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scarluna · 14 days ago

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KNOCKOUT (001)

⸺ ݂ ํ Synopsis : ꣒

Y/N is a depressed, closed off, anxious and insecure plus-sized girl. She does not believe she deserves love nor anything good in her life. However by destiny, she meets Jungkook. A fighter, a biker and a guy that changes the way she sees the world.

⸺ ݂ ํ Characters : ꣒ Jeon Jungkook x Y/N

⸺ ݂ ํ Chapters: 1/?

⸺ ݂ ํ Trigger warnings : ꣒ mature language, mental health problems, depression, su!c!d1l thoughts, fatph0bia, illegal substances, smoking, anxiety, body dysmorphia, maladaptive daydreaming, making out, traumas

⸺ ݂ ํ Other warnings : ꣒ grammatical errors.

⸺ ݂ ํ Author's Note: ꣒ So, again, I am back at it. Completely fictional.

I don’t look in mirrors if I can help it.

I glance—never stare. I avoid reflections like they’re landmines, each one threatening to detonate everything I’ve worked so hard to bury.

I pull my hoodie tighter around myself as I walk down the hall of my apartment building. Even though it’s warm out, I keep it on. I always keep it on. Oversized, black, long-sleeved—my version of armor. Fabric that hides the parts of me I hate the most.

Which is basically all of me.

My thighs touch when I walk. My arms jiggle when I reach for things. My stomach… don’t get me started. Every inch of me feels wrong, and no matter how many times people say things like "beauty comes in all sizes," I can still hear the laughter from the girls in middle school locker rooms. I can still feel their eyes on me. Judging. Mocking.

I learned early that boys only look at girls like me when it's a joke—or a dare. So, I don’t let them. I keep my head down, earphones in, and move like I’m invisible.

It’s safer that way.

I fake normal better than most. Smiles when I’m supposed to. Laughs at the right moments. I even let my mom believe I’m doing "so much better" lately.

She wouldn’t notice either way. She’s too busy.

She works fifteen hours a day and answers my texts with thumbs up emojis or, if I’m lucky, a "K." I get it. She’s trying to keep us afloat. But sometimes I think she works that much so she doesn’t have to come home.

Can’t say I blame her.

My dad is... well, he’s usually passed out almost every time I visit them. His breath smells like cheap whiskey and bad decisions. He tells me I’m beautiful sometimes—slurred, half-sincere—but only after his third drink. And the next morning he doesn’t remember saying anything at all.

I hate that I still want him to mean it.

No one knows how I eat in secret. How I wait until everyone’s asleep to tiptoe into the kitchen and stuff myself until I can barely breathe. Chips, cereal, cookies—whatever I can find. It’s not even about the food. It’s about silence. About filling something inside me that always feels empty.

Then comes the shame. The guilt. The promise to do better tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes.

People think being fat is a choice. Like I woke up and decided to hate myself. Like I don’t already know what every calorie means. Like I haven’t stood in dressing rooms, numb and silent, while my mom said, “You just need a little more discipline.”

If she only knew.

But she doesn’t. No one does.

And that’s how I survive. By hiding the real me. By locking away every ugly thought and pretending I'm okay. It’s exhausting—but I’m good at it.

I finally curled up In my bed, wrapped in the same blanket I’ve had since high school—frayed at the edges, soft from too many washes. The TV was on, playing some show I’ve already watched three times over. Something comforting. Familiar. The kind where characters have perfect lives, perfect friends, and perfect bodies. The kind where no one ever breaks down crying because they can’t zip up their jeans.

I mindlessly shove popcorn into my mouth, even though I’m not really hungry. I just need something to do with my hands. That, and I don’t know how to exist in silence.

Outside, life moves. People laugh, date, go out for coffee and brunch and spin class. I watch it all through the filtered lens of social media, like I’m peeking through a window at a party I wasn’t invited to.

But the truth is... I don’t want to go.

Not really.

Being outside is exhausting. People are exhausting. The stares, the judgment—even the polite ones, the forced smiles, the awkward glances that say "I see you, but I don’t want to."

I’d rather sit here, in the stillness of my own space, where no one expects anything from me. Where I don’t have to suck in my stomach or pull down my shirt every time I stand up.

Unless she visits.

My best friend, Vicky. The only one who’s ever stuck around long enough to see all my ugly truths and not run for the hills. Unfortunately she lives two hours away. We talk every day tho—text, memes, random voice notes that trail off mid-sentence because we always know what the other means. But when she visits? That’s when I pretend, just for a night, that I’m someone else.

Someone better.

We’ll pour a glass of cheap wine and sit on the floor like we’re still seventeen. She’ll blast music we used to love and I’ll let my hair down, throw on a slightly-too-tight dress I usually hide in the back of my closet, and for a few hours, I’ll play the part.

I’ll laugh too loud. I’ll talk too fast. I’ll flirt with the mirror and call myself a bad bitch even though I don’t believe a word of it.

It’s not real, but it’s fun to pretend.

Sometimes we go out—to a bar or a lounge or some half-dead pub that plays throwbacks—and I’ll catch a man looking my way. And for a second, I’ll feel like maybe... maybe this time is different.

But it never is.

They smile. Then hesitate. Then give me mixed signals that make my head spin. One moment, it’s flirty texts and compliments. The next, it’s radio silence or a sudden ghosting like I imagined the whole thing.

I used to blame myself. Still do, if I’m being honest.

Maybe I’m not pretty enough. Maybe they didn’t like how my body looked up close. Maybe they thought I was fun—until they realized I came with baggage.

They say I’m “hard to read,” but they never bother to learn the language.

Now, I don’t expect anything. I don’t chase, and I definitely don’t hope. Hope is a cruel thing when you’ve been fed disappointment your whole life.

So I stay here.

Buried in the comfort of my bed. With my blanket and my snacks and my fake little world where I don’t have to feel like a mistake.

And honestly?

Sometimes, it feels like the only place I truly belong.

Some nights, the silence feels like it’s screaming.

Tonight is one of those nights.

The TV is still on, playing something meaningless. Just noise to drown out the thoughts. But it doesn’t work. It never really does. The thoughts always find their way back in—slipping through the cracks like cold air under a door.

I don’t even know when I started crying. My eyes just feel heavy, and my chest aches like I’ve been holding my breath for hours.

I sit there, knees hugged to my chest, tears rolling quietly, silently. Because that’s the only way I know how to break down—alone. Always alone.

I wish I could explain this feeling. This tightness. This numb, dull throb of sadness that doesn’t go away. It’s not just about my body, though that’s a part of it. It’s the loneliness. The kind that makes the world feel like it’s moving on without you. Like you’re stuck behind glass, watching everyone else live while you just... exist.

People talk about love like it’s this magical thing. Like it just happens. Eye contact across a room. Sparks. Butterflies. Hands brushing and souls colliding.

I’ve never had that. I don’t even know what it feels like to be touched by someone who wanted to stay. Who wanted me. Not some idea of me. Not some mask I wear to get through the day. The real me.

And God—don’t even get me started on sex.

Everyone acts like it’s supposed to be this beautiful thing. Passionate. Intimate. But for me? It feels terrifying. Not just because of my body—though that fear is always there, a weight pressing down on me—but because letting someone that close means showing them everything I try so hard to hide. The scars. The stretch marks. The parts of me I can’t fix.

The parts of me I’ve learned to keep locked up.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m even capable of being loved. Like maybe I was born with something missing. Or maybe I’m too much. Too broken. Too guarded. Too something.

Would anyone ever actually stay, if they saw all of me?

The depression makes it worse. It lies to me. Tells me I’m unworthy. That I’m hard to love. That I’m destined to always be someone’s maybe, someone’s almost. The girl who’s good for conversation but never good enough to hold.

And the worst part? Some days, I believe it.

I hate how much I crave affection, even though I’m terrified of it. I hate that I want someone to hold me and kiss my forehead and tell me I’m safe, but I wouldn’t know how to accept it if they did. My body would flinch, my mind would panic, and I’d probably ruin everything before it even began.

Because that’s what I do. I ruin things.

And then I cry about it in the dark, wondering what’s wrong with me.

I wrap the blanket tighter around me and bury my face in my arms. My tears come harder now, not quiet anymore. Ugly sobs that make my throat burn. I wish I could scream. I wish I could tear it all out of me—the pain, the shame, the fear.

I just want to be held. Not for how I look. Not for what I offer. But for who I am.

All of me.

Even the messy, haunted parts.

Even the parts I don’t know how to love myself.

But maybe that’s a lot to ask.

Maybe no one’s coming.

Maybe I’m all I’ll ever have.

Friday night.

The clock on my screen blinks 6:01 PM, and just like that, my shift ends.

Another day of smiling through gritted teeth, typing out canned responses to strangers who think “customer support” means “emotional punching bag.” My fingers are sore, my eyes ache, and I have exactly zero energy left to pretend to be a functioning adult.

I close my laptop and sigh, rolling my neck until it cracks. My apartment is dim, lit only by the fading orange glow of sunset bleeding through the blinds. I consider changing into pajamas and crawling under a blanket burrito-style. It’s what I usually do on Fridays. My little reward for surviving the week. Thank God I was a home office or else I’d be definitely drained at the office.

Then I hear it.

Knocking.

Sharp, insistent, like the sound of someone who knows you’re home.

I freeze. I’m not expecting anyone.

Another knock.

I drag myself to the door, hoodie still on, hair a mess, socks mismatched—classic me. I open it cautiously, peeking through the crack.

And there she is.

“Surprise, bitch,” Vicky grins, arms wide like she’s just delivered the winning lotto ticket.

Right behind her stands Trevor, tall and unbothered, holding a paper bag that smells suspiciously like garlic bread. He nods at me like we’ve just seen each other yesterday, even though it’s been months.

“What the hell—” I blink. “You guys didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“That’s what makes it a surprise,” Vicky smirks, pushing past me into the apartment like she owns the place. “Also, we know you’d say no if we warned you.”

She’s not wrong.

Trevor chuckles as he walks in behind her. “Hey, Y/N. We brought food. Don’t yell at us.”

I just shake my head, trying not to smile too hard. It’s impossible with these two.

Vicky and Trevor have been together for five years now. They met online—some obscure Reddit thread about mental health turned into DMs, which turned into phone calls, which turned into a weekend meetup that never really ended.

She’s a psychologist, whip-smart with a razor-sharp tongue and a heart of gold. He’s an IT guy, quiet and patient, the kind of man who listens more than he talks and somehow always knows when you need space... or a hug.

They’re that annoying kind of couple that actually works—the kind that finishes each other’s sentences and still giggles at inside jokes no one else gets. It’s weird seeing that kind of emotional intimacy up close. Beautiful, but also kind of brutal.

Because deep down, I want it.

That connection. That safety. That soft, quiet love that doesn’t disappear at the first sign of mess.

And it hurts—just a little—because a part of me still believes I’ll never have it.

“You’re staring again,” Vicky teases from the couch. “Are you mentally writing fanfiction about us?”

I roll my eyes, laughing despite the lump in my throat. “No, I’m just wondering how two socially awkward nerds made it work.”

Trevor winks. “Magic and memes.”

“And therapy,” Vicky adds, tossing a cushion at him. “Lots of therapy.”

We eat. We talk. We laugh—really laugh, the kind that makes your stomach hurt. For a moment, I forget about everything else. My body. My fears. My loneliness. It all fades under the glow of garlic knots and sarcastic banter.

Until Vicky suddenly looks at me with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“We’re going out,” she says.

I blink. “Out where?”

She stands, brushing crumbs off her jeans. “It’s a surprise.”

Trevor groans playfully. ��God help us all.”

I hesitate. My instinct is to say no. I’m not dressed for “out.” I’m not mentally prepared. My anxiety starts bubbling up—but Vicky grabs my hand before I can retreat.

“Trust me,” she says, softer now. “You need this.”

I swallow hard, nod slowly, and let her pull me to my feet.

An hour later, we’re walking down a narrow alley lit by a single flickering bulb. The sound of bass and shouting grows louder with every step. The building looks like an abandoned warehouse, tagged up and half-broken—but there's a bouncer at the door and people going in like it's nothing.

“What is this?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“You’ll see,” Vicky smirks. “Just… keep an open mind.”

I glance at Trevor. He just shrugs and smiles, which tells me nothing.

We walk in—and the moment we do, the world shifts.

It’s hot. Loud. Electric. The air is thick with sweat, adrenaline, and tension. People crowd around a caged ring in the center of the room, shouting, cheering, drinks sloshing in their hands.

A fight is happening. An actual underground fight.

“What the hell, Vick?” I whisper, stunned.

The air hits me like a punch.

Heat. Sweat. Noise.

A crowd of bodies packed like sardines, all facing the makeshift cage in the center. The shouting is relentless, echoing off concrete walls, drowning out my thoughts. People are laughing, jeering, spilling drinks. Some are on tables. Some are barely dressed. Every part of it screams get out.

Vicky turns back and says over the noise, “Trust me. You need this. It’s good for your mental health.”

I shoot her a look. “You dragged me to a fight club for my mental health?”

She grins, unfazed. “You live in your head too much. This place? It pulls you out. It’s raw. Real. No filters. No fakeness. You just feel everything, whether you want to or not.”

I open my mouth to argue but the words stick. Because as chaotic as this place is, I can already feel the numbness cracking. Not in a good way—more like being ripped out of a too-warm blanket and thrown into a blizzard.

I tug my oversized hoodie tighter around myself, the sleeves swallowing my hands. My skin feels too exposed, like people are looking at me even when they aren’t. I’m not dressed for this. I’m not ready for this.

I did shower before we left, thank God. But even that small self-care win can’t calm the panic twisting in my gut now.

Overcrowded places make my skin crawl. I’ve never liked loud spaces, or too many people talking over each other, or being somewhere I can’t make a quick escape from.

It’s too much.

I scan the room, my eyes flicking from face to face. Most people here are loud, confident, half-drunk or fully fearless. Girls in tight dresses, guys in muscle shirts and tattoos, people laughing like this is a Friday night comedy show and not two men bleeding into the floor.

And then there’s me.

Tucked into the corner. Hiding. Heart racing. Wondering why the hell I agreed to this.

“Vick,” I say, leaning closer to her so she can hear me. “I don’t think I belong here.”

She turns, her face softer now. “You do. Just breathe.”

But how can I?

Every step into this place feels like walking deeper into someone else’s life. Someone who isn’t afraid. Someone who belongs in their skin. Not like me. I shrink without even realizing it—shoulders curling in, body trying to disappear into the folds of my hoodie. My safe zone.

I don’t want to be here.

I don’t want anyone to look at me.

But at the same time… some twisted part of me does.

Just once, I want to be the girl someone notices.

And I hate myself for it.

“Just give it a minute,” Trevor says gently, voice like a low anchor in the storm. “You might surprise yourself.”

But I don’t want to surprise myself. I want to be back home, curled up in silence, not vibrating from the bass of a place that smells like blood and beer.

Still—I don’t leave.

Because as much as I hate this, as much as I want to run, there’s something about this space that feels important. Like I’m on the edge of something.

Even if I don’t know what.

Suddenly, the crowd erupts louder than before—cheers, screams, a few scattered boos. Everyone turns their attention to the ring as a man climbs through the ropes.

A voice booms from the crackling speakers overhead, broken slightly by static but loud enough to cut through everything.

“In this corner, we got the reigning champ of the Southside pits… undefeated in seventeen fights, no tap-outs, no knockouts—only carnage. You know him. You fear him. Put your hands together for THIAAAGOOOOO!”

And that’s when I see him.

Thiago.

He steps fully into the ring—and my heart stalls.

He’s massive.

Tall—at least six foot five—built like a mountain, shoulders so broad they look like they could crush skulls. His skin is littered with scars, some healed into thick ridges, others fresher and angry red. A jagged one runs across his collarbone like a warning sign.

He’s bald, his head gleaming under the overhead lights, and his face—God, his face—it looks carved from stone. Cold, emotionless. A sharp jaw, a crooked nose that’s clearly been broken more than once, and dark eyes full of fury.

He’s not just a fighter. He looks like he’s made for war.

And he’s terrifying.

My stomach flips. My body stiffens. I take a half-step back without thinking.

“Holy fuck” I mutter, clutching my hoodie like it’s a shield. “This is insane. That guy looks like he eats souls for breakfast.”

Vicky doesn’t respond right away. She’s watching the ring with a curious glint in her eye. Trevor’s more stoic, but even he looks a little tense now.

Thiago circles the ring like a predator, chest rising slowly, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s daring someone to challenge him next. He radiates danger—pure, undiluted rage wrapped in muscle.

“He’s one of the best here,” Vicky finally says. “Or the worst, depending on how you look at it.”

“He looks like he could snap someone in half,” I whisper.

“He has,” Trevor says casually. Too casually.

My hands start to sweat.

Why are we here?

Why did Vicky think this was good for me?

My anxiety’s climbing fast. My heart won’t slow down, and my breath is catching in my throat. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere near people like him.

Just being in the same room as that kind of anger—raw, visible, unfiltered—it makes my skin crawl. It reminds me of my dad on a bad night. It reminds me of yelling behind closed doors. Of breaking things that don’t heal. Of fear you can’t explain to anyone.

I can’t tear my eyes away, though. Even as my body begs me to.

Because there’s something about him that feels like a mirror—sharpened, brutal, broken.

And maybe that’s the scariest part.

The referee’s voice cracks through the mic again, pulling the attention of the crowd back toward the entrance ramp. People around me start shifting with excitement—some chanting already, others leaning forward, trying to get a better view.

“And in this corner…” the announcer growls with theatrical flair, “…the one you’ve been waiting for. The wildcard. The Ghost of the East Ring. He’s fast, he’s vicious, and he doesn’t say much—but when he moves, you listen. Give it up for—JUNGKOOK!”

The lights dim just slightly. Smoke—real or fake, I can’t tell—floods in at the entrance. Then he steps out.

And everything slows.

He’s smaller than Thiago, yeah. Not small, just… more compact. But somehow his presence fills the room in a different way. Controlled chaos. Stillness before a storm. His body is lean but powerful—tattooed arms flexing under the flickering warehouse lights as he casually rolls one shoulder, then the other.

A black wet mullet hangs across his forehead and brushes against the nape of his neck, damp with sweat or maybe water poured over him before walking out. His dark eyes flick across the crowd—slow, methodical—like he’s searching for something or someone specific.

When his gaze sweeps past me, I freeze.

He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t even notice me. But for a second, I feel… seen.

Then it’s gone.

He climbs into the ring like he’s done this a thousand times. Calm. Efficient. No flashy entrances or chest-beating bravado. Just quiet readiness.

Unlike Thiago—who still paces like a caged beast—Jungkook stands still in his corner, bouncing lightly on his feet, head down, breathing slow. Controlled. Poised.

A storm in waiting.

“What’s his deal?” I mutter, frowning as I watch him from under my hood.

Vicky grins. “That’s Jungkook. He doesn’t talk much, but he moves like poetry.”

Trevor nods. “He’s fast. Thiago hates him.”

“Why?”

“He can’t catch him,” Trevor says with a half-smile. “And when he tries, he gets hit. Hard.”

The bell hasn’t rung yet, but the energy in the room is shifting. The crowd is buzzing, already leaning forward in anticipation. Two men. Two energies. One unhinged rage, the other ice-cold focus.

And I’m standing there in the shadows, heart pounding, watching it unfold like it’s all some dream I don’t belong in.

But I can’t look away from Jungkook.

There’s something about him—quiet, deadly, beautiful in a way that shouldn’t belong in a place like this. Like he’s made of sharp edges and unspoken things.

And I have no idea why he’s making my chest feel like this.

The moment the bell rings, everything changes.

Jungkook and Thiago explode into motion at the same time, their bodies colliding with a sickening thud as the crowd roars around us. The sound is deafening, a mass of screaming voices and wild excitement. I can’t take my eyes off them. The chaos, the violence, the raw power—it feels like it’s coming at me in waves.

Thiago lunges first, furious and relentless. His fists are like battering rams, crashing into Jungkook’s body, and the crowd is losing it, egging Thiago on. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is sickening, and I feel a rush of unease—nausea swirling in my stomach.

But then, Jungkook moves.

It’s so fast, so fluid, that I barely register what happens until Thiago’s momentum is thrown off. Jungkook ducks under his next punch, a move so smooth it’s like watching someone glide through water. He weaves out of the way, and then, like a snake striking, his fist connects with Thiago’s jaw with a crack that echoes through the room.

Thiago stumbles back, and the crowd goes wild. Thiago roars in frustration, lunging again—but this time, Jungkook’s ready. His footwork is impeccable, always staying just out of reach, and every time Thiago throws a punch, Jungkook dodges it like he’s reading Thiago’s mind.

And then, in an instant—Jungkook moves in, faster than I can process. He shifts, gets in close, and with one sharp, devastating blow to Thiago’s midsection, he drives his opponent to the mat. The crowd gasps.

Thiago struggles to get back up, but it’s no use. Jungkook moves in again, his body like a machine, precision in every movement. With a calculated swing, Jungkook lands another hit—this one to Thiago’s head.

Thiago falls.

The crowd goes wild, a tidal wave of cheers and screams as Thiago is knocked out cold. Jungkook stands over him, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. His nose is bloodied, but his eyes are laser-focused, scanning the crowd as he stands tall, shoulders heaving, sweat glistening across his skin. He’s breathless, but there’s no sign of slowing down.

The referee steps in, holding up Jungkook’s arm.

“Winner!” he shouts into the microphone, his voice drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Jungkook!”

My breath catches in my throat as I watch Jungkook stand there, still and proud, despite the blood smeared across his face. He doesn’t celebrate like Thiago would have—no shout of triumph, no cocky grin. He just stands there, like this is exactly where he was meant to be.

I’m still frozen in place when the crowd starts to quiet down, and my eyes move to Vicky.

“How do you know these two?” I ask, still watching Jungkook as he wipes the blood from his nose, catching his breath. “You’ve been here before, right?”

Vicky glances at me, her eyes flashing with something I can’t quite place. “In my four years of studying psychology here? Yeah. I’ve been to this place three times. Every time, I’ve seen Jungkook win.”

My brow furrows. “Three times?”

Vicky shrugs, leaning in to make herself heard over the fading buzz of the crowd. “Jungkook doesn’t lose. Ever. And not just here, either. He’s been in the underground circuit for a while now. He doesn’t talk much, but the guy’s a machine. Everyone here knows that.”

I’m still staring at Jungkook. The blood on his face doesn’t make him look weak—it makes him look… stronger. Like the fight is a part of him, something embedded in his bones. The way he carries himself—the way he moves—it’s like there’s nothing in the world that could touch him.

He’s not just a fighter. He’s something else.

I try to push the feeling down, the one stirring in my chest, but it’s there. Something about him pulls at me.

“He’s scary,” I whisper, though the words don’t feel like they fit the way I’m feeling. It’s more than fear. It’s something like… awe. And maybe a little envy.

“Scary?” Vicky laughs. “Nah. He’s a fighter. And trust me, if you ever find yourself in his corner, you’ll know exactly why people respect him.”

I don’t answer. My mind is too wrapped up in the image of him standing in the ring—barely breathing, bloodied, but still unshaken.

I’m about to turn away and find a quiet corner to collect my thoughts when a sharp pang hits my stomach.

I can’t ignore it.

“Vicky…” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Vicky doesn’t even look at me, still watching the ring as the crowd starts to thin. She gestures to the far side of the room, near the back exit. “Down that hall, last door on the left.”

I nod quickly and make my way through the maze of bodies and noise, feeling like I’m moving through a fog. I don’t care what’s going on around me—I just need to get some space, somewhere I can breathe and not feel so… exposed.

The hallway is dim, the walls dirty and covered in old graffiti. I find the door easily enough. But when I push it open, my stomach drops.

There��s no sign for male or female. Just a simple bathroom with no distinction.

Great.

I freeze for a moment, standing in the doorway. I can hear people in the bathroom—voices. Laughter. But I’m not sure if they’re men or women, and the last thing I want is to stumble into a situation where I’m forced to confront anything uncomfortable. I can feel my pulse thudding in my ears.

There’s a stall at the far end, empty.

Without thinking twice, I rush in, lock the door behind me, and press my back to the cool metal of the stall. The air feels thick again, like it’s closing in around me, and I force myself to take slow, steady breaths, in and out.

But it’s not enough.

The panic is rising—fast. My hands start to shake, my chest tightens. I try to block it out, but the air feels suffocating, too thick, too hot. I can hear the muffled sound of footsteps and the low murmur of voices from the other side of the bathroom.

Just breathe. It’s fine. You’re fine.

But I’m not.

The panic is already clawing at my throat when the door to the bathroom swings open. Two women walk in, their voices high-pitched and giggly. I bite my lip, forcing myself to stay as still as possible, praying they won’t notice me.

“Oh my God, did you see Jungkook out there?” One of them says, her voice dripping with excitement.

“Yesss!” the other responds, laughing. “I was like, wow—how is he so hot? Like, he’s got that whole dangerous vibe, you know?”

“Totally,” the first one giggles again. “I would literally do anything to be with him. I don’t care if he’s a fighter. He can take me down anytime.”

My stomach twists. I close my eyes, feeling the heat rush to my face. This is exactly what I hate. This feeling of being on the outside, the feeling of not being the one they’re talking about. Not being the one that someone notices.

“Can you imagine how good he must be in bed? I bet he’s rough,” the second woman whispers with a smirk. “Like, you know, he’s got that energy. He could probably have any girl he wants. Hell, he’s probably had every girl he’s ever looked at.”

My heart stops. My hands are trembling against the cold stall door, but I can’t bring myself to leave. I can’t seem to move. The words echo in my ears, over and over, and I want to scream.

Why does this bother me so much? Why does this hurt?

I can’t understand it.

I want to run out of here. I want to disappear. I want to get away from the laughing, the whispered thoughts about Jungkook, about how he’s someone they can have—someone they want.

For a second, I wonder if I’ll ever be wanted like that. If anyone will ever look at me the way these girls are looking at Jungkook.

Stop.

I breathe in deeply, trying to steady myself again. My fingers are cold and clammy as I grasp the edge of the toilet paper dispenser. The walls of the stall feel like they’re closing in on me, but I force myself to stay still. I have to. If I move, it’ll make everything worse.

The last thing I need is for them to hear my panic, my heavy breathing, my brokenness.

The girls continue talking, oblivious to me in my corner.

“God, I’m so jealous,” the first girl sighs, “but I bet I’d die if he even looked at me.”

“You think he’d go for a girl like us?” the second one snickers. “Doubt it. He’s probably all about the hot, fit girls. You know the type.”

The conversation continues as if I’m not even here, and I can feel the sting of their words, even though I try to push them down.

He doesn’t want girls like us.

The thought slips out before I can stop it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t make the hurt go away.

I wait for what feels like forever, the girls’ laughter and giggling fading as they finally leave the bathroom. Their footsteps echo down the hallway, their voices growing softer with each step. The silence that follows feels too loud, too heavy.

I take a few more slow breaths, trying to steady myself. The panic is ebbing, though the tightness in my chest lingers. You’re okay. It’s over. Just get out of here.

I wipe my clammy hands on the sides of my jeans and push open the stall door. My legs feel weak, unsteady, as I step out into the dim hallway, my heart still hammering in my chest.

Just get to the door.

I make my way toward the exit, trying to ignore the lingering heaviness in my chest. But as I round the corner, I’m blindsided by a sharp collision.

“Oof!” The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. I stumble back, my phone slipping from my hand and hitting the floor with a hard thud.

I immediately bend down, scrambling to pick it up. My face flushes with embarrassment, my hands shaking as I retrieve the phone, fingers fumbling for a moment as I focus too much on my own awkwardness.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammer, voice barely above a whisper as I stand up, still feeling the warmth of my cheeks. My eyes instinctively dart to the floor, avoiding any kind of eye contact. The last thing I need is for someone to see how flustered I am. Especially not after all those words in the bathroom, all those thoughts swimming in my mind.

Then I hear a low chuckle.

I freeze. My stomach lurches, the breath in my lungs catches.

No way.

I look up—and there he is.

Jungkook.

He’s standing in front of me, his presence almost overwhelming. He’s no longer in the fighting gear, but even in casual clothes, he still carries that intimidating aura. His shirt is loose, sleeves rolled up to show off his tattooed arms, and his black jeans sit low on his hips. His black mullet hangs a little messy, slightly wet from sweat or maybe water.

But what catches my attention first—what makes my stomach twist—is his face.

Bruises. Dark, angry purple bruises marking his cheekbone, a cut across his lip, and his nose—still swollen and bleeding slightly. The aftermath of the fight. But even with all that, there’s something so… captivating about him. Like a storm you can’t look away from.

I feel my heart pounding harder, my palms slick. Every insecurity I’ve ever had seems to slam into my chest all at once. Oh my God. I must look like a mess. No makeup, a baggy hoodie, messy hair. He’s so… perfectly put together—even with the bruises.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. I stand there, completely frozen, completely aware of how ridiculous I must look. I hate how much I want to hide.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, his voice surprisingly soft considering the way he fights. His eyes—dark and unreadable—scan me for a second, waiting for a response. He tilts his head, an eyebrow quirking slightly as if waiting for me to speak.

For a moment, I can’t find my voice.

What the hell am I supposed to say to him?

“I—uh—yeah, I’m fine,” I stammer, cringing at how small my voice sounds. “Sorry about, um, bumping into you. I wasn’t looking where I was going…”

He chuckles again, this time a little quieter, almost like he’s amused by my awkwardness. “No problem.” His gaze shifts down to my phone in my hand, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, like a silent understanding. “You should probably hold onto that better. Might break it next time.”

I nod quickly, biting my lip. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, be more careful.”

The silence stretches between us, and I can’t stop myself from feeling completely out of place. His mere presence—his proximity—feels like a weight on my chest. I want to say something more, something that doesn’t make me sound like an idiot, but the words are stuck in my throat.

What is he even doing here? My brain races. Why is he talking to me?

The bruises on his face, the way he carries himself, the intensity he exudes—everything about him screams confidence, while I can barely keep myself together.

“Hey,” he says again, his voice quieter this time, almost like he’s trying to make sure I’m not completely shut down. “You’re alright. You don’t have to apologize.”

I look up, meeting his eyes for the first time since I bumped into him, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe. His gaze is steady, almost piercing, and there’s something strangely gentle in the way he looks at me—like he’s trying to figure me out.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur again, my voice soft, barely audible. “I… didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

He shakes his head slightly, a small, amused smirk curling on his lips. “No trouble. But if you’re gonna keep bumping into me, I might start thinking you’re doing it on purpose.”

My face burns. I can’t believe this is happening. He’s standing right in front of me, and I’m acting like I’ve never spoken to a guy in my life. I’m sure I look like a mess.

I look down again, hoping he won’t notice how flustered I am. But when I glance back up, I catch a glimmer of something in his eyes—a mix of curiosity and something else I can’t place.

“Well, I’ll make sure to avoid you next time,” I mumble, trying to force a smile, but it feels so awkward.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything right away, but his gaze softens just a fraction. “Don’t worry about it,” he replies simply, his voice steady, like he’s seen this kind of thing a thousand times.

And then, with a slight nod, he turns and walks past me, heading back toward the crowd, leaving me standing there in the dim hallway, my heart racing, my breath still shaky.

Did that really just happen?

Monday

The morning light hits different when you’ve had a whole weekend to forget the world. I wake up to the sharp trill of my alarm and the sun creeping through the blinds like it’s personally offended I’m still in bed.

Vicky and Trevor left late last night, their hugs lingering longer than usual. We spent the rest of the weekend curled up on my couch, talking about everything—really talking. The kind of conversations that make you feel both lighter and heavier at the same time. The ones that peel you open in a way that’s terrifying but necessary.

Vicky told me she’s worried about how I retreat when I’m hurting. Trevor said he thinks I deserve to stop living like I’m waiting for something to break. I didn’t say much. Just nodded a lot. Smiled at the right parts. I don’t know how to explain that sometimes, talking about the darkness makes it feel more real.

But it felt good.

Safe.

And now Monday feels like a slap.

I throw on my usual work-from-home uniform—baggy hoodie, leggings, messy bun—and log in just before my boss can ping me. My headset’s tangled, my coffee’s lukewarm, and the emails are already giving me hives.

By 10 a.m., I’ve mentally clocked out.

I’m rereading the same sentence for the third time when Katherine messages me.

Katherine (10:03 AM):

Hey! Got a sec to hop on a quick call?

Katherine is the kind of person who always has her camera on during Zoom meetings. Perfect hair. Perfect lighting. She once told me she drinks celery juice every morning. I pretend to like her but mostly because I’m afraid she’ll sense my existential dread through the screen and report me to HR.

I reply with a thumbs-up emoji and brace myself.

She starts with small talk—weather, client updates, a weird squirrel that got into her balcony. And then she says it.

“So, this is random,” she begins, her tone suddenly shifting. “But... you were at The Pit this weekend, right?”

I blink. “How do you know about that?”

She smiles like she’s trying to be casual. “One of my best friends is in that crowd. I used to go with her sometimes. Total chaos. Honestly, I thought you were more... I don’t know, library-core?”

I laugh awkwardly. “It was a surprise outing.”

“Ah. That explains it.” She leans closer to the camera like she’s about to deliver state secrets. “So listen… I’m telling you this as a friend, okay? Don’t get too caught up in Jungkook.”

My stomach flips.

I try to keep my expression neutral. “I’m not… I don’t even know him.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, “just in case. I’ve known him for a while. He runs with a rough crowd. Really rough. He’s not some tortured artist or romantic bad boy. He’s a fighter. Like, literally and metaphorically. The guy doesn’t let people close. And if he does? It never ends well.”

I swallow. “Okay…”

She shrugs, taking a sip from her green smoothie. “He’s rich, by the way. Like, crazy rich. Family money. Old money. The kind that hides skeletons behind designer walls. He’s rebelling against it, or whatever. But still—trust me, girls like us?” Her voice softens, almost sympathetically. “We don’t survive guys like him.”

I stare at the screen.

Katherine offers a smile like she’s just done me a favor. “Anyway. Just thought you should know. Back to work!”

The call ends.

And I sit there, headphones still on, heart pounding, trying to make sense of everything she just said.

Girls like us.

We don’t survive guys like him.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Because I already knew that.

But hearing it out loud?

It stings in a way I wasn’t ready for.

The call ends.

And it’s like the silence in my apartment changes shape—heavier, sharper, pressing in from all sides.

I stare at my screen, blinking at the spreadsheet I was supposed to be editing, but all I can see is his face again. Jungkook’s bruised jaw. His quiet stare. The way his voice was soft when he asked if I was okay.

I thought it meant something.

God, I’m so stupid.

Why did I even let myself feel anything at all? One second of attention from someone like him and I’m already spinning stories in my head. Already hoping. Already aching.

But he’s not a story.

He’s not the exception.

He’s a walking warning sign with pretty tattoos and a reputation I should’ve seen coming a mile away.

And me?

I’m the girl who doesn’t even look in mirrors.

The girl who flinches when someone raises their voice.

The girl who hides from kindness because it always turns into disappointment.

What the hell was I thinking?

I push my laptop away and curl in on myself, wrapping my hoodie tighter around my body like it might hold all the unraveling parts together.

It’s pathetic, how easily I fall back into this. This sadness. This hole. Like I never even tried to climb out.

My chest feels tight again. Like there’s not enough air in the room, not enough silence in the world to quiet the noise in my head. Katherine’s voice keeps looping:

“Girls like us… we don’t survive guys like him.”

She’s right.

Not just because he’s dangerous—but because I’m already drowning.

I don’t need someone like him lighting a fire next to the flood.

I’m barely surviving myself.

I can’t afford to let someone else in. Especially someone who could burn me just by standing too close. I’ve done that before—opened the door a crack and let someone walk in like they had a right to rearrange the furniture in my soul.

And when they left, they took everything I had with them.

I won’t survive that again.

I don’t care how soft his voice was. I don’t care how different he seemed. I don’t care about the way his eyes looked like they could hold secrets.

I’m not his mystery to solve.

I’m not some redemption arc.

I’m tired.

I just want to be left alone.

So I grab my phone, fingers trembling, and type out a message to Vicky.

me (11:21 AM):

hey. Can we talk later?

She replies almost instantly.

Vicky (11:22 AM):

of course. you okay?

me:

not really.

Vicky:

I’m here. whatever you need.

I drop the phone onto the bed and let myself cry.

Not the quiet, hidden kind this time—but the ugly sobs. The ones that shake my whole body. The ones that feel like mourning.

Because that’s what this is.

I’m mourning the version of me who thought, even for a second, that maybe someone like Jungkook could want someone like me.

But that girl doesn’t get to stay.

She was too hopeful.

Too naive.

And hope? It’s just another way to hurt yourself when you know better.

The apartment walls feel like they’re closing in again.

My chest is still heavy from crying, my eyes swollen and tired, but I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. My stomach growls like it’s mocking me, like even it is tired of my emotions.

I don’t want to go outside. I really, really don’t.

But I don’t have the energy to argue with myself anymore.

So I throw on the armor—the same oversized black hoodie I’ve worn three days in a row, the one that swallows me whole. Baggy sweatpants that drag at the hem, sleeves covering my hands. Greasy hair scraped into a low, half-hearted bun. No makeup. Glasses on. Invisible mode activated.

If anyone looks at me, they’ll see nothing worth seeing.

Which is exactly the point.

The convenience store is just down the block. Two turns and I’m there. I don’t make eye contact with anyone. I keep my head low, shoulders hunched, heart pounding in my ears for no reason at all.

I grab a pre-made sandwich, a pack of chips, something sweet. Something to feel something. The cashier doesn’t say much. I pay and leave, crinkling plastic bag in one hand, the weight of my exhaustion in the other.

And then—

I hear it.

A low, throaty vrrrrmmmm.

A motorcycle.

It pulls up to the curb just as I step outside. Black. Shiny. Sleek. Yamaha. The kind of bike that looks fast even when it’s parked.

The rider is dressed in all black—black jeans, black hoodie, black gloves, black helmet. The mirrored visor reflects the late afternoon haze, faceless and quiet.

But somehow—somehow—he looks straight at me.

Not at the store. Not at the sidewalk.

At me.

I freeze.

My breath catches in my throat. My pulse spikes. No one sees me—no one is supposed to see me. Especially not like this. Especially not him.

Because I know.

I know it’s him.

Even before he moves, before he speaks—my bones recognize the tension, the quiet storm under the surface. My body flinches like it’s muscle memory.

I take a shaky step back. Then another. My fingers curl tighter around the plastic bag like it’ll protect me. I turn, heart in my throat, ready to bolt in the opposite direction.

But then—

“Hey!”

Just one word.

But it’s enough.

The voice is familiar—low, rough around the edges, quiet in that way that still demands attention. Not yelling. Not sharp. Just… deliberate.

And it comes from behind me.

I freeze mid-step.

My grip tightens on the bag, but I don’t turn around. My whole body tenses like I’m waiting for the ground to open and swallow me whole.

Please no. Please let me be wrong.

But then—

“You dropped this.”

I glance down. My receipt flutters on the pavement behind me.

I should keep walking. I want to keep walking.

But something in that voice… that calm, steady voice—it wraps around my ribs like wire and holds me still.

I turn, just a little.

And there he is.

Helmet off now. Tousled black hair clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat or wind. Dark eyes, unreadable. That same bruised jaw from the fight. That same calm chaos in the way he stands, like he’s always ready to run or punch something—but right now, he’s doing neither.

He holds out the receipt between two fingers, casual like he’s done nothing unusual.

I don’t take it.

I can’t move.

I just stare at him, half-hidden behind the oversized hoodie and fogged-up glasses, knowing full well there’s nothing about me worth noticing—but he still is.

His eyes linger for a second.

Not in a gross way.

Just… curious.

Like he’s trying to place me.

“You are familiar, didn’t we spoke this weekend after my fight?” he says, voice soft but certain.

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

He waits a second longer, like he’s giving me a chance to say something—to confirm or deny or at least react—but I just stand there, frozen in oversized fabric and fear.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says after a moment, voice even lower now. Almost gentle. “You okay?”

Something in me cracks.

I shake my head—not to answer the question, but to shake off the moment. The whole thing. Him. This.

I take a shaky step back, then another, until I turn away again. This time, I do walk.

Fast.

He doesn’t follow.

But I can still feel his eyes on me.

And it hurts in a way I wasn’t ready for.

By the time I get back to my apartment, I’m sweating under my hoodie even though it’s barely 65 degrees out. My legs feel like they’re made of wet sand. I shut the door behind me, double lock it, and lean against it like maybe it’ll hold me up better than my spine currently can.

What the actual fuck just happened?

I drop the plastic bag on the kitchen counter and stare at it like it might answer me.

How the hell did he end up here?

What are the odds? No—seriously. Statistically. What are the goddamn odds that Jungkook, bruised, violent, beautiful Jungkook, the guy from the underground fight club with a face like a problem I’d never solve—what are the odds that he parks his sleek-ass murder-cycle right in front of my stupid corner store?

Does he live around here?

Does he live on my street?

Fucking hell.

My head spins. I kick off my shoes and shuffle toward my room like a zombie with trust issues. I don’t even bother with lunch. I just face-plant onto my bed and let out a strangled scream into my pillow.

Muffled, of course. Don’t want the neighbors to call someone.

My brain is already galloping down all the wrong roads.

What if he does live nearby? What if I see him again? What if he recognizes me next time, not just as “the girl from the fight” or “the hoodie gremlin who nearly dropped her sandwich,” but me—the real, fragile, overthinking version who wears pain like perfume and flinches when people care?

God, what if he saw through me already?

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

And just like that, it begins.

The daydream.

The soft edges blur and shift, my breathing slows, and the version of reality I can actually tolerate starts to take shape.

In this one, I’m still me—but I’m her, too.

The cooler version. The one who didn’t flinch. Who took the receipt with a small smirk, thanked him, maybe even made a joke that made his bruised mouth curve into a smile.

Maybe he would’ve asked my name.

Maybe I would’ve told him.

Maybe we would’ve sat on the curb, talking about the way silence sometimes feels safer than words. Maybe he would’ve looked at me like I wasn’t invisible. Like I wasn’t too much or not enough or anything in between.

In this version, I’m magnetic. Mysterious. Someone he wants to chase.

Not someone who runs.

Not someone who hides.

But the fantasy falters the second my phone buzzes.

A calendar notification.

Break over. Back to work.

I blink, and the ceiling collapses.

The daydream dissolves like mist under a spotlight.

And I’m back here again.

Greasy hair. Unanswered emails. Sandwich still untouched on the counter.

I sit up with a groan and reach for my laptop, the screen lighting up with the cruel reminder that no matter how hard I try to disappear, the world still expects me to perform.

Because I don’t get to be the girl in the fantasy.

I just get to pretend I'm okay for eight more hours.

It’s been three days.

Three long, weirdly quiet days since that day outside the convenience store.

He didn’t follow me.

He didn’t try to talk to me again.

But I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Or him.

Or the way his voice sounded when he said “hey” like it wasn’t a loaded word, like it didn’t feel like it cracked something open in my chest.

But today, I need air.

I’ve answered all my emails. Sat through two Zoom meetings where I didn’t say a word. Ate half a protein bar and convinced myself that counted as lunch. The weather’s decent. Grey sky, soft breeze. Not hot, not cold. The kind of weather that makes you feel invisible in a good way.

So I shower. Real clothes aren’t an option—my body still feels like a burden—but I pull on my cleanest hoodie and loose cargo pants. I throw on some concealer, smudge some eyeliner. Just enough to look… functional. Human-adjacent. Lip balm, not lipstick.

My comfort zone.

I pop a Red Bull from the fridge, grab my lighter and smokes, and head out.

The walk to the park is quiet. Familiar. It’s only a few blocks away—lined with sad little trees, apartment windows with peeling paint, and the occasional dog-walker tugging along a leash like it’s a lifeline.

By the time I get there, I’m already feeling a little lighter.

I head straight to the bench.

My bench.

The one facing the outdoor fitness area. It’s a concrete platform with metal bars and makeshift equipment—mostly used by shirtless guys trying to impress no one in particular. Usually, I avoid the place when it’s busy. But I’ve learned the timing.

Late afternoons on weekdays? It’s usually empty.

Quiet enough to breathe.

I sit down, crack the can open with a hiss, and take a long sip. The carbonation burns down my throat, sharp and sweet. I pull a cigarette from my sleeve and light it, the flame catching with a soft flick. First drag, and the world slows down.

My mind goes quiet.

For once.

I exhale smoke into the open air, let it drift above me, unfurling like a sigh I didn’t know I was holding.

And then—I see him.

At first, I don’t realize it’s him.

I just register movement.

Someone using the pull-up bar.

Shirtless. Muscled. Moving with a kind of effortlessness that makes my stomach flip.

I glance up, casual.

And freeze.

It’s him.

Jungkook.

His back is to me, muscles flexing as he pulls himself up again and again, like he’s chasing something only he can see. The tattoos on his arms are vivid under the dull light, ink curling down to his wrist in sharp, beautiful lines.

He drops down from the bar, hands on his hips, chest heaving with each breath.

He’s glowing with sweat.

And for a second—I forget how to exist.

He doesn’t see me.

Not yet.

I duck my head fast, pulling my hoodie slightly forward like it’s a curtain I can hide behind. I take another drag of my cigarette, hoping the smoke masks the sudden panic rising in my throat.

Why is he here?

Again?

Does he live around here? Was Katherine right?

Or is this just some twisted coincidence?

He wipes his face with the edge of his tank top, and I catch a glimpse of more tattoos on his ribs—black ink over golden skin—and I have to look away. My heart’s beating like I’ve done a line of adrenaline instead of just caffeine and smoke.

I shouldn't be looking.

He’s not for me.

He’s a storm in a human body. A fighter. A blur of danger and sharp edges.

And I’m just… this.

This hoodie.

This body.

This invisible mess on a park bench, pretending the world isn’t too much.

But even as I look away—

I can feel it.

That shift.

That pull.

And when I glance back, just once, just quick—

His eyes are on me.

Right on me.

Unmistakable.

Direct.

Not in a flirty, playful, hey-girl way.

No.

It’s deeper than that.

Like he remembers me.

Like he sees something he doesn’t quite understand.

I look away so fast I almost drop my Red Bull.

My fingers are shaking again.

What the fuck is happening?

Why does it feel like he’s always three steps ahead of where I want him to be?

311 notes · View notes

delaware-lemme-smash · 1 year ago

Note

Hii! May i request some headcanons were mt. lady, sir night eye, present mic, eraser and all might react to their s/o wearing their clothes after sex? Like if they didn’t have any clothes with them what weren’t… dirty so they stole some! Sorry if this is boring but I thought it was kinda cute :)

Hope you enjoy these, lovely!

Characters: Takeyama Yuu/Mount Lady, Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye, Yamada Hizashi/Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead, Yagi Toshinori/All Might

Contents: gn!reader, mild nsfw

Takeyama Yuu/Mount Lady

Perhaps it was an impromptu tryst, because you’re at Mount Lady’s apartment and your only clothes are dirty. Perhaps your stuff got torn up in a fight with a villain and now you’ve come back to hers to ‘celebrate’, you find yourself left with nothing but your underwear. Perhaps not even that.

You could sleep naked, but it’s not the most comfortable situation to be in. So you wander over to Yuu’s wardrobe (really a walk-in closet). She might only be a debut hero, but she’s very popular and spends a lot of time in the limelight. This translates to making absolute bank, and she spends a lot of it on beautiful clothes. Obviously, you’re not going to wear a gala dress to bed, so you grab a t-shirt that looks pretty old, and maybe a pair of yoga pants.

Depending on your size compared to her, they might be fine, or they might be a tight fit. When she comes back into the bedroom, her skin gleaming from her nightly skincare routine, she stops in the doorway and pouts at you.

“If you stretch those out, you’re going to have to replace them.”

“...says the woman who turns into a titan?” The irony is too much for you.

“Only my hero costume stretches with me, duh.” A pause. “Your butt does look good in those yoga pants, though.”

Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye

It would seem that if you’re dating Sir Nighteye, you’ve at least got some sense of planning and responsibility. But you’re only human, and sometimes you’re going to find yourself caught short. Short on clothes, in this case. Even if your clothes are clean, you couldn’t fathom sleeping in your work clothes.

You wait until Sir Nighteye is in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, before sneaking open one of his drawers and grabbing something at random. You end up with…

A pair of boxers and a vintage All Might t-shirt.

It’s hardly the sexiest of nightwear, but you make it work. He leans back into the doorway to tell you to borrow some clothing, and you’re lounging on his bed, all “Paint me like one of your French girls”.

“I’ve been waiting for you~” you purr.

He nearly spits out his mouthwash, and disappears back into the bathroom to gather himself. You distinctly hear him chuckle under his breath, then clear his throat.

“If you want to entice me, darling, don’t wear the face of my former boss on your torso.”

Yamada Hizashi/Present Mic

Hizashi’s always trying to get you to wear his clothes, anyway! He drapes his little moto jacket (the casual one, not the studded one he wears as part of his costume) over your shoulders a lot and tells you how great you look.

Seeing his partner wear his clothes just gives him this little kick and makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

You’ve got a variety of options in Mic’s wardrobe. In the t-shirt section, you’ve got a lot of band t-shirts, weird, bright coloured ones covered in fruit or English slogans, a few rare Eraserhead merch t-shirts he got done to piss off Aizawa, and if you want to borrow some boxers, you’ll be hard pressed to find some that don’t have a loud, zany pattern on them.

If you want to be (moderately) sexy, grab a vintage band t-shirt and a pair of his black boxer briefs. If you want to make him laugh, grab the stupidest t-shirt you can find and pair it with an eye watering set of boxer shorts, especially if they have bananas on them.

Hizashi grins wide enough to split his face in half at the sight of you in his clothes. It doesn’t matter if you went for sexy or stupid, really, because he’ll just try to get you out of them again, if you know what I mean~

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

This is one of those things that Aizawa doesn’t know he likes until he sees it for the first time. He’s probably dragged himself out of your post-coital snooze to get you both some water or feed the stray cat on his balcony, leaving you to ponder your clothing situation.

When you open Aizawa’s wardrobe, it’s 75% loose black shirts and pants, with a few non-black items crammed at one end, including those infamous pink sweatpants.

It seems he’s not totally averse to colour, just not when he’s working. He has a few t-shirts (gifts from Hizashi) covered in cats (as opposed to just covered in cat hair, like the rest).

If you’ve cuddled him at all, which you have, thoroughly, you know that all his clothes are surprisingly soft and comfortable. He tends to end up with raggedy cuffs on his sleeves, but even so, the shirt has that soft texture clothing gets when it’s been washed many times. You dig out some random black shorts he has, though you’ve never seen him expose his pasty legs in public, so they must be old.

Shouta shuffles back into the room to find you asleep, curled up in your borrowed finery. There’s something about the sight of you lying in his bed, wearing his clothes, looking so warm and comfortable. It’s like a little gut punch of domesticity.

“You’re meant to ask, you brat,” he says fondly, flopping onto the bed next to you.

Still, he reflects, as he pulls you closer, that shirt’s gonna smell like you now. Maybe he should make you wear it every time you sleep over.

Yagi Toshinori/All Might

All Might’s still pretty nervous about being in a relationship so he’s not 100% sure of the protocol, especially when you’re at his place and you don’t have any clean clothes to wear to bed. He gets flustered and goes to see if he can quickly wash your clothes, forgetting the entire wardrobe of clean clothes right there.

All Might or Small Might, his clothes are going to absolutely drown you no matter what size you are. Toshi’s a titan. Any t-shirt you try to borrow is basically a giant nightshirt.

Toshinori splutters a little at the sight of you swimming in the fabric of one of his shirts. Once he’s done coughing into his elbow, he offers you a toothy grin, his eyes crinkled up.

“That…might be a little big on you,” he says, tugging playfully on all the excess fabric. “Are you sure it’s going to be comfortable?”

You tell him that you like the feeling of the soft, loose fabric, and the fact that it smells a little like his cologne, even after being washed. He’s chuckles at that, wrapping his large hands around your waist, the fabric cinching in against you.

“Well, never thought one of my old shirts could look so adorable.”

3K notes · View notes

msmk11 · 9 months ago

Text

Just Like All the Other Angry Boyfriends Before

James Potter x Hufflepuff!fem!reader

WC: 4.2k

CW: angst; hurt/comfort; fluff; idiots

Summary: Two idiots in love who don’t know how to handle their emotions properly- aka school dance drama

A/n: yall said you wanted this fic even tho I lowkey hate it, so here it is!

Shrill squeals echo through the stone corridor as you make your way to the Great Hall after class. You turn the corner to find a group of girls surrounding Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom. Alice is blushing profusely as you hear her declare, “yes I’ll go to the formal with you!”

Frank whoops excitedly and draws Alice into a warm embrace. There are more squeals from the girls, so high pitched you’re sure they’ve shattered your ear drums. As you pass the happy couple, you smile at them warmly and share your congratulations. On the inside, however, you grimace. You’re no antagonist to fun, really, but as the winter formal continues to approach closer and closer, and you are still without a date, you find yourself beginning to reject the idea of any formal at all. It’s not that you have a lack of options either- plenty of people have asked you- but rather, you’ve been holding off in hopes that a certain special someone will.

Begrudgingly, you accept that if you put things off much longer, you will be dateless. And while you’re not necessarily opposed to going alone, you’d rather not when nearly all your friends have dates. Lily has Mary, Marlene has Dorcas, Alice has Frank, and Remus has Sirius.

That leaves you and James.

Although you’re a Hufflepuff, you throw your stuff down onto the Gryffindor table and plop into a seat next to Lily. You huff dejectedly and rest your head on her shoulder, “Why does everyone have to be all happy and in love? It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid honey, you’re just bitter because P-“

You slap your hand over her mouth and glare at her, “SHH there’s people around.”

“Right, sorry,” she replies, prying your hand off her mouth.

“Also…” she pauses and sniffs your hand, “is that a new lotion? What scent is it?”

Before you can answer, you’re interrupted by Mary who sits down on the other side of Lily and kisses her on the cheek.

“Uh, babe, why are you sniffing her hand?”

“I’m not weird, I swear! She’s the one who shoved her hand in my face. I just wanted to know what lotion she was using.”

Mary gives the two of you questioning looks.

“Potter” Lily mouths.

Mary nods in understanding and smirks. She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively as she shifts her attention to the raven-haired boy a few seats down.

“Still waiting for him to ask you?”

“Mhmmm.”

“You know, it is the 20th century, you could try asking him for a change.”

“Excellent idea, love! Oi, Potter, come here,” Lily shouts.

You glare at them in panic and mumble, “I hate you both.”

James looks up from his conversation with his friends and slides down the bench towards you.

“We have a very important question for you,” Lily says.

You glare at her once again, “I think Lily here is actually far over exaggerating the importance of the question. I’m sure whatever discussion you were having with Remus, Peter, and Sirius was much more urgent.”

James chuckles, “It’s the opposite actually. Remus and Sirius were arguing over what they are wearing to the formal. So really, you saved me.”

You let out the most pitiful laugh, cursing your luck.

“So… what is this very important question you wanted to ask me?”

You attempt to act nonchalant as you ask him if he has a date for the formal yet.

“Oh, the formal? Not yet, though I have a few options in mind. But if you’re implying you want to go together, I’m totally down.”

You’re pretty sure your heart skips a beat.

“I mean, I don’t want you to go alone while everyone else in the friend group has a date.”

This time, your heart drops.

“Oh, so you don’t mind doing me a favor and taking me to the formal?” You ask, an accusing tone to your voice.

“Right, that’s what friends are for,” he says, innocently.

Nail in the coffin.

“So, let me get this straight. You’ll only go with me because you feel sorry for me and because you don’t think I can get a date to the formal?” you ask angrily.

“No I-“ he begins defensively.

“Well you should know, Potter, that I do have a date to the formal, and I was only asking if you had one because I was worried you were going to be the one going alone.”

“Wait! You’re going with someone?!” He says, shocked.

“Don’t act so surprised. Just because I’m ‘one of the guys’ to you doesn’t mean I’m not desirable to other people,” you retort.

Then, you stand up and snatch your books off the table. As you storm away you hear him yell, “Wait, but who are you going with?”

Great question.

*****

Back in the Hufflepuff dorms, you sit in one of the common room chairs stewing over your recent interaction with James. While your initial reaction was anger, time has led way to more intense feelings of hurt. While he didn’t outwardly reject you, the sting of the friend zone was just as painful. You needed to move on, but with who?

The universe seems to answer your question in the form of Amos Diggory.

Amos Diggory- an arrogant, handsome, girlfriend-stealer, with an intense fear of commitment. He would be perfect.

No foreigner to flirting, you put on your most charming smile and call out, “Hey Diggory…”

He looks in your direction and you motion for him to come sit. He smiles at his friends and shoos them away. As Amos comes and sits down next to you you know that, if this goes according to plan, you will royally piss James off. The two rival in looks and on the quidditch field, and James cannot stand Amos.

“Hey gorgeous,” he says, looking you up and down.

“So, you, uh, have a date to the formal yet?”

“No, I prefer to go alone. So my options are open.”

You smirk teasingly, “What if I can convince you to change your mind?”

Amos smiles at you seductively, “I’m listening.”

“Well, you like to go to these things alone so you can entertain the attentions of many girls. But, if you go with one girl, me, you’ll get even more attention. What is going to happen when all of the girls at Hogwarts think that the Amos Diggory is off the market?”

“You have me intrigued,” he says, “And how are you not in Slytherin with that devious little mind of yours?”

“I prefer to keep it my little secret.”

Then, you lean closer to him, “Though I guess it’s our little secret now.”

Amos is falling perfectly into your trap, and you know that he already wants to kiss you. You pull away before he even gets the chance.

“Before I agree, what’s in this for you?” He asks.

“Revenge on James Potter…”

If your flirting hadn’t fully won him over, this does.

*****

In the evening, you make your way to the Gryffindor common room where you always do homework with your friends. Though James, Peter, and Sirius consistently show up late, you make sure to leave extra early to avoid conversation with James at all costs.

You forget, however, that James sometimes knows you better than you know yourself. So when you arrive, he is already there on the couch, waiting for you. Lily and Remus are spread out on the floor, Mary is sprawled across a red chair, and Dorcas is lying in Marlene’s lap reading her textbook while Marlene writes a paper. James shoots up from his seat as you walk in.

“Hey! Can we talk?” He asks anxiously.

Although they pretend to hide it, you know your friends are secretly listening. Still, you don’t care.

“No, James, we can’t. Although it may be uncharted territory, you and I are in what people call a fight. So just let me be.”

“But shouldn’t we talk?”

“No, James. I don’t want to talk. Not right now.”

The fight leaves his body and he retreats, “fine. I’ll just leave you be.”

He grabs his stuff and goes up to his dorm as you settle yourself in his place.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” Remus asks softly.

“Maybe,” you say, “But I’m sick of always downplaying my feelings to protect his. It’s not fair to me.”

Lily grabs your hand, “you’re right, it’s not fair. And I’m sorry for pushing all of this on you, it wasn’t my place.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” Mary adds.

“Well, I’m not. This just encouraged me to get over my silly little crush and focus my attentions on someone who will actually take interest in me. There are plenty of people out there.”

“Hell yeah there are!” Marlene says encouragingly.

Dorcas smacks her arm, “Marlene! James is one of your best friends!”

“So is she! I love them both, but she’s right, she needs to do what’s best for her.”

“Just don’t push him away completely,” Dorcas tells you seriously.

“I won’t,” you sigh, “He‘s still so important to me. It just won’t be in the way that I hoped.”

Silence falls over the group.

“Who fucking died?”

Everyone jumps and turns to look in the direction of the voice. Behind you stands Sirius and Peter, both with perplexed looks on their faces.

“James, after she fucking tore him apart earlier,” Marlene replies, motioning to you.

Peter nods as he plops down by your feet, “Oh right! I heard about that.”

Sirius smacks you upside the head, “Yeah, what was that all about?”

“He basically called me a fucking unattractive loser. What else was I supposed to do?” You say, smacking him back.

“I think you’re over-exaggerating just a little bit,” Mary responds cautiously.

“I mean, I think he was just trying to be nice. Maybe it hurt because he essentially friendzoned you?” Lily adds.

“Wait, do you have a crush on James?” Sirius asks you.

“Sirius, have you really never noticed?” Remus responds disbelievingly.

Sirius only shrugs his shoulders.

“Okay, I get it, I get it. James is the perfect golden boy and I’m just another one of Potter’s stupid fangirls who follows him blindly and makes a fool of themselves.”

“Honey no,” Lily starts, “it’s not that it’s-“

“Can you not lecture me, please?” You interrupt, “Maybe I overreacted, but is it so wrong to be angry about being pitied. Especially by someone you really care about?”

“No, it’s not,” Peter tells you, “I get it.”

“Thank you,” you respond dejectedly.

It’s quiet for a moment and you’re stuck stewing in your own self-loathing.

Then, Lily speaks up again, “Uhm, I have one more question, and then I’ll drop the subject.”

You nod, encouraging her to continue.

“Who are you going to take to the formal? Because you told James you had a date, even though you didn’t.”

“Oh, yeah, uhmmm about that…” you say, laughing nervously.

“What rash thing did you do now?” Dorcas asks.

“I may or may not have asked Amos Diggory to be my date to the dance…. And he said yes.”

Marlene laughs loudly, “Oh shit!”

*****

To avoid conflict, you decide that it’s best for you to go to the formal with Amos and his friends rather than string him along with yours. Tension is already high between James and you, and you know Amos’ being there would only make things worse. You try to push it out of your mind, but you can’t help wondering who James is taking to the formal with him. You picture all the prettier, smarter, and better girls he could be going with, and your stomach begins to ache. You are also worried about what people will say in relation to you going with Amos.

Your thoughts start to spiral. Will people hate you? Will James hate you? Is your dress all wrong? Will you be the worst dressed there? The anxieties are endless and there seems to be no relief in sight.

Still, you push through and doll yourself up, masking your true feelings behind layers of hairspray, makeup, and itchy fabric. Your dress is light blue with a silvery sheer fabric over top, like fresh snow on a frozen lake. The top half is form-fitting with silvery straps, and the bottom spreads outward in a loose skirt. You twist back the front strands of your hair with silver clips and adorn your face with light makeup and shimmery eyeshadow. At promptly eight you drag yourself to the common room where Amos sits with his friends and their dates.

You put on a fake smile, “Amos, you look handsome.”

He looks you up and down, “I know. And you look hot.”

What a gentleman.

You say a polite thank you and avoid some of the stares you’re getting from the other girls. You can tell that some are jealous already, yet they maintain outward politeness, which you’re grateful for.

Amos, at least, extends his arm, which you grab, as you walk towards the Great Hall. Your walk is filled with polite conversation about simple things from quidditch, to class, and plans for the holidays. So far, it’s not as bad as you thought, though you wished you would have just gone dateless with your friends.

You cast these regrets aside, however, when you arrive at your destination. To no one’s surprise, the Hogwarts decorating committee has outdone themselves once again. The typical long, wooden tables are gone and in place is a magnificent white dance floor that seems to shimmer like the snow. Warm, golden globes of light hang from the sky and snowflakes fall from above, though never reaching the ground. The room is an explosion of silvers, whites, and blues, and you’re sure you’ve stepped into a winter wonderland.

“This is just-“ Amos begins.

“Wow” you finish, “Like a winter wonderland.”

“And you’re its queen,” he says.

You blush in spite of yourself.

“Compliments won’t get you a kiss so soon,” you tease, “It’s only eight.”

He bites his lip, “fine. But I can only restrain myself from a beautiful girl so long.”

You laugh lightly and swat him on the shoulder. Then, music begins to play.

Amos motions towards the dance floor, “shall we?”

*****

As James adjusts his tie in the mirror, he can’t help but think about what a pathetic loser he is. Although he’d had plenty of girls who he could have gone to the formal with, he continued to wait, assuming there would be someone better coming along. Who that person was, he wasn’t sure. But now, he was alone.

And then there was you. He doesn't know what happened. One second you two were fine, and then suddenly, you blew up. While he knows that he insulted you, he can’t understand why you are so angry. Sirius said not to overthink it, that girls are just complicated, but you are one of his best friends. He knows there is something else going on and it’s left a terrible pit in his stomach.

“Earth to James!”

“Huh?” He awakes from his trance and notices that Peter is waving his hand in front of his face.

“You ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah.”

They head downstairs and meet up with the rest of the group- Pete and his girl from Ravenclaw, Sirius and Remus, Marlene and Dorcas, Mary and Lily, and you-

Not present because he is an ass.

James wonders who you’re going with.

They all cheer loudly, “James, you look great!”

“Thanks, guys, but it’s you all that look great.”

“Hell yeah we do!” Sirius exclaims.

Everyone laughs and begins to file out the portrait hole down to the Great Hall. Despite being the only dateless friend, James’ spirits are lifted by their jokes and ramblings. When they reach the dance, everyone oohs and aahs over the shimmery decorations. Instantly, James cranes his neck, looking for you in the crowd as he walks with the group towards a table off to the left. As they all set their stuff down, the music begins to play and couples rush to the floor. His friends join them, excited to dance.

“James, you coming?” Sirius asks.

He shakes his head, “next song.”

Sirius shrugs and walks off with Remus. James continues to search the crowd, looking for you. He realizes he doesn��t know what you’re wearing- and he supposes he never asked. James wonders if best friends are supposed to do that sort of thing.

Probably.

It hits him, then. With everything that’s been going on lately- being head boy, quidditch captain, and taking ridiculously hard classes, he’d sort of ignored you. It’s no wonder you’re so angry with him.

James feels totally guilty until he sees you. It’s then, he realizes, that he has a reason to be angry too. There you are, after all his moping and worrying, with Amos fucking Diggory. James knows that he hasn’t been the best of friends lately, but Diggory? That was his rival! You were crossing a line.

But what really bothers him the most is the way you’re laughing at something Diggiry said. He is hardly funny, and has the personality of a piece of paper. And why are you leaning so close to him? He’s not even that attractive or charming.

As you swirl across the dance floor, he watches how your hands hold tightly to Diggory’s shoulders, like he’s your anchor. James also notices Diggory’s hands around your waist, far too close to your ass, and his blood boils. No way would he let his rival feel up his friend.

When the song ends, James begins to stalk towards you two, but is pushed backwards by Sirius and Remus.

“Not worth it mate,” Sirius warns.

“But Padfoot, this is unbelievable. She is unbelievable. How could she ever agree to go with him? She knows how much I hate him, and is just trying to get back at me.”

“Mate, it’s this type of thinking that pushed her into his arms,” Remus mumbles.

“What, what do you mean?”

“James, she asked him to the formal after you basically made her feel like shit. Whether she realized it or not, she turned to who she thought would hurt you the most. She wanted you to feel what she was feeling, even a little bit.”

“It’s not her best decision, but ignoring her wasn’t yours either,” Sirius adds.

James rubs his face tiredly, “God, I know.”

Sirius pats his back, “Just… take a few minutes and then come join us. Don’t let it ruin your night.”

“And while you’re sitting here, maybe reflect a little more on why you’re so upset,” Remus adds.

“Rem-” Sirius says with a warning tone.

He puts his hands up defensively, “I didn’t say anything. Let’s go.”

As they walk away James notices their slight bickering. He laughs at them in spite of himself. Secretly, he’s always been a little bit jealous of their relationship. Though they are far from perfect, they’re comfortable with each other in a way that he can only hope for. He thinks the fact that they were friends for five years before they dated helped. There’s this trust and friendship that is so necessary in order to support the love and passion that comes with romance.

As another song ends, James decides not to get up from his seat. He watches Amos and you some more. While his blood is still boiling, there is a twinge of something else.

“Maybe reflect a little more on why you’re upset.”

*****

Surprisingly, you’re having more fun with Amos than you thought you would. While you would never date him, you appreciate his company tonight. He’s been making you laugh all night, so you’re surprised when another song comes on and he suddenly gets serious.

“You know, gorgeous, I’m not one to waste my time on Potter, but he’s been glaring in our direction for the past fifteen minutes.”

“Just ignore him.”

“I would, but it’s kind of hard when he is burning holes into my head.”

You huff apologetically, “God, I’m so sorry. I hope it’s not ruining your night.”

“Eh, I’m used to Potter throwing temper tantrums when he doesn’t get what he wants. He’s clearly just mad he’s not dancing with the most beautiful girl in the room.”

“Pfft, yeah right. He’s just mad that I’m dancing with you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t give a shit.”

“Can I give you my honest opinion?”

You hum in agreement.

“As I’m sure you know, I have a reputation for girlfriend stealing.”

“Yes? And?” You say, confused.

“Well, with stealing girlfriends also comes a lot of angry boyfriends. And Potter over there, he looks exactly like all the angry boyfriends I’ve dealt with, who want to beat the shit out of me.”

“Which makes no sense, because he doesn’t act like a boyfriend whenever we’re together. It’s not fucking fair. He doesn’t want me, but it’s like he doesn’t want anyone else to have me either.”

“Listen to me. I may not know what the fuck is going on with you two, but it’s pretty clear to anyone that you guys both have feelings for each other. So, as your date, I think it's my duty to end ours early. We both achieved our goals- all the girls in the room want me, and Potter can’t take his eyes off of you.”

You release a shaky sigh, “Okay, fine.”

As the song ends he releases you and gives you a wink, “Well, for now, this is goodbye. Since I’m sure you’ll be Potter’s girlfriend by the end of the night, I imagine we are going to be mortal enemies from now on. Or until graduation at least.”

You chuckle a little as you straighten his tie one last time.

“Go get him,” he says.

You stand up on your tip toes and kiss him on the cheek, “Bye Diggory. Next time I speak to you, you better be settled down with a nice girl, at 9 ¾, with your rowdy kids for their first year of school.”

He laughs and you part ways for the night. Before you allow yourself to approach James, you walk outside to the courtyard nearby. You lean up against the railing and look out towards the stars. The cool breeze fills your lungs and is comfortable against your hot skin. It’s silent except for the soft notes of music drifting out from the Great Hall.

“So, you and Diggory huh?”

You jump at James’ voice and turn to him, “Yep, and you and the invisible girl. I thought you were Mr. Hotshot, with plenty of girls lined up as possible dates?”

“And I thought Hufflepuffs were supposed to be loyal.”

You scoff, “It wasn’t personal, James. Just a silly little date to a silly little formal.”

“Bullshit” he yells, “You were mad so you went and found a date that you knew I would hate!”

“God, you are so conceited! Not everything is about you. Maybe I just liked Amos’ company. He’s not all that bad, you know.”

“Oh, so now you’re defending him? Next thing I know there’ll be wedding bells.”

“Maybe there will be. He’s funny, attractive, and actually gives me the time of day!” you retort.

“Just so he can get you into his bed, fuck you, and then ignore you after,” James shouts back.

You stare at each other in silence for a moment.

“I mean, Merlin, is that really what you want? I know it's not my place to give my opinion about who you date or-”

“And that’s the whole problem,” you interrupt.

“What?”

“James, you're my best friend. I want your opinion about these things- even if I don’t always want to hear it. It at least shows you care about me. Lately, it’s like I don’t even exist.”

“I know, I know and I’m sorry. You deserve better. A better friend and…” he steps a little closer, “a better romantic interest?”

You let out a small laugh, “romantic interest?”

“What? If this night has shown me anything, I clearly don’t know what- or who- you’re looking for in romance. And that’s on me. But I want that to change from now on.”

You take a deep breath and step even closer to him. You look up into his hazel eyes, your faces so close your noses are almost touching.

“Well, in the name of change, I guess I have to confess, I do have a romantic interest… in you.”

“And as a part of my duties as your best friend, I believe it my responsibility to tell you that… you should go for it.”

Already so close together, you merely stand on your tip toes and lock lips with James. He kisses back and puts his hands around your waist. For a second, he pulls away.

You look up at him with questioning eyes.

His grip on your waist tightens, “I don’t ever want another man’s hands here ever again. It was driving me crazy tonight, the way Amos was touching you.”

You smirk at him, “Jealous are we?”

He grunts in affirmation and pulls you in again. The kiss lasts a few minutes with you up against the railing. At first it’s fast and passionate. But with time it becomes slower and more sweet. More loving.

Eventually, you slowly pull apart. You look at him softly and ask breathlessly, “So, do you have a date to the formal yet?”

1K notes · View notes

ddiidi · 8 months ago

Text

bf!Bangchan x gn!reader (felix mentioned)

Masterlist

When he calls you clingy, so you distance yourself

Previous Pt. 3

Pt. 4

Next Pt. 5 (last part)

!Warnings: angst, reader is confused about their feelings, Chan gets pushed away (no actual harm done!), fake!texts, swearing (lmk if i missed anything)

Side-Note: *does a happy twerk dance bc I actually came up w something even tho my brain is fried rn* No but rlly, I didn't even want to do a 5th part but I had to find a way on making it work between them and this part turned out to be too long☝🏽😞💔💔💔💔💔💔 now I'm heartbroken... ANYWAY ENJOY

It's been 2 days. 2 days and you already miss him. It's not that he doesn't deserve it, but you really just want to hug him right now.

You've spent the last 2 days, crying in your bed and not a single text message from chan. The other members did message you, but you only want one from him...you know you told him not to message you, but it's his fault in the first place.

You stood up and got out of bed. Maybe unboxing my stuff will get me on other ideas, you thought to yourself and made your way to the living room, taking your time unboxing and placing your items on the furniture you bought weeks before.

Everything went well and your mood brightened up till you got to one specific box. The box, filled with Polaroid pics from your date, loveletters and poetries written by chan for you and more. You just stare at them for a while, but then decide to close the box and take a nice warm bath, maybe then you'll relax for a bit and not think of him.

You went to your bathroom, and turned the bathtub water on, taking off your clothes next. You take some bathing salt and a bath bomb out of your cabinet, throw them in the half filled bathtub and step inside. You've nearly melted at the feeling of the hot, but not too hot water on you skin. Since you're together with chan, you've barely looked after yourself, you nearly forgot how good it felt to just spend you time and have no one else around and suddenly, it wasn't that bad that chan isn't around anymore. You actually felt, relived, so you just close your eyes and relax....

xxxxxx

You must have fallen asleep, because when you open your eyes, the water was cold. You've rubbed your eyes, washed yourself, wrapped your body in a bathrobe and left the bathroom. You yawn out and went straight to your room, when you hear your phone vibrate. Someone is blowing up your phone and in the back of your head, you wished that it's the person, it actually is. Chan.

You throw your phone on your bed and walk over to your wardrobe and bang your head against it. What. The. Actual. Fuck Y/l/n Y/n. Why would you possibly ask HIM, to come into your apartment after you told him you wanted space???

You grab some clothes out of your wardrobe, flinching as you turn around, as someone widely bangs open the door to your bedroom.

"Y/n?! Y/N!" chan screams, excited and runs over to you like an excited puppy, just to stop in his tracks as he remembers that you warned him not to touch you, so he stands still in front of you, with a giant smile on his face.

"Get out of my room. Can't you see i'm changing right now?" you coldly reply to him, fighting your inner demons to not jump right in his arms and hug him. His smile drops and he just blinks at you confused, which nearly breaks your heart. How is it possible that he was so mean to you, but is also so freaking cute which makes it so hard to hate him? "I-I don't understand.. why do I have to go out, it never was a problem to you-" "Do you want me to kick you out of the apartment instead?" you ask, as you walk over to your bed.

"NO, no i'll leave.." Chan lowly responds, walking out of the room. You weren't going to risk him calling you clingy again, for changing while he's in the same room, not happening.

xxxxx

After you've changed into something comfortable, you've asked him to come back inside and sit next to you on your bed, with a good amount of space, which Chan stared at with a questioning look, but didn't comment it any further.

"So? Why are you here?" you started asking, "I mean, why did you come to my apartment. If you came to just apologize, you can go again, because what you said needs more than an apology. Just because you'll feel better after apologising doesn't mean-" "-Doesn't mean that it's actually okay, I know baby.." Chan interrupts you, as he stared down at your arms "Can I...hug you?" "Excuse me?" you ask confused. Since when does he ask if he can hug you..? "I mean, sure I guess" you just say and with that Chan grabs you by you waist with one hand, putting his other hand, securingly on your neck, hugging you. You were about to hug him back, but stop midway.

Why did you just stop? Isn't that what you wanted? He's here now so why don't you hug him? Could it be that you're...scared? Scared that he might think you're actually clingy and annoying? Scared of that he'll push you away if you make a move? Or are you...

"You smell so good...i missed you so much..." chan's words pull you out of your thoughts, as you push him off. He looks at you, confused. Why did you suddenly push him off? "Wh-" "You should go." "Wha- But why.." "Please Chris just go." "Can I at least get a kiss-" "GEEZ CHRIS JUST GO!" you yell. You didn't intentionally yell at him, but you needed some time for yourself to collect your thoughts, and he's only in the way.

"Please...just go" you mumble out, and Chan stares at you for a while, before standing up from the bed. "I'll text you when I'm home" he casually says, with a hint of sadness in his voice. He mumbles out a quick and quiet >>I'm sorry, for everything<< out, and makes his way out of the apartment.

What was wrong with you? You've missed him so much so why would you not hug him back? Why would you ask him to go? And why...why didn't you kiss him?... You've loved to do it before....so why not now?..

What....was wrong with you?

Are you really...

As clingy as he said?

⁺˚*･༓☾✧༺🖤༻✧✧༺🖤༻✧✧༺🖤༻✧☽༓･*˚⁺

@stay-tiny-things @finnbbl @emilyywhyy @wolfs-howling @justastraymoa @loveyouamory @muraae @callmekdab @seungquokka @vive-la-v-i-d-a @sunghoonnolgy

#bang chan #stray kids #skz imagines #stray kids fake texts #christopher bang #bang chan angst #bang chan x reader #bang chan stray kids #bang chan fake texts #lee felix

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lilacqiqis · 1 year ago

Text

"Darling"

naruto, kakashi, obito(non massacre), hinata, itachi(non massacre), sasuke, sai

Scenario: getting casually called darling by their crush

A/N: pls send in Naruto reqs I'm starving to write stuff, also finally decided to give characters specific emojis LMAO last post i made i randomly gave them emojis 😭 Writing this at 3 AM sorry if it's ass -mod Lilac

TW: none, GN!reader

more under the cut

🌱 Naruto isn't used to romantic affection from people, let alone his crush, so his reaction when you call him "darling" is a huge gaping mouth and stuttering as he tries to process what you said

🌱 "W-wait!! Whuh?! Huhhh?!! Whaddja call me?!"

🌱 Whether it's a joke or not he has a dorky smile after as he laughs, the pet name making him feel warm inside. He probably will try and call you a pet name back afterwards, hoping you'll like it just as much as he did.

🌱 Goes to brag to all his friends the next day. "Hey hey! Guess what?! S/O called me DARLING!!" Nobody really cares too much honestly, they think he's overreacting or even lying.

🌾 A stoic man he is, that Kakashi. Not much can get him flustered, besides reading Icha Icha of course.

🌾 He usually can keep his feelings hidden away from his crush, treating you like any of his other friends, but when you call him darling? Lucky that he's wearing a mask because you'd be able to see the huge blush forming on his face.

🌾 He'd try not to react too much, his eye slightly widening and body tensing up when the word hits him. It felt so... Natural? The pet name came off your tongue so nicely that Kakashi can't help but want to hear it more.

🌾 Wouldn't comment on it, but may bring it up in the future to tease you. Perhaps to get back at them he'll also call you a romantic pet name... Nah, he's too nervous to do that, if he was that bold he'd go and just confess already!

🌺 Like Naruto, Obito is flabbergasted. He's liked you for gods who knows how long and you can just casually call him that while he becomes a mess just hugging you?

🌺 His head whips towards you so quickly as he stares at you with wide eyes. How is he supposed to react to this?! Does this mean you like him...? Did you even mean this romantically in the first place? Do you call other people that too?!

🌺 His mind is running and he just kinda... Stares at you in awe. Don't let him down by telling him it was just a joke when he questions you later, he'll be devastated.

🌺 Obito will try and be confident, calling you an affectionate pet name as well but all that comes out is stuttering.

🌺 "Heheh... I think so too, s... S-sweet... Sw-sweethEART OKIMGOINGTOGONOWBYES/O"

🌻 Goes absolutely red. Hinata already gets embarrassed by little gestures so something like getting called darling is sure to make her pass out!

🌻 Did you really mean that? She hopes so! That small name made her day, and she won't ever forget about it<3

🌻 Of course, she's still too shy to admit her feelings to you. If that was your way of confessing you'd be dumb to not see that she obviously likes you too... You'd probably be dumb to not notice her behavior before, after all Hinata isn't very good at hiding her feelings towards you.

🌻 She wouldn't realize it's a confession of your attraction if that was your motive, so please be more blunt with her.

🌙 If you think he wouldn't remember, he will. Itachi is a romantic individual, though not as much before a relationship. He takes note of everything S/O says, and will try to hint towards his feelings through small actions and words.

🌙 Absolutely loves it. Itachi will think about the pet name, wondering if you'd mind if he called you that as well. Maybe you'd get embarrassed that you're getting a taste of your own medicine? It's not the humiliation part Itachi would enjoy, but he'd love to see your flustered face.

🌙 Doesn't make a huge fuss when you call him darling, probably doesn't even say anything about it, but has a small smile while thinking about it.

🌙 Will begin to also call you pet names!! It depends on how close you are, but if you two are good friends he'll return your affection. You two probably end up having a lot of romantic tension while everybody suffers watching wondering if one of you two will finally confess or not...

🪻 Sasuke loves hates it. Do NOT call him that cheesy warm and gooey shit, he will scoff at you then turn his head away. jk he just has an ego to protect

🪻 Hates how it makes him feel. That disgusting ticklish feeling he gets in his stomach and the heat in his face makes him feel weak and vulnerable, so stop that. This is just as bad as a genjutsu and he doesn't like it one bit!

🪻 In reality though, Sasuke adores being called darling. He's just... Really bad at dealing with affection you know? He doesn't know how to react and the feeling of love is so foreign to him, so his only way of reacting is acting like he hates it in hopes of ridding his feelings. (Spoiler alert:it doesn't help one bit.)

🪻 You can catch him with a soft blush and tiny smirk on his face if you can catch a glance before he turns his head. Quit being such a loser and just accept it, Sasuke!

🪶 This was mentioned in his book, so Sai should act accordingly, right? He'll begin to also call you pet names, and he probably already did before you due to the fact he read a book saying he should...

🪶 Doesn't quite understand the meaning behind the sweet names but he's trying his best

🪶 It makes him happy though, being able to connect with you... Someone he enjoys being around so much, someone who he feels he has a "special" bond with.

🪶It creeps into your twos friendship, and before you know it you two are acting like a married couple with all your affectionate behavior.

#mod.lilac.writes #naruto x reader #kakashi x reader #obito x reader #hinata x reader #hinata hyuga x reader #itachi x reader #itachi uchiha x reader #sasuke x reader #sai x reader #naruto headcanons

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moondustbaby · 12 days ago

Text

Somewhere Between the Pines

Bsf!Rafe Cameron x Bsf!Reader

Summary: On a family camping trip filled with summer sun and old traditions, You and your best friend Rafe fall into your usual rhythm—shared snacks, shared hoodies, and a tent that suddenly feels too small for all the feelings between them. What used to be normal starts to blur into something more, and neither of them seems ready to pull away.

⸻

There’s something about camping with both our families that always makes me feel twelve again—probably because nothing ever really changes. Same lakeside spot, same plastic tubs of snacks, same old tents that smell like dirt and sunscreen.

And same Rafe, stealing my food and acting like he doesn’t do it on purpose.

“Seriously?” I look over just in time to catch him grabbing a marshmallow off my stick.

He shrugs, popping it into his mouth without shame. “You burned it.”

“I like them burned.”

“Exactly,” he says around a mouthful of sugar. “I’m helping.”

I roll my eyes, but when he starts tugging absently on the edge of the hoodie I’m wearing—his hoodie, which he handed me earlier when I got cold—I don’t stop him. He always does stuff like that. Little things. Like brushing my hair out of my face, or fiddling with the drawstrings when I wear his sweatshirts, or tracing circles on the inside of my wrist when we’re sitting close like this.

Sometimes I wonder if he even realizes he does it.

Sometimes I wonder if he knows I notice.

Later, we walk back from the lake, damp towels slung over our shoulders, my bikini top still clinging to me beneath his hoodie. The sun’s dipping low and the sand’s still warm beneath our feet, and when I start to veer off toward the campsite path, he hooks his pinky through the belt loop of my denim shorts.

I glance at him. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t get lost,” he says casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m not a damn toddler, Rafe.”

He grins. “You’re small. You might wander off.”

I elbow him, but I don’t pull away.

As night falls, the campsite gets louder again—music playing off someone’s speaker, our parents dancing like it’s a wedding, kids running around with flashlights like they’re on some great forest adventure. I settle into the bench near the fire, legs curled beside me, and Rafe takes the spot next to me like he always does.

He doesn’t say anything, just puts his hand on my thigh like it belongs there. It’s not weird—not to us. But when one of the older guys from the group walks by and gives a look, I feel Rafe’s hand flex just slightly against my skin.

Possessive. Protective.

And for a second, I don’t breathe.

“You okay?” I murmur, low enough for only him to hear.

He doesn’t even look at me. “Yeah. Just… tired of people looking at you like you’re not already mine.”

My heart stumbles. “Rafe—”

He leans in, brushing the ends of my hair behind my ear like he’s smoothing away the silence. “Come on, let’s claim our tent before my dad makes me share with my uncle again.”

I laugh, but my stomach flips.

We’ve always shared a tent—always. Since we were kids. Two sleeping bags zipped together, his socks tossed in a corner, my flashlight and book near the side pocket. But this year, as we unzip the flap and climb inside, it doesn’t feel quite the same.

He tosses me a hoodie. “In case it gets cold.”

“I’m wearing your hoodie already.”

He shrugs. “I know. Just take it.”

I do.

We settle in side by side, the zipper half open to let in the breeze, the hum of the forest filling the space between us. He’s on his back, arms behind his head, staring up like he can see the stars through the nylon.

“You ever think about how weird it is that we’ve done this every year?” I ask quietly.

He turns his head to look at me. “No. I think it’d be weird if we didn’t.”

I smile, heart thudding too loud in my chest. “It’s different now.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “But it’s a good different.”

And when I close my eyes, I feel him reach over, his fingers brushing against mine beneath the sleeping bag, warm and sure and steady.

He doesn’t say anything else.

He doesn’t have to.

A/N: cute little camping blurb i have so many ideas so expect some more postings soon 😊 Also thank you so much for all the love on my other posts!! ♥️

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draculasfavoritewife · 1 month ago

Text

Distracted

Summary: When Frank calls you during a mission after an extended period of radio silence, what could possibly make him break his own no-contact rule?

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader

Warnings: Some language; this is practically just phone sex in every way except for me explicitly stating so ;)

I think I just need to accept at this point that my Frank fics will always get away from me in the end. This one started on the 🤭 side of the scale and by the time I reached the end it had somehow reached unprecedented levels of 🥵. In any case, I love the idea of normally taciturn Frank missing talking to reader and just calling her up out of the blue to tell her that. And then I guess everything just devolved from there, as it so often does.

When you answered your phone, your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to escape from your body right through your chest wall.

He never called.

Had something gone so horribly wrong that he needed to say goodbye?

"Frank?!"

"Hey there, pretty girl." His voice sounded bone-tired, but warm with affection, and your panic started to subside. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," you had murmured. "You just know how I worry."

"I do." The rough laugh on the other side of the line turns your insides into a melting mess. "Just needed to hear my girl's voice for a minute. Long day."

You lie back on the bed again, letting out a quiet breath of relief.

"I miss you, tough guy."

He hums wordlessly in acknowledgement, and you can imagine him settling back against a wall somewhere, finally letting his overexerted body relax.

"Tell me what you're wearing?"

He sounds softer now, almost a little hesitant. "I wanna picture what you look like right now."

Heat rushes to your face. "Nothing special. Just one of your shirts I uh...'borrowed'. I hope that's okay."

There's silence for a moment on the other end, then a sharp hissing sound that you imagine must be him sucking in a breath between his teeth.

"Shit, baby, lookin' like that without me there to see it? You know how I feel about you wearin' my stuff. Goddammit."

You smile and stroke the threadbare fabric between your fingers. "I know, Frank, I'm sorry. But it smells like you, and I missed you so bad today. It helps me sleep at night when you're not here with me."

He chuckles softly, a deep rumbling that you feel all the way in the pit of your chest even through the phone's less-than-ideal sound quality. "Alright, alright. Which one?"

"Black. Slightly thicker fabric, buttoned collar." You tap the worn-smooth buttons with your fingertips as you say the words, an unconscious fidgeting habit.

"That old one with the holes in the sleeves?" He's way too good at this, guessed exactly which piece you would've taken refuge in during his absence.

"Damn, Frank," you breathe out, shocked at his accuracy. "How'd you tell?" He does own at least four different shirts that match the brief description you'd given.

You hear him grunt, probably a blend of approval and the soreness that comes from doing god-knows-what for the past few days. "You like that one. Only reason it's still in the closet, to tell the truth. Would've thrown it out a long time ago otherwise."

A flood of memories rushes through your mind: cuddling up to him, in bed, on the couch, his hands in your hair and his lips brushing your forehead, warm and safe in the folds of this very same shirt. "I'm really glad you kept it, then."

"I am too." A long sigh, and the rustling sounds of his large body shifting position. "Your hair up or down?"

The warmth rapidly returns to your face. Is what you think is happening actually happening?

You wouldn't have guessed Frank was an over-the-phone kind of guy, he prefers to be hands-on in every aspect of his life, but the two of you had spent so much time together lately, maybe the separation is getting to him, too.

"It's down. I took a shower earlier and wanted to let it air dry for a bit." Your voice comes out soft, vulnerable as you answer him and lean further into the pillows behind you.

"Mmm. You know if I was there I'd help you get all the tangles out, yeah?"

You shiver at the thought of his big hands in your hair, those long, dexterous fingers patiently combing their way through, their passage sometimes halting where your comb had missed a spot. "You say that now, Castle, but how do I know you wouldn't be putting more tangles in?"

His taken-off-guard laugh rasps in your ear. "Hey now, you watch that pretty mouth of yours. Don't taunt me like that." A brief moment of consideration, a heavy pause as he imagines you on top of him, that damn shirt swallowing your figure and your teasing face looking down into his. "Maybe I would."

"Thought so." You stick the fingers of your free hand through the aforementioned holes in his shirt. "I hate this bed, Frankie."

"Yeah? Why's that? Don't be a smartass now, I practically built that bed for you."

"It's too big and empty without you." You channel all of the sad, bratty tone you can possibly muster into that simple sentence.

"Christ."

You're not quite sure if the strain you hear running beneath his voice comes from exhaustion or something else you're starting. "My girl's lonely there all by herself, huh?"

"Yeah. I need you to come back, Frank."

"Shit, I know, Sweetheart. I know. I need you, too." His breath hitches, barely noticeable but you know him, and you catch it.

"You lonely without me too, tough guy?"

He hums, a non-answer, deliberately drawing the conversation out. "Look, I like bashing faces in as much as the next guy, but the people I'm after are a little bit lacking in the affection department."

You put the phone down, switching it to speaker mode and settling into a better position. "So you're touch-starved, is what I'm hearing."

You know he must be scowling and shaking his head at the accusation on the other end of the line. "Nah, I wouldn't say that, exactly --"

"Well I am." Your admission comes out as little more than a breathy sigh. "Do you have any idea how hard that is?"

He only snorts at that, and you feel gratified that the implication landed.

"I can't even watch TV at night without wishing your hand was here resting on my thigh like usual," you tell him wistfully.

A long, huffed-out exhale precedes his next words, and you grin wickedly at the sound. "Yeah, Sweetheart. I miss how you count all my scars when we're just lyin' in bed and neither of us can sleep."

"You got any new ones for me?"

The unsteadiness is completely impossible to keep out of your own voice now as you close your eyes, remembering how it feels when his hands are the ones touching you instead.

"Probably." A sharp intake of air interrupts him for a brief moment. "Not gonna tell you where, though. I'll let you find 'em all on your own when I get back."

Your entire body shudders violently at such an invitation. "I will, Frankie. I'll find all of your new scars, I promise. I'll kiss 'em for you, too -- maybe even bite 'em, if they're in good places."

"Shit."

There's a sudden vacuum left in the air between you after his sharply spat expletive, only the uneven rhythm of two people dozens of miles apart trying to catch their breath breaking the delicate silence. You pick your phone up again and bring it close to your face so you can hear his breathing right in your ear; if you keep your eyes shut, you can almost imagine he's right there in the bed with you.

"You're dangerous, you know that," he mutters after a bit. "Got me all distracted out here like some asshole amateur."

"Hey, you called me," you point out, warmth pouring into your contrary words. "I know you're not completely naive, Castle."

"Ah, get off my ass. Was a momentary lapse in judgement, s'all. Happens to the best of us."

"Mmhmm." You trace a small heart on the blanket next to the phone. "Right. Well, you better get back here soon then, and avoid any more mistakes like this, huh?"

"I will." His promise is gentle, but steel-hard with sheer conviction underneath.

"Won't be long, baby girl. Can't wait to have you with me for real again."

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justmeinadaze · 4 months ago

Note

Hi lovely!! I want to start off by saying how TALENTED YOU ARE, genuinely you are my favourite writer on this platform for Eddie and Steve LOL

I was hoping we could get some more of pornstar! steddie as it is my literal favourite ( Maybe something where the reader is innocent and hasn't had much or any sex and asks them to teach her stuff or something? ) I don't know, if you feel up to writing it you can add anything you want!!

Again, absolutely adore you and your writing, and I hope you are having a wonderful day!!

xo Cherry 💫

A/N: I changed this a bit. I hope that's ok. I didn't want it to be too close or similar to Corroded Corpses "Boys On Film" (Check it out! Its amazing!)

Thank you for your compliments <3. I love you!

Warnings: Pornstar Steddie/ Plus Size Fem Y/N, established relationship, best friends to lovers, SMUT (dirty talk, 'teaching', facesitting, 69, pretty lady on top). FLUFF. Mentions of reader never having been on top because of her size (brief), she does have some reservations but they squash that.

Word Count: 2786

Steddie Asks/ Donate to Me

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hang on a minute, little lady.”, Eddie practically shouts as you roll your eyes and Steve laughs through his teeth. “You’re telling me that you’ve never ridden a guy before?”

“Ok, this was a mistake. Let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything and keep watching your dirty movie alright?”, you sigh completely flushed with embarrassment.

The three of you had been best friends for so many years and you were never once shy around each other. You had seen them naked and vice versa, openly told the other about any sexual experiences you had or were currently having, and they even opened up to you about signing up to be in a porn film, bringing it over a few months later to show you the finish product.

But when it came to other aspects of your relationships, you kept things to yourself especially after they beat up one of your ex’s for calling you a “fat slut” when you two got into a fight.

“No, no. Please, go on. I’d love to hear more because I don’t understand why any man wouldn’t want to watch you bouncing around on top of them.” Again, you tried to shy away but Steve grabbed your hands and moved them away from your face. “Come on, honey. I’m serious. No teasing.”

“I mean…look at her…”, you smile hoping your tone sounds playful as you gesture towards the screen. “I mean…”

“Yeah. That’s a person…Wait…are you an alien?!”

“Stop it, Ed. Yeah, Y/N. We see her…I don’t see a difference though.”

“Really, Steven? You don’t see ANY difference?”, you sass as you get to your feet and place yourself by the tv screen. “NOTHING at all?”

“Are you trying to tell me the reason you’ve never been on top is because you’re curvy?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it, Eddie, but let’s be blunt here. I’m a fat girl. I’m too heavy and add in the fact that no one wants to see my…everything…jiggle.”

“Speak for yourself.”, he mumbles under his breath.

“Did someone tell you this or is this you?”, Steve asks a bit more forcefully than he meant to. “Because we’ll fucking kill anyone that fucking lied to you like that. If it’s you then we can just spank it out of you.”

Both men smile when you giggle.

“Do you know how? To ride a dick, I mean.”

Your eyes narrow Eddie’s way as he nonchalantly places the beer bottle in his hand on the table beside his bed.

“I mean…there’s not much to it…I imagine. Why? Wanna teach me, porn star?”

“We can if you want us to.”

Your gaze shifts between theirs waiting for the punch line followed by their infectious laughs that make you feel warm inside and out. But it never comes as they continue to stare at you with their wide, expressive eyes waiting on you to decide.

“Why?”

“It’s not like we’re making love or anything. We’re just…teaching…It will be like how we were on set except there’s no camera.”

“We know we’re not your type anyway.”, Steve jests as he reaches out to lightly hit your knee.

“Who says?” That grabs their attention as their heads fully snap in your direction. “I mean, we’ve never really talked about it but I always thought I wasn’t your type. Personally, I think you’re both sweet, funny, attractive…I guess.”

They laugh gently at your joke as you smile their way.

“Ok!”, Eddie claps his hands loudly together as he bounces off the mattress. “Harrington, you lay on the floor here and Y/N, go ahead and take off everything from the waist down.”

Your eyes widen in amusement as you watch Steve slide off the bed with zero hesitation as he does what his friend suggestions and removes his shirt before tossing it to the side.

“Are you…are you sure? I don’t…”

“Hey.”, the metalhead coos in a much softer voice as he takes you hand and guides you onto your feet. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just say the word. We’ll still love you.”

“You promise? I don’t…I can’t lose you two.”

With a tender smile, Eddie cups your face in his hands and brings his lips to your own for a tender kiss.

“We’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. Cross my heart.”

“And hope to die.”, Steve adds as his fingers comfortingly caress your thigh.

“Well, let’s not go that far.”, you tease, trying to keep the mood light as you remove your shorts and panties. “Now what, Mr. Munson.”

“Oooo I like that.”, he jokes as he guides you to your knees, watching as the other man falls flat on his back and runs his fingers through his hair to push it way from his face. “Ok, now, whenever you’re ready, I want you to place both knees on either side of his head and—”

“You want me to sit on his face?” Eddie’s grin grows as he nods. “I’ve…I’ve never done that either—”

“I figured.”

Smirking, you lightly punch his chest causing both boys to chuckle before suddenly feeling soft kisses trailing up your thigh as Steve sits up on one of his elbows.

“It’s ok, honey, trust me. I can handle it and if something’s not right I’ll tap your leg three times.”

His beautiful amber eyes watch you carefully as you exhale, allowing you all the time you need before you gradually crane your neck to kiss his lips.

“Good girl. Come on.”, the former jock praises as you allow them to maneuver you till your lower half was hovering just above him with your hands balancing on his chest and his cling to your thighs.

“Can, um, can I have a bit more vulnerability?” Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion at your question till you gesture with your head at what you want, laughing as he leans over to unbutton Steve’s jeans to pull them down his ankles.

“Ay! Be careful down there. I’m not a rag doll.”

You smile as he scolds the metalhead but you can’t help it when a shaky breath leaves you as his admittedly large cock tries to push through the hole in his boxers.

“Is she turning you on, bud?”

“Fuck off, Munson. It’s just… Y/N, your pussy smells good.” Lifting his head, he presses his nose between your folds and your eyes roll back as his wide tongue follows.

“God, you look so fucking sexy, sweetheart. N-Now, go ahead and roll your hips a-against his tongue. You can use his chest for balance if you need to.”

Doing as he instructed, you rolled your hips forward, whimpering when he grazed your clit down to your entrance, just barely dipping in before pulling back. You tried again with a bit more confidence causing Steve to groan underneath you as his mouth closed around your little bud.

“D-Did…did I hurt you?”

When he shook his head, he let go of your bundle of nerves with an obscene slurping pop that had your pussy clenching around nothing.

“No, baby. Fuck, you taste like heaven. You can push down harder if you need to. I’m ok.”

Baby

They’d never called you that before. Hearing it now drove you crazy as your nails dug into his chest and grinded your body against him.

“Atta girl. You like that? You like hearing him compliment you like that?”, Eddie murmured as he pressed his nose into your cheek and left feathery light kisses along your skin.

One of Steve’s palms released you and you both watched as he dug into his boxers to free his cock, collecting the copious amount of precum leaking from the tip to use as he stroked himself looking for a much-needed release.

“O-Ok, fuck, now, I want you to bounce on his tongue, babe. Use your knees to lift yourself up a-and come back down till you feel him deep in that tight little pussy.”

You tried to do what he commanded but there was some self-conscious part of your brain that was terrified of hurting the boy beneath you. Eddie noticed your trepidation, hastily gripping your jaw and turning your eyes to meet his.

“Don’t. Don’t think about your size or what those other fuckers told you. He said he’d tell you if he needed to stop. Do you not trust him?”

“N-No, I do. I do.”

“Then why are you hesitating?”

“I’m sorry.”, you pant as you push yourself up straighter and utilize your knees to do what he instructed. As your body came back down, Steve’s thick, large tongue filled you so completely that you felt like you wanted to cry from pleasure. “Fuck, Steve. N-No one’s ever…been this deep…”

“You haven’t had me yet, sweetheart. Now, make yourself cum.”

After licking his fingers, Eddie reached between you and matched your rhythm as he messaged your clit. You were suddenly overwhelmed with euphoria as the coil snapped and Steve arms quickly wrapped around your middle, holding you in place as you rode out your high.

“Good…good girl. Let him lick you clean, pretty girl.”

Your body twitched as you fell against him, his tongue still devouring you but now at a much slower pace. Your heavy eyes glanced towards his length that was now firey red and you couldn’t stop yourself when you carefully circled your fingers around him.

“Ah, fuck.”, he whined at the sensitivity, seemingly on the edge of a release. Raising your head, you spit over his tip causing his head to hit the floor with a little thunk as he absorbed the feeling of your palm stroking his length. “Fuck, her hand feels good. Her pussy t-tastes amazing, Ed. It’s everything we…”

You couldn’t hear what he mumbled to Eddie as your lips fully enveloped him and all you good manage to absorb was the throbbing of his length on your own tongue. Steve’s fingers tangled in your hair as his hips thrust upwards and you allowed him to use your throat as he chased his high.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck…fuck! M’gonna cum.”

His seed spurted its warmth as he grunted in pleasure above you. After swallowing everything he had to give, you kissed his tip and he lazily man-handled you around till your face was level with his so he could passionately kiss your lips.

“Are you ready for your second lesson, Y/N?”

At the sound of his strained tone, your gaze shifted towards Eddie who had his cock in his hand that now look just as red and angry as Steve’s had.

“Yes, Mr. Munson. I’m ready.”

Smirking at your answer, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms and climbed back on to his mattress with you on top of him straddling his waist. As he reached for the pack of condoms on his bed side table, your hand extended out to stop him.

“I’m, um, I’m on the pill. I mean if you want to.”

Blinking, you noticed his confident demeanor faulter slightly.

“Are you sure? With everything we do…on set and…”

“Are you safe?”

“Yeah, yeah, princess, I’m clean. I…we just understand that…you may have a viewpoint of us…”

Placing your palms under his ears, you softly kiss his lips as your thumbs caress his cheeks.

“Did someone tell you this or is this you?”, you echo their words from earlier. “Because I’ll kick anyone’s ass who—”

“Yeah, yeah, ya dork.”, he jests as he playfully smacks your behind. “Ok, I’ve, um, I’ve never done it raw so…if your pussy is as good as Steve says it is…I may ruin this particular lesson by busting too soon.”

Giggling at his now nervous demeanor, you lift off your shirt and toss it towards the other boy who catches it midair before throwing it on the floor near your pants so he can climb in beside you both.

“I like this bra. It’s cute.”, Steve compliments as his fingers trace the black lace while Eddie’s own hands rub up and down your sides.

“Whenever you’re ready, baby, just slide down onto my dick. Take your time, there’s no rush.”

Nodding, Eddie holds his shaft as your entrance hovers just above him. Just the warmth alone that’s radiating from your cunt has his cock twitching before you slowly begin to descend onto him.

“Shit.”

“What? Did I do s-something? Am I—”

His ringed hand clasps over your mouth as his other keeps you in place.

“No. You’re not too heavy. Stop thinking about all that bullshit. Fuck, I really am going to fucking cum before she even moves.”

Steve grins at the man’s words as he winks at you reassuringly. Knowing that he’s alright, you continue to lower your body, taking him in inch by inch till you feel him fully sheathed inside you.

“Eddie.”

“How does it feel, baby?”

“So…deep. Feels different…better…”

“Go—Go ahead and roll your hips.” You do as he says, repeating your movements you had done with the other boy causing an electricity to shoot through you as his cock grazes something inside you that you weren’t even sure was there.

“Oh my god.”

“There’s the spot.”, he whispered. “Take over, Y/N. Balance on my chest and hit that spot, baby girl. Fuck, your pussy is squeezing me so tight.”

While you ride his length, you don’t notice the way your tummy jiggles or that from his angle you may not look flattering. All you can focus on is him and how he feels inside you. With every press of that button, you whimper and mewl his name causing you to clench tighter to him as he groans at the sound of you moaning. When you’re finally able to open your eyes to look at him, you notice his chocolate ones are zeroed in on where you two connected as his hands absently guide your movements on your waist.

Occasionally, his gaze shifts to your breasts as he licks his lips at the sight and desperate to please him, you reach behind you to undo the clasp, throwing it to the ground. Leaning up towards your chest, Eddie wraps his mouth around one of your nipples and your fingers thread through his hair as you grind your hips against his.

“So fucking beautiful. Cum for me, baby.”

Pushing at his chest, you chase your high and he bites his bottom lip at the sight as you finally truly take over. Your body shudders as your rhythm stutters and your pussy quivers as you come undone. It’s more than Eddie can handle and his grip becomes almost bruising as he guides your sloppy movements till you feel him empty deep inside you.

“F-Fuck…oh, careful, pretty girl.”, he coos as you wince when you try to lift your body off his. “Can, um, is it ok if I hold you like this?”

Smiling, you nod as lay your head under his chin and he circles his arms around you so he can play with your hair.

“In a minute we can take a shower and get you clean.”, he whispered as they both listened to you steadily breathe.

“Am I your type?” Confusion paints both their features and you push up on your knees so you could see them both. “You said you weren’t my type but I said that you were. Am I yours?”

Their gaze shifts to each other before Steve chuckles under his breath.

“You didn’t hear what I said, did you? I said that your pussy was everything we ever talked about it being. That’s not all we talk about though. You’re kind and strong—”

“Sarcastic as fuck.”, Eddie cuts in making you laugh.

“You’re so gorgeous, honey. When we were shooting our scenes we, uh, we pretended she was you.”

Both men sit up with the metalhead holding your body to keep you against him.

“If you want this to be a onetime thing we understand but if not…”

“We’d like to take you on a date.”

“Maybe give you some more lessons.”

“Hey now. I’m sure I can teach you both a thing or two.”, you giggle as they beam up at you with nothing but care. “Ok, as long as you can promise me that no matter what I won’t lose you. You’ve been my best friends for so long and I love you so much.”

Placing his hand on the back of your neck, Eddie guides your lips to his.

“What did I say, babe? We’ll always be here, no matter what. Cross my heart.”, he grins as he does the gesture over his chest and Steve follows, finishing it by grabbing your cheeks in both his massive palms to kiss you.

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revelboo · 4 months ago

Note

laying my coveted collection of three (3) muppet dvds down at your feet/general offering table. my soul for some bluestreak, if you wanna. if not then enjoy the muppets- but! i never knew they did cover songs for stuff like "got my mind set on you" by george harrison and kokomo until recently!! or that bluestreak brought "the muppets take manhattan" with him onto the lost light!! idk i really like the mental image of this giant sci-fi robot next to kermit the frog, not doing anything in specific or whatever, just... vibing. if some cybertronians think humans are like weird protoforms, i cant help but wonder what they think of muppets, ykwim??? either way, have a happy new year!!

Blue needs some love and he’s such a goober sometimes. I can see him absently humming Rainbow Connection

Where I Belong Pt 10

Bluestreak x Reader

• Carrying you back to his quarters, he absently rubs a servo against you and warms when you hook an arm around it to hug him. “Sorry about worrying you. I didn’t want to bother Ratchet and it wasn’t really that bad. I’ve seen worse and-” Trailing off when you look up at him. Because he knows he’s rambling, but you don’t huff at him. Don’t tell him to shut up. You never do and every time you don’t his spark aches with it. With all the things he wants to say, but doesn’t dare. “Sorry.”

• When he smiles that self-depreciating smile, that sense of a lost boy lifts through you again. He’s older than you, much older, but still it’s there in the fear you see in his optics sometimes. An unsettled feeling you don’t know how to deal with, but that makes you think the smiles and chatter on the surface are all for show. That he’s still reaching for you like he had that first time, desperate and afraid. “Don’t apologize. Just take care of yourself. I like having you around.”

• Do you? No one else does and his servos flex around you as he lets himself into his quarters and sits on the side of his berth with you. Reluctant to give up your warmth. Feels bad about clinging to you like he does, but can’t make himself stop. Optics shuttering as he braces for the rejection, he mass shifts. Hears you yelp as you end up in his lap and he wraps his arms around you, chin on top of your head. “I like having you around, too.”

• Heart racing, you shudder and try to shake off that awful feeling of falling. Not even sure why you’re surprised by anything at this point when you live with a giant alien robot. Shrinking? Sure. Why not? “Warn me before you do that next time.” Or you might get sick on him. Distracted when he so gently curls his fingers around your wrist and pulls it to him. Watching him line up his palm with yours and even smaller, his hand dwarfs yours.

• “Sorry.” You’ve always been so small and fragile to him, but putting himself closer to your size really drives it home. Your hand so tiny in his. “I just wanted to hold you. And I can’t normally because you’re so small and you’re still small. I feel like you’re going to break,” he murmurs, embarrassed. You’re always touching his servos, hugging them, trying to comfort him. He wanted to return it, but still can’t. Like he can’t begin to explain how much he loves you for being with him. For not abandoning him when he’d needed you. For keeping him from being so alone.

• “I’m not made of glass.” Shifting more to sit across his lap, you reach back and find his other arm and pull it around you. Encouraging him to hold you like he’d wanted and you lay your head against him, seeing his door wings lift from the corner of your eye. “See?” You can hear his internal systems and the thrum of his spark as he cautiously rests his hand on your hip. “This is okay.” Breath catching as his head dips and his cheek brushes yours. That hand still curled around yours tugging so he can brush his mouth against the inside of your wrist, his optics still shuttered. That gentle touch spreading warm through you.

#transformers x reader #bluestreak x reader #idw bluestreak

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introvertedelf · 4 months ago

Text

Chrollo Lucilfer NSFW Alphabet 🕷️

Minors DNI

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Chrollo is such a gentleman, honestly. He’d get a warm wet rag and clean between your legs, apologizing when he bumps your sensitive clit. He def cuddles with you, too. He might even run a bath for you both to take together.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His fav part of his body is ofc his chest/abs.

His favorite part on your body is your ass/thighs. I will die on the hill that Chrollo loves it if you’re on the chubbier side, loving the way your thick thighs and ass feel when he’s pounding into you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He wants to cum inside of you. Period. He doesn’t want to make a mess, and he loves the idea of marking you like that. He’d also stuff his cum back inside of you.

Btw he’s going to try to get you to squirt by fingering the hell out of your g-spot with those thick, long fingers of his 🤤

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He literally wants to nurse on your tits. When he cuddles you, he wants to suck your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it until you can’t take it anymore. “Maybe some milk will come out of these soon for me, hmm?”

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s had a few one night stands, but it’s not like he has them all the time. He’s experience enough without being a total man whore lol. He’s read a fair share of erotica books and def has picked up some techniques.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He can’t decide between doggy style so he can slap your ass and watch it bounce and missionary with your legs on his shoulders so he can fuck you deeper.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Chrollo is super serious. He takes love making with you very seriously.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He trims it when it gets too long. Carpet matches the drapes. With you, he doesn’t care. You can have a full bush, a landing strip, or be completely bare. You won’t hear him complain either way.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s super romantic and likes to take things slow. He might start off giving you a massage before even initiating sex.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He would do it a couple times a week before meeting you as a way to release stress. But he never does it now, why would he? Not when he has your warm pussy to fuck.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dacryphilia (he gets turned on when you cry. Not when you’re sad but when he’s fucking you so good you start crying), bondage, orgasm control, choking (nothing too serious), spanking, dumbification, praise (giving and receiving), breeding. So many more. The only things he’s really opposed to is piss and shit lmao.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In bed or in the shower. Usually just in bed tho.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Literally anything and everything you do turns him on. He really gets excited when you come out of the shower in just a towel. Or when you’re acting all cute and innocent.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Like I said earlier, piss and shit kinks. He also doesn’t want to severely hurt you. No cutting you or anything that could really cause damage.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh he 100% prefers giving. He will eat you out all night until you’re begging him to stop because your poor clit is too sensitive. And Jesus, he’s so good at it. He’s not opposed to a blowjob, but he’d rather just fuck you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Starts out slow and sensual, then starts pounding into you like an animal. You’ve had to tell him he’s fucking you too hard before…

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s not totally in favor of them, but if you ask he’ll not hesitate to satisfy you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s not one for risk taking really, he likes to carefully plan and be safe about things. But tbh in the beginning before you were on birth control he would fill you absentmindedly.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last all night, thanks to his top tier physique. You’ll tire out before he will.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He owns tons of toys—for you. Dildos, vibrators, clamps, whips, everything. He loves to tie you up sometimes and put a vibe on your clit, making you have screaming back to back orgasms.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Chrollo is a big tease sometimes. He’ll at times when he’s busy make you ride his thigh instead, telling you “you either cum from that or not at all, darling.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He grunts, moans, growls, and yes, he’ll whimper. It’s rare, but it’s so fucking hot when he does it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes when you act like a brat so he can punish you. He’s so mean when he wants to be, and he enjoys putting you over his knee.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Oh baby boy is hung. 8”, straight, pretty cock, veins on it, a perfect slightly pink tip. 🫣

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Higher than you’d think. He’s pushed it away for so long, focusing on his duties, but with you? He’ll fuck you every night.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He waits for you to fall asleep always, not wanting something to happen and be unaware. He’ll cuddle you to sleep, stroking your hair or your back and pressing kisses to your temple as you do.

#chrollo smut #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #chrollo x you #chrollo x y/n #chrollo lucilfer smut #chrollo x reader smut #hxh chrollo #h x h #hunter x hunter smut

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klovesyall · 1 year ago

Note

Oh my. My brain is full of ideas, but I can't write.

Spencer, but it's his first time showering with his gf? Either she casually invites him to join her, or maybe she's also a member of the BAU and was injured and needs some assistance?

AN: oh absolutely hun. I wasn’t sure if you wanted nsfw or fluff so I went with fluff for a safe option. Also I’m so sorry if this lowkey sucks. This is definitely my first rodeo with writing and I know it’s not perfect but I hope you kinda like it?

OK MORE RECENT AN: im sooooooooooooooooooooooo sorry this took so long. I don’t even have an excuse. And I’m so sorry because this is ASS. But I feel bad not giving you anything so here you go

Warnings: Fluff, swearing? , talk of nakedness and stuff idk

————————————————————

Spencer had been extra protective of you ever since you got hurt. He didn’t want you to lift a single finger, even though you were perfectly capable. He made you food , carried your bags, hell- he even offered to carry you if your crutches got too annoying. All of this to say , he was willing to do anything to make you comfortable.

“Spence, I’m gonna take a shower.” You say with your back turned as you grab some pajamas out of the dresser drawer.

“What?” His voice was filled with concern, as it often was. When you turned around toward him he had the same amount of concern written on his face

“I have to shower Spencer, my hair is so dirty it looks wet.” You haven’t washed your hair in a few days, relying on dry shampoo and braided hair to get you by.

Spencer was thinking for a moment , you could tell by the way his brow furrowed slightly. He finally answers “Let me help you.”

You were slightly taken aback by his response. Spencer wasn’t usually confident enough to initiate or out right suggest anything intimate. And taking a shower together was definitely intimate. Not to say you were opposed to the idea though

“Are You Sure Spence? You do know I shower naked right?” Your tone was some what joking but also kind of not. Regardless you hear the little chuckle you love so much

“Yes I know. I dont want you to fall and get hurt any more than you already are. If you don’t want me to thats fine I just-“

You cut him off

“That would be really helpful, thank you.”

You see Spencer’s worry ease from his face and it’s replaced with a little curve of his lip

You give him a little smile before returning to grabbing your pajamas and walking to the bathroom. Spencer graciously follows you inside, locking the door behind him. When you turn to the counter , Spencer is quick to slip past you, turning on the shower for you.

“Do you take your showers warm or hot.” Spencer asks as if it’s so incredibly normal

“Uh hot I guess? It’s ok I can-“

He stops you when you begin to walk over

“Let me Take Care of you. Please.”

You sigh “you know I can do it myself.”

Spencer takes a step toward you, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders

“I know, but I don’t want to risk anything. You do so much for me and you deserve to be helped as well, especially when your injured. So please let me do this for you.” His voice is soft but you can tell how strongly he feels about this

“Ok, I’ll let you handle it.” I say

He smiles “can I take your clothes off?”

I Nod “You don’t have to ask.” You said that a lot, and it didn’t matter how many times you did. Spencer always asked

He grabbed the bottom of your shirt and you raised your arms. He pulls the shirt off your body and folds it before placing it on the counter. He does the same with your pants. Your standing only in your underwear now

“Do you want me to do the rest?” You ask

He shakes his head “turn around for me.”

You turn so your back is facing him and he unclasps your bra, sliding it down your arms until it hits the floor. He hooks a finger under your underwear on either side of you, pulling them down and helping you step out of them. He smiles when he meets your eyes again

“See something you like pretty boy?” You raise an eye brow in a teasing manner.

“Always.” He replies before walking you over to the shower. Holding his hand, you slowly take a step inside until your under the water. Once inside , Spencer takes a step back and sheds his clothes as well before joining you in the shower.

Spencer had ensured that you had a shower bench installed into the bathroom you shared when you moved in together. He said it was for safety reasons but, you still wondered if it might be for other things.

“Sit.” Spencer says, leading you to the bench.

When you sit down he detaches the shower head and wets your hair. When it’s what he considers wet enough, he lathers shampoo into his hands and begins to massage it into your scalp.

This man has very capable hands, many uses. And washing your hair just got added to the list of them. You close your eyes from a moment letting out a contended sigh

“Feel good sweetheart?” Spencer asks gently

“Mhm, definitely.” You reply, barely opening your eyes.

Spencer rinses out the shampoo and conditions your hair. He helps you wash off and when you finally stand , you wrap your arms around his neck. His hands lace around your waist

“Thank you Spencer, you’re an angel.” You say pressing little kisses to his jaw. You can see the blush creeping on Spencer’s face.

“You’re welcome, I’m always happy to help you.” He says peering down at you.

The two of you exit the shower. Wrapping towels around your selves and getting dressed- well Spencer refuses to let you dress your self so he helps you. He even blow drys your hair for you because he knows you don’t like going to bed with it wet.

————————————————————

You lay in bed on your side facing him as he looks back at you. You reach out and brush a strand of his hair out of his eyes.

“You should stay home tomorrow.” Spencer says breaking the silence.

“Absolutely not. I’m perfectly capable of going into work. Plus Hotch would have my head if I didn’t go.” You say and Spencer sighs

“I don’t like the idea of you out on the field” he says once again with concern

“You’ll be with me. I’ll be fine.”

He sits up “I don’t want you to be fine I want you to be healthy.”

You sit up and scoot close to him “Spencer I’m going to work. If it makes you feel better I’ll stay back with Penelope and help her.”

Spencer relaxes a little “yea. Ok that makes me feel better. But don’t go doing anything stupid. That means no trying to entertain Penelope with” Spencer throws up air quotes “crutch tricks”

You groan and lay back down “whatever you say.”

You can hear Spencer’s little laugh as he turns off the lamp.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #x reader #fluff #i can’t write #idk how to tag this #foryou #dr spencer reid #writing prompt #request #white guys

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tinylilacbun · 5 months ago

Note

Toddler reader getting into Sarah’s makeup and giving herself a makeover but in turn ruining some of Sarah’s makeup and Sarah yells at her obviously for ruining her stuff and reader is so upset because she thought she looked pretty and wanted Sarah to compliment her. Rafe comes in when he hears all the commotion and sticks up for reader and consoles her telling her she looks very pretty and then helping her clean her face

Pretty Princess

Pairing: brother!rafe cameron x toddler!sister!reader, sister!sarah cameron x toddler!sister!reader

Warnings: sarah snapping at toddler!reader, rafe being soft for toddler!reader only, me not knowing a single thing about make-up :')

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You peek into Sarah's room, wanting to show her your new frilly dress that Rose bought you. "Sarah?" You call out, stepping inside and looking around the room for the blonde.

As you're about to walk out again your eyes fixate on her vanity, your legs taking you in it's direction on their own, your eyes twinkling at all the make-up supplies that are neatly organized on the surface.

Climbing onto the chair you sit up on your knees and reach for a lipstick, taking off the cap when a idea pops into your mind to upgrade your look.

A while later, Sarah's vanity was a mess to say the least, make-up supplies opened and laying around everywhere, some little handprints from your lipstick and mascara covered hands scattered as you giggle and keep giving yourself a makeover.

"Oh my god!" Sarah gasps as she enters her room, her face turning from shocked to angry at the damage you have done.

She strides over to you, grabbing your wrist and snatching the brush from your hand, making you frown in and blink at her in confusion. "Pwetty?"

"No, that's- god! That ain't stuff to play with! I told you not to touch my things when I'm not around!" She snaps at you, running a hand through her hair at seeing the make up that's all over the white surface.

You tear up at her scolding, only wanting to look as pretty and be just like your big sister.

Sarah normally wouldn't use that tone with you but she's just frustrated as hell at the moment and let it all out on you, who doesn't even understand what you did wrong.

Rafe passes by the door, stopping in his tracks when he hears you crying and Sarah yelling at you, furrowing his brows and taking a few steps backwards and, glancing inside Sarah's room.

"What the hell is going on?" He asks, stepping inside and goes over to you first when Sarah lets go of your wrist, crossing her arms.

"Look what she did!" She says, gesturing towards her vanity.

Rafe just shrugs, not really seeing what got her this worked up. "And? Just grab a few wipes and clean it?"

"Rafe! That was a 400 dollar make-up set she completely ruined!" Sarah exclaimed, making him roll his eyes at her, glancing down at you.

The make-up you messily applied onto your face now even more smeared because of your tears and you rubbing your eyes as you cried.

"Get it together, Sarah, it's not like dad wouldn't buy you a new one." He grumbles the last part, bending down to pick you up from the chair, holding you on his hip and making his way out of the room, ignoring Sarah's complaining as he makes his way to the bathroom with you.

You're still sobbing, your little heart hurting from hearing that you're not pretty even though you did exactly what your big sister does every day.

As if reading your mind Rafe starts to assure you. "Don't listen to her, yeah? She's just being dramatic." He tells you, rubbing your back comfortingly.

Once in the bathroom, Rafe sits you down on the closed toilet lid, grabbing a small rag and drenching it in warm water before he crouches down in front of you.

He starts to gently rub the make-up from your face as you keep sniffling, speaking up with a slight tremble in your voice. "Rafey...you think I pwetty?"

Rafe almost clenches his jaw at your question, the way you say it so broken makes him mad at Sarah for making you doubt yourself at such a young age. Stupid Sarah.

"What? Of course you are." He scoffs, carefully removing the lipstick from your lips and cheeks. "Close your eyes for a second."

When you do he carefully wipes away the mascara, your face slowly but surely all clean again as he grabs one of your dirty hands next.

"You're the prettiest girl I know. Sarah is just jealous 'cause she needs all that shit on her face and you don't." He says, finishing with cleaning the last bit of make-up from your skin, now lifting your chin to meet his eyes. "Never let anyone tell you that you're not beautiful, a'ight?"

You nod your head, sniffing one last time and watch as he stands back up, wringing the soaked rag in the bathroom sink and throwing it into the hamper.

With a small pout on your face you reach your arms up, making grabby hands for him, mumbling sadly. "Uppies..."

Rafe picks you up again, holding you against his chest as you bury your face in it, grasping his shirt in your hand as he holds you close.

"There, there, I got you." He whispers, placing a quick kiss to the top of your head. "Pretty girls shouldn't cry, 'specially not someone as beautiful as you."

As he said that he tickles one of your feet, chuckling at the way you try to muffle your giggles into his shirt, shrieking when he pokes at one of your sides where you're the most ticklish.

"Stoooop!" You squeal, pushing at Rafe's chest to get away from him, him keeping a firm hold on you to ensure you don't fall out of his arms, relieved to see you smile again.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu @mylettterstoyou @sunf1ower16 @sweetstars-posts @rafecameronsloverrrrr @rafenroostersgirl

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @erikasurfer

#sister!reader #sister reader #rafe cameron x sister!reader #rafe cameron x sister reader #brother!rafe cameron

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livwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

you know that feeling where you’re having a god-awful day and all you really want is a hug but you’re at work so, like, that’s not gonna happen, and you basically just have to stew in all those shitty feelings and wait out the clock? yeah, me too, that’s kind of where this came from.

Eddie had a tough day.

It had started early that morning when the girls missed their school bus – not a huge deal, honestly, he was already gonna be leaving early to go get his car looked at.

But then he got shitty news from the mechanic, and then a meeting with his agent didn’t go the way he’d wanted at all, and then Hazel ended up being a total pain in the ass after he picked her up from kindergarten, and during her relentless haranguing, she knocked one of Eddie’s favorite mugs off the counter. It shattered, obviously, and she cried about it so he’d had to deal with both of those things at once, and it was just a day.

None of it was anything he couldn’t handle – the problem was the compounding nature of it and the way he basically just had to stew in it all until the next obstacle came along and made shit even worse.

All Eddie really wanted was Steve, and how Steve being around made dealing with this stuff so much easier, even if every other circumstance was the same.

He has to share Steve, though, and today he’s sharing him with Steve’s work until four o’clock.

It’s fine.

He can wait until four.

The older two girls got off their bus at half-past three, and, seriously, someone must have put something in the water this morning because they are in rare goddamn form today. If Hazel alone was bad, all three of them together were…well, thrice that. It’s like the universe said I see your bad day and I raise you three elementary schoolers hitting their peak annoyance thresholds simultaneously.

And it’s not like Eddie can even fucking fold, either.

It’s cold and kind of windy outside, which is Eddie’s least favorite weather and he’d thought maybe the girls would want to go right inside, but no. Of course they want to dig out the chalk that got stashed away in the garage last fall, and while Eddie is stuck shivering outside breaking up dumb arguments about who’s allowed to use which colors (he figured the answer was an obvious everyone, but apparently that’s incorrect), Steve leaves a message saying he tacked on an emergency session onto the end of his day and now he’s not out until five.

Eddie doesn’t hear it until he’s back inside, obviously, but when he does it’s like someone ran a whole fucking dagger through his chest.

He’s halfway through making dinner when Steve gets home (he’d actually be done making dinner if the pot of water hadn’t boiled off while he’d dealt with yet another stupid argument), and he drops everything to meet him at the door.

It’s like Steve can tell in an instant the kind of day Eddie had.

“What happened?” he asks as he toes off his shoes.

Eddie shakes his head, “Everything…nothing…I don’t even know. Just…one of those days.”

Steve nods his understanding, and as soon as he’s got his coat hung up he’s pulling Eddie into a hug.

It ends up being kind of a bone-crushing one — that’s on Eddie, though. He’d just fucking needed it. He knows he’d needed it when Steve’s arms tighten around his shoulders and he feels that much better.

“You okay?” Steve asks without letting him go, the breath of his words hitting warm against Eddie’s neck.

“Just tired,” he answers.

Steve pulls away.

“You can take a break, Ed,” he says, and there’s something in his eyes – not concern, exactly, but more like awareness, “I’ll be up in a bit.”

Eddie just nods and heads for the stairs. As he goes, he faintly hears Steve asking, “What the hell did you guys do to Dad today?”, followed by the girls’ defensive protests.

In their room, Eddie makes it through one full rerun of Star Trek and then the first few minutes of a second before Steve joins him.

He notices that it’s quiet downstairs for the first time that evening, and he tries not to take it too personally. He’s always been comfortable in the knowledge that Steve might be better at the whole parenting thing than him (psych degrees and all that), but, shit, if he’s that much better…

“What’d you do, strangle them?” Eddie asks as Steve swaps his jeans out for a pair of faded plaid pajama pants.

“No, I told them that if I hear a single peep in the next hour I’m beheading all their stuffed animals.”

Eddie blinks.

Okay, maybe better isn’t exactly the right word.

“So they’re on verbal lockdown, basically,” Steve finishes.

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Eddie shakes his head, “You’re kind of crazy.”

“Yeah, well, you were always gonna rub off on me one of these days — don’t.”

And Eddie couldn’t help the way he threw his head back and laughed.

#idk steve is just eddie's person #he gets him -- all the way down to his ear for a dirty joke #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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miyukisu · 6 months ago

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SFW Alphabet | Miyuki Kazuya .ᐟ

❤︎ | Get to know Miyuki Kazuya from A to Z~ (3.8k wc)

a/n - it's kazuya day! of course, i had to do something for the bestest best boi of all. this is super self-indulgent btw and not proofread lol.

[A] Affection He's not sure how to show it or how to handle it. The idea seems foreign to him, so it definitely takes some time for him to warm up to it. Kazuya won't mind little displays of affection, especially at the beginning of the relationship. In fact, he would appreciate taking a slow pace. It's basically like a whole new world opening up to him; he's both hesitant and willing to feel more of it. While he does accept affection slowly, it takes longer for him to show his. In many ways, his kind of affection comes in the form of cooking you food, making plenty of inside jokes with you, and spending his free time around your presence.

However, he realizes how liberating it is after initiating the hug or the kiss himself. He discovers how good it feels to express his admiration through words. By no means was it immediate, but he definitely gets to point that he can be conventionally affectionate when the moment is intimate.

[B] Bonding Kazuya enjoys doing anything as long as it involves you. He wouldn't really be with someone he wouldn't have fun with doing anything and everything in the first place. But he does have favorite activities, of course. When he's with you, he would prefer something more laidback like chatting over some food or even cooking together. But he's also fine with something more high energy like working out together or playing catch. Though you do often find yourselves silently hanging out like reading your own stuff beside each other or sleeping together.

Due to his independent nature, he needs some time by himself too. There's a good balance between bonding and me time.

[C] Comfort Honestly, he might not be the best at this as well—unless we're talking about seeking comfort in asking for practical advice. Kazuya grew up to be self-sufficient. If he was going through things, he most likely handled it on his own—probably ignoring his feelings by busying himself. So when it came to comforting another person, he was at a loss. On the bright side, he's insanely good at reading people, especially you. He reads you like an open book and can tell when there's a shift in your mood.

He might not know exactly what to do, but he knows when it's time to take things seriously. At least, he'd ask what's wrong and offer to listen. He does feel bad that listening is all he can do. But no words come out of his mouth. Although, further into the relationship, he'll be confident enough to finally give comforting words that he knows would help you.

[D] Domestic He's the definition of domestic bliss—malewife even. He knows how to cook, do household chores, and basic repairs. Kazuya isn't a clean freak, but he keeps his space neat and clean at all times. After all, he can only relax in a place where dust isn't building up constantly. He's the type to fix his bed first thing in the morning, to cook meals for you, have general cleaning sessions every Sunday, and so on. Sometimes this side of him surprises people because he doesn't really look the part. Though you quickly grow accustomed to it because this is essentially his love language—acts of service.

Speaking of acts of service, it's something he'd like to receive back. You have his years of independence to thank for that. Kazuya simply finds that this is the highest form of love—doing things for the other person purely because you want to do it for their wellbeing.

[E] Endearment Kazuya cringes at the thought of it, especially before getting into a relationship. He's definitely the type to hear other couples do it and silently judge them for it. But his perspective changes when he does get into a relationship himself. It takes a while to grow on him, but he doesn't mind being called "baby", "babe", or "love" every once in a while. But he's adamant to call you by your name. Maybe, he'll start calling you a shortened version of your name or some sort of word play on it. Then, that pretty much becomes your term of endearment.

That is... unless he finds something annoying like calling you "pouty" because you pout a lot when he teases you.

[F] Friendship Most likely it wasn't an instant friendship. It was more of an enemies-turned-best friends kind of thing because Kazuya is easy to be frenemies with. He can be so annoying with his teasing sometimes because he knows where to take a jab at you. There were definitely moments when he went overboard without knowing. Although, he was mature enough to hear you out and... half-heartedly apologize. But that is where the friendship sprung. It was a lot of banter and barely any moments of seriousness. But oddly enough, he became close to you regardless which is no easy feat.

Kazuya is the kind of best friend to laugh at you first if you trip before helping you up. He's the kind of friend that might judge you a bit when you tell him your problems, but he'll try to understand you and offer practical advice.

[G] Gifts Kazuya isn't big on gifts. He doesn't seek to receive any nor does he get the need to give them out unless there is a special occasion. However, if you do surprise him with one or get him a certain item he has been eyeing for some time, he'll be so happy. Kazuya's a pretty grateful person in general. Even if he's indifferent to gift-giving, he does come across things that remind him of you. He gets the urge to buy it for you or make it for you. Sometimes he pushes through with it, but sometimes he shrugs it off. No particular reason; he just thinks there are plenty more ways to show you that he values you.

As a practical person, he hardly considers getting something expensive too. He'd rather put thought and effort into the gift instead of money. Kazuya definitely likes getting you useful things or food. He doesn't say it, but his favorite gift that he got from you is a box full of love letters.

[H] Hugs You know he likes hugging, but of course, he won't say it outright. Early in the relationship, he draped his arm across your shoulders often. It eventually progressed into full on bear hugs (he hugs tightly to make sure he annoys you). He likes to creep up from behind, enveloping you with his larger frame and lifting you up sometimes. Kazuya particularly likes how he towers over you and how your smaller arms try to reciprocate his tenderness.

KAZUYA IS A CUDDLEBUG. But never point that out because he'll explode. As you might've guessed though, he's a fan of spooning with him as the big spoon. He unconsciously nuzzles his chin into the top of your head which you always call him out for. Although, he isn't opposed to resting his head on top of your chest every once in a while. He falls asleep in under a minute hearing the steady lull of your heart and feeling your fingers massaging his scalp.

[I] I Love You A lot of importance is put into this simple sentence. He doesn't just throw it around for anyone. Besides, for the longest time, he hadn't even thought about it because he believes that his actions speak for itself. Most likely you'd be the one to say those three words first. And it gives him courage to say it (though he would appear flustered). Perhaps the first time he actually says it solemnly and with his whole heart in it was in the middle of such a mundane activity with each other. He was lying in bed, beside you and staring at your face. All at once, several realizations hit him: how you've been with him through thick and thin, how you handle a pain in the ass like him, and how you were the first to say "I love you."

He'd be staring and all of a sudden he mutters those words with a small smile. It takes you by surprise and you ask him to repeat it. He does, but he'll somehow tease you about your reaction, turning the tables on you again. (He says it in very intimate moments and you swear it feels like the first time each time.)

[J] Jealousy He trusts you, but he doesn’t trust other people. Nevertheless, he isn’t one to jump to conclusions. He’ll try to rationalize his feelings first before letting it become jealousy. Besides, he doesn’t want to appear like a controlling type. But if a time comes when another person crosses a boundary of his—or God forbid, your boundaries—a switch flips in him. He is not afraid to speak up and be blunt. Oh the other person got hurt or offended? Good. He meant that. Rarely does he ever show off, but if some side character decides that they have a chance—Kazuya has to put them in their place.

When it comes to him though… it’s expected that people stare at Kazuya for too long or make advances on him. Everyone knows he’s attractive and now you have to deal with it. The only caveat to it is that he doesn’t give a shit. They can stare all they want, but he never gives them the time of day.

[K] Kisses Surprise, but he probably initiated the first kiss. It was awkward, but memorable for the both of you. Ever since then, he mostly gave you quick pecks or kisses that littered your face. Making out usually leads to something else, so that’s reserved for a specific time. Anyway, he loves giving forehead kisses (it’s the easiest given the difference in height). He’d swiftly lean down and plant a kiss before smiling at you. He also does this thing where he grabs your jaw—squishing your cheeks and forcing you into a pout—then kisses you on the lips or cheek. The squishing part is essential apparently.

He likes to ask for kisses in cheeky ways, often mixing it with his usual teasing. “I’m leaving. Don’t I get a farewell kiss?” Or, “I’ll do it if you give me 5 kisses~”

[L] Little Ones He’s okay with kids… kind of. Kazuya is definitely the kind of guy who’d smile and wave at a child staring at him on the train. But as soon as the child starts laughing—he’ll make a weird face, almost taunting the kid. The fella’s smile drops and starts crying. He’ll poke fun at children—he doesn’t discriminate when it comes to (friendly?) jokes. But that’s the extent that he’s willing to go when it involves children. If someone asks him to babysit—he’s outta there. At best, they’ll play catch, but that’s it. He’s not gonna hang out with little runts for more than 5 minutes (his words).

Would he want children? Maybe. He thinks it would depend on his situation at the time and who he’s with. He’s fine with having some or none at all. Though he would prefer having just 2.

[M] Mornings Kazuya wakes up early in the morning—earlier than you, for sure. But even then, he’ll make sure to cuddle you first before getting up. In fact, it’s the only time he chooses to be gentle when caging you in his arms as he doesn’t want to wake you up. Carefully, he’ll try to pepper your face with kisses—snapping a photo in between to show you once you wake up. After that, he’s off; he likes to take his quiet time in the morning to go out for a run or exercise. If by any chance you’re still asleep, he’ll quickly whip up some breakfast and make you coffee just the way you like it. He gets lonely after that so he practically pounces on you in bed (after showering, of course) to wake you up.

On most days, his schedule is quite hectic, leaving him with little time to be with you. So on the days when he gets to be around your presence, he’d like to slow the pace—savor the moment, so to speak. Maybe after breakfast you two would just lounge around on the couch and talk about random things until responsibilities start calling (or if you’re lucky, perhaps lunch).

[N] Nights His night routine is probably more fixed compared to his morning and it typically begins after his evening training. He likes to start with food before anything and he eats the MOST at this time of day. He will scarf down everything—even the leftovers on your plate. After that is just standard stuff—showering, skincare, prepping for bed. Though breezes through all of them, so he’s left with an hour or two before his designated bed time (11 PM). You’d have to ask him to relax with you or else that man will still do something productive like observing match results or something.

Kazuya also forces you to sleep early. Sometimes he starts sounding like a fussy parent when he begins to list the reasons why a fucked up sleep schedule will bite you in the ass. If you don’t listen—he’ll just have to tackle you in bed and keep you in his arms so you have no other choice but to sleep.

[O] Open This is a tough one… But as you might have guessed, Kazuya isn’t the type to open up at all. Although, you can’t really blame him for being more comfortable in relying on himself. Even as you’d offer to listen, he’s more inclined to stick with what he’s used to. It was especially difficult in the first year or so of your relationship. You started to understand him a bit more after learning about his past (like how he was bullied as a kid or how he didn’t grow up in the best household). But still—there were times when it felt like he was pushing you out, treating you like an enemy of sorts.

There was definitely a falling out at some point. But his view changes drastically after you still come through for him. If he’s at his lowest—then this was precisely the time you should be there for him. It takes a while for him to build the kind of trust where he can tell you what’s weighing on his heart. He’ll try to push away his inhibitions little by little. But communication is something you constantly work on throughout the years.

[P] Patience He’s such a patient person. That is, when it comes to anger. If something or someone is being unreasonable or stupid—best believe he’s going to make another passive aggressive remark to let people know that this shit ain’t it. But his irritation is not to be confused with anger. After all, Kazuya rarely feels intense emotions, let alone, anger. He’s fine if someone tries to offend him; he’ll just laugh it off and say something worse. But if someone purposefully hurts something or someone near and dear to him—he won’t be afraid to get physical. He’s not proud of it though, but it happens. He’s incredibly protective of you as well, so he’s not above anything when it comes to defending you.

Interestingly, one of the first signs people noticed that he likes you was his endless patience for you. Sure, he still made wisecracks at you, but he was truly patient in serious times with you. He could never ever be pissed off at you at all.

[Q] Quizzes If there was a game show about you, he’d be the grand winner without a sweat. He knows you like the back of his hand; Kazuya probably knows you better than you do. It’s no surprise really. If he can remember every little quirk and mannerism of his teammates and opponents—he sure as hell can remember everything and anything about you. It’s even more impressive how he has no need for calendars or reminders—he just knows by heart. His excellent memory is to be blamed whenever he brings you up with his friends. Can you blame him for thinking about you all the time?

He simply feels that being remembered like this is another great display of love. He’d be grateful if you remembered things about him just as well.

[R] Remember Is he only supposed to choose one? He can’t though. For him, all of your firsts together were the most memorable moments for him—kind of like milestones that he mentally takes note of. When he’s bored, he replays those scenes in his head (in full detail and perfect dialogue too) and it makes him smile inwardly.

But if he reaaally had to choose just one—maybe when you surprised him with a little party with just the two of you to celebrate a major win of his. It was totally unexpected for him and the lengths you went to make sure it was perfect made him want to tear up. He probably won’t cry, but it’s the thought that counts, you know?

[S] Security VERY PROTECTIVE OF YOU—but is very subtle about it too. Normally he’s chill and laidback. He really is! But there are times when his protective switch turns on and he becomes more snappy. Even you’re not safe from the attitude of this man sometimes. He’s not a fan of PDA, but if he feels that someone is trying something funny—he’s suddenly draping his arm over you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You ask him what’s wrong but he merely shrugs. (Not above shooting the other person a dirty glare). He’ll also be in a bad mood because of it.

Funny thing is—there are moments where he acts like an overbearing parent. He’ll remind you to do this, to avoid that, to be careful, and so on. If you do something irresponsible, it stresses him out and he’ll fly into a rant about how careless you can be (he’s not mad, but he just hasn’t felt worry like that in a loooong time.)

[T] Try Everything he does for you is done with effort. But, in true Miyuki fashion, he plays it cool—you don’t have to know how he scrambled to get this perfect date sorted. He might look suave and effortless with his actions, but he’s secretly an overthinker when it comes to these kinds of things. He’s sure he would know what kind of dates you like or what types of gifts you want to receive, but he still doubts himself when the time actually comes. After all, his happiness is your happiness as well.

Besides, he’s not the type to half-ass things. He’s aware that he’s not exactly the best at romance, so certain efforts need to be made if it’s for the right person.

[U] Ugly His bluntness and arrogance can be something you can overlook through time, especially since he’s more mellow with you. But perhaps the one thing you can’t get over is how he pushes people away even if you both know he needs the help. He already has a tough time divulging his feelings and talking about problems. But then he also distances himself when things go south. Maybe it’s because he knows his mouth goes off at times or maybe it’s because he knows he should be handling these things alone. It takes a lot of time to get through to him.

However, his words do become a point of contention too at times. He speaks his mind when be feels like it and it hits a chord sometimes. Sure, with friends or teammates, he can be loose with his tongue. But it takes a while for him to realize that he has to be more careful with potentially offensive remarks to his significant other.

[V] Vanity Well… he’s not vain at all. Have you seen how he dresses up? But in all seriousness—he couldn’t care less about his clothes. Clothes are just clothes—they serve to cover you up and that’s it. He might as well be comfortable while he’s at it. Kazuya’s probably not even aware of how attractive he is that he can get away with it. Surely he has heard people call him so, but he shrugs it off as a fluke because people are disillusioned that he’s some hotshot baseball player.

But maybe he’ll start trying out specific styles or think about his wardrobe once he gets into a relationship. But he will always return to his roots (because dressing up too well is a hassle).

[W] Whole He used to think that people should feel “whole” with themselves before getting into any serious relationship. But that entire perspective gets flipped on itself because why is he always missing you badly when you’re apart? Even though he’s highly independent, he can’t deny in himself that he would still think about you frequently. You’d probably still be the first to cave. But Kazuya still thinks you’re his other half. When it comes to baseball, he can lead others just fine. But outside of it, he feels like you open up more of the world to him.

A friend of his told him once how you complemented him (the friend actually meant it in a way that it’s because he’s mean and you’re nice, kinda). But he interprets it differently and it bolsters his love for you basically.

[X] Xtra (I have too many extra headcanons, so… this post)

[Y] Yucks He hates people who are all bark and no bite. If you’re gonna talk big, then you have to have something to show for it. In the same vein, he dislikes people who jump to conclusions and flap their lips like they know everything. Those kinds of people piss him off beyond belief. And while it is difficult to make him angry at someone, it’s fairly easy for him to be annoyed.

He also hates people who are disorganized, especially if their irresponsibility affects others. In relation to that—people who can’t commit to promises immediately get a bad rep in his book. Even worse if it’s something simple like arriving on time at a certain meeting.

[Z] Zzz Kazuya gets sleepy easily because he has a fixed bedtime that he follows religiously. Of course, the eye mask is non-negotiable. The room has to be pitch black and absolutely silent for him to get a good night’s rest. He’s a light sleeper, so he’d appreciate some peace and quiet if he were to sleep in the same room (or bed) with someone else. He barely moves in his sleep and he sleeps on his back. You don’t have to worry about him being a blanket hog.

However, he’s particular about cuddling while sleeping—in that he would hate to cuddle while sleeping. Not because he doesn’t want to hold you, but it’s tough. You move a bit in his arms—he wakes up. That restricts you too. It’s just a hassle. He feels that sleeping beside each other is enough

╰ author's note GIRL YOU DO NOT NEED TO BE SAYING ALL THAT OML

#ace of diamond #miyuki kazuya #miyuki x reader #miyuki kazuya x reader #daiya no ace #daiya no a #diamond no ace #dna #mksu.works #mksu.miyuki!

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