an honorable shadow boy!”

Ruhn grinned, “let’s see how ‘honorable’ you are when we start drinking.” They all laughed and continued their loss of money.

“I quit! Ruhn show us to those guns, please, before I jump that cheating ass.”

“I’m not cheating!”

Ruhn just shook his head and dealt out the cards once again.

By the end of the next round, Xaden had reached his limit and leapt across the table to see Azriel’s cards.

“He’s not cheating! That’s impossible.”

Ruhn joined him and they both stared at down at the smug shadowsinger with a look of pure disbelief.

“Ruhn! Stop giving him all the good cards! I should start dealing!”

Ruhn gaped at Xaden. “You’re blaming this on me!? I can’t control what cards I give who!

“Just cheat!”

“You know what, guns sound great right now. At least I’m the best at that because you idiots can’t shoot.”

***

“What happened to ‘you idiots can’t shoot?’” Azriel grinned at Ruhn as he hit bullseye after bullseye.

Xaden groaned. “I can’t shoot!”

“Why is Az good at everything, it’s not fair.” Ruhn growled in frustration as he missed the bullseye by half a millimeter.

“You can’t be groaning! At least you can hit the damned target.” Both Az and Ruhn laughed as Xaden’s shot went wide and hit the deer head decorating the space 50 feet above the targets.

“Not my fault you won’t accept my help. I’ve told you a million times! You’re holding the gun wrong!”

“I am not! I’m not that stupid.” Rhun raises his brows as Xaden proceeds to hold the gun by the barrel instead of the grip where it’s quite obvious a hand should go.

And he hits the ceiling.

“You want that help now?”

“Fuck you.”

*****

Velaris- Azriel

The biweekly Friday family dinners Rhys had organized came with few rules. One: attendance was mandatory. Two: you could bring up to three friends. Three: if you brought friends, everyone else had a right to be busybodies.

It just so happened to be that Friday in which Mor was back from Vallahan and Elain and Lucien were visiting from the Day Court. Everyone was there to interrogate Xaden and Ruhn. The poor shadow babies had no idea what they’d be facing.

“What do I wear? I’ve got to impress your family.” Ruhn was scanning Azriel’s closet in a desperate attempt of last minute dressing.

“You’ll be fine, they really don’t care.”

“Yeah man. Just bring your own clothes next time.” Xaden was dressed in the flight clothes that came from his fancy-dragon world.

“Azriel said I wouldn’t need anything!”

“And since when has Azriel been right?”

“Hey! That’s rude.” Az put a hand over his heart in mock hurt. He grabbed a black shirt, black dress pants and a belt from his closet. “Just where this, it’s better than that pink Crescent City t-shirt.”

Ruhn glared. “This was fifty dollars! It’s a good shirt!”

“If you say so.” Azriel and Xaden shared a smirk as Ruhn put on the clothes given to him.

They descended the stairs to the dining room and found everyone else already there.

Xaden elbowed Ruhn. “You made us late.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yes you did!”

Azriel watched with a healthy dose of amusement and embarrassment as the room fell quiet to look at the two arguing. Finally after letting the two get embarrassed he poked Xaden in the shoulder.

Xaden looked up. “Shit.” Raising his voice he said to Rhysand. “My apologies, it was merely that this idiot next to me took an hour deciding what to wear instead of a sparkly, pink shirt.”

That got his family laughing.

***

A while later as they were sitting on the couches, drinking wine and exchanging embarrassing stories the interrogation finally started.

Cassian leaned in. “So Ruhn, we have a few questions for you to get to know you better. If you don’t know the answer you may say “no” and we’ll just assume you’re an idiot.”

“Who’s your father?”

“What’s your job?”

“Favorite color?”

“Best friend?”

The questions started innocently enough and Ruhn answered them each with a joke and easy grin. But Azriel knew he’d be saying a lot more “no”s.

The question came from Mor. “Sooo, Ruhn. Who was the best person you’ve ever bedded?”

Ruhn gawked at her and Azriel and Xaden burst out laughing. Mor shot a look at Xaden, “You’re next man. The questions will just get more detailed.”

Xaden grimaced. “I’m really tired today, all that traveling is rubbing off on me. I think I’ll go sleep.”

“Nuh uh uh.” Feyre wagged a finger at him. “Describe, in detail, your first time of having sex with your girlfriend.”

*****

Aretia- Xaden

Xaden smiled proudly as Sgeayl landed on the field. His smirk grew as both Azriel and Ruhn paled and backed away nervously.

Scare them please.

With pleasure.

Sgeayl blew fire at the ground barely ten feet away from his friends. Their eyes widened as the heat hit them full on.

“Uh Xaden. Can we go back to meetin your girlfriend? She was a little less scary.” Azriel pleaded, adding his puppy eyes.

Sgeayl sniffed indignantly and blew a puff of steam.

“Nah. I think you guys could spend some time together, ya know bond with my dragon. Make sure she doesn’t hate you or burn you to dust?”

“Uhh… Think we’ll pass thanks.” Ruhn was slightly less afraid than Azriel and was staring at Sgeayls blue scales as if trying to memorize them.

Xaden sighed, giving in and leading his friends away to see the sparring ring.

Go hunt sheep with Andarna.

You know you don’t give me orders, puny human.

Xaden grinned back at Sgeayl and she sniffed at him before flying away, likely to hang out with Tairn.

***

Thirty minutes later Xaden was watching Azriel beat up Ruhn on the sparring mats. He eyed the shadowsingers stance, it mainly relied on centering his feet. He took notice that Azriel was fluent with both sides but his right side was just slightly stronger. That’d be a good thing to look out for when Az challenged him.

And only a few minutes later, Azriel challenged him.

“Don’t you want some rest before I beat you up shadowsinger?”

“You won’t beat me up, I can beat you in my sleep.”

“Really??”

“Just fight already, pricks.” Ruhn turned out to be a very sore loser as proven but the poker and sparring.

The two circled eachother and Xaden made sure to not give away a single weakness that could potentially be use against him. Azriel launched, going for a simple one-two combination but Xaden was ready for him. He shifted left a bit and let Azriel’s punches hit his right shoulder at an angle that caused the least damage. He swept out his right leg and knocked Az off his feet before jumping on top of him in a way that made it hard for Azriel to switch their positions. He kneed the Illyrian in the crotch and traced a finger lightly against the tip of Azriel’s wing until Az groaned and yielded.

Xaden got off him and was met with a clap on the back from Ruhn, who had somehow managed to find popcorn.

“How’d you know my wings were so sensitive?” Azriel was frowning at him.

“At your family dinner, Nesta kept brushing the tip of Cassian’s wing with a featherlight touch and he kept jerking away while simultaneously leaning into her touch.”

Az groaned. “Damn Cassian. I had a plan to win as well! I was about to flip you over when you touched my wing and all my thoughts went straight out the window.”

Xaden grinned. “Fair fight I say.”

“No fucking way, I want a rematch.”

*****

a/n: not my worst.

taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @profound-imagination

#bubybubsters #acotar #fanfic #acowar #azriel #azriel fanfic #xaden riorson #aretia #Sgeayl #fourth wing #shadow boys #ruhn danaan #crown prince #cc #crescent city

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wroteclassicaly · 1 year

Text

Summary: Two years. You never drive far anymore, you don’t linger outside of your new city limits. Because how can you drive into the desolate life you once had? Then again, Hawkins and its story book tragedies have a way of bringing you back for more. A mangled marriage, an abandoned two story, and a loved one in turmoil, it finally brings you back home.

Parings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, shitloads of angst, mentions of major health trauma (it’s heart related, so be warned before reading, as I don’t want to trigger anyone), that angsty angst, but with a happy ending, & obvious smut/nsfw content that will appear later in the story!

A/N: Sneak peek/teaser into my new series, and the first one I’m publishing for this fandom — That House In Indiana (inspired by Ethel Cain’s ‘A House In Nebraska’. Lyrics below that I obviously don’t own) There will be a happy ending, so don’t worry! I’ve also drawn off myself for the situation with Wayne, based off what happened to my own dad. It’s pretty rough, but Wayne will be okay — I promise! He has a health crisis in this that might trigger some people, so please DON’T read if you know it’ll upset you! And let me know what y’all think if you do read, please and thank you? ❤️💘❤️💘

February 1st, 1990

~*~

Labored breaths and bed sores, sing it to me all day long

When the aching sound of silence used to be our favorite song

You and me against the world, you were my man and I your girl

We had nothing except each other, you were my whole world

Then the day came and you were up and gone

And I still call home that house in Nebraska

Where we found each other on a dirty mattress on the second floor

Where the world was empty, save you and I

Where you came and I laughed, and you left and I cried

Where you told me even if we died tonight, that I'd die yours

~*~

Shaking hands with chipped polish of a once fresh manicure, now worried down from alternating chewed grinds between chattering teeth and trembling lips, stained with overflowing salt — switch to a tight grip around a faded leather steering wheel, the cracking leather mingling with that of rustling denim. Scattered neon pink chips spray nail beds, making you twitch with the need to placate that urgency in your guts that pummels the muscles, seizing those in your eyes to force you to glance at where the gold band used to sit, used to distract you so perfectly. You were sure that you’d gotten over that. Funny what delusions the mind can bank on to get you through destruction and pain. You sniffle upon a jagged exhale, breath coming out choppy and overused.

Your body feels stuck to the seats, melted into a frozen statue. You really don’t want to be you, to think. Hell, your thoughts border on everything they shouldn’t, all the what-ifs, the blames, past tragedies, and your wishes that if this was the end result — maybe it would’ve been better if you died that night in the Spring of 1986. Long drives that aren’t in line with the simplicity of five minutes, you’d avoided for the last two years. Four hours from your one bedroom townhouse in Illinois to a hotel room in your hometown of Hawkins, Indiana — you’re a prisoner to your psyche.

You’ll see your crumbling dream in the form of white plaster, broken wood planks, and rotten rose bushes, frosted across shattered glass windows — ones you had stewed over for days on what color would look the best for curb appeal, and a large for sale sign in the front yard that was once littered with the cars of friends and loved ones. That very same home, the one you had shaped with your partner, that curly haired, doe eyed boy that you first met when he gave you money to pay for the groceries you couldn’t quite afford when you were fifteen, unbeknownst to you that it was his last five dollars, but he gave it to you because he knew you needed it more. He’d be fine as long as you were. You don’t have to try to embrace every whisper his hands had gifted your skin with. Your walls are gone, body ripped open and bare for the entire town you’d left behind two years ago.

The scenery is starting to fill in, barren trees near bloom. Maybe an early Spring, you can’t be sure? Your tires click against wet asphalt when you turn, splashing water on the chrome body of your car as you head into the embankment of treetops that glow, entwined into an arch that blankets the road in charcoal shadows. You manage to raise your hand to hit your windshield wipers, crystal clearing in a thick smear. Your sclera, however, floods over, lashes sticking to raw under eyes, puffy and exerted. You swallow harshly around a raw and wet throat, foot accelerating the gas pedal. You have to get there.

You haven’t slept since you heard his voice, your ears floating into a familiar peak, a swell of overwhelming longing stealing every ounce of breath from your lungs, trapping your diaphragm beneath whimpers not cried. You knew right away that something wasn’t okay. He called for the first time in years, he was in the place of his uncle, your confusion palpable as you hadn’t expected the youth for the familiarity of your weekly calls with his own family. You could hear his deep voice, raspy and shrouded in painful storms unmatched. Your body was like a dead weight, fingers struggling to hold onto the receiver, tone a mere whisper, one that felt like broken glass being dragged out through your windpipes.

“What’s wrong, Eds?”

“He… I, Y/N—“ Like a plea that was too silent to fully find its vessel, his voice became caked with an ocean of tears, thick like the swamps of isolating despair.

You’d almost resorted to begging, but you had known, even then, Eddie always took his own path to processing grief. Resisting an instinctual soothe towards him was like rejecting the air that earth offered you.

Your fingers prickled in an uncomfortable heat, numb and dulled, tongue heavy and choking you. The same as that night you awaited to hear whatever horror Hawkins had dropped into your lives once more.

“It’s Wayne.” There was an eerie quietness as Eddie had caught up with himself and moved forward enough to inform you. You couldn’t have stopped the gasping cry that left your mouth if you’d taped it shut.

He’d wanted nothing more than to reach through the phone and take you into his arms, needing to remember what the heartbeat of another human felt like, more specifically — his human. But you weren’t, you hadn’t been, and he wasn’t calling you to tell you that. You loved his uncle like a father. Having to break this news, to lay a layer of pavement over your spirit and let it dry, driving over it to forget, Eddie guiding your heart into another turmoil — it made him want to attempt to dislocate his own jaw.

“What about Wayne? Please tell me what’s going on?” You lost every piece you’d mangled together, helpless to their violent disappearance.

Eddie had trembled as he sighed, shaky and worn. “He had a heart attack a few hours ago.”

Your organ had begun to lose traction, beating sporadically that you were sure some of your bones had been reduced to ash beneath the forceful erratic rhythm. Leaving behind everything but your shoes, coat, keys, and purse, you were already at your front door, phone cord stretching with you. “I’m coming home. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Yeah. Kay. I’ll be here.” Eddie sounded lost, that light he’d accumulated in his lifetime, part of it was dimming. He couldn’t lose the one person that had been with him his whole life. You were already gone. This would devour him whole.

You sit up straight in your seat, the action causing your back to crack. You take a few deep breaths, engrossed in the glossy branches in your sky view, thunder roaring in the distance, your vehicle approaching the clearing and ready to hit that final road that will take you home.

~*~

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