#‘if you want to feel like you can handle yourself then you’ve got to stop training like such a little bitch.’ the scream i scrumpt
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False Alarm
!Kang Haerin x Reader!
"Getting blamed for pulling the fire alarm and almost getting suspended? Annoying. Getting paired with the actual culprit for a project? Fucking mint. Falling for them— wait what?!"
Tags: Enemies to lovers, Highschool au, wedding booth, happy ending, overachiever kang haerin, SLIGHT academic rivalry, idk
Warnings: cursing, Haerin is a nonchalant dreadhead, meddling friends, bad pacing, rushed ending IDFK I JUST WANT TO GET THIS SHIT OUT OF MY DRAFTS😭🙏🙏, this is so long for no reason, but I was too lazy to shorten it😝😝👩❤️💋👩
words: 8k(I think)
You pace back and forth, your sneakers scuffing against the dull classroom tiles. The ceiling fan hums faintly above, but it does little to ease the stiff air. The clock ticks loudly, grating against your nerves. But the real culprit isn’t the clock—or the room. It’s Haerin.
She’s sat on the teacher’s desk, one leg crossed over the other, her arms resting casually on her lap. Her sharp, cat-like eyes follow your every move, unreadable. You try to ignore the way her gaze makes your skin crawl—or how it quickens your pulse—but it’s impossible.
“Stop pacing,” she finally says,
You whirl around to face her, exasperated. “Stop locking doors!”
“I didn’t lock it on purpose.”
“Right. And I didn’t follow you because I thought you were up to something sketchy.”
Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing with quiet amusement. She hums softly, the sound brushing against your nerves. “You’ve got a pretty vivid imagination for someone who’s terrible at sneaking around.”
Your face burns. “I wasn’t sneaking!”
“You tripped over a chair in the hallway,”
“I was investigating.” you counter, defensive.
“Sure you were.”
The room feels like it’s shrinking, the tension pressing in on you. Maybe it’s the way her gaze locks onto yours, steady and just a bit too intense. You shift your weight, crossing your arms over your chest—not because it makes you look tougher, but because it feels like the only thing holding you together right now.
She doesn’t look away. Not once.
“Why do you care so much?” she asks eventually, breaking the silence.
The question catches you off guard, and for a split second, your bravado falters.
Why do you care?
You open your mouth to respond but realize you don’t actually have an answer—or at least not one you’re ready to say aloud. Flustered, you wave your arms in frustration. “Because you’re suspicious.”
Haerin raises a single eyebrow, “Suspicious enough for you to follow me for—what, 40 minutes?”
“Forty-five,” you mutter under your breath before you can stop yourself.
Her lips twitch, and then—just barely—you hear it. A laugh. It’s quiet, light, and so brief that for a moment, you’re not even sure you imagined it. It throws you off balance,
And you hate how much it surprises you.
How much it almost makes you smile.
You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re even here?” you ask, leaning against the door. You attempt to look relaxed—cool, even—but you’re painfully aware of how stiff and awkward you must appear.
Haerin regards you with an air of detachment, her expression betraying nothing. Then she shrugs. “No.”
“That’s suspicious.”
“That’s none of your business.”
The silence between you crackles with tension. Neither of you moves. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, but her posture remains perfect, completely unbothered.
Finally, she stands, brushing past you with infuriating ease. Her arm grazes yours, and the faint scent of her shampoo lingers—clean, sharp, unmistakably her.
You freeze.
She doesn’t even glance back as she reaches for the door handle. “Let me know when you’re done playing detective,” she says casually
The door creaks open without resistance.
It was never locked.
You stare after her, dumbfounded. Your shoulders slump as frustration bubbles in your chest.
“Damn you, Kang Haerin,” you mutter, the words too quiet to reach her as she disappears into the hallway.
Damn you for being so pretty.
The thought slips out unbidden, and you run a hand over your face, groaning softly.
Liking someone who almost got you suspended wasn’t exactly the highlight of your senior year, but here you were.
You didn’t even know when it all started.
Or maybe you did, and that was the worst part.
Let's go back a few months.
“L/N, it’s the first week of your senior year, and you’re already in my office.” The principal’s voice carries that mix of disappointment and irritation that makes your stomach twist. He leans back in his chair, exhaling heavily as though the weight of your alleged crimes is just too much for him to bear.
“Not exactly the note we want to start on, is it?”
Detention. For a month.
And it wasn’t even your fault.
The whole mess started when you got lost—an innocent enough situation, right? You were wandering the hallways, clutching a crumpled schedule, trying to find your history class in this architectural monstrosity they call a school. Then, chaos erupted.
Someone—some GENIUS—pulled the fire alarm. Students poured into the hallways like water bursting through a dam, everyone shouting and shoving. In the middle of the commotion, a voice rang out: “It was her!”
And just like that, you were the scapegoat.
By the time you were dragged into the principal’s office, you’d barely had time to process what was happening.
���Principal Kim, I didn’t do it!” you’d pleaded, gripping the edge of the chair so hard your knuckles turned white. “I can’t afford to lose my scholarship over this—it wasn’t me!”
He’d pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly weighing whether he cared enough to believe you.
After a long pause, he sighed. “I’ll give you detention instead of suspension. But, L/N, if there’s another incident, my hands are tied.”
Fast-forward, You storm out of the office, phone in hand, thumbs flying across the screen as you rant in your group chat. Rage boils under your skin, making your fingers tremble as you type. You’re so focused on venting that you don’t even notice the person in your path until you crash into them—hard.
A metallic clatter echoes on the tile floor.
You look up, already muttering an apology, and freeze.
It’s her.
The girl who pulled the fire alarm.
“You!” you blurted, pointing an accusatory finger.
She stares at you for at least five seconds before tilting her head, her expression calm, almost detached.
"Do I know you?" she asks,
Your blood pressure skyrockets. “You know exactly who I am! I’m the one who got blamed for your little stunt!”
Her brow furrows slightly, like she’s genuinely confused—or maybe just a really good actress. For a split second, doubt flickers in your mind.
Was it her?
But then you see it.
The half-finished graffiti on the wall behind her. A vibrant swirl of colors, interrupted mid-spray.
It's definitely her.
“Do you realize how much trouble you caused me?”
“Do you realize how loud you’re being?”
Her calm demeanor only fuels your anger and before you know it, you’ve snatched the spray can from her hand.
She finally reacts—a surprised yelp, quickly changed to a glare. “What the hell’s your problem?”
“My problem?” you snap, voice rising. “LISTEN YOU CRETINOUS BLUNDERBUSS, I ALMOST got suspended because of you! And if I get suspended, I’ll have a record. If I have a record, I can kiss my dream college goodbye. If I don’t go to my dream college, I won’t get into any college. And if I don’t go to college, I’ll end up broke, homeless, and probably dead in a ditch—”
You stop, chest heaving. Maybe a little dramatic, but who cares? You're frustrated.
She raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “You done?”
Your hands clench around the spray can. “I hate you,” You sputter, too stunned to even form a coherent insult.
“You know, I’d run if I were you.”
You blink. “Run from wha—”
“Student!”
Your body goes rigid. That voice—it’s a teacher.
You whip around, dread pooling in your chest. Sure enough, a teacher stands at the end of the hall, their stern gaze locking onto you.
You, with a spray can in hand, standing in front of the vandalized wall like a walking, talking confession.
“Stay right there!”
You do not stay right there. Your brain short-circuits. You’re running before you can think, adrenaline kicking in.
You tear around a corner, heart pounding so hard you swear it’s trying to escape. The girl’s ahead of you, her jacket flapping behind her as she darts into the girls’ bathroom. You hesitate for half a second before diving in after her.
You stumble inside, gasping for air, bracing yourself against the sink. “What the hell?!”
She’s by the mirror, calmly washing her hands like she’s got all the time in the world.
“I warned you,” she says, not even glancing your way.
“You warned me?!” You stare at her, incredulous. “You—ugh!”
She grabs a paper towel, dabbing her hands dry with infuriating nonchalance. The dripping faucet is the only sound in the tense silence that follows.
You gesture wildly to the graffiti on the walls. “Let me guess—this is your handiwork too?”
She doesn’t answer, just tosses the paper towel into the trash and heads for the door.
“I could report you,” you snap, desperation creeping into your tone.
She pauses, one hand on the doorframe. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to her.
Then she looks over her shoulder, her expression cool and detached. “Go ahead.”
Her words are like a punch to the gut.
And then she’s gone, leaving you standing in the stinky dingy bathroom with nothing but your anger and the faint scent of paint lingering in the air.
Who the hell does she think she is?
“Kang Haerin. Top student, perfect grades, a shelf full of awards, always getting called up at recognitions."
You slump back in your seat at the cafeteria table, staring at the picture on Ryujin’s phone like it’s going to change if you just squint hard enough. But nope—it’s the same as it was five minutes ago.
She's pretty.
"Are you sure she was the one who pulled the fire alarm?” Hyunjin pipes up, snatching one of Ryujin’s fries before she can swat his hand away.
“Yeah… I mean, with that kind of reputation, it does sound crazy,” you admit, your voice trailing off. Your eyes linger on the screen. The photo is a little blurry, but it’s enough.
Long, sleek black hair.
Straight bangs that frame her face perfectly.
And those stupid cat-like eyes.
Too pretty.
It’s her. It has to be her.
“Uh-huh.” Hyunjin gives you a skeptical look, biting into the stolen fry. “Maybe you should stop skipping your meds, Y/N. You’re starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist.”
You glare at him, swatting weakly in his direction. “Shut up. It really is her.” Your voice is firm, but there’s a small crack of doubt that you hate hearing.
Across the table, Ryujin snatches her phone back, narrowing her eyes at Hyunjin. “Can you not?” She punctuates her words by smacking his hand when he reaches for another fry.
“I believe you,” she says, offering a small shrug “I mean, Kang is… mysterious. Who knows what she’s hiding under all that? She could totally have a rebellious side.”
“Thank you!” you groan, practically collapsing forward onto the table. It’s the first time anyone has taken you seriously since this whole mess started.
Ryujin nods, shoving another fry into her mouth with a look of satisfaction. “People always act like the quiet ones are angels, but those are the ones you gotta watch out for. You ever see those crime documentaries? It’s always the straight-A students who turn out to be arsonists or something.”
Hyunjin snickers. “Okay, but setting a fire alarm off is a little different from being an arsonist.”
“Exactly!” you snap, slapping the table for emphasis. A little too hard, judging by the sting in your palm. “She’s too perfect. Nobody’s that perfect without hiding something.”
“Or,” Hyunjin says, smirking, “you’re just mad you got detention and need someone to blame.”
You open your mouth to retort, but Ryujin beats you to it, jabbing a fry in his direction. “Shut it, Hyunjin. You weren’t there."
"And yesterday? She didn’t even flinch when I called her out. Just stared at me like I was crazy. Who does that?” you huff
“Someone who’s got nerves of steel, apparently,” Hyunjin says, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head.
“Or someone who knows you can’t prove it.”
The comment hits harder than you want to admit. Because it’s true. You’ve got nothing. Not a shred of evidence that anyone’s going to take seriously. Straight-A Kang Haerin, the school’s golden girl, secretly pulling fire alarms and vandalizing walls? It sounds ridiculous. Even you know that.
so you decided to let it go...for now.
or not.
It's been days since that whole thing went down, and you're still stuck in detention. Of course. Ever since then, there's been this weird tension between you and Haerin. Every time you pass each other in the hall, it turns into a silent showdown of eye contact. First one to look away loses. Which, honestly, feels a little...gay? Anyway, she wins most of the time, but whatever—it's not like you're keeping score.
Today seems like another regular day of Haerin being her usual know-it-all self. That is, until you suddenly speak up.
“What’s the point of giving people ‘equal chances’ when they’re starting from completely different places?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.
Haerin blinked, caught off guard, but quickly regained her composure. “Because without a system of clear rules, any attempt at equality becomes chaotic. How do you decide who gets what without creating even more inequality in the process?”
You lean back in your chair, forcing yourself to sound relaxed. “Easy. You focus on the people who’ve been left out the most—actually listen to them and adjust the system to fit their needs.”
“Adjust the system?” Haerin repeats, her voice smooth but with a faint edge of disbelief. “That’s a nice thought, but in the real world, people in power don’t just hand over control. Change has to come from within the system.”
You can’t stop yourself from scoffing. “Within the system? Right. Because the people who created the problem are totally the ones who’ll fix it.”
Her lips twitch, like she’s holding back a smirk. “So, what’s your plan? Let people just figure it out themselves?”
“Pretty much,” you shoot back, “It’s not about swooping in to ‘fix’ things for them-”
Haerin’s eyes narrow just slightly, but her voice stays annoyingly calm. “That assumes everyone has the resources or education to organize themselves effectively. Not everyone’s equipped to lead change. That’s why structured solutions work better.”
You don’t miss the implication—like she’s saying you wouldn’t be equipped to handle it. You bristle, your words coming out sharper than intended. “Wow, sounds like someone doesn’t trust people to think for themselves. That must be nice, deciding what’s best for everyone else from your perfect little bubble.”
Her eyes flash, and for a moment, you think you’ve hit a nerve. “Better than standing on the sidelines, throwing ideas around with no plan to back them up. Guess some of us prefer action over aimless complaining.”
Your classmates exchange looks, some clearly entertained by the impromptu showdown. “Action, huh? Like pulling fire-"
The teacher finally sighs, holding up a hand. “Enough, you two. This isn’t a competition.”
You shut up, mostly because you don’t want a month of detention turning into two.
“Now,” the teacher continues, “since you’re both so enthusiastic about participating, you’ll have the perfect opportunity to work together.”
Your stomach sinks.
“For the upcoming group project, Kang and L/N, you’ll be partners.”
Are you fucking serious?
just as you thought detention for a month couldnt be worse.
YOU just made it worse
you sigh as you slumped back in your seat, you take a glimpse at haerin brows furrowing as you see her...holding back a smile?
Weird.
Haerin kept her face neutral when the professor called out your names as partners, but inside? She was buzzing.
You were different. No one ever challenged her in class—most people either agreed with her or kept quiet. But you? You stood up and fired back without hesitation, and you surpringly made sense. You weren’t just smart; you were sharp. Every argument you made earlier was solid, like you’d thought about it for hours instead of coming up with it on the spot And the way your eyebrows scrunched when she pushed back with her own point? That was unfairly adorable. Not that she’d ever admit it out loud. She wouldn’t even admit it to herself—not fully.
She told herself it was annoying. You were annoying. But it didn’t feel annoying. It felt… like you were getting under her skin in a way no one else ever had. And the really frustrating part? She didn’t hate it.
She liked it.
She liked you.
She wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the day you stormed up to her, finger pointed and accusing her of pulling the fire alarm. Sure, she might’ve pulled it, but was it her fault you got blamed? Not at all.
She should’ve been defending herself or at least rolling her eyes at you, but all she could focus on was how your hair fell perfectly into your face while you were ranting. Or the way your voice got higher when you were mad. And your eyes. Even when you were glaring at her like she was your mortal enemy, there was something soft about them, like you weren’t capable of actually hating anyone.
She hated that she noticed all of that.
And she really hated that she didn’t hate it at all.
-A month ago-
"You know her?" Haerin asked casually, though her voice was just a little too steady as she looked over at Danielle.
Danielle, ever the social butterfly, didn’t even need to ask who Haerin meant. She tilted her head toward your table and squinted. "Which one? Ryujin? Oh! She’s the guitari—"
"No," Haerin interrupted quickly. "The one holding her phone."
Danielle’s eyes narrowed as she tried to place you. Just then, you slapped the table, the sharp sound cutting through the room. A few heads turned briefly before everyone went back to their conversations.
"Ohhh," Danielle said, finally making the connection. "Y/N. L/N Y/N. She’s the new transfer, senior, SUPER pretty, Super kind—" Danielle rambled, sipping from her orange juice.
'Super kind? Yeah, sure.' Haerin thought.
But the super pretty part? Yeah… she wasn’t about to argue with that. Not even a little bit
"Why? Why do you ask?" Danielle asked, turning her full attention to Haerin. Her head tilted slightly, and her eyebrows knitted together in curiosity. Then, as if struck by lightning, her eyes widened.
"Wait a second. Don’t tell me you like her."
At that, the whole table froze.
Hanni stopped mid-game on her Nintendo, her head snapping up. Minji put her phone down entirely,
"Haerin likes who?!" Hyein chimed in, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling with interest.
“No one,” Haerin said quickly, groaning as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I ran into her yesterday. I just… wondered why I hadn’t seen her before.”
The table stayed quiet for a second, then erupted in disbelief.
"Yeah, okay," Minji said, smirking.
"Sure sure," Hanni muttered, clearly unconvinced.
Hyein just went, “Ooooh,” dragging it out long enough for Haerin to want to crawl under the table.
"Are you cert-"
"Shut up."
Working with you wasn’t THAT bad. Haerin wouldn’t say it out loud—obviously—but you were a lot more organized and reliable than she’d expected. No slacking off, no ghosting. Honestly, you made the whole project way easier than she’d thought it would be.
Somehow, you’d both slipped into a routine. After class, meet up, work on the project, exchange a few sarcastic remarks, rinse and repeat. It worked. Eventually, you agreed—reluctantly—to swap numbers 'for better communication.' Not that Haerin hesitated. If anything, she grabbed your phone and typed her contact in like it was no big deal. Suspiciously fast.
Somewhere along the way, the bickering shifted. It wasn’t annoying anymore—it was… kind of fun? Almost normal? Maybe even nice??? Everytime she teases you, everytime you call her out, there was this flicker in her eyes. Amusement, maybe? Whatever it was, it made you forget to be annoyed.
And then there was her calmness. Like, even when you got frustrated and started spiraling. Her soft, steady voice was like a hand pulling you back from the edge.
Not that you’d ever admit that either.
You didn’t want to think about it too hard. But you also couldn’t help noticing these little things about her: the way she tapped her pen when she was thinking, or how she hummed quietly while fixing her notes. Stuff you wouldn’t have picked up on before.
Weird.
Haerin knocks on your door three times.
Three. Times.
She knocked on YOUR door.
Why was she at your house again?
Haerin's phone buzzed as your text lit up her screen. She clicked the notification immediately, her lips pursing as she read your message.
"Sorry can't meet up today, I'm sick."
Haerin raises an eyebrow, her fingers hovering over the keys as she types a reply.
haerin: No you're not.
y/n: Yes, I am.
haerin: What sickness do you have? A mental one?
She leans back in her chair, barely suppressing a laugh at her own comeback. You stare at the message for a moment, eyebrows furrowing.
y/n: SEVERE COLD, HAERIN.
haerin: You're probably faking it 🙄
y/n: WHY WOULD I FAKE HAVING A SEVERE COLD?
haerin: Idk, so you wouldn't work on the project, ig...
Your eyes widen. Typing out a response as you scroll through the project files on your laptop.
y/n: WE'RE LITERALLY ALMOST FINISHED.
haerin: What's your address?
You blink at the message.
y/n: Why? So you can bomb my house?
haerin: So I can come over and see if you're actually sick.
You smirk, flipping over onto your bed with a dramatic sigh.
y/n: You just want to see me... omg, are you worried about me? ❤💜😋
You laugh as you send it, but your heart skips a beat as you wait for her reply. Haerin’s fingers freeze for a second, the playful edge in her expression faltering. She inhales, trying to cover up the slight warmth that creeps up her neck.
Haerin: Worried ur face, what's your address? I'm coming over -_-
You laugh at her response, shaking your head as you type back.
Y/N: You idiot, do you not know severe cold is contagious?
Haerin: And?
Y/N: YOU'RE GONNA GET INFECTED BY ME????
Haerin’s fingers types back, repeating your sarcastic tone earlier.
Haerin: Omg, are you worried about me? ❤💜😋
Y/N: Yeah, if you get sick too, who's gonna finish the project? 🥺💔
She stares at her screen for a moment, her expression softening despite herself. She types quickly, trying to cover up the sudden warmth in her chest.
Haerin: Just send the address.
You grin, sending a pinned location.
And that’s how Haerin ends up standing in front of your door. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, balancing a plastic bag with a small container inside in one hand and her laptop tucked under her arm.
When you open the door, Haerin’s breath hitches for just a moment as she takes you in: the messy bun perched high on your head, the oversized pajama top slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing the curve of your collarbone, and black shorts that hang loosely on your frame. Your nose is red probably from sneezing, but your eyes, tired as they are, still carry that spark she’s always noticed. The way the light catches on the little stray hairs framing your face, the faint glisten of chapstick on your lips
What flavor is it? Cherry? Mint? She clamps down on the thought immediately. No no stop gay thoughts
"You actually came?" you say with a hoarse cough, your voice scratchy but still teasing.
She nods subtly, unable to tear her eyes away. There’s something disarming about seeing you like this—unguarded, cozy, real. You catch her staring, and she quickly looks away, her cheeks heating.
She pretends to inspect the plastic bag in her hand, as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Come in, weirdo,” you say, snickering, stepping aside and pushing the door wider.
Haerin steps in, her gaze darting around.
The place is clean—just as she expected—but noticeably quiet.
"You live alone?”
You close the door behind her with a shrug. “Yeah.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Oh.”
"Where are your parents?"
“They died,” you add, deadpan.
Haerin freezes mid-step, her face falling. “I’m so—”
“Kidding!” You burst into laughter, which quickly turns into a series of harsh coughs. “They live across the country.”
Haerin’s jaw tightens as she smacks your shoulder lightly. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s hilarious,” you wheeze between coughs.
She rolls her eyes though there was a hint of worry as she toes off her shoes, setting the bag on the table.
“What’s that?” you ask, sniffling as you flop back onto the couch and burrito yourself in a blanket.
“Samgye-tang,” she mumbles, awkwardly standing in the middle of your living room, laptop still tucked under her arm.
“For what?”
“For you.” The words slip out before she can stop them. She fumbles. “It’s… uh, good for colds. I Googled it.”
You chuckle, your voice raspy. “How sweet.”
“Anyways,” she mutters, trying to mask the flustered tone as she pulls out her laptop, “we need to finish the project.”
You laugh at how quickly she switches topics. “How swift.”
“Ahh, let’s start,” she whines, failing to hide her smile as she plops onto the couch beside you.
Before opening her laptop, she pulls something from her pocket: a white face mask.
“I’m kinda offended,” you say as she slips it on.
“Don’t wanna get infected.” came her muffled voice through the white mask.
You rolled your eyes, slumping deeper into your blanket cocoon. “I thought you said ‘and?’”
Haerin didn’t answer. Instead, she just smirked, her eyes narrowing playfully, and flipped open her laptop. The hum of the device filled the air as she pulled up the project files.
Time flies and the once stillness of your house is now filled with the faint hum of Bruno Major’s Nothing playing in the background. The comforting melody wove through the air, blending with the soft clink of your spoon against the bowl as you sipped the soup Haerin had brought.
The soup was warm, richer than anything you would’ve bothered to make for yourself. It coated your throat, easing the lingering scratchiness from earlier. It was good—surprisingly good. And she’d bought it for you.
The thought made you pause, your spoon hovering mid-air.
When did this happen?
When did you and Haerin get this close?
Just months ago, she’d been the girl who pulled the fire alarm as a stupid joke(?), leaving you to take the blame. You still remember the awkward shuffle to detention every day for a whole month. You hated her then.
But now...
Now, she was here. In your house. On your couch.
Her laptop sat abandoned beside her, her head resting against your shoulder, her breaths slow and even.
She was asleep.
on your shoulder.
You turned your head slightly, careful not to wake her, and caught a glimpse of her face. With her mask pushed below her chin, her lips were slightly parted, her usually sharp features softened by the glow of the lamp. Her hair framed her face like she was the main character in some cheesy movie scene.
Your shoulder should’ve been aching by now, but it wasn’t.
Instead, there was a strange warmth blooming in your chest.
You stared at her, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like the blanket you were cocooned in. The realization crept in slowly, uninvited but impossible to ignore.
When did you stop hating her?
No—when did you start liking her?
Your heart gave an unsteady thud, loud enough that you were half-convinced she’d wake up and hear it. You looked away, setting the now-empty bowl on the coffee table, trying to stop the thoughts in your head.
This doesn’t mean anything, you told yourself. She’s just here because of the project.
But that didn’t explain the soup. Or the way her head fit so naturally against your shoulder. Or why, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to push her away.
Because even as you turned back to the glowing laptop screen, the weight of her head on your shoulder grounded you in a way that felt... nice.
Too nice.
You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at her again. Just one more time. Her lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks, and her lips twitched ever so slightly, like she was dreaming.
And for the first time in a while, you weren’t annoyed with her. You weren’t frustrated or rolling your eyes.
Instead, you felt something else entirely.
"This is seriously gross. I hope they get kicked out," Hyein fake-gagged, pretending to shove her finger down her throat.
"Call me delusional, but I've NEVER seen Haerin smile that much in one day," Hanni whispers, leaning over her textbook.
“Right?” Ryujin chimed in, flipping a page of her notebook like she wasn’t dropping a bombshell. “Can’t believe they’re not together yet.”
“They’re not?” Hyein and Hanni’s heads whipped around so fast you’d think they’d snapped their necks. Their voices rang out louder than intended, drawing a sharp glare from the librarian across the room.
"You guys didn't know?" Ryujin raises a brow.
"No!" Hyein and Hanni hiss in unison, which earns them another sharp glare from the librarian across the room. They duck their heads, covering their mouth.
Minji, equally scandalized, glances over at the two of you. "Wait, so... why not?"
Ryujin shrugs like she couldn’t care less, though her smirk says otherwise. "Beats me. Guess no one’s got the guts to confess."
“They’ve got to be, like, this close to confessing, though,” Hanni whispered, holding her thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart.
“Not happening,” Ryujin replied without looking up from her notes. “Y/n’s definitely not confessing first. She’d die before admitting she likes someone.”
From their point of view, it looked more like a cozy date than a group study session. Haerin had insisted on sitting apart from the others, claiming the group was "too distracting." Her excuse for picking you instead? “You’re less distracting.” The irony wasn’t lost on anyone.
At your table, Haerin was mid-rant about the superiority of tomatoes over avocados, her words spilling out like a flood. You weren’t even sure how the conversation had started, but she’d gone from mildly passionate to full-on Eminem-speed enthusiasm. The right earbud of her headphones in your ear, the left in hers, the music was playing "flaming hot cheetos" by clairo. this is so gay, omg wait.
And you? You were absolutely useless. All you could do was nod along, every word she said melting into background noise as your focus stayed glued to her. The way her lips curved into a smile every time she made a point. The way she'd playfully hit you when you occasionally tease her. The little crease in her brow when she was trying to organize her thoughts. The warmth in her voice when she was really, truly excited about something.
She was so... Haerin. There was no one else like her. She was warm but guarded, quiet but opinionated, reserved until she wasn’t. And, as much as you hated to admit it, you were a goner.
"Yeah- Wow. Y/N is GONE," Minji whispers, pointing in your direction.
"Awwh, shes looking at Haerin like she’s the only person on earth," Hyein mutters, earning a snort from Hanni.
"You know what we need to do?" Hyein suddenly perks up, her grin nothing short of mischievous. "We should bet on who confesses first."
"10,000 won on Y/N," Minji declares immediately, pulling a crumpled bill out of her pocket and slapping it onto the table. "No way Haerin makes the first move."
"I'm in," Danielle says, jolting awake from what everyone thought was a nap. She stretches lazily and plucks out her own contribution.
"Hold up. Isn’t this, like... morally questionable?" Hanni asks, though she’s already digging through her bag.
"Okay, but since when were you morally anything, Hanni?" Hyein quips, raising an eyebrow. Hanni gasps, clutching her bag like she’s been deeply wronged, before casually tossing in her money.
The group splits quickly—Hyein, Minji, and Ryujin bet on you, while Hanni and Danielle side with Haerin.
"Okay hear me out," Hanni leans in conspiratorially, her tone serious. "Haerin’s shy, yeah, but i feel like she's the type to make a surprise move when no one’s expecting it."
“Haerin? A surprise confession?” Minji deadpanned, her tone dripping with skepticism. “Y/N’s been pining for weeks. They’ll crack first.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night” Hanni retorted. "I have faith in Haerin’s game bro.”
The debate continues in hushed whispers, the occasional glare from the librarian barely slowing them down. Eventually, Hyein claps her hands together, her grin wider than ever.
“WAIT, What if neither of them confesses?” Ryujin said, leaning back in her chair.
"Okay, so if neither of them confesses by the end of the week, we *make* it happen." hyein says
“Meddling feels kinda wrong, though,” Danielle said, frowning slightly. “Doesn’t it?”
“You’re already betting on them,” Minji pointed out. “May as well go all in.”
"Exactly," Hyein says, the gleam in her eyes downright devious. "They’re both gay oblivious disasters. Someone’s gotta give them a little push."
The group nodded in agreement, the stakes set. They whispered plans and strategies, the quiet library filling with the sound of low murmurs and barely stifled laughter as they decided whose side to take and what meddling might be necessary.
Across the room, you and Haerin were oblivious, still locked in your bubble. Her rant about tomatoes had derailed into a tangent about guacamole, and you hadn’t stopped smiling once.
“You’re not even listening, are you?” Her voice broke through your internal spiral.
“Huh?” You blinked, heart stuttering when you realized she was looking right at you, her head tilted slightly in mock suspicion.
“I said,” she leaned in closer, the scent of her shampoo soft but overwhelming in this moment, “you’re just nodding to everything I say.”
“I… agree with you?” you tried, hoping your smile wasn’t as obvious as it felt.
She laughed—a soft, melodic sound that made your chest ache.
“So, Valentine’s is coming up…” Her voice dropped a notch, softer now, almost hesitant.
Your heart skipped a beat. She let the sentence hang there, unfinished. Hope flickered in your chest, reckless and eager. Was this it? Was she—?
“…If you would like to help me with our booth?” she finished, though something in her voice wavered, like it wasn’t what she’d really meant to say.
Oh.
The flicker of hope sputtered, dimming.
“Hahaha…pleaseee...We’re friends, right?” Haerin laughed, but it was tight, strained. Her eyes broke away first, dropping to the textbook in front of her like it had all the answers she couldn’t find in this moment.
Her thoughts were spinning wildly, one plea looping on repeat. Please don’t say we are. Please don’t say we are. She just needed a sign—something to confirm that this wasn’t all in her head.
“Yeah, we are.” You nodded, forcing a smile, feeling the words land heavy on your tongue. "I'll help"
No, we aren’t.
But you said it anyway, and Haerin swallowed the ache that came with it.
She wished it were different. She wished you’d called her bluff.
You were perched at your desk, half-heartedly flipping through your notebook while trying to focus on your chemistry homework. "Focus, Y/N," you muttered, rubbing your temple. It was supposed to be a free day—a rare reprieve during the school festival, when most students were outside enjoying the chaos of booths and events. So why were you stuck inside, pretending to be productive?
Oh, right, because the last thing you needed was to run into her.
The mere thought made you groan, slumping further into your seat. It wasn’t like you were avoiding her—okay, maybe you were—but could anyone blame you? It was only a few weeks ago that you convinced yourself she’d friend-zoned you, and ever since, you’d been determined to distance yourself before your feelings spiraled further out of control.
You sighed, flipping a page. “This is fine,” you whispered, as if convincing yourself. After all, who needed cotton candy and cheap prizes when you had stoichiometry and self-loathing?
"Y/N!" A sudden pat on your shoulder startled you. You turned to see your seatmate, who gestured toward the door.
There, standing with unsettlingly grins, were Hanni and… Minji?
"Y/N L/N?" Hanni called out.
"Yeah?" you replied cautiously. That was all the confirmation they needed. In an instant, they were heading straight for you.
"Come with us," Minji said, not waiting for a response as she helped you up.
“Wait—what’s going on?” you asked, but Hanni was already tying a blindfold over your eyes.
"Am I getting kidnapped?” you muttered as Minji tugged you out of the classroom.
Several minutes of stumbling through hallways, bumping into walls, and almost tripping down the stairs later, they finally guided you into another room.
You heard hurried shuffling and faint whispers before everything went eerily quiet.
Wait… was this their booth?
Your mind flickered back to something Minji had mentioned yesterday about a wedding booth, and unease crept up your spine. Before you could say anything, wedding music suddenly blasted through the room.
"EVERYONE PLEASE TAKE YOUR SEATS, THE CEREMONY IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!!" Ryujin’s unmistakable voice echoed through a microphone, and the room erupted in cheers and laughter.
"Hold up—" you started, but Hanni and Minji were already leading you onto what felt like a raised platform. A veil was suddenly placed over your head, and you could only stand there, bewildered.
"Today, we are gathered here at this most sacred… uh, classroom corner… to witness the union of these two lovely individuals!" Ryujin’s voice rang out again, brimming with mock seriousness.
Laughter and cheers filled the room again, but one pair of eyes wasn’t laughing.
"You may now remove your blindfolds!" Ryujin announced dramatically.
Your hands fumbled behind your head, untying the knot. As the cloth slipped from your face, you blinked, your vision adjusting to the light
What the hell?
Hyein leaned against the booth’s table, lazily sipping on a soda while sneaking glances at Haerin. Perfect timing. Right on cue, she spotted Minji and Hanni practically manhandling you down the hallway. You, blindfolded, were stumbling and muttering protests while they cackled like maniacs.
“Oh. My. GOD!” Hyein gasped dramatically, slamming her soda can down on the table.
Haerin looked up, “What?”
“Do you SEE that?!” Hyein pointed, her eyes wide. “Minji and Hanni are—oh my gosh—they’re dragging Y/N! AND she's blindfolded!”
Haerin’s brows furrowed, her gaze immediately snapping to you being dragged down the corridor. “Why are they—”
“No idea,” Hyein interrupted, grabbing Haerin’s arm with a gasp that was so over-the-top it bordered on comical. “But we havee to follow them. What if they’re kidnapping Y/N?!”
"Why are you speaking like tha—"
“Come ON!” Hyein didn’t give her time to finish, already tugging her along.
"Dude?"
And there he was—Hyunjin. In a suit. Or, more accurately, some half-baked attempt at one. He stood in front of the makeshift wedding booth, the blindfold finally off, wearing an expression that screamed he'd rather be anywhere else.
Your eyes widened. “Uh… what is this?”
Hyunjin tugged at the collar of his ill-fitting costume. “Wedding booth,” he said flatly. “Don’t look at me—I got roped into this. Apparently, someone actually paid for it, so just… play along.”
10 minutes ago...
Hyunjin groaned dramatically as Minji and Hanni hauled him through the hallway, his sneakers dragging against the tiled floor. "I’m on Y/N’s side. Why am I even helping you guys?"
"Just shut up," Minji snapped, yanking his arm harder. Hyunjin stumbled over something on the floor—probably an abandoned textbook, or maybe just his own pride.
"Minji, you’re on Y/N’s side too, you traitor—ow!" He gasped in mock betrayal as she gave him a little shove.
"The bet is off," Hanni groaned, throwing her hands in the air. "It’ll be the apocalypse before they confess to each other. We’ve given them so many chances."
“Exactly,” Hyunjin grumbles. “Why are we still doing this then?”
“Because we’re desperate,” Minji retorts, dragging him forward. “Now quit whining.”
"Fine, whatever, but is the blindfold really necessary?" Hyunjin wiggled his eyebrows, trying to peek under the fabric tied snugly over his eyes.
"Yes," Minji said firmly, steering him to the right. "Watch your step."
They stopped outside a classroom door, and Hyunjin immediately perked up at the sound of Ryujin’s voice.
"Jin! Good, you’re here." Ryujin slapped a bundle of fabric to his chest. "Here, put this on."
"What's this?" Hyunjin asked, holding the mysterious item at arm’s length.
"It’s a costume, obviously," Ryujin said, barely hiding her amusement. "Hurry up! They already went to fetch her."
Hyunjin groaned again, "Can I at least take off the blindfold?"
"No."
“What… is this?” Haerin asked,
“OhHh my god,” Hyein whispered, nudging her. “It’s a wedding booth! Look, they’re marrying Y/N and Hyunjin. Isn’t that, like, sooo cute?”
Haerin’s jaw tightened as she stared at the setup, something twisting in her chest. “It’s… stupid,” she muttered.
“Dearly beloved,” Ryujin began, her voice overly solemn, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of Y/N and Hyunjin in holy—uh—festival matrimony.”
The room filled with laughter as Ryujin continued, but Haerin stood frozen near the doorway.
It's just a booth.
A stupid booth. She repeated the thought like a mantra, but it did little to supress the sharp ache in her chest. Her fists tightened at her sides.
"Now, Hyunjin, do you take Y/N to be your unlawfully wedded wife in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and be true to her in all things until death alone shall part you?" Ryujin said, trying way too hard to sound like a pastor. She squinted at Hyunjin, her expression screaming, just go along with it, dude.
"I do," Hyunjin sighed, finally giving in.
Ryujin nodded and turned to you, clipboard in hand. "And Y/N, do you take Hyunjin to be your unlawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and be true to him in all things until death alone shall part you?"
You hesitated, glancing at the amused faces around you. "I guess…?"
From the sidelines, Hyein smirked and nudged Haerin. “They’re actually doing it. You’re just gonna stand there and let Y/N and Hyunjin get fake-married?”
Haerin’s chest tightened. Her breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “It’s just a booth, Hyein,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
Yeah, Haerin. Just a booth.
But if it was just a booth, why did this feel like someone had pulled the ground out from under her?
Why did it feel… real?
"Then by the power vested in me—”
Hanni nudged Ryujin. “Dude, you forgot the thing.”
“Right,” Ryujin cleared her throat, adjusting her glasses for effect. “Before we proceed, if anyone has objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Haerin froze. Her mind was suddenly everywhere and nowhere. Did she even have the right to object? It was a school festival. A dumb booth for laughs. But watching you stand there with Hyunjin (WITH A MAN.)—it made her stomach twist like she’d swallowed barbed wire.
“Haerin,” Hyein whispered, her voice low and teasing. “You’re just gonna let this happen?”
“I—” Haerin’s voice caught in her throat, sticking like gum.
Ryujin glanced up, sensing the hesitation. “Any objections?” she repeated, louder this time, her words hanging in the air like a challenge.
You turned your head, searching for her in the crowd. Your eyes locked onto hers, and for one fleeting second, you silently pleaded. You wished—no, hoped—she’d say something. Anything.
But she didn’t.
Haerin stood there, lips pressed shut, heart pounding like it was trying to make up for her silence.
The pause dragged on, and with it, everyone’s expectations crumbled.
Ryujin sighed. “Alright then. Let’s proceed.”
“By the power vested in me, by solid, liquid, and gas—”
“Ryujin, stop,” Hanni groaned.
“Fine. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
“You may now kiss—”
“I OBJECT!”
The words burst out before Haerin even realized what she was saying. Her hand shot up on instinct—like it always did in class. But this time, for the first time, she didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know what to say next.
Everyone froze. The air seemed to thicken as all eyes turned to her. Hyein stifled a laugh behind her soda straw while Ryujin’s jaw dropped in mock disbelief. Minji, Danielle, and Hanni exchanged victorious smirks, clearly pleased their plan had worked.
Haerin stood stiffly, her chest tight and her fists clenched at her sides. Her heart raced as she realized the weight of what she’d just done.
Okay, what now?
What was she supposed to say next?
This wasn’t part of the plan—except there was no plan.
Her eyes found you.
And suddenly, she knew.
Without a word, Haerin marched toward the altar, her resolve as sharp as the gasp that rippled through the crowd. She grabbed your wrist, her grip firm but not rough, and pulled you out of the classroom.
You were perched at your desk, half-heartedly flipping through your notebook while trying to focus on your chemistry homework. "Focus, Y/N," you muttered, rubbing your temple. It was supposed to be a free day—a rare reprieve during the school festival, when most students were outside enjoying the chaos of booths and events. So why were you stuck inside, pretending to be productive?
Oh, right, because the last thing you needed was to run into her.
The mere thought made you groan, slumping further into your seat. It wasn’t like you were avoiding her—okay, maybe you were—but could anyone blame you? It was only a few weeks ago that you convinced yourself she’d friend-zoned you, and ever since, you’d been determined to distance yourself before your feelings spiraled further out of control.
You sighed, flipping a page. “This is fine,” you whispered, as if convincing yourself. After all, who needed cotton candy and cheap prizes when you had stoichiometry and self-loathing?
"Y/N!" A sudden pat on your shoulder startled you. You turned to see your seatmate, who gestured toward the door.
There, standing with unsettlingly grins, were Hanni and… Minji?
"Y/N L/N?" Hanni called out.
"Yeah?" you replied cautiously. That was all the confirmation they needed. In an instant, they were heading straight for you.
"Come with us," Minji said, not waiting for a response as she helped you up.
“Wait—what’s going on?” you asked, but Hanni was already tying a blindfold over your eyes.
"Am I getting kidnapped?” you muttered as Minji tugged you out of the classroom.
Several minutes of stumbling through hallways, bumping into walls, and almost tripping down the stairs later, they finally guided you into another room.
You heard hurried shuffling and faint whispers before everything went eerily quiet.
Wait… was this their booth?
Your mind flickered back to something Minji had mentioned yesterday about a wedding booth, and unease crept up your spine. Before you could say anything, wedding music suddenly blasted through the room.
"EVERYONE PLEASE TAKE YOUR SEATS, THE CEREMONY IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!!" Ryujin’s unmistakable voice echoed through a microphone, and the room erupted in cheers and laughter.
"Hold up—" you started, but Hanni and Minji were already leading you onto what felt like a raised platform. A veil was suddenly placed over your head, and you could only stand there, bewildered.
"Today, we are gathered here at this most sacred… uh, classroom corner… to witness the union of these two lovely individuals!" Ryujin’s voice rang out again, brimming with mock seriousness.
Laughter and cheers filled the room again, but one pair of eyes wasn’t laughing.
"You may now remove your blindfolds!" Ryujin announced dramatically.
Your hands fumbled behind your head, untying the knot. As the cloth slipped from your face, you blinked, your vision adjusting to the light
What the hell?
Hyein leaned against the booth’s table, lazily sipping on a soda while sneaking glances at Haerin. Perfect timing. Right on cue, she spotted Minji and Hanni practically manhandling you down the hallway. You, blindfolded, were stumbling and muttering protests while they cackled like maniacs.
“Oh. My. GOD!” Hyein gasped dramatically, slamming her soda can down on the table.
Haerin looked up, “What?”
“Do you SEE that?!” Hyein pointed, her eyes wide. “Minji and Hanni are—oh my gosh—they’re dragging Y/N! AND she's blindfolded!”
Haerin’s brows furrowed, her gaze immediately snapping to you being dragged down the corridor. “Why are they—”
“No idea,” Hyein interrupted, grabbing Haerin’s arm with a gasp that was so over-the-top it bordered on comical. “But we HAVE to follow them. What if they’re kidnapping Y/N?!”
"Why are you speaking like tha—"
“Come ON!” Hyein didn’t give her time to finish, already tugging her along.
"Dude?"
And there he was—Hyunjin. In a suit. Or, more accurately, some half-baked attempt at one. He stood in front of the makeshift wedding booth, the blindfold finally off, wearing an expression that screamed he'd rather be anywhere else.
Your eyes widened. “Uh… what is this?”
Hyunjin tugged at the collar of his ill-fitting costume, offering a sheepish smile. “Wedding booth,” he said flatly. “Don’t look at me—I got roped into this. Apparently, someone actually paid for it, so just… play along, I guess?”
Hyunjin groaned dramatically as Minji and Hanni hauled him through the hallway, his sneakers dragging against the tiled floor. "I’m on Y/N’s side. Why am I even helping you guys?"
"Just shut up," Minji snapped, yanking his arm harder. Hyunjin stumbled over something on the floor—probably an abandoned textbook, or maybe just his own pride.
"Minji, you’re on Y/N’s side too, you traitor—ow!" He gasped in mock betrayal as she gave him a little shove.
"The bet is off," Hanni groaned, throwing her hands in the air. "It’ll be the apocalypse before they confess to each other. We’ve given them so many chances."
“Exactly,” Hyunjin grumbles. “Why are we still doing this then?”
“Because we’re desperate,” Minji retorts, dragging him forward. “Now quit whining.”
"Fine, whatever, but is the blindfold really necessary?" Hyunjin wiggled his eyebrows, trying to peek under the fabric tied snugly over his eyes.
"Yes," Minji said firmly, steering him to the right. "Watch your step."
They stopped outside a classroom door, and Hyunjin immediately perked up at the sound of Ryujin’s voice.
"Jin! Good, you’re here." Ryujin slapped a bundle of fabric to his chest. "Here, put this on."
"What's this?" Hyunjin asked, holding the mysterious item at arm’s length.
"It’s a costume, obviously," Ryujin said, barely hiding her amusement. "Hurry up! They already went to fetch her."
Hyunjin groaned again, "Can I at least take off the blindfold?"
"No."
“What… is this?” Haerin asked,
“OhHh my god,” Hyein whispered, nudging her. “It’s a wedding booth! Look, they’re marrying Y/N and Hyunjin. Isn’t that, like, so cute?”
Haerin’s jaw tightened as she stared at the setup, something twisting in her chest. “It’s… stupid,” she muttered.
“Dearly beloved,” Ryujin began, her voice overly solemn, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of Y/N and Hyunjin in holy—uh—festival matrimony.”
The room filled with laughter as Ryujin continued, but Haerin stood frozen near the doorway.
It was just a booth.
A stupid booth. She repeated the thought like a mantra, but it did little to quell the sharp ache in her chest. Her fists tightened at her sides.
"Now, Hyunjin, do you take Y/N to be your unlawfully wedded wife in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and be true to her in all things until death alone shall part you?" Ryujin said, trying way too hard to sound like a pastor. She squinted at Hyunjin, her expression screaming, just go along with it, dude.
"I do," Hyunjin sighed, finally giving in.
Ryujin nodded and turned to you, clipboard in hand. "And Y/N, do you take Hyunjin to be your unlawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and be true to him in all things until death alone shall part you?"
You hesitated, glancing at the amused faces around you. "I guess…?"
From the sidelines, Hyein smirked and nudged Haerin. “They’re actually doing it. You’re just gonna stand there and let Y/N and Hyunjin get fake-married?”
Haerin’s chest tightened. Her breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “It’s just a booth, Hyein,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
Yeah, Haerin. Just a booth.
But if it was just a booth, why did this feel like someone had pulled the ground out from under her?
Why did it feel… real?
"Then by the power vested in me—”
Hanni nudged Ryujin. “Dude, you forgot the thing.”
“Right,” Ryujin cleared her throat, adjusting her glasses for effect. “Before we proceed, if anyone has objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Haerin froze. Her mind was suddenly everywhere and nowhere. Did she even have the right to object? It was a school festival. A dumb booth for laughs. But watching you stand there with Hyunjin(WITH A MAN.)—it made her stomach twist like she’d swallowed barbed wire.
“Haerin,” Hyein whispered, her voice low and teasing. “You’re just gonna let this happen?”
“I—” Haerin’s voice caught in her throat, sticking like gum.
Ryujin glanced up, sensing the hesitation. “Any objections?” she repeated, louder this time, her words hanging in the air like a challenge.
You turned your head, searching for her in the crowd. Your eyes locked onto hers, and for one fleeting second, you silently pleaded. You wished—no, hoped—she’d say something. Anything.
But she didn’t.
Haerin stood there, lips pressed shut, heart pounding like it was trying to make up for her silence.
The pause dragged on, and with it, everyone’s expectations crumbled.
Ryujin sighed. “Alright then. Let’s proceed.”
“By the power vested in me, by solid, liquid, and gas—”
“Ryujin, stop,” Hanni groaned.
“Fine. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The crowd clapped awkwardly.
“You may now kiss—”
“I OBJECT!”
The words burst out before Haerin even realized what she was saying. Her hand shot up on instinct—like it always did in class. But this time, for the first time, she didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know what to say next.
Everyone froze. The air seemed to thicken as all eyes turned to her. Hyein stifled a laugh behind her soda straw while Ryujin’s jaw dropped in mock disbelief. Minji, Danielle, and Hanni exchanged victorious smirks, clearly pleased their plan had worked.
Haerin stood stiffly, her chest tight and her fists clenched at her sides. Her heart raced as she realized the weight of what she’d just done.
Okay, what now?
What was she supposed to say next?
This wasn’t part of the plan—except there was no plan.
Her eyes found you.
And suddenly, she knew.
Without a word, Haerin marched toward the altar, her resolve as sharp as the gasp that rippled through the crowd. She grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the classroom.
“Okay, I appreciate you saving me back there, but where are we going?” you asked, trying to keep pace as Haerin dragged you down the hall.
She didn’t answer. Her grip was firm—not rough—but she wasn’t slowing down either. The faint chatter of the festival behind you started to fade, leaving only the sound of your footsteps echoing down the empty hallway. Finally, she stopped outside an unused classroom, chest rising and falling like she’d just finished a sprint.
“Haerin,” you tried again, but she turned to face you. Her eyes were locked on yours, a mix of determination and something else you couldn’t pin down. It made your stomach do that annoying flip thing it had no business doing.
“I—” she started, then stopped, running a hand through her hair like she was stalling for time. “Ugh, this is so… messy. I don’t even know where to start.”
You raised an eyebrow. “How about with why you just crashed my fake wedding?”
“Because—” she stopped again, visibly bracing herself. “Okay, I’m just going to say this before I lose my nerve.” Her voice was steady, but she kept fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “I… like you. A lot. And not in the ‘begrudging respect’ way or whatever you’re probably imagining.
Your brain short-circuited for a second. “…What?”
“I’m serious,” she said quickly, “I didn’t plan on this happening. You hated me back then, and honestly? Same. But somewhere along the way, I started noticing things.” Her voice softened, like she was remembering each detail as she spoke.
“Like how you always hum when you’re concentrating—off-key, by the way, but it’s cute.” She smiled a little, her cheeks coloring. “And the way you tuck your chin into your sweater when you’re cold, even if it stretches out the neck. Or how you always carry extra pens even though you lose them half the time, just so no one else runs out during class.”
She glanced at you, then quickly away, like she wasn’t sure she should keep going. But she did.
“You chew your bottom lip when you’re trying not to laugh. And you never drink the last sip of your coffee because you think it tastes weird—but you’ll still offer it to someone else like it’s no big deal.”
Her gaze dropped to her hands, but then she looked back at you, like she was steadying herself. “At first, it was just curiosity. You’re loud, opinionated, stubborn. Basically everything I’m not. But working on that project with you? I don’t know—you made me want to do better. For once, I didn’t want to screw around and ruin things. Not when you were watching.”
She laughed softly, more at herself than anything else. “And the worst part? I wanted you to notice me. Not the version everyone else sees, but the real me. The screw-up who pretends not to care but actually does. And when the project ended, I realized…” She hesitated, her voice quieter now. “You make me feel like—”
You didn’t let her finish. Grabbing her collar, you pulled her into a kiss. It wasn’t smooth—your noses bumped, and it was kind of messy—but it got the point across. For once, her brain seemed to stop overthinking. She froze for half a second, then leaned into it, her hands hovering awkwardly near your shoulders before finally resting there.
When you pulled back, she looked completely stunned. Her eyes were wide, lips parted, like her brain was buffering. Then, slowly, the corner of her mouth curved into the tiniest smirk.
“I wasn’t done,” she muttered, her voice steady again.
“But I’ll take it.”
“LET’S GOOOOOO!”
Both of you jolted apart like you’d been electrocuted, turning toward the doorway as the sound of cheers and a confetti pop filled the air. Minji and Hanni stood there grinning like lunatics, Hanni holding a party popper in one hand and Minji, holding a camera.
Haerin groaned, her face going so red you thought she might actually combust.
“Haerin!” Hanni teased, drawing out her name with a dramatic gasp. “You didn’t tell us you were capable of romance!”
“Stop.” Haerin sputtered, flailing a hand in their direction.
“Not the Haerin confessing her feelings AND kissing someone all in one day,” Hyein added, clutching her chest like she was genuinely overwhelmed. “Who are you, and what did you do with the monotone gremlin we know?”
You covered your face, torn between laughing and dying of secondhand embarrassment. “You guys followed us?”
“Obviously,” Hanni said with zero shame. “How else were we supposed to know if she’d finally grow some balls?”
“Haerin, the WAYY you went full rom-com just now? We’re so proud,” Minji added, wiping an imaginary tear. “The heartfelt speech, the kiss—it’s like a movie.”
Ryujin smirked, tilting her head toward Haerin. “For someone who I usually hear speak in, like, three-word sentences, that was… impressive.”
“Right?” Hyunjin chimed in, still crouched dramatically. “Ten out of ten performance. I might actually cry. WAIT- Someone get me tissues.”
"Our Haerin is so grown up now." Danielle sighs
“For real, I feel like a proud bird mother watching her child fly,” Minji mock-sobbed, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve.
Haerin groaned again, burying her face in her hands. You reached out and gently bumped your shoulder against hers. “For what it’s worth, I thought it was cute,” you said, grinning.
She peeked at you from between her fingers, still red-faced but smiling despite herself. “You’re not helping.”
“Good. You owe me after dragging me through half the school, my arm's kinda sore.”
#newjeans x reader#newjeans#haerin x reader#kang haerin#kang haerin x reader#haerin#newjeans haerin#kang haerin x fem reader#kang haerin x fem!reader
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Logan would probably moan like he’s having the best sex of his life from just a shoulder massage. Do you think he’d deny he needs one? Or would you catch him off guard while he’s asleep?
18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: friends to lovers, unexpected mutual pining, logan realises he’s touch-starved after you offer to give him a backrub, and you both get turned on by it.
divider credit: div1nepetal
what if you’re, like… his friend, who’s grown to care deeply about him over the years and wants nothing else but to help him out a little from time to time in simpler, more ‘humanly’ ways because of said caring?
i mean, he’s got super fast healing and all that jazz, sure, however that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get sore and thus — unbearably — cranky about it… and since you’ve known each other for so long, you’ve also gotten quite comfortable in each other’s company! so it wouldn’t be that odd if you were to offer to relieve the pain in your friend’s back when he swings by your place one random evening… right?
it’s really just to make him feel better, nothing else! because as soon as he flings himself onto his favoured spot on your worn out couch (a dent that he fucking made with the help of his heavy adamantium ass), you catch him repetitively stretching his neck from side to side and rolling his shoulders every so often with a furrowed brow and a tight-lipped expression that somehow manages to appear even grumpier than his usual neutral.
you steal glances because of it. listen intently to the laboured sighs he keeps letting out. and after leering at him and his struggles from the corner of your eye for a little while, not at all paying attention to the movie that you’re supposed to be watching with him, you finally succumb. you turn to the side and propose your offer whilst wiggling your magic fingers, as you like to call them, right in front of his face, and logan, as is expected, denies it by gently swatting your hand away.
taking over pretty much the entire space on the couch from how he’s manspreading, he doesn’t even peel his eyes from the television that — unlike you — he’s actually watching when he tells you that, “you don’t gotta worry about it” and that it’s not that bad, then. for some reason, he even feels the need to add that he can handle himself just fine.
it all makes your eyes roll.
and instead of listening, you rather choose to persist. he’s a wall whenever he makes up his mind on something, you know this, but you also know that if you nag him and scold him for long enough, prodding and picking at the cracks between phantom bricks, he’ll have no choice but to give in and give you what you want just to make you stop… though not without adding a snide comment or two himself during it because he can’t help but act like a dick sometimes around the people he’s fond of, it’s just the way he is!
as you tell him to scooch over and lay on his stomach, you feel just a little bit bad that you had to resort to annoying him in order to being allowed to help him. however, the guilt isn’t nearly as strong as is the sense of victory that you’ve just achieved, so you allow it to curl the corners of your lips into a satisfied, cat-like smile while you busy yourself by straddling the small of his back. he can’t see your face anyway, so what’s the issue?
meanwhile, logan lets out a tired exhale, smushing one cheek against the decorative pillow that he’s folded his arms under so that he can still watch the tv while you work your supposed magic. he listens to your sheepish apology and request to tell you if you’re too heavy, to which he responds by calling it nonsense and that you’re insulting him by thinking you’re heavy whilst sitting on top of a guy who’s literally filled with metal.
and filled with metal he is, indeed! it’s not long before you realize just how much freaking pressure you have to apply to his shoulders and back in order to make him feel something. how much physical strength you have to put into it, to the point that you’re nearly sweating because of it. popping a bone in order to ease some of the tension is literally impossible, so you aim your focus onto the taut cords of muscle instead.
you can see them even through the thin white shirt that he’s wearing — they’re that profound. flexed and attractive, attained with hard work. but they become even more visible when he reluctantly lets you roll the hem of his shirt up towards the collar, unfolding his arms just so that he can lift the upper half of his body, and you right along with him, with no visible effort whatsoever.
the air in the room shifts a little after that; it gets kind of tense. because all of a sudden, you’re skin to skin. his should be covered in scars, but he’s lucky enough to have them all healed and smoothed away by his power. and while he may not be able to feel relief in his adamantium-covered bones, he sure as hell can feel the warmth of your palms running down the slopes of his broad shoulders, the grazing of your nails that nearly makes him shiver when they reach a particularly ticklish part on the nape of his neck, the heat between your legs as you continue to sit on him, dressed in nothing else but a pair of comfortable and tiny shorts…
forcing himself to be a loner, logan isn’t used to being touched like this all that much, and it makes him sensitive. and as a result, he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut and groan in absolute pleasure when you readjust by wiggling your hips on top of him and lean in super close to really dig your fingers into his strong back.
you pause at the sound; he can hear your breathing hitch a little before it continues to fan his shoulder blade. he’s already halfway on opening his mouth to say something in order to avoid things from getting too awkward even if he’s not the kind of man who minds if they do, when all of a sudden it hits him.
it’s barely there, just the faintest whiff of something sticky and sweet. it would be impossible to catch by a normal human, but he isn’t a normal human, now is he? no, he’s a mutant — a primal one, at that — and because of it, his nose is more than capable of catching a scent like this.
you’re… aroused. have gotten turned on by the sound he just made. are getting wetter between the legs by the second. and he can smell it.
fuck.
logan chooses not to say anything even if the pheromones that he’s steadily inhaling now are making his blood grow feverish to dangerous levels. meanwhile, you choose to remain quiet as well, simply continuing your ministrations as if nothing has happened.
something that does change, however, is the way you touch him. from that hiccup onward, you get more, should you say, intimate with it; even daring to comb your fingers through his rich, dark hair at some point and experimentally tugging at the roots, making him actually shiver this time.
he doesn’t just shiver, though. the action is so freaking good that it also causes his eyes to roll into the back of his head — he silently prays that he’s managed to squeeze them shut for a second time before you could catch it.
and that’s not all there is to it either. by now, his cock has become painfully hard in his pants. thick, hot and leaking pre-cum from how excited he’s getting. it makes laying down on his stomach extremely uncomfortable, but he thinks it’s better to suffer through it than enabling you to see what you’re doing to him both physically and mentally.
mind fogged by a mixture of your and now his own lust, he’s getting so horny that all he wants to do is rut into the couch while you continue to touch him. he doesn’t, of course, he’s been around for over two centuries so he’s pretty good at restraining himself, however that doesn’t mean that he likes doing it.
so he remains decent… well, somewhat. he pants a little bit, and he grunts and curses under his breath in a way that makes him sound like he’s balls deep in your cunt, folding you in a mating press and pounding away until you’re nothing but a whiny mess and his cum is trickling down your thighs, but he still tries his very best.
by the time you pat him on the shoulders and tell him you’ve finished, he fears he did, too.
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Katie!!!! This chapter was amazing, incredible, fantastic, brilliant, every other nice word you can possibly think of !!! 💜 I loved getting even more insight into Bradley and Natasha’s teenager years
“I think that we should go.” Natasha speaks quietly, feeling eyes on her still from various men around the gym. She has known from day one that this wasn’t a safe place for her, but she came because Bradley needed her too. Now, it occurs to her that it has never been safe for him either.’ I know I’ve said it before on previous chapters, but I really appreciate Nat and Bradley���s friendship so much, and how even as kids they would still go out of their way to be there for and look out for one another 🥹
‘But Natasha’s efforts at protecting Bradley have always fallen short. She’s doing better at keeping you safe, and Bradley wouldn’t be good for you. Her priority remains the same.’ My heart absolutely broke a bit at Natasha trying and not being able to protect Bradley in the past from Emilia, I just love her dedication to her friends and how she wants to protect Bambi now too 🥺💜
Bambi’s run-in with Jett had me anxious and on the edge of my seat! My heart broke again seeing how terrified she was and how the encounter just completely shook all her confidence. I hate to see Bambi doubting herself, I just wanna hug her ): but also her first instinct being to wish that she had Rooster with her aaah 🥺 !!!
I loved Bradley refusing to let Bambi spend the night crying alone <3 and Bambi’s surprise at his genuine concern when she tells him what happened 🥺 I always love how neither one really knows what the other is thinking or feeling and how they’re constantly surprising one another with their actions, it’s such an interesting dynamic and makes them so enjoyable to read!
“Not just yet, Bambi — hang on a little bit more for me,” He nods his head, nuzzling his face into the crook of your jaw. He wraps a hand around the base of his cock and drags in back down, thick and heavy against your sensitive skin. He watches you as he dips just the tip into you. You gasp out, chest tightening, legs pushing against him. His lips quirk amusedly as he pulls back out again, “Then you can have it.”
I was waiting for this moment and omg it did not disappoint at all, as always your smut is impeccable, Katie <3 😵💫 And Bradley training Bambi aaaaaah !!!! Such a phenomenal chapter, definitely my favorite thus far and I’m beyond excited to see what happens next ❤️❤️
Blow by Blow | 1.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist
synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big. Boxing au.
Warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line, blood and injuries throughout the fic but will be specified in the warnings of the chapter. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni, insinuated grooming but nothing graphic (skip the italics to avoid), the return of an abusive ex, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected pinv
…
Nothing about Tony DeLuca running into Bradley was accidental. Nothing about Bradley winning his first six months of fights was by chance.
Word spread quickly that Maverick was refusing to train, afraid that he would put the poor kid in an early grave like he had to his old man. Poor Bradley didn’t have a clue. As far as he knew, his trusty old uncle just didn’t have the time of day for him anymore.
The kid lived and breathed boxing — and he was good at it too. He didn’t need a backup plan. He was easy to get on board. The promise of quick cash and glory had him hooked on the very first day.
Now, six months in, he really considers the people at Darkstar to be his friends. They’re kind to him because Tony tells them to be.
“This place gives me the fucking creeps.” Natasha mumbles quietly as she pencils in the answers to her geometry homework. Bradley doesn’t answer but that isn’t unusual these days. He’s either on top of the world or he’s furious. It’s hard to keep up with which is which. “Don’t you get weirded out about the people staring at us?”
People stare at Bradshaw’s too, but not the same as it is here. At Bradshaw’s, it’s amusement and surprise to see kids running around the place or training in the ring. It’s not like that here.
Still waiting for a response, she glances up. Bradley’s not looking at her. His head is craned so far around that it’s starting to look unnatural. She furrows her brows slightly and leans to the side so that she can follow his gaze.
“Huh?” Bradley mumbles without looking back at her.
She finally spots what he’s looking at. The tall blonde standing behind Tony, looking at Bradley like he might as well be made out of diamonds. Natasha frowns as she looks the woman over. Natasha knows Emilia. Tony’s wife is around every now and again, but she doesn’t make a habit of coming by the gym too often. Natasha knows that Emilia is too young and pretty for the man that she married, but she still doesn’t like the way that the woman is looking at her friend.
Natasha swings her boot into Bradley’s bare shin. Finally, she has his attention. He frowns at her incredulously, still youthful features contorting into a scowl. “Ow! What was that for?”
“I think that we should go.” Natasha speaks quietly, feeling eyes on her still from various men around the gym. She has known from day one that this wasn’t a safe place for her, but she came because Bradley needed her too. Now, it occurs to her that it has never been safe for him either.
“I told Tony I’d stay and help him set up for his poker game. Why? — What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is that woman is looking at you like you’re her next meal.” Natasha whispers, speaking through gritted teeth. Bradley’s lips quirk softly, his heart soaring a the fact that someone else noticed it.
“Yeah, she’s just looking,” Bradley glances back over there and shrugs his shoulders. He looks calmly back to Natasha. “It’s fine, she’s like that with everyone.”
It’s all over his face, though, that he likes the attention. He’s blushing even as he talks to her, a deep pink spreading over his cheeks and down his neck, under the oversized hoodie that he’s wearing.
“Even high-schoolers?” Natasha challenges, her tone cold. She hopes that it will wake Bradley up to what’s right in front of him, but he just shrugs again. He looks down at his homework and pretends to be focusing on it. Natasha looks back over to Emilia. Emilia meets her gaze with no shame, lips quirked at the sides.
“Fuck this place, I’m going home.”
“I fight in, like two hours! — We can’t leave.” Bradley frowns, grabbing her wrist as his best friend pushes herself up from the ground. Natasha stares down at him, completely serious.
“Promise me that you’ll stay away from her.” Natasha says softly.
“Why? — Her husband doesn’t make her happy, she told me so.” The response is immediate and confirms every fear that Natasha has in her head. She stomps her shoe into the concrete floor below them.
“Oh my god, Bradley, you’re so stupid!” Natasha groans, rolling her eyes as she picks her backpack up from the ground. She’s tired of this. Of sneaking out of her room once a month and getting dragged to the other side of the harbour to sit here on the ground and wait for Bradley to win a fight. Of Bradley never even thanking her for what she’s doing for him. He doesn’t see it.
Bradley stares at her, wounded. He and Natasha are frequently annoying to one another, but it’s always a joke. Now, she really does think that he’s stupid. He isn’t stupid. He turns his face away from her.
“Fuck off, Nat. Walk yourself home, if I’m so dumb.”
“Fine!” She bites back.
“Fine.” Bradley mumbles defeatedly as his gaze lands on the homework in front of him. He makes every effort not to look as his best friend leaves him there. He doesn’t get it, a lot of the time — the reason why people don’t like him. Maverick, he’s so tense around Bradley recently that they barely talk. Jake from the junior circuit, he’s had it out for Bradley since they met. Now, Nat.
Still focused on the lined page in front of him, he takes time to read the question and realizes that he definitely had gotten question three wrong. He sits forwards to pencil the correct answer in as the metal door swings shut behind Natasha with an embarrassingly loud clang.
He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and exhales slowly. He has only known Natasha for a year and a half, but she’s the best friend that he has ever had. Even if she’s a little mean to him sometimes.
“Was that your girlfriend, sweetie?” The voice is accompanied immediately by gentle touch, slender fingers gliding through Bradley’s loose curls as they’re stroked back off of his forehead. Bradley looks up at Emilia.
“No. She’s my friend.” Or she was, he isn’t sure.
“She’s pretty.” Emilia comments, fingers still carding through Bradley’s hair. It’s long and falls into his brown eyes, he’s practically hiding behind it as she looks over his face. “You would be cute together.”
Bradley gives a slow shake of his head, barely moving, afraid that she will withdraw her hand if he does. “It’s not like that.”
“Well, I hope it doesn’t put you off your game tonight. It’s a big one, Tony’s so excited for you.” Emilia explains, sliding her fingers away from Bradley’s soft curls and cascading them along his smooth cheek. He leans away from her touch just slightly out of instinct.
“I’ll be fine.” He says quietly, swinging his homework book closed and shoving it towards his backpack. He sits up a little straighter and squares his shoulders.
Emilia’s scarlet-coloured lips tilt upwards at the corners as she watches him intently. Bradley squirms under her gaze, dropping his eyes down to look at the floor instead.
“Mind if I sit with you for a bit, Bradley?” She asks tenderly, stroking her thumb along the curve of his chin. He swallows softly to make sure that his voice isn’t going to crack when he speaks.
“Sure.”
Natasha watches Bradley now, working with a client who’s around seventeen, still fighting in the junior circuit. She doesn’t ever remember thinking that they looked that young when they were that age. Rounded cheeks, smooth skin where there will one day be stubble. She glances back to Bradley and frowns slightly.
His cheeks, chin and his neck now littered with scars, he looks a little older than she does but he always has. She does her best to think back to what he looked like back then, before the scars and before that stupid mustache.
She can’t quite picture it right anymore, but she knows that the kid he’s sparring with looks like a kid. Now that Nat’s all grown up, she knows the difference. Just like Emilia did.
“Morning!”
You round the corner with Tank in tow, smiling softly. Natasha turns her head and gives you a quick and polite smile. She has already heard by now that Bradley stayed over at your place again this weekend. It’s a shame really, she should be rooting for the two of you. You would be good for him.
But Natasha’s efforts at protecting Bradley have always fallen short. She’s doing better at keeping you safe, and Bradley wouldn’t be good for you. Her priority remains the same.
You glance quickly towards the ring as Bradley swings his glove into his opponent’s abdomen. The younger boy grunts and doubles over. Bradley groans and leans his head back, “Come on, man — does the word defence mean anything to you?”
“Morning,” Natasha smiles. She leans her head into yours as you hug her gently, tucking your arms around her shoulders. You settle as your attention is pulled away from Rooster. “Did you want to go down to the beach or something today? — I could do with getting out of here.”
Your face immediately lights up, lips parting in surprise. “Oh, Nix — I wish I could, Jake wants me training all morning. We could maybe go this afternoon?”
She nods as she lets you go, watching you glance quickly towards the ring again. Your gaze lingers for a second too long before it’s back on her. “Yeah. This afternoon. How are you feeling about your fight tomorrow?”
Bradley rolls his eyes as the kid in front of him trips again. He catches sight of Maverick watching him through the office blinds and straightens up. Maybe he isn’t the best teacher, but Mav was never any better. Mav has always expected more from Bradley than he had from himself. They’ve both disappointed each other plenty already.
The track over the speakers switches to something with a stronger tempo. He turns his attention back to the client and nods for them to continue. The boy sighs and wipes sweat from his forehead.
“Kind of scared.” You admit, brushing your hair back away from your face as your gaze turns back towards Rooster to make sure that he hadn’t overheard you. He hadn’t; too busy barking orders at the teenager in the ring.
Natasha doesn’t really understand. She hasn’t felt afraid for a fight since she was eleven. But she nods anyway, sympathetic as the two of you talk ringside.
It’s all too easy. Natasha nodding empathetically as she listens to your worries. Jake encouraging you through your morning training. Rooster leaving early for a morning appointment so you don’t have to feel him watching you train. Then, an afternoon spent on the beach with Natasha and Mickey.
You wave goodbye to them both outside Mickey’s apartment, only letting them drive you back that far and insisting that you’ll be fine walking the rest of the way. That was your first mistake. You spot him, at first, out of the corner of your eye. Just a shadow in your peripheral.
Without having to turn your head, you know that it’s him. His head turns as you cross the parking lot of a grocery store, hoping to be able to rush right past him without him recognising you. That’s stupid. Of course he’ll recognise you. He’s been actively looking for you.
Jett turns as he calls out your name. You keep walking, stumbling as you try to pick up the pace.
“Babe, babe, slow down.” He jogs to catch up to you, you can hear the soles of his vans hitting along the parking lot as he nears you. Your fingers fumble for your house key, wondering silently why you hadn’t just let Mickey drive you. You slot the keys between your fingers and continue walking, not daring to look back. He calls your name behind you. “Can you just wait for me? — Baby, I need to talk to you.”
Numbness spreads through your limbs like a chill, even with the lingering afternoon heat. You try to keep up your pace, moving as quickly as your trembling legs will carry you.
It feels so wrong to hear him call you that, his voice hangs around in the air like it’s waiting there to suffocate you. You should have brought Tank, or Rooster — no, Rooster being here would be a bad thing. But god, you’d feel better if he was.
His fingers curl around your wrist, icy and rigid as he tugs you back. You pull against him and try not to turn, but you know that having your back to him is even worse than having to look him in the eye. You turn towards him, the cold of his skin spreading up your arm and through your body when you finally meet his gaze.
“Where are you running off to, baby?” Immediately, his free hand reaches for your face. Your reaction settles somewhere between a flinch and a recoil, tripping over the curb behind you as you move to take a step back. His fingers curling tighter around your wrist is an all too familiar feeling, and so is the nausea that follows it.
“My friends are waiting for me.” You answer, knowing that your trembling voice gives you away. You watch his face change, it’s a brief split-second kind of thing, but you know the cues. He hates when you act afraid of him. It only irritates him more.
“Oh yeah, your new buddies over at the gym.” Jett chuckles. You’ve got better control over your reactions than he does, so he doesn’t notice how much of a punch to the gut this is. That he knows where you are, and where you’ve been this entire time.
“Yeah.” You try to sound calm. There’s probably someone still there, maybe Maverick. Fuck, you hope that he’s still there.
“Baby,” Jett tries to close the gap between you as you stumble for footing, backing away as much as his iron-tight grip on your wrist will let you. His voice is so gentle and he’s smiling at you like he would never hurt you again. You’ve been here before. “Can we not do this? — I know that last argument sucked, but come on, we’ve been through worse. We can just talk it out.”
You shake your head softly, brows scrunching. “No.”
Jett reaches for your face again and this time curls his fingers around the nape of your neck to stop you from pulling away. As he brings himself closer, the nausea consumes you. His smell, the look on his face, his fingers on your skin.
“Please let go.” You squeak out, voice strained as you will yourself not to cry in front of him. That has always made things worse. Jett’s brows scrunch together slightly. He doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t understand what it is that makes you pull away from his touch like this is.
He strokes his thumb along the nape of your neck and a sob catches in your throat. Closing your eyes, you swallow the sound and try to pull back.
“Please, tell me what I can do to fix this.”
“Nothing. It’s over, I left. So, let me go.”
“Yeah, you blocked my number,” Jett’s palm remains on the back of your neck, curling tighter around it, keeping you close to him. You stare right ahead of you, at the store, willing someone to just come out and see him, breathing through your nose. “You fucking embarassed me, everyone’s been asking me where you went!”
The sky is calm overhead and a tightness in your throat that only grows as the sole of his hightop inches closer to you across the asphalt. You swallow softly and square out your shoulders. The closer he is to you, the more that your heartbeat thuds in your ears.
“I’m done being your doormat.” Your voice is quieter than you intended, it undermines the message you’re trying to get through. Your gaze remains on his shoes as he takes another step forwards, primarily focusing on the spot of blood on the lace. You know that it’s yours.
“Oh yeah?” You can hear it in his voice that he’s got a grin on his face. Goosebumps erupt across your arms, chest tightening as he draws closer across the asphalt again. You can’t bring yourself to look at that smile on his face. “You’re tough now?”
You close your eyes all together, turning your face away. The smell of his cologne tells you that he’s getting closer. Your legs are frozen, staying exactly where they are. You couldn’t move them if you tried.
“Are you alright, miss?” The voice calls out from across the parking lot and Jett drops your wrist immediately. You barely give your eyes time to open before you turn on the heel of your shoe and sprint.
Running until your lungs feel like they’re going to give out and beyond that. Tears burn your cheeks as you race up the steps to the apartment, instinct forces the key into the lock on the first try and you slam it shut behind you, locking it again. You fall to the floor, back pressed to the door, sobs wracking your body.
You’re grateful for your new friends. You adore the ways that each of them care for you and let you care for them. Helping Mav with his phone. Letting Mickey ramble to you for hours about why the Star Wars sequels were done badly. Helping Natasha with her client schedule.
You adore each of them. But you should have listened to Rooster. You weren’t ready for this, you’ll probably never be good enough to do what they do and today provided with a reality check about all of that. You weren’t ready for this — all it took was a tiny knock from Jett and you crumpled like paper.
Laying on your floor until the tears stop soaking Tank’s fur, you lay there with him until you’re certain that you’re done. Then, you wash your face and change into your pyjamas, curling up on the couch with a blanket over your legs and Tank settled in against your side. He always seems to be extra snuggly when you’re sad.
An hour of peace passes, your tear-induced headache starts to fade and you find your eyelids growing heavier as the TV show that you’re watching nears the end of its first season. You think back to the text you had sent Jake in the middle of your hysterics, telling him that you’re sorry and that there’s no way you can fight tomorrow. You glance down at your dark phone screen, secure in your decision to have switched it off earlier.
Weight hits the outside of the door and keys fumble for the lock. You pinch the bridge of your nose and will yourself not to start crying out of frustration. You know exactly what’s coming next, and you aren’t in the mood for it. In fact, you’re just about in the mood to kill Bradley.
The lock clicks open in compliance and he comes stumbling through the front door. From his usual spot on the couch, you glare at him as he finds his balance by bracing himself against the door handle.
He’s soaked, white t-shirt clinging to his skin and see through, jeans dripping onto your floor, curls swept back messily off of his face. Rooster takes a second to look you over. Sitting cross-legged on the couch in your pyjamas, tear stained cheeks. He draws his own conclusion about what’s happening with the fight.
Swinging the door shut behind him, not noticing the way you flinch with its slam, he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and peels it up. “Hate to say I told you so, but—“
“Get out.”
His brows furrow as he holds his soaking wet t-shirt balled up in his hand. The droplets of rain slide along his soaked skin, dripping onto your floors as he smiles breathlessly, “Come on, I’m just messing with—“
“Get the fuck out of my apartment. Sleep downstairs, sleep in your car — I don’t fucking care, just get out!” Your fingers curl into the throw pillow at your side, plush under your fingertips. It’s soft, but your aim never falters. He just about catches it as it hits him in the chest.
Rooster raises his brows, holding the little pink throw pillow against his bare chest, having dropped his shirt to the floor now. He looks you over again. No bruises, no cuts. Nothing.
“What happened?” He takes a couple of steps forwards, features creasing into something that resembles concern but knowing him and his emotional capacity, probably isn’t. He approaches you cautiously, well aware of the several objects nearby that you could also turn into projectiles if you wanted to.
“Can you just leave, please? — You’re the last person I want to see right now.” You whimper, throwing yourself back against the couch cushions and pulling your knees up to your chest. Bradley still tries to lighten the mood.
“But you always let me sleep over.” He frowns.
“Exactly! — And you’re always still an asshole,” Your fingers curl into another throw pillow. Tank looks at Rooster, unfazed and his head still in your lap. Rooster drops the first pillow in preparation for the second. “So, what’s the point in being nice?”
The second throw pillow slips past his open hands, hitting him in the stomach and falling to the ground. Even more confused now, Rooster doesn’t slow his cautious steps towards you.
“I am so sick,” You rush out, voice raised, fists clenched, staring right at him. “Of asshole guys treating me however the fuck they want! So, get the fuck out!”
Finally, Bradley stops walking towards you. About four feet away, he raises his hands in defense and his face softens. Dropping his hands black down to his sides, he remains stationary in the middle of your apartment, just looking you over.
“So, you’re not doing the fight?” He asks calmly.
You turn and roll onto your stomach, pressing your face into a throw pillow. You refuse to let another man see you cry today. Your response comes muffled, barely audible on account of how hard you’ve squashed your face into the pillow. “Leave me alone.”
Bradley glances at Tank at your feet and takes a cautious step forwards. Having your back as always, Tank’s low growl is enough to warn Bradley not to come any closer.
“Bambi,” Rooster says softly. If he could get closer, he’d rub your back and tell you that it’s alright. “Come on. Whatever happened, y’know, whatever freaked you out — it’s natural. Everyone gets scared before their first fight.”
Your response comes out muffled again, even harder to understand this time because of the tremble to your voice.
“What?” Bradley frowns.
“I ran into Jett today.” You answer into the pillow. This time Rooster carries himself forwards and your dog doesn’t bother him. He smooths his hand gently along your back.
“What did he say? — You want me to do something?”
You turn your head to look at Bradley, then scrunch your brows softly. Tears trail along your already wet face as you study the sincerity on his features. You’ve never had someone offer to beat up an ex for you before. You shake your head softly.
Rooster reaches out and strokes his thumb gently along the back of your shoulder, onto the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry that happened. If you see him again, I want you to call me.” He lifts his hand slowly, to not startle you, wiping the salty tears from your cheeks.
“I don’t want to call you,” You mumble out, turning your face into the pillow again. Rooster’s brows furrow softly. “I want to not be scared of him anymore. I’m—“ You pause to swallow a sob as Rooster sits forwards and kisses your bicep softly. “It’s stupid. I thought that I was getting over it, and then I saw him, and all of it went out the window. I can’t fight someone when I couldn’t even tell him to get his hands off of me today.”
“He touched you?” Bradley’s features tighten. You simply groan into the pillow in response, then shake your head. “Bambi. I want answers here.”
“Can you and your saviour complex go somewhere else? — I’d like to be alone, please.” You hug the pillow closer and exhale heavily into its fluffy exterior. Bradley frowns, he sits back on his heels and just watches you for a few moments. Shooting a quick glance to the weather outside, and the way you’re so clearly going to spend an entire night crying if he leaves, he has already decided that he’s staying.
Bradley looks you over and smooths his hand over your shoulder blades. “Alright, get up.”
“Absolutely not.” You groan, hugging the pillow tighter and turning onto your side so that you are tucked in against the back of the couch, facing away from him.
“Up.” He grabs hold of your ankle and tugs.
The next fifteen minutes are back and forth, bickering between the two of you, him tugging at your limbs and you threatening to hit him with them. You scowl as you pad barefoot through the gym behind him, arms folded over your chest. It’s freezing down here at night time.
“What are we doing?” You complain as he flicks on half of the overhead lights and trips the overnight alarm so that no one will bother you whilst you’re down here. Bradley walks ahead of you wearing socks and his jeans, his soaked shirt and shoes still upstairs on your floor.
“You’re right. I’m not gonna be there all the time,” Bradley calls back to you. You stop walking and stare at the back of him, wondering if that’s really what he had taken away from your talk upstairs. “If you want to feel like you can handle yourself then you’ve got to stop training like such a little bitch.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re training with Jake, I’ve seen you — you barely hit each other.”
“So, you brought me downstairs to hit me?” You raise your eyebrows as he pulls himself up into the ring. He rolls his eyes and leans his forearms against the ropes.
“No, I brought you down here to let you hit me. Knowing that you can hit someone and hit them hard is like the first part of being confident in the ring.” He looks you over, standing by the weights in your pyjamas with your arms folded over your chest. You follow his gaze and realize that you definitely should have put on a bra. It hadn’t seemed like much of a priority when he was dragging you off of your sofa by your legs.
Bradley glances down at the wet denim clinging to his thighs and goes for the button on his jeans immediately.
“If you take your pants off, I’m leaving.” You warn him. Bradley’s lips quirk softly as he continues to tug his zipper down. He rolls his shoulders back, the muscles in his arms contracting as he stretches.
“Well, would you be a dear and grab me my spare shorts from Mav’s office?” He asks, bracing his hands on the ropes. He watches you roll your eyes and wander off to the office. The pyjama set that you chose were not supposed to be seen, let alone by him. You’ve had the shorts for years and they hug your ass a little snugly nowadays. He’s not complaining, a soft smirk on his lips as he watches you walk away.
He slips his phone from the pockets of his jeans, already connected to the speakers. He picks his personal workout playlist over the gym’s one. Something that you don’t already listen to every day. You wander back with his shorts balled up in your hand. He has his jeans hung over the ropes on the far side, standing in just his boxers and the gold cross necklace that he usually wears.
You throw him the shorts as you pull yourself up into the ring.
“I thought you’d be smiling,” Bradley comments as he steps into the shorts, setting them comfortably around his waist. “I’m literally giving you a free pass to punch me in the face.
You glare silently at him as he wraps your hands and secures Natasha’s gloves around your wrists. Music blaring over the speakers, he grabs your arms and puts them into position himself, then grabs your hips and knocks your feet into the spots he would like.
Manhandled into the correct stance, he stands before you to begin.
Bradley isn’t a nice teacher. He just has never understood why it doesn’t come as naturally to other people as it does to him. You can see it in his face that he’s biting his tongue every time you screw up. Whenever you drop your guard or fumble a punch. He just stares at you like he’s got a lot to say about it.
“I’m not gonna hold still for you, hit me like you mean it.” Bradley’s voice is stern and his eyes are so dark that it’s almost unnerving. He steps forward and his jab taps you in the stomach, just letting you know that if someone wanted to hurt you, they could. Your guard isn’t good enough.
You swallow, wondering if he can tell how much your hands are trembling with the gloves on. You glance down at the padded gloves, then at him.
“Hit me, Bambi — I can take it.” He promises you, nodding his head for you to go on. You curl your fists tight and then loosen them again, exhaling slowly. You step and jab, he side-steps you easily and taps his glove against your cheek. “Don’t wait to hit. Saw you coming from a mile away. Again.”
His guard focuses on his neck and jaw, elbows squared to protect his middle. But, after his side-step, his left side is just slightly exposed. You step and jab at the same time, catching him in the ribs. He nods at you.
Opening his mouth to praise you, he stops and taps his glove to the bottom of your chin. “That was good, but you just left your face completely open. C’mon, baby. Pay attention.”
It goes on like that. Dancing around the ring with him under the dim overhead light, thinking that you’ve got him good and then him tapping your face or your ribs or your stomach. The urge to quit comes and goes in a constant ebb. Hearing the nice things that he has to say almost makes hearing the bad things worth it.
“I’m tired.”
“So quit.” He tells you, face calm, eyes on yours, guard still up. “Drop your guard and take off your gloves.”
You stare at him.
“Would that make you feel better?” Rooster asks, the question appearing to be genuine. You know better than to assume that it is. You don’t bother answering him. “I bet it would make Jett feel better, watching you throw the towel—“
You step and jab at the same time, your glove catching the curve of his jaw and making his head turn. Your eyes widen and you step instinctively back. Rooster’s lips quirk. He looks you over and nods. “Perfect form. Atta girl, go again.”
“But I — “
“I told you to hit me,” Rooster nods calmly, “We’re training, baby. That was good. That was really good.”
“That’s it! Better,” He coaxes, stepping around the ring, glancing down at your footwork every now and again. “Guard.” He reminds you, tapping your cheek.
He grunts softly as you catch him in the ribs. Your breath catches as he looks up grinning. His brown eyes exceptionally dark, face only half illuminated from the lights. Your gaze trails. The sweat on his skin glistens and reflects in the light, making him all that much bigger. He nods, “Again.”
You stare at him. Watching you curiously and wondering what you could possibly be thinking now. He pauses for a moment to wonder if he has pushed you too far.
“C’mon, baby,” He nods for you to go ahead, exhaling slowly. “You almost had it.”
You glance down at the gold cross hanging between his collarbones, then back up at the sweat beading on his brow. His broad shoulders, thick arms — the fact that he came here tonight because he cares enough to check on you. His hands hang at his sides, your eyes linger on the swell of them for a moment.
“Ba—“
He’s cut off as you take three quick steps forwards, the fastest footwork that he has seen from you all night actually and throw an arm around his shoulders. You tug him down and press your mouth hungrily into his. Instinctively, his hands find your hips.
You throw yourself into him, knowing that he’ll catch you, and he does. Tucking his arms around your middle, he keeps you secure against him as you nip softly at his bottom lip. Pressed into his chest, you can feel the heat radiating off of him, enveloping you in it as your tongue strokes alongside his.
“Baby, what’s—“
“Please don’t call me that.” You breath out against him, pulling one arm back from around his shoulders. He watches, brows raising in faint surprise, half-amusement, as you bite the tab of the Velcro that secures the glove to your wrist and tear it off.
“I’ve got it.” He tells you, his voice calm and velvety as he catches hold of your arm and helps you out of the gloves. The second that he has the velcro off, you shake your hands out and send the leather flying back down to the canvas. Immediately, your hands are back on him again, snaking around his shoulders as you pull him into another kiss.
He presses the heel of his foot into your ankle, effectively tripping you, but it’s okay because his arms keep you from falling. You’re tucked safely against him as he presses you into the canvas. You lift your hips as much as you can with his weight bearing down on them, searching for some kind of reaction from him.
Rooster’s quick in knowing what you want. He slots a thick thigh against the apex of your thighs and grabs a tender fistful of your hair, tugging you back softly, just enough so that he can look at your face.
“What do you want?” He breathes out, pressing his chest into yours to keep you pinned into the canvas. His free hand skims along your thigh, squeezing into the flesh lustfully.
“I’ll give you three guesses.” You answer back, sarcasm dripping from your tongue. You lift your head, impatient, pressing your mouth to his throat. Bradley’s fingers curl tighter into your hair as you kiss along his neck, sucking gently at the taut skin.
“Not time to be catching an attitude, Bambi.” Rooster mumbles, letting his hands skin your sides, stopping to curl them around either side of your ribcage. He pulls back and pressed you down harder into the canvas, letting his brown eyes trail your body. His cock stirs in his shorts, fingers following his gaze. He reminds himself who he’s with.
Pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, he grabs your hand and curls it around the growing bulge in his shorts. “You want it?”
He squeezes his palm softly over the top of yours, your lips parting at he hardens under your touch.
“Mm,” You nod hurriedly. Doubt crosses his face for a split-second, you catch his gaze linger on the delicate butterfly pyjamas that you’re wearing. “Remember when you said that I could hit you because you could take it?”
His brows scrunch, but he nods nonetheless.
“Yeah, me too.” You breathe out, catching the back of his neck and pulling him hard onto you. It takes him a second to figure out what you’re talking about. You can feel it when he realizes, his grip on your hips tightening as he grinds himself against your core.
The two thin pairs of shorts that you’re each wearing do nothing to separate you, you can feel exactly how worked up every inch of him is with every move that he makes. You gasp softly as his hands curl into the sides of your tank top, the sound of stitching splitting as he tugs you up and slips it over your head. His mouth is on you too quickly afterwards for you to care.
He groans softly, grabbing both of your arms by the biceps and pinning them at your sides, glancing quickly up at you before he starts off by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your sternum. He works his way up, feeling you squirming against his grip as he reaches your breasts. Rocking his hips forwards at the same time as his mouth reaches your nipple, you gasp out from the contact. He flicks his tongue over the bud, feeling it harden and pebble in his mouth.
His fingers curl tighter around your biceps as he pulls back and grazes his teeth over the peaked flesh. As much as you can move, you squirm, chasing his mouth as he pulls back and moves onto the other breast.
Sucking, biting, grinding his cock against your core through the thin confines of your clothes. Just like he’s naturally good at boxing, you can’t help but wonder if all of this comes naturally to him too. It feels like it does. Pulling back, you try to sit up with him, gasping as he pressed you back down hard by your arms.
His gaze trails your torso, admiring the faint marks he has left on your tits, the remnants of his saliva that glisten through the dimmed lighting. He rests his open palm against your chest, freeing one of your arms, trailing it slowly along your sternum and down your navel. Seemingly enthralled in what he sees before him.
His palm goes right back to your arm as you attempt to move, pressing you down and covering you with a fraction of his weight as his attention goes right to your throat. He sinks his teeth into the base of your neck, just enough to make your back arch and the rest of your throat available to him. You moan contentedly, the sound vibrating off of each wall under the cover of the music.
Rooster glances down between your bodies and watches himself as he rocks the bulge in his shorts onto your core again and again. You’re tugged out of your daze as his mouth deserts your neck.
“Fuck, Bambi.” He tugs at your hips, lifting them enough to grab hold of your shorts and pull them down over the curve of your ass. Rooster pushes your thighs back, your shorts caught around your knees and keeping your legs together. Perfectly on display from him from where he is.
Resting his palm on your pelvic bone, he swipes his thumb through your folds, gathering your excitement on the digit. Grabbing the centre of the shorts, he pushes on the fabric. They guide your legs with them, making you whimper softly. Settled on his knees, he leans over and presses his chest to the backs of your thighs, curling his hand around your jaw.
You take his thumb into your mouth without dispute, wrapping your lips around the soaked digit. Bradley exhales slowly, glancing back down as he rolls his hips against your soaked core. Your excitement coats the front of his shorts, pitching over the tent in the material. His lips quirk softly at the sight, cock twitching in anticipation.
You press your teeth lightly into his thumb to bring his attention back up to you. His amused smirk grows as he presses the digit further into your mouth and grazes your throat. Tears brim in your eyes as he pulls the digit back from your mouth and curls his hand around your jaw. You moan into his mouth as he ruts his hips into your exposed core.
A particularly sharp throb has him groaning against you. He shoves at the waistband of his shorts, pushing it down just enough to expose himself. You suck in a sharp breath as the tip of his cock slides along the apex of your thighs. It dips between your folds, stroking along your core.
“Shit, you’re so wet.” He pants out, gaze focused between your legs. You whine gently, trying to push against him for more friction. Bradley lifts his gaze from between your legs and watches your face. Lips parted, looking up at him with baited breath, waiting for what comes next.
His chain dangles against your chin as he licks into your mouth. A strangled whimper catches in your throat as he rocks the flushed head of his cock against your clit.
“Rooster,” You breathe out, lifting your head. He presses his chest to the backs of your thighs, his weight keeping you exactly where he wants you. “Please.”
“Not just yet, Bambi — hang on a little bit more for me,” He nods his head, nuzzling his face into the crook of your jaw. He wraps a hand around the base of his cock and drags in back down, thick and heavy against your sensitive skin. He watches you as he dips just the tip into you. You gasp out, chest tightening, legs pushing against him. His lips quirk amusedly as he pulls back out again, “Then you can have it.”
Sitting back on his knees, he tugs your shorts the rest of the way down your legs, thick hands grabbing at your hips and flipping you onto your front. You yelp softly as you land on your knees, barely catching yourself on your palms.
Bradley’s palm trails your spine swiftly and curls around the nape of your neck, guiding your head down until your cheek is pressed into the canvas. From there, you’re certain that you know what comes next. You wriggle your hips a little as you get comfy on your knees, spreading them apart in anticipation.
Watching with his bottom lip between his teeth, Bradley grins as he watches you. He taps his palm against your ass cheek, then settles it against the small of your back. He nudges you forwards, pressing your cheek into the canvas more firmly. You close your eyes and inhale slowly, waiting for the stretch to come. You jolt as his mouth meets your core, wet and warm.
“Oh— oh.” You choke out, hands scrambling for purchase against the barren plains of the canvas, the muscle of his tongue dips into you. He pressed his hand into the small of your back, free hand grabbing at your hip.
His fingers press tighter into your hip, keeping you still as he pulls back to lick a stripe from your hole to your clit, gathering your juices on his tongue. Already soaking, your excitement spills out onto his chin as he flicks his tongue along the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Rooster groans against your core, grazing his teeth over your clit as he pulls back. You jolt forwards, whimpering onto the canvas. He presses his index and middle fingers into you at once, biting down on his lip as you hug his digits.
“Fuck,” He hums softly, curling his fingers forwards, letting them knock into that spongy part of your walls that has you crying out. He mouths along the curve of your ass, peppering kisses over all of the skin he can reach. “God, Bambi, you’re killing me here.”
You whine in response, pushing back against him. Still no words. He presses a soft kiss to the small of your back as he slips out of his shorts. He knows you’ll get there.
Finally, the tip of his cock grazes through your folds again. Bradley exhales slowly, holding onto your hip as he presses into you. You gasp out immediately, the sound catching in your throat as you jerk away from him.
“It’s alright, kid,” Bradley promises, pressing his chest to your back. He mouths softly at your shoulder, along the curve of your neck. “I’ll go slow.”
“N-No!”
Bradley stops entirely. His brows furrow as he waits for you to explain what the fuck that outburst was. You swallow softly, feeling your skin flush in embarrassment.
“I mean — I — You don’t have to.” You breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut, furious with yourself. Bradley kisses your shoulder blade, feeling how tightly wound the muscles in your back are.
He rolls his hips forwards slowly until he’s buried into you completely. You exhale, feeling your jaw unclench as you realize that you haven’t killed the moment. Bradley groans softly against your back and shakes his head as your walls hug the length of his cock.
“You just let me know if I’m not living up to your standards, alright, Bambi?” He teases, breath tickling your neck and sending an electric shiver down your spine. Biting your lip, you give a meek nod of your head. Pulling back slowly, he lets his head fall back as the slick of your walls hugs his cock.
He rests his palm against the back of your neck and slopes your back, holding his breath as he presses into you again. It’s almost a moan, the baited little exhale that slips your lips. Bradley rocks his hips forwards again, gaging your reaction as his skin slaps into yours. You hum, pushing back eagerly against him.
Just like boxing, Bradley quickly learns where to be and how to move. Fucking into you with a hand pressed into the base of your skull to keep you down against the canvas, a soft smirk on his lips as your moans fill the gym. He hangs forwards, pressing his chest to your back and covering your body with his.
There is a thin line between grunting and outright growling, and Bradley teeters over the edge of it with each thrust. Slamming his hips forwards, rutting himself deeply into you. A strangled noise escapes your throat as your knees buckle under you, the only thing keeping you from hitting the canvas being his grip on your waist.
He’s relentless, dragging against your walls as he bottoms out again and again. Rooster grunts, leaning forward and pressing filthy, open-mouthed kisses along the length of your back. You push back against him desperately.
Your stomach tightens, legs trembling as you almost slip onto your stomach again. Bradley slips out of you and grabs your waist, flipping you onto your back. You land with a soft ‘oof’ and a longing whimper.
“I know, baby, I know.” He soothes, capturing the sounds you’re making with his mouth as he fills you once again, hiking your legs up around his waist. You grab his shoulders for leverage, arching away from the canvas and into his chest. He grunts out, breathing hard as he rests his forehead against your collarbones.
“Fuck,” He pants against your chest, curling his hands tighter around your hips, letting one of them slip between your legs. His index and middle fingers circle your clit together. “Shit, you feel so good.”
You open your mouth with every intention of answering him, the first syllable of your response catching in your throat, replaced with a desperate whimper. His mouth catches on to your throat, nipping feverishly along your soft skin as his fingers continue, relentless between your legs.
Often, there’s no way of telling for sure, but Rooster knows when he brings you to your orgasm. He practically feels you let go of that tightness in your stomach, legs squeezing around his hips as your muscles go tense. Your nails raking over his shoulders like it’s the only thing keeping you with him is also a good indicator.
Your walls squeeze around him, lips pressing lazily to his neck as your fingers tickle the hairs at the nape of his neck. His cock twitches as he pulls out abruptly, coating your pelvic bone and your navel in warm ropes of cum. He groans as he covers your body with his, resting his sweat-dampened forehead against yours. “Holy fuck.”
You hum tiredly, trailing your fingers along his muscled back.
He lifts his head finally and looks at your face, smoothing your messy hair back off of your face. Silence lingers between the two of you as Bradley cards his fingers over the top of your hair so that he can look closely at your face.
“I’ll train you.” Bradley decides, his voice soft as he presses his lips softly against yours. Your eyes widen briefly. You tilt your head at him, lips quirking. You lift your head and kiss his chin. “We’ll reschedule tomorrow.”
“Might have been kind of unprofessional to fuck your client in the ring, though.” You point out, lifting your hand and toying with the cross necklace as it dangles over your lips.
He shrugs his shoulders and squeezes his hands around your waist playfully, “Gotta warm up somehow.”
…
@khaylin27 @sharpsapphic666 @fudge13 @averyhotchner @hangmanscoming @bradshawseresinbabe @diorrfairy @thedroneranger @phoenix1388 @perpetuelledaydreaming @princess76179 @cherrycola27 @wkndwlff @xoxabs88xox @galaxy-moon
#I apologize for this novel length comment lol 🥺#I just loved this so much!#Bradley and Bambi are very quickly becoming my favorite couple#I’m obsessed with their dynamic#‘if you want to feel like you can handle yourself then you’ve got to stop training like such a little bitch.’ the scream i scrumpt#Bradley calling Bambi kid sends my brain spiraling into another dimension#‘might have been kind of unprofessional to fuck your client in the ring thought’ giggling and kicking my feet I love them so much#rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster#top gun maverick#boxer rooster#faves
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FICMAS #4— SLOW DOWN! / mattheo riddle
december 15th
mattheo riddle x fem reader
summary: mattheo’s got a little crush on you, but you keep running away every time he tries talking to you!
warnings: smut, unprotected piv, fingering, creampie, spanking, mentions of blood
words: 3.9k
a/n: i’m very very sorry for pushing this back so much—i’ve been really busy, plus i just procrastinated this one a lot. next one will be posted tomorrow so i can get back on schedule. anyways, enjoy!
navigation ficmas masterlist
The corridor was unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of parchment or the faint scrape of shoes against stone. You hugged your books tightly to your chest, trying to make yourself invisible as you hurried toward the sanctuary of the library. The cold December air seeping through the ancient castle walls bit at your skin, but it wasn’t nearly as alarming as the warmth you suddenly felt—someone approaching from behind.
“Hi.”
His voice slid into your awareness before you even heard the sound of his footsteps, sending your heart skittering like a startled bird. Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of him—dark curls falling into his eyes, his signature Slytherin tie loosened at his throat, and that grin. The grin that made your chest feel too tight and your thoughts scatter like spilled ink.
Your first instinct, as always, was to flee.
Before he could say more, you ducked your head and pivoted on your heel, muttering something about being late to the library.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” His hand was warm and firm around your wrist, stopping you mid-flight. He turned you gently to face him, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your cheeks burn. “Would you please stop running away from me? It’s worrying me, you know. The way you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time I’m around.”
You didn’t dare meet his eyes. Not yet. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the traitorous flush that gave away just how much he affected you. “I’m not running,” you mumbled, though the evidence was damning.
“Oh, come on.” He laughed, soft and incredulous. “You bolt every time I so much as look at you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to catch up with you? You’re like—like a mouse slipping through cracks.”
Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He tilted his head, the faintest frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t bite, you know. Not unless you ask.”
His teasing tone made your stomach flip. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, dropping your gaze to the floor.
“Don’t be,” he said softly, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go entirely. “I just—look, you know I’m not going to hurt you, right?”
“I-I know,” you stammered, and it was true. He wasn’t threatening to you, not even close. But that didn’t make the rapid thudding of your heart any less overwhelming.
His brow furrowed slightly. “Then what is it?” His voice dropped, quieter now, as if he was trying not to spook you. “Am I too much? Too… loud? Intense? I can tone it down if that’s what you need.”
The earnestness in his voice nearly unraveled you. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault—that it was you, and your inability to handle the way he seemed to draw everyone’s attention with effortless charm. The way he smiled like he knew every secret in the world. The way his presence made you feel like you were standing too close to the sun.
“I—” You bit your lip, scrambling for an excuse, any excuse, but your brain seemed to be short-circuiting under his gaze. “I’m just...not used to people like you.”
“People like me?” His eyebrows lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “What does that mean?”
“You know.” You waved your free hand vaguely, avoiding his eyes again. “Confident. Charming.”
“Ah.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and rich, wrapping around you like a blanket. “So, what? You’re allergic to confidence?”
“No! I just—” You huffed, flustered, and Mattheo’s grin widened.
“You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” he said, and your stomach flipped violently.
“I am not,” you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks.
“You are,” he insisted, his tone teasing but gentle. “And I’m not saying that to make you run away again, by the way. I’d really prefer it if you didn’t.”
You glanced up at him then, your heart doing somersaults at the soft, hopeful look in his eyes. And for a moment, you thought maybe you could do this—stay, talk to him, let yourself believe that someone like Mattheo Riddle could actually like someone like you.
But instead, you mumbled something incoherent and, in a sudden burst of courage—or cowardice—twisted out of his grasp and darted down the hallway.
“Wait—! Oh, come on! Slow down!” His exasperated laugh echoed behind you, followed by his voice, playful but resigned. “You’re killing me, you know that?”
Oh, but you weren’t getting away that easily.
Because by some twist of fate—or Mattheo’s uncanny ability to be everywhere you didn’t want him to be—you found yourself crossing paths with him again that very afternoon. And this time, there was no escaping.
The hospital wing was quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped itself around you like a blanket, broken only by the soft clink of glass vials as you worked. You were perched at Madame Pomfrey’s desk, carefully restocking rows of remedies, when the heavy wooden door creaked open.
You didn’t look up at first, assuming it was Madame Pomfrey returning from her rounds. But then you heard the familiar drawl.
“Madame Pomfrey, I—oh.”
Your hand froze mid-reach for a jar of bruise balm. Your stomach plummeted. You knew that voice.
You froze, your hand stilling mid-reach for a jar of essence of murtlap. Slowly, as though moving too quickly might summon some greater disaster, you turned your head toward the door.
There he was.
Mattheo Riddle, leaning casually against the doorframe, one arm tucked against his side, the other pressed lightly to his jaw where a streak of blood stood out against his pale skin. His shirt was untucked, his tie gone, and his dark curls were just messy enough to make him look infuriatingly perfect.
Your heart started to pound, the air in your lungs thinning to a whisper. “You,” you said before you could stop yourself, the word barely louder than a squeak.
Mattheo grinned, even as he winced slightly, straightening from the doorframe. “Me,” he echoed.
You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the desk as if it might keep you grounded. “What... what happened?”
“I fell,” he said simply, though the smirk on his lips made it impossible to believe him.
“You fell,” you repeated flatly, crossing your arms.
He nodded solemnly, though there was nothing solemn about the way his eyes flicked over you, taking in the rolled-up sleeves of your uniform and the faint smudge of ink on your wrist from earlier. “Tragic, I know. But lucky me—I’ve landed in the most capable hands.”
Your cheeks burned, and you immediately dropped your gaze, fussing with the nearest jar of ointment to avoid his eyes. “Madame Pomfrey isn’t here,” you mumbled. “I’m just helping... for now.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, moving toward one of the hospital beds. “I think I like the idea of you taking care of me.”
Your fingers fumbled, nearly knocking over a bottle of murtlap essence. “Sit,” you said quickly, pointing to the bed without looking at him. “You need to sit so I can... um... look at that.”
He chuckled softly but complied, settling onto the edge of the bed. “As you wish.”
You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you grabbed a cloth and some antiseptic. But when you turned back, he wasn’t sitting anymore. He was standing again, closer now—too close, that lazy grin still firmly in place.
Your breath caught. “You—what are you doing?”
“Stretching my legs,” he said easily, his voice low and warm.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to sound firm. “You’re injured—”
“It’s nothing,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned against the desk, his dark eyes fixed on you. “I’m not that fragile, you know.”
“But—”
“Do I make you nervous?” he interrupted, tilting his head slightly, his curls falling into his eyes.
You immediately shook your head, even though you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. “N-no. I mean—why would you think that?”
“Because you’re practically shaking,” he said, his tone softer now, though no less teasing. “And because you keep looking anywhere but at me.”
Your eyes flicked up to his for a fraction of a second before dropping back down to the floor. “I’m not... I mean, I just—”
“You’re adorable,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made your pulse race.
You froze, your fingers tightening on the cloth in your hands. “I should clean your cut,” you mumbled, stepping back toward him.
But before you could reach him, he moved again, his hands finding the edge of the table on either side of you, caging you in.
“Mattheo—”
“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur. His dark eyes held yours, the intensity in them stealing the words right out of your throat. “So stop running.”
His face was so close now, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheek, making your skin tingle. You could see the individual lashes framing those mesmerizing eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the way his teeth nipped gently at his lower lip...
"Come on," you muttered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. You lifted the antiseptic in your hand. "Just... please let me help you."
It sounded weak, pathetic even, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.
For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped back, giving you space to breathe again.
"You're right," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual. "Thank you."
He sat back down on the bed, his posture a bit less casual now, more tense. He looked up at you through his lashes, his gaze softer than before.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I just..." He paused, seeming to struggle for the right words. "I like you, Y/N. A lot. And sometimes I forget myself around you."
You blinked rapidly, processing his words. "You... really?" you asked softly, hardly daring to believe it. Slowly, hesitantly, you took a step closer, drawn to him despite your nerves.
"Yes, really," he confirmed, his voice low and sincere. As you drew near, he reached out, his large hands coming to rest on your hips. In one smooth motion, he pulled you down onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.
You gasped, your hands flying up to press against his chest. You could feel the firm muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid thud of his heartbeat. Your own heart raced in response, your cheeks flaming with heat.
He smiled softly, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your hip bones as he held you close. "There," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Isn't this better?"
You squirmed slightly in his lap, hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touched. "I... I don't know if this is a good idea," you whispered, even as your traitorous body melted into his embrace. Your hands slid up his chest to loop around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls at his nape.
He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through you. "Why not? We're alone, aren't we?" His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your blouse. "No one has to know..."
He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. "Let me take care of you," he breathed against your skin, his other hand sliding down to palm your ass. "I promise I'll make it feel good."
You whimpered softly as his lips and tongue worked magic on your sensitive skin, your head lolling back to give him better access. But as he kissed lower, you suddenly felt something wet and sticky on your throat–his cut.
"Wait," you gasped, pulling back slightly. You brought a hand up to your neck, your fingers coming away streaked with blood. "You're still bleeding, Mattheo. We should clean that first before... before anything else happens."
He paused, looking up at you with lust-darkened eyes. A slow, amused grin spread across his face. "You think I give a fuck about that right now?" he muttered, pulling you flush against him again. "Don't worry about that."
His hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he attacked your throat with renewed fervor, licking and sucking at the bloodied skin.
"M-Mattheo," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "We shouldn't... not here..."
Even as you protested weakly, your hips started to move of their own accord, grinding down against the growing hardness you could feel pressing against your thighs. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making your head spin.
He groaned into your neck, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into yours. His hands tightened on your hips, encouraging your movements as he rocked up against you.
"Oh, fuck. You're not as innocent as you pretend to be, huh?" he noted, his voice rough with desire.
In one fluid motion, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the bed as you stumbled back. His hands roamed possessively, sliding from your waist to the curve of your lower back before trailing up to cup the soft swell of your tits. His touch was rough and insistent, squeezing and kneading as if he couldn't get enough of you.
Before you could catch your breath, he turned you around, his firm grip guiding you into place. His hand pressed against the small of your back, a silent command that sent heat pooling in your belly as you bent forward, your chest and palms flattening against the bed.
You felt the air shift around you, cool and heady against your heated skin, as Mattheo's fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. He dragged it up slowly, deliberately, his movements measured, as though savoring every inch of you revealed to him.
"Running from me, again and again," he muttered, his voice dark and edged with amusement. "And now look at you. Right where I’ve always wanted you."
Your breath caught, shame and desire tangling in your chest. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond—not when his hands curled under the waistband of your panties, dragging them down the curve of your thighs in one slow, tantalizing motion.
"Mattheo," you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible above the pounding of your own heart.
His low laugh sent shivers through you. "Finally saying my name. Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that? And not just in your shy little apologies."
Your knees nearly buckled as his fingers teased the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, tracing lazy circles closer and closer to where you ached for him. He let the silence hang, heavy and charged, before looping his arm around your front.
"Cute,” he murmured. "You’ve spent weeks avoiding me, playing coy. But I think you’ve wanted this just as much as I have. Haven’t you?"
You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—only gasp as his fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks skittering up your spine.
"Answer me," he demanded, his tone soft but unyielding. "I want to hear you say it."
Your nails dug into the bedspread, and you shook your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. "I-I don’t…"
"Don’t what?" His fingers curled around the back of your neck, squeezing lightly. "Don’t want me? Don’t need this? Say it, sweetheart, because your body’s telling me a very different story."
You whimpered, the heat pooling between your thighs making it impossible to deny him—or yourself. "I…I want you," you finally choked out, your voice so quiet you weren’t sure he’d heard.
But he did.
"Good girl," he praised, the words dripping with satisfaction. His movements quickened, drawing tight, delicious circles that had your legs trembling. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? All you had to do was stop running."
A soft gasp escaped your lips as his hand slid down from your neck, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your ass firmly. His other hand left your front, joining its twin to knead and grope the plush flesh, his thumbs digging in with a possessive hunger that made heat bloom low in your belly again.
“You’re perfect here,” he mused, his voice a deep hum as he spread your cheeks apart, his touch maddeningly deliberate. “Bent over for me like this. Made for me, aren’t you?”
You bit your lip, trying to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape, but Mattheo didn’t miss it. He laughed softly, the sound dripping with smug satisfaction.
“Don’t hold back now,” he coaxed, his hands trailing up and down the back of your thighs, lingering just long enough to tease but not satisfy. “I want to hear every little sound you make for me.”
You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could form a word, his palm landed on your ass with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt too much, but enough to send a jolt of heat straight through you.
“Mattheo!”
“There it is,” he purred, his hands smoothing over the spot he’d just struck, his touch soothing and warm. “You sound so fucking sweet when you say my name like that.”
Before you could respond, you felt the hard press of his length against you, separated only by the fabric of his trousers. He rolled his hips, letting you feel the full weight of him, and your knees buckled slightly at the realization of just how much he wanted you.
“You feel that?” he murmured, his lips brushing the back of your neck as he reached down to unbuckle his belt. The soft clink of metal was almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you run, every time you look at me with those shy little glances—you drive me fucking insane.”
The ruffling of fabric being lowered was too hard to ignore, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back over your shoulder. The sight of him—breathing heavily, his cock thick and hard, standing proudly against the taut muscles of his stomach—sent a wave of heat washing over you.
“Eyes front,” he ordered, his voice rough with arousal. When you didn’t obey fast enough, his hand came down on your ass again, the sharp sting making you gasp. “Now.”
You did as he said, pressing your forehead into the bedspread as his hands roamed over you again, his touch both reverent and demanding. One hand slipped between your thighs, spreading you open, while the other gripped your hip, holding you steady.
“God, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. He teased your entrance with the tip of one finger before pushing inside, curling it just enough to make you arch back against him.
“You like that?” he asked, his voice laced with a dark kind of affection as he added another finger, stretching you slowly. “I can feel how tight you are. So perfect. So ready for me.”
Your answer was a broken moan, your body moving instinctively against his hand.
“Shit,” he breathed, pulling his fingers out only to replace them with the blunt head of his cock, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”
The stretch of him entering you was almost too much, but the way he worked you—inch by agonizing inch, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still—sent a wave of pleasure through you that made your toes curl.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice a husky growl as he bottomed out, filling you completely. He stayed there for a moment, his breathing ragged, his hands running over the curve of your back and the swell of your ass. “You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight, so perfect. Tell me how it feels.”
“Good,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “So good.”
“Yeah?” He pulled back slowly, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you before snapping his hips forward again with a deep thrust, filling you completely. You gasped, your body jerking forward at the force, but he didn’t give you a moment to adjust. He set a slow, measured pace, his thrusts deep but deliberate, pulling out and pushing back into you with an almost agonizing slowness that made your heart race. “You like it when I fill you up like this? When I make you mine?”
Your only response was a strangled moan, your fingers clutching the sheets as he sped up his rhythm, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.
His hand left your hip, sliding down to your front to brush your clit with just the right amount of pressure. "God, you’re perfect," he muttered, his voice rough as he continued to slide in and out of you, each stroke a slow burn. "I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone like I want you right now."
The pressure inside you was building, slow and steady, like the tightening of a coil. You could feel every inch of him, each thrust dragging out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable. You clenched around him, urging him deeper, and he groaned in response, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushed you harder into the bed.
“You’re fucking incredible,” he breathed, his voice rough and full of need. His thrusts picked up, faster now, more urgent, but still controlled, as if he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. “You feel so fucking good, so warm and tight around me. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”
Your hands gripped the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as the pleasure mounted. He hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, driving you mad with the sensation, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your lips.
“Please…” you gasped, not sure if you were begging for more or for him to take you faster. It didn’t matter. You just needed him.
Mattheo smirked, his fingers still pressing against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "You want it faster? You want me to make you come on my cock?"
You nodded, desperate for more. “Yes, please…”
“That’s what I thought,” he rasped, his thrusts quickening as he slammed into you with abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with the low groans escaping both of you.
With one final, devastating thrust, you shattered, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. Mattheo wasn’t far behind, his rhythm growing erratic as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name as he followed you over the edge.
For a moment, the world was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths and the heat of his body against yours. Then, slowly, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.
“You’re not running from me again,” he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. “Not now. Not ever.”
ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan
(comment or dm to be added to the taglist)
#mattheo riddle#slytherin boys#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle x y/n#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x fem!reader#mattheo riddle smut#smut#mattheo riddle fluff#fluff#mattheo riddle fanfic#harry potter#slytherin#benjamin wadsworth#ficmas#leona-hawthorne ficmas
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in the stillness
synopsis: after an injury leaves you in the hospital, your husband stays by your side and watches over you, silent for a moment.
pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader
⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: him saying 'my wife' does things to me tbh
the steady beeping of machines fills the quiet hospital room, but katsuki can’t hear anything except the pounding of his own heart.
his eyes stay locked on you, lying still in the bed, wrapped in bandages that make his gut twist every time he looks at them.
he’s sitting beside you, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched like he’s fighting back the urge to scream.
there’s a storm brewing behind his red eyes, and you can feel it—see it in the way his shoulders are tense, in how his leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since he got here.
“you can go home, y’know,” you murmur with a weak smile. “you don’t have to stay.”
his eyes snap to yours, his scowl deepening. “absolutely not,” he growls. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. you think I’m leavin’ you like this?”
you chuckle softly, even though it hurts a little to laugh. “I’m fine, katsuki. it’s just a few bruises. you’ve seen worse.”
“doesn’t matter,” he snaps, but there’s a roughness in his voice, something he’s trying to bury beneath the anger. “it doesn’t mean I’m leavin’. I should've been there faster. you wouldn’t be in this damn bed if I had been.”
you frown at his words, knowing exactly where his mind is going. “katsuki, it wasn’t your fault. I’m a hero too, remember? I know the risks.”
he scoffs, looking away from you, his hands tightening into fists on his knees. “don’t give me that crap. I’m supposed to have your back, and I didn’t. I was too slow.”
his voice wavers for a split second, and you see the guilt eating him alive.
“hey,” you say softly, reaching out to grab his hand. he flinches at the contact, not because he doesn’t want it, but because it’s you—hurt, reaching out to comfort him when it should be the other way around.
“I’m fine, katsuki,” you repeat, squeezing his hand gently. “you got there. that’s what matters.”
his gaze locks onto yours, fierce and frustrated. “no, what matters is that you wouldn’t be here if I’d been quicker. I shoulda seen it comin’. should've—”
you shake your head, cutting him off. “stop. you’re beating yourself up over something you couldn’t control.”
“that’s bullshit,” he snaps, standing up abruptly, pacing in the small space between the bed and the wall. his hands run through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “I wasn’t fast enough. you could’ve died, because of me being too slow.”
the words hang heavy in the air, and you can see how much they’re weighing on him, tearing at him. this is katsuki at his rawest—angry not because of anyone else, but at himself.
he’s always been his harshest critic, and now, seeing you hurt, he’s taking all that anger out on himself.
you sit up a little, despite the dull ache that runs through your body. “but I didn’t, katsuki. I’m right here. you saved me.”
he stops pacing, standing still, his back to you. his shoulders are tense, and you can hear him take a deep breath, trying to reign in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.
when he finally turns around, his face is a mixture of anger and vulnerability—two emotions he’s never been good at handling.
“damn it,” he mutters, stalking back toward you. he sits on the edge of the bed this time, closer than before, and his hand finds yours again, this time holding on a little tighter.
“you don’t get it, y/n. I can’t—” his voice falters, and for a second, you see something crack in his usual tough demeanor.
“I can’t just sit here and act like it’s no big deal,” he says quietly. “seein’ you like that… I’m supposed to be stronger. supposed to be the one protectin’ you, and I couldn’t even do that right.”
your heart aches at how hard he’s being on himself, but you know this is how katsuki is. he carries the weight of responsibility like it’s his personal burden to bear, and any sign of failure hits him harder than it should.
you squeeze his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “you didn’t fail, katsuki. you got there. you stopped it before it got worse. that’s all I need.”
he doesn’t respond for a moment, just stares down at your intertwined hands, his thumb running over your knuckles absentmindedly. there’s a long silence before he speaks again, this time softer, more controlled.
“you’re my wife,” he mutters, almost like he’s reminding himself of it. “I’m supposed to keep you safe. you don’t get to get hurt like this.”
you smile, tugging lightly on his hand to bring him closer. “and I’m supposed to protect you too. we’re in this together, remember?”
he huffs, clearly still not happy with himself, but the tension in his shoulders eases just a little. “yeah, yeah,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair again.
but his hand never leaves yours, gripping it tightly like he’s afraid to let go.
“you’re not gettin’ rid of me,” he says after a long pause, his voice a little lighter now, though the worry is still there, lingering under the surface. “I’m stayin’ here until they force me out. and don’t even think about tryin’ to convince me otherwise.”
you laugh softly, the sound easing some of the heaviness in the room. “wouldn’t dream of it.”
for a moment, neither of you says anything, just sitting there in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.
you can feel the intensity of his gaze, the way he’s still watching you like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, but you know he’ll calm down eventually.
he’s stubborn, protective, and always pushing himself harder than anyone else. but you wouldn’t have him any other way.
“rest, will ya?” he mutters after a while, his voice softer now. “I’ll be right here.”
you nod, letting your eyes close as you feel the exhaustion start to catch up to you. his hand is still holding yours, warm and solid, a constant reminder that he’s there, just like always.
you can barely catch him raising your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to it.
kofi — navigation — masterlist
do not copy, translate, or plagarize
#bakugo x female reader#bakugo x reader#bakugo x y/n#bakugou x you#bnha x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou katsuki x you#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugo x you#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugou x fem!reader#katsuki bakugou x you#katsuki x y/n#katsuki x reader#katsuki x you#bnha x y/n#bnha x you#mha x y/n#mha x reader#mha x you
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oh oH OH but i need matteo, theo and enzo to be extremly frustrated and jealous when they noticed that we do bring home some guys!! like they're trying so hard to act nonchalant and like they don't care at all BUT they're secretly seething and plotting how they can stop us from getting any because how dare we?? we have three premium dicks at home, we don't need mediocre dick from the street heLLOOO
new girl au — in which you live with theodore, mattheo and lorenzo
“you gotta be quiet, okay? my roommates are fucking annoying and i really want to avoid them.” you whisper urgently to cedric as you slowly turn the creaky handle of the front door, carefully opening it and swiftly dragging him inside. from the kitchen, you hear theo, mattheo and enzo’s loud voices, overlapping as they chat and laugh uncontrollably, the noise echoing through the apartment.
“go that way.” you whisper again, pointing as you tip-toe nervously toward your bedroom while tightly gripping cedric’s hand to guide him. you hold your breath, tense with anticipation, desperately trying not to make a sound. and you think you’ve succeeded— until you hear mattheo’s nagging voice.
“so you’re not even going to introduce your new friend to us?” you groan in frustration, slowly turning on your heel before forcing a bright, yet clearly fake smile. “oh! i didn’t know you guys were home.” “bullshit.” theo mutters under his breath, making you roll your eyes in sheer annoyance.
“anyway, this is cedric. now, if you guys don’t mind—” “cedric, huh? welcome to our glamorous house. make yourself at home.” lorenzo says in the laziest, most indifferent tone, not even bothering to look at cedric.
then mattheo chimes in, his voice dripping with mocking amusement, “you’re like the fifth guy he’s had to say that to this week, so he’s a bit tired of it already, y’know.” your eyes widen in surprise, and your lips form a thin, displeased line while feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
“what!? that— that’s not even true! cedric, don’t listen—”
“yeah, she’s fucking a guy in there like every night. we’re barely getting any sleep these days.” theo adds with a derisive chuckle, sarcastically winking at you as he takes a sip from his drink.
“and she doesn’t just fuck guys from outside these walls, if you know what i mean. but i’m sure she told you.” lorenzo smirks cockily, a self-satisfied and arrogant expression plastered on his face. at this point, you see red as you glare at each of them with narrowed eyes and your jaw tightly clenched, while cedric stands awkwardly by your side, giving you an uneasy and uncomfortable smile.
“uhm, hey… guys. nice to meet you. it’s— it’s a nice apartment you have.”
“cedric, you can go to my room. i’ll be there in a bit, okay?”
it’s dead silent as you’re glaring daggers at the boys, your arms folded tightly across your chest, before you finally hear your bedroom door click shut. “I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD! what the FUCK is wrong with you guys!? oh my god, i’m so done with—”
“relax, baby. it’s just guy banter, alright? you clearly don’t get it, but he does.” lorenzo explains nonchalantly with a smug expression, but you know he’s full of shit, seeing right through him. you furiously storm towards them and slap each of the boys angrily on the back of their heads.
“ow! what was that for?” mattheo asks, wincing in pain and rubbing the back of his head. “are you fucking serious?! you guys are cockblocking me, you dumb fuck.”
“calm down, piccola. you know we love you, hm?” theo comments teasingly, tightly wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close, planting a quick, playful kiss on your head.
“this isn’t love! pull shit like this again and i swear to god, i’ll kill each one of you with my bare fucking hands.” “yes ma’am. got it ma’am. please kill mattheo first, ma’am.” “oh fuck you enzo.”
ੈ♡˳
reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡
#♡₊˚ for arina 🍒・₊#anon#new girl au#mattheo riddle#theodore nott#theo nott#lorenzo berkshire#enzo berkshire#mattheo riddle x reader#theo nott x reader#theodore nott x reader#enzo berkshire x reader#lorenzo berkshire smut#theo nott smut#mattheo riddle smut#theodore nott smut#lorenzo berkshire x reader#mattheo riddle drabble#mattheo riddle blurb#mattheo riddle imagine#theodore nott blurb#theodore nott imagine#theodore nott drabble#theo nott drabble#theo nott imagine#lorenzo berkshire drabble#lorenzo berkshire blurb#lorenzo berkshire imagine#enzo berkshire imagine#enzo berkshire drabble
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Breaking up is hard to do!
synopsis: breaking up with the jjk men.
⚝characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami
⚝content: heavy angst, gaslighting(Gojo's), depression (Suguru's), mutual breakup(Nanami's)
⚝wc: 3.5k
Satoru Gojo
“Yeah so then Yuji popped out of the crate and surprised them all! You should’ve seen it baby!” Satoru wheezes holding his stomach as he recalls the event from the day.
No matter how hard you try though, you can only muster a small smile.
It had become really hard to do much else recently. With the weight of the hundreds of tasks at work taking its toll. Satoru looks over at you, waiting for a laugh—but it doesn’t come.
“Hellooo? Everything alright princess?” He questions giving your hand a gentle squeeze.
“Mhmm!” You nod.
He looks at you for another moment, unreadable expression on his face. Satoru shifts, clearly expecting more from you. “You sure? You’ve been quiet tonight. That’s not like you,” he says, his voice still light, but there’s a hint of curiosity now.
You try to hold back the frustration, but it bubbles up anyway. “I’m just tired, Satoru.”
“Tired? Seriously?” he mutters, pulling his hand away. “You work, what, a nine-to-five? You act like you’re running yourself into the ground.”
You blink, taken aback by his dismissive tone. “Satoru, it’s not just about the hours. It’s everything piling up, and—”
“Piling up?” He cuts you off with a scoff, already reaching for his phone. “Why didn’t you just say something sooner? You know I could’ve hired someone to handle that for you. I’ve got the money. You shouldn’t be stressing over... whatever this is.”
The words sting. You knew his mind would go there. It always does—like money could just make the exhaustion disappear, like hiring someone to take care of the smaller details would magically solve everything.
“It’s not about the money, Satoru.” you snap, trying to hold onto your patience. “I don’t need someone else doing my job for me. I just... I need you to listen.”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Listen? What do you expect me to say? You’re tired. I get it. But don’t act like you’re drowning when I could have fixed this a long time ago. Hell, I could’ve bought you time off or flown you somewhere. You're sittin' here sulking like I can’t take care of things.”
You clench your fists, the exhaustion now compounded by frustration. “It’s not about you fixing things, Satoru. Sometimes I just need support—not your money.”
He stares at you, eyes narrowing. “Right. So you want to feel miserable instead of letting me help. That’s real smart, princess.”
Your heart pounds in your chest as you shove clothes into your bag, the sound of zippers and drawers slamming echoing through the room. You can feel Satoru’s presence behind you, hovering, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not after that.
“C'mon, princess.” he says, his voice exasperated, like he’s the one who's supposed to be annoyed. “What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?”
You don’t answer, your hands moving faster, yanking more clothes off hangers, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. You’re so angry you can barely breathe.
“I’ll book us a trip,” Satoru tries again, a hint of desperation creeping into his usually arrogant tone. “How about Paris? We’ll stay at that five-star hotel you like, the one with the private balcony. You love that place.”
Your jaw clenches. “This isn’t about a vacation, Satoru,” you snap, stuffing the last of your things into the bag. “It’s not about your money or your fancy hotels.”
“Then what is it about?” he shoots back, his voice rising with frustration. “You’re acting like I haven’t given you everything. "What more do you want?"
You freeze, bag halfway zipped, your body trembling as you turn to face him. His icy blue eyes are wide, confused, and maybe even a little hurt, but you’re beyond caring. “I want you to see me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you, louder than you intended. “I don’t need you to throw money at the problem! I need you to actually understand what I’m going through!”
Satoru stares at you, speechless for once. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks almost... shocked, like he can’t comprehend that his money, his status, can’t fix this. That he can’t fix this.
“Do you even care?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but no less angry. “Do you care about how I feel? Or is it just easier for you to throw cash at me until I stop complaining?”
He’s silent, his gaze hardening as he crosses his arms. “I’m trying to help. What else do you want me to do?”
“I want you to listen!” You throw your hands up in frustration, feeling more alone than ever. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want trips or fancy dinners. I want you to care about me, Satoru. Not just the idea of me.”
His lips press into a thin line, but he says nothing. The silence is louder than any of his words.
As your hand grips the doorknob, ready to leave, Satoru’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and bitter.
“Right, run off to Shoko’s.” he scoffs, his arms crossed defensively. “You always do this, don’t you? The moment things get tough, you bolt. Guess it’s easier to complain to her than actually deal with me.”
His words hit you like a punch to the gut, stopping you in your tracks. You turn slowly to face him, disbelief clouding your vision. He’s standing there, arms folded, arrogance in his posture.
“I always do this?” you repeat, your voice trembling with anger. “I’ve stayed through everything, Satoru!"
“You’re just like Suguru.” Satoru spits out, the words dripping with bitterness and desperation.
Your hand freezes on the handle. You weren’t expecting that. Slowly, you turn to look at him, and the mask of arrogance has cracked. His eyes are wild, wide with something close to panic. “Running away the moment things get hard,” he continues, his voice shaking slightly. “Is that it? Just gonna leave like he did?”
Your heart skips a beat, anger fading for a moment as something else stirs inside you. You’ve seen Satoru angry before, frustrated, even cold—but this? This is different.
“That’s not fair.” you say quietly, though the anger still simmers beneath the surface. “I’m not leaving because things are hard. I’m leaving because you’re not listening.”
Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a hard line. Then he snaps, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, sharp and cold. “Well, fine. Go. I survived him abandoning me, I’ll survive you too.”
His words sting, burning through the air with a finality that makes your breath hitch. It’s a challenge, a defense—his way of masking the fear that’s clawing at him from the inside out. He’s pushing you away before you can leave, just like he’s done with everything else that’s threatened to crack his carefully controlled world.
You stand there, frozen for a moment, staring at him as his walls rise higher, shutting you out. This is what it’s come to. He’s too scared to let you in, too scared to admit that you leaving isn’t something he can just survive—that it’s something that terrifies him.
But he won’t say it. He won’t ask you to stay.
And that’s when you know.
Suguru Geto
You rest under the comfort of your blanket. How many days have you been in this bed? Three days? Four?
The world was just too much right now, and your room was the only security available. It had been a week since Suguru vanished without a word, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and broken trust. Principal Yaga’s words still echoed in your mind—a whole village slaughtered, his parents among the dead.
And not even a text.
You weren’t sure if he was even alive, maybe it would be better if he wasn’t. At least then you wouldn’t have to come to terms with the fact that the love of your life was now a wanted killer.
You took another tissue from the box, blowing into it and tossing the crumpled mess into the garbage can.
Satoru hadn’t responded either, was he okay? Did he know?
Your mind screamed for silence, for the thoughts to stop, but they kept coming, relentless.
“Angel?”
That voice… no it couldn’t be. You lower the covers from your face.
It was
“Hi baby...” his normally soothing voice does little to alleviate the ache in your chest.
“You…” your voice barely a whisper, threatening to break. “I thought you were dead.”
He moves closer, his footsteps barely making a sound on the floor, and you finally take him in. Despite everything, despite the horrors you’ve been told, he looks… normal.
How could he look so much like the Suguru you knew, the Suguru you loved, when everything inside of you was shattered?
Was this the same man who held you close? Whispered sweet nothings in your ear—promised to protect you with his life?
“It’s me, (Y/N).” he says softly, his voice cutting through the silence as if he had read your thoughts.
The tenderness in his tone feels like a knife twisting in your chest. How could he say that—so casually, so easily? Like everything was normal, like your world hadn’t come crashing down around you. You blink, trying to force the tears back, trying to find the right words, but nothing comes.
“Are you?” your voice is small, barely more than a whisper. Doubt lingers in every syllable.
He doesn’t respond to your question. Instead, his gaze softens, and without a word, he pulls the covers off of you. The cold air rushes over your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you had buried yourself in, and for a moment you flinch, instinctively clutching the blanket before you let it slip from your fingers.
His eyes trace over your fragile form, and there’s something in them—a flicker of sympathy, regret, even—but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s the reason for your downward spiral. He knows it too. The weight of it presses on him, though he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves with a gentleness you hadn’t expected, sliding his arms under you and lifting you up as if you weighed nothing.
You want to protest, want to ask what he thinks he’s doing, but you’re too tired, too drained to fight. So you let him carry you. His arms are steady, and despite everything, you can’t help but melt in his embrace.
He takes you into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the space as he sets you down gently. You can feel the cool tile under your feet as he kneels in front of the tub, turning the faucet on and testing the temperature.
You had so many things you wanted to say. You wanted to yell at him, curse him, ask him why. But you couldn’t.
He dips his hand under the stream, adjusting the temperature until it’s just right. His movements are deliberate, methodical, as if this is the only way he knows how to show you any kind of care right now.
You stand there, numb and silent, watching him. The man who destroyed your world, now kneeling before you, acting as though he can piece it back together with something as simple as a bath. It feels absurd, almost cruel, but at the same time, you don’t have the strength to stop him.
Suguru rises to his feet, his presence towering yet calm as he began to undress you. Gentle hands pulling his t-shirt off of you, the one you had been clinging onto for days.
His hands brush lightly against your skin as he lifts the shirt over your head, sending a shiver down your spine.
He had seen you in this state before, many times. But this….this was different.
Suguru guides you to the shower, washing your body with a gentleness you missed so deeply.
You close your eyes, letting him take care of you, even though you don’t understand why or how he can. The silence between you grows heavier with every passing second, filled with words unspoken and emotions too tangled to sort out.
Finally, you speak, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. “Why are you here, Suguru?”
His hand pauses for a moment, the washcloth resting against your skin. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, but when he answers, his voice is low, steady, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you.
“Because I….I love you” His voice almost too quiet, as if he’s afraid to say the words out loud.
“Then why, Suguru?” your voice trembles, almost breaking under the weight of your next words. “Is it true? You killed those people?”
The washcloth falls from his hand, splashing into the water as the silence between you deepens. He doesn’t speak right away, and the hesitation in his silence is an answer in itself.
You swallow hard, the air thick with the weight of the truth you already know but can’t bear to accept.
“They were… in the way,” he finally admits, his voice low, almost hollow.
You step out of the shower, the warm water sliding off your skin in slow rivulets. Without thinking, you reach for the towel, wrapping it tightly around yourself like armor.
This isn’t the man you loved, the one who spoke of protecting the weak, of valuing life. Yet, there’s something so heartbreakingly familiar in the way he says it—like a twisted version of the Suguru you knew, now wrapped in darkness.
“But those were people, Suguru,” you say, your voice fragile, as if you’re trying to reach the man you once knew beneath the monster he’s become. “Innocent people. How could you…?”
He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to you, his hand brushing against your skin, cold and distant. “Because this world is broken.” he murmurs. “And I need to fix it. I had to do it. Can’t you see that? We—sorcerers—we’re meant for something greater. And they… they were holding us back.”
You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “I don’t understand, Suguru. I don’t understand any of this.”
He steps closer, his hand cupping your face gently, as though trying to reassure you with his touch. "Come with me." he whispers, his voice softer now, pleading. “Run away with me. Together, we can build something new. You don’t have to be a part of this broken world anymore. We can leave it all behind.”
Before you can respond, his lips press against yours, a kiss that’s both gentle and urgent, as though he’s trying to pour every unsaid word, every plea, into this one moment. It’s the Suguru you remember—the Suguru who once made you feel safe, loved.
But the reality of who he’s become crashes down on you.
You pull away, your hands pressed firmly against his chest, creating a wall between you. “No.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I can’t.”
For a moment, Suguru just stands there, staring at you, his dark eyes searching yours for something—some kind of understanding, some sign that you’ll change your mind. His hand lingers on your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant, as though he’s trying to hold on to whatever connection is left.
But then, slowly, he withdraws, his hand falling back to his side. He straightens up, his expression hardening as he steps away from you, giving you the space you so desperately need. The softness in his eyes fades, replaced by the cold determination you’ve seen before.
“You’ll see,” he says, his voice quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. “One day, you’ll understand. When you see what I’ve seen, when you finally understand the truth about this world—you’ll come around. I know you will.”
His words hang heavy in the air, and without another glance, he turns and walks toward the door, leaving you standing alone, trembling in the silence.
Nanami Kento
Kento was an honest man. There was nothing he ever kept from you. Other people might view him as a hard shell, but you could read him like a book.
So when he came to bed that night, holding you just a little tighter than usual—you knew something was up.
You shifted slightly in his embrace, his grip tightening instinctively as if he feared you might slip away.
“Kento?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the room.
“I’ve decided to talk to Gojo tomorrow.” he said quietly, his voice steady but with a hint of resolve. “I want to return to being a sorcerer.”
The words hung in the air, sinking into you like lead. You stiffened, a sharp sting blooming in your chest as you processed his decision.
“Are you seriously considering this?” Your voice trembled with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You know what that life entails. You’ve seen the consequences. Are you really willing to go back to that danger?”
Kento’s silence was heavier than any response he could have given. His arms, though still holding you close, seemed distant now, as if they were reaching out from across a chasm of uncertainty.
“I’ve thought it through,” he said finally, though his tone lacked the conviction he tried to project. “I need to do this for myself. I can’t keep pretending I’m satisfied with where I am.”
The last words echoed in your ears their weight sinking deep into your heart. “So you’re not satisfied with me?” you whispered, barely able to speak past the knot forming in your throat.
Kento’s eyes widened in shock. “No, that’s not what I meant—”
“Then what is it, Kento?” you demanded, frustration and hurt sharpening your words. “We have something good here. You have a good job. You left Jujustu High for a reason! What about Haibara—”
At the mention of Haibara, Kento’s face hardened. His eyes, which had been searching for the right words, now burned with anger and frustration. “Don’t.”
Your eyes widen at his tone. He sighs, trying to catch himself. “This…isn’t about him, or his fate. It’s about my own path, my own choices. You think I’m risking everything without knowing the cost?”
“And what do you expect me to do, Kento?” Your voice cracked, raw emotion rising as you slid out of bed, unable to lie still any longer. “Sit at home and worry about you? Not knowing if you’re going to come back in one piece? I can’t live like that! I can’t live every day with the fear that you might not come back, that you might be hurt or worse?”
The silence that followed was suffocating. You paced the room, your emotions boiling over, while Kento sat still, his gaze following you but offering no solace.
“You’re asking me to accept a life where every day is a gamble with your safety!” You stopped, turning to face him, your chest heaving with emotion. “How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to pretend everything’s okay when the reality is that you might not come back to me? This isn’t just about you, Kento. It’s about us, our future!”
Kento ran a hand through his blond locks, frustration etched into every line of his face. “I’m not asking you to pretend it’s okay. I’m asking you to understand that this is something I need to do for myself, even if it means risking everything.”
You blinked, tears blurring your vision as his words sank in. “And what if everything we have is the cost?”
The question lingered, echoing in the space between you. Kento rose from the bed, standing tall before you, but the weight of the moment seemed to bow his shoulders.
He stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. His eyes, filled with a deep sadness, searched yours, looking for understanding that he knew might never come. “I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You need to know that.”
You shook your head, your voice breaking. “But that isn’t enough… is it? It never will be…”
There was a heavy silence between you, the weight of your words pressing down on both of you.
“I… can’t watch you throw your life away, Kento.”
He took a deep breath, the sound heavy with resignation. "Then… we’ve both made our decision."
His hands, which had held you with such tenderness, felt distant as you pulled away. You took a step back, a sob catching in your throat.
He opens his mouth, but no words come out with a trembling breath, he stepped forward and gently pulled you into his arms. The embrace was tender, filled with the weight of finality.
He buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent one last time as if trying to imprint it into his memory. The warmth of his body, once a comfort, now felt like a dagger in your chest.
“I’m sorry.” he whispered, his voice strained. The words were barely audible, but the sentiment hung heavy in the air.
Kento lingered for a moment, his hand sliding from your back to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed away the tear you hadn’t realized had fallen, and his expression softened with a promise you weren’t sure either of you could believe.
“I’ll come back,” he whispered, his voice strained but resolute. “Somehow… I’ll find my way back to you. One day.”
You clung to him for a moment longer, feeling the ache of goodbye in every fiber of your being, before he slowly pulled away. Leaving you.
#kbwrites#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#gojo satoru#nanami kento#geto suguru#jjk gojo#jjk geto#jjk nanami#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#nanami x reader#nanami x y/n#nanami x you#geto x reader#geto x you#geto x y/n#gojo angst#nanami angst#geto angst
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perfect practice
soobin x fem!reader
warnings: 🔞!! size kink, size training, sex toys, belly bulge, breeding kink, no protection, creampie, prob forgot some sorry
wc: 800
an: short drabble <33 feedback is appreciated! [m.list]
he always starts by sloppily eating you out. not caring how your wetness drips down his chin; the lewd sounds accompanying your moans. He will make sure to get you off once maybe even twice depending on if he can stop himself.
His main goal was always to get you as slick as possible to be able to take any toy he had gotten for you. As soon as you two started dating, Soobin had gotten a set of dildos, four different sizes starting at 5 inches and going to 8.
Maybe he had been presumptuous about you being open to the idea but as soon as he saw the clear silicone set he couldn’t stop himself from imagining slipping each one into you training you to take his cock.
and as much of a perv he was in theory he wasn’t as open with you about that side of himself until he was knuckles deep into feeling your walls flutter around his fingers when he brought it up. “I wanna fuck you I just don’t think you can handle me right now,” your whining at the implication of not being stuffed full of his cock was nearly enough to make him ditch the idea all together but he held strong. “I got you a little gift to practice with first,” your hips were already rolling on his fingers ready for another round.
soobin had pulled out the smallest dildo in the set showing it off to you before making you cum hard enough to see stars. it wasn’t until the next time that you realized what was happening and you had been punished on the six-inch dildo, begging soobin to fuck you. “Only two more baby, you can be patient,” he didn’t even know how he was resisting watching the way you were being stretched out was leaving him straining in his jeans ready to burst with the smallest touch.
when you were finally down to the last dildo all eight inches slipped into you after soobin had been attached to your clit without remorse leaving you slick enough to take anything he wanted to give you. “I’m a little thicker than this but I’m sure you can take me now huh?” but it’s no use talking to you at this point already cresting on your third orgasm. your back is arching as you cum but soobins pulling away the last dildo the rivulets of wetness still stuck to the silicone making him groan as he pulls himself from his jeans.
Even with the training you can tell the difference in the stretch, the remnants of your orgasm sucking him in deeper as your walls flutter around the girth of him. you swear you can feel him in your throat, every thick vein pulsing as he pushes into you. you’re absolutely brainless as he fills you, the only sound leaving you are moans you’ve never heard yourself make before.
“oh you feel so perfect, sucking me in, taking my cock so well. perfect fit- fuck-“ he can’t keep control of himself slipping in and out of you at a delicious pace made much better from all the prep, the squelching sounds filling the room. soobin takes your hand to place over your lower belly pressing down so that you can feel the bulge of his cock. your moans mix as you feel him hitting your gspot the added pressure making you feel every thrust down to your toes.
“you feel how deep I am? now that you can take me I’ll be here,” he grunts pressing your hand down on your pelvis, “almost every night pounding into you,” he presses his lips to your ear, “filling you up. perfect practice for when we’re ready to have a baby,” your sweet whines music to his ears as you scratch down his back, “you like that huh? you want my baby?”
you’re absolutely squeezing him at the idea making it hard to keep thrusting but he’s already twitching ready to shove his hips as close as he can to yours. “no more practice to take my cock but practice to take my load, keep it as long as you can inside you, as far as I can get it, over and over again,” he doesn’t even know what he's saying anymore blabbering as your legs start shaking, hips sinking back as you arch orgasm taking over you for the fourth time.
when he cums he stills right against your cervix the warmth filling you up as you cling to soobin pulling him as close as you can get him. Neither of you can form sentences for a while taking deep breaths to try and bring your minds back. “we will definitely have to do that again, you know what they say practice makes perfect,”
#soobin x reader#txt x reader#soobin#choi soobin#txt soobin#soobin txt#kpop smut#Yeonjun#beomgyu#taehyun#huening kai#soobin smut
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10 Bad Habits to Let Go of for a Beautiful Life (Trust Me, You’ll Thank Yourself)
We all have those habits that hold us back — some sneakier than others. And while no one’s perfect, a little spring cleaning of your daily habits can unlock a happier, healthier life. Ready to drop the bad vibes and level up? Here are 10 bad habits to leave behind for good!
1. The Comparison Game — It’s Gotta Go
We’ve all done it. Scrolling, looking at someone’s perfect life, and feeling like we’re not enough. But honestly? Comparing yourself to others is a losing game. Focus on your own growth, and unfollow anything or anyone that makes you feel less-than. Your journey is yours alone, and it’s beautiful in its own way. Keep your eyes on your own lane!
2. Procrastinating Like It’s a Sport
We get it — that “I’ll do it tomorrow” energy feels good in the moment, but it’s also a trap. The more you put off tasks, the more they pile up and haunt you. Trust, the best feeling is getting stuff done now and freeing up your mind for the fun stuff later. Break it down, set a timer, and just start. You’ll feel like a boss when you’re done.
3. Saying Yes to Everything (Even When You Don’t Want To)
No is a full sentence, babe! If you’re constantly saying yes to things that don’t align with your goals or drain your energy, it’s time to stop. Overcommitting leads to burnout, and life’s too short for that. Start setting boundaries and prioritize what makes you feel good. Your time is precious, so treat it like gold.
4. Relying on Everyone Else’s Approval
We all love a little validation, but depending on it? That’s a recipe for insecurity. Your worth isn’t measured by someone else’s likes or approval. The only validation you really need is your own. So hype yourself up, celebrate your wins, and be proud of the progress you’re making, regardless of who’s watching.
5. Avoiding Your Finances Like It’s Scary
Finances don’t have to be terrifying! Ignoring them might feel easier in the moment, but getting a handle on your money situation is so empowering. Start small — track your spending, create a budget, and set a savings goal. The sooner you take control, the more stress-free your future will feel.
6. Holding Grudges Like They’re Trophies
Honestly, holding onto grudges only weighs you down. Letting go of past negativity isn’t about excusing people’s behavior — it’s about freeing yourself. Don’t let old situations control your peace. Forgiveness is for you, babe. The less baggage you carry, the lighter you’ll feel.
7. Talking Down to Yourself
Would you say those mean things to your best friend? Didn’t think so! So why do we let ourselves get away with it? Cut out the negative self-talk and replace it with something a little more kind and uplifting. You deserve better from yourself. You wouldn’t believe how much your mindset can change once you start being nice to yourself.
8. Expecting Everything to Be Perfect
Perfection is a myth, and chasing it will only leave you stressed and frustrated. Life happens in the in-between moments — the imperfect, messy, beautifully real ones. Give yourself some grace and celebrate progress, not perfection. A “good enough” life is often a perfect one in disguise.
9. Staying in Your Safe Bubble
Your comfort zone might feel cozy, but nothing grows there! Stepping outside of it might be scary, but it’s where all the magic happens. Whether it’s trying something new, starting a project, or meeting new people, discomfort leads to growth. Don’t let fear hold you back — take the leap!
10. Blaming Everything Else for What’s Not Going Right
It’s easy to point fingers and blame outside circumstances, but taking responsibility is where real change starts. You’ve got more control than you think! Instead of dwelling on what’s going wrong, focus on what you can change. You’ve got the power to turn things around — it’s all in your hands.
These bad habits? They’re not serving you, and it’s time to leave them in the past. Letting go of what’s holding you back will clear the way for bigger, better things. You’re already halfway there just by recognizing what needs to change. So let go, level up, and watch your life get a little more beautiful, one habit at a time.
#it girl#just girly things#academia#girlblogging#morning routine#tips#lifestyle#life lessons#understanding#self improvement#self help
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WARNINGS: jihoon dealing with an extremely horny reader, guided masturbation, smut, fingering, mentions of body fluids (cum/precum), humiliation, crying, overstimulation, lots of dirty talk, mentions of penetrative sex, teasing, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, degrading.
@jihootea ALWAYS planting jihoon brainrot on meeee!! now i cant stop picturing how jihoon would deal with his partner when she's drop-head horny… he would be a MEANIE, like, no mercy. AND he can almost smell the horniness from you. even though he's turned back with his producing chair.
except you know, know, he’s aware. he can probably feel your eyes drilling into him, can hear the way you’re struggling to sit still, thighs rubbing together just enough to keep your sanity hanging by a thread.
and then, without even looking at you, he says, “you good over there? squirming like you’ve got a problem or something.” his tone is so casual it makes you want to throw something. it’s not even a question—it’s pure fucking tease, dripping with this smugness that makes you want to melt and scream at the same time.
“jihoon…” you whisper begging, but he just lets out this tiny scoff, like he’s already bored of you. he leans back in his chair, finally giving you his attention, eyebrow cocked like he’s waiting for you to entertain him.
“what?” he drawls, eyes sliding down to your legs, then back up to your flushed face. “you slut can’t keep that little thing between your legs under control?”
it’s embarrassing, the way he says it, like he’s talking about some little pet that you can’t handle. you bite your lip, trying not to combust as he looks you up and down, arms crossed, manspreading, all arrogant and completely unimpressed.
“if you’re that desperate,” he says, eyes narrowing, “why don’t you show me? right here...”
your mouth goes dry, heart slamming against your ribcage. but you can’t ignore the way his voice gets lower, like he’s waiting, daring you.
your hand’s barely down there inside your shorts, fingers brushing against the clit, when you hear him snap, “who said you could keep those on?” his tone’s rougher than usual. you’re quick to slide them off, hooking your thumbs in the waistband and slipping out of your shorts and panties in one go like they were one piece only. you toss them at him with a grin, watching his eyes light up satisfied as he catches them, raising an eyebrow at you.
he takes the panties from the bundle and brings them up to his face, holding your gaze the whole time. smirking. the way he watches you squirm, vulnerable in a way you never quite do with anyone else. it’s him. “getting all shy now? didn’t think you had it in you.”
you swallow, cheeks burning, but you don’t drop his gaze, even as he tilts his head.
“are you waiting for permission or something?” he snaps, that edge back in his voice. “didn’t i tell you to touch yourself? whats the hold-up? are you just that pathetic that you need me to walk you through it?”
you pout, voice coming out soft and whiny, “aren’t you going to help me?”
“oh, no, sweetheart. if you’re that desperate, you’ll just have to do it yourself. all by yourself, since you’re such a big girl already.”
your hand slides between your legs, finding that slick, that had been bothering you for hours already, you shiver as your fingers spread it over your folds, teasing your clit. his ears twitch up almost like a cat when he hears how wet you are.
“barely even touching yourself and already making a mess. and here i thought you had some self-control.” he drawls.
you whimper, biting your lip as you roll your fingers over your clit, feeling that ache, that need, building up. but he’s just watching, eyes raking over every inch of you with that judgmental gaze, making you feel ten times more exposed than you are.
“is that the best you can do?” he sneers. “pathetic. thought you wanted this, but you’re just playing around, aren’t you? can’t even get yourself off without me telling you what to do.”
you let out a frustrated whine, pressing harder, slipping a finger inside, anything to relieve that pressure, but it’s like his voice is right there, mocking you, judging every little movement.
“keep going,” he says, voice so cold that makes your skin shiver up. “maybe if you try a little harder, you’ll actually be worth watching. spread that pussy f’me.”
your fingers obey trembling as you slide them out to spread yourself for him, he sees the mouthwatering cream being expelled from the tight little hole. “look at that,” he sneers, tilting his head as he takes in the view. “so messy. you’re really that worked up, babe? got yourself all soaked just sitting here like a needy little slut.”
your breath hitches, a moan slipping out despite yourself as you finally push two fingers in, hips bucking, feeling that burn. his eyes gleam, watching the way you struggle to keep quiet, and he smiles, soooo pleased.
“aw, you’re whining already?” he coos, tone mocking, like he’s talking to some helpless, needy thing. “that desperate? thought you could handle yourself, but look at you—just a mess on my couch. tell me… wishing it was my fingers instead?”
you can’t help the whimper that escapes, hips lifting, and he catches it, eyes sparking.
“oh?” he chuckles, leaning in slightly. “or is it my cock you want, huh? that’s it, isn’t it? poor baby, too worked up to even admit it.”
the moan that slips from your lips is helpless, your back arching as you dig your fingers deeper, feeling the heat coil tighter. his smirk widens.
“then show me how bad you want it,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower. “curl those fingers up, just like that… think you can even get yourself close to how good i’d make you feel?”
you nod, whimpering as you obey, curling your fingers up to hit that weak spot, feeling the way it makes your toes curl and your thighs tremble.
your warning slips out in a shaky breath, “ji… wanna cum,” as you meet his gaze, eyes pleading. he watches you, eyes heavy hunger, one hand squeezing his length through his pants, jaw tight as he throws his head back for a second, like he’s savoring the sight of you so worked up.
when he looks at you again. “go on,” he coos, smirking as he tilts his head. “didn’t last long, did you?”
you feel your body tremble, hips jerking as your hand moves faster, fingers slipping inside as you cry out, not caring anymore how loud you are, a mess being created on his studio's sofa. but just as you start to come down, just as you think it’s over, he speaks again.
“who said you could stop?” he sneers, eyes narrowing as he watches you with that amused smirk. “you’re not done yet. keep those fingers moving. keep going for me.”
a whimper escapes your lips as your overstimulated body obeys, fingers shaky but pushing in deeper, pressing against that sensitive spot again. your hips buck up involuntarily, every nerve screaming pleasure giving you a new ache that has you gasping.
“jihoon, but—” you try, voice breaking, but he cuts you off, voice sharp.
“if you don’t keep going, there’s no chance in hell i’ll give you what you want.”
you bite your lip, a desperate moan slipping out as you force yourself to keep moving. your fingers finally slip out, drenched and trembling, but instinct pulls you to the sensitive bud, fingers barely brushing over it as you start drawing slow, shaky circles. the touch is too much, making your eyes squeeze shut as your legs shake on either side, instinctively trying to close, but you keep them open, fighting against every urge to stop.
your face frown and you feel a hot prickle at the corners of your eyes, your voice breaking, choked, as you mutter, “ji… can’t… i can’t take it anymore…” your lower belly clenches, your body spasming at every soft circle you trace, a tear slips down your cheek, face flushed and damp, as you shudder, fingers shaking as they push you to that razor-thin edge again.
he leans forward, catching every broken sound, every little sob, his smirk widening as he coos, “oh, poor thing… already crying?” his words make you shake even harder, your body backstabbing you as you keep going, fingers pressed firmly on that nerve.
your thighs are burning from holding yourself open, your sobs grow louder, broken and dumb, and he’s just sitting back, arms crossed, his forearm muscles popping, veins standing out as he leans forward, eyes fixed on every shaky fingering.
“isn’t this what you wanted, slut?”
a whimper escapes you, eyes blurry with tears as you nod, “j-jihoon… can’t…” your hips buck up, trying to escape your own hand.
“keep going thought you were horny. or were you just pretending?”
another whimper, tears spilling down your cheeks as you press down on that sensitive bundle of nerves, every little touch pushing you higher, closer to that edge you’re not sure you can survive again. “please… too much…,” you cry, voice cracked.
“too much? aww poor baby...” he taunts, shaking his head slowly.
your insides twist, so intense you’re not sure where one ends and the other begins. you curl over yourself. each touch making your vision blur. nerves fried until you’re nothing but a quivering, soaked mess on the couch, every last bit of strength melting out of you. you don’t stop until he finally murmurs,
“good girl. that’s enough.”
you collapse, body going limp, fingers sliding away as you fall back, every limb heavy and useless. your chest heaves, cheeks flushed, face still damp with tears, and hes on you in a second, leaning over, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, lips.
“there ya’ go… you did so good, baby...” he whispers, like he’s helping you piece yourself back together. “my good girl, so perfect.”
you close your eyes, he shifts, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest, and you sink into the comfort of him, exhaustion pulling you under as he strokes your hair, fingers gentle, calming.
“get some rest,” he murmurs, pressing a final kiss to your temple. “you’ll need it, sweetheart. when you wake up, i’m going to make sure you really can’t move. gonna fuck you so hard...”
#valeu galerinha da moral... FUI ✌️#seventeen imagines#seventeen reactions#seventeen scenarios#seventeen x reader#seventeen headcanons#seventeen#svt imagines#seventeen smut#svt smut#woozi smut#woozi x reader#jihoon smut#woozi headcanons#woozi imagines#woozi seventeen#woozi x y/n#woozi x you#jihoon x reader#jihoon x you#jihoon seventeen#svt x reader#lee jihoon smut
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"Squeezing their hand reassuringly and holding their hand throughout an intense social situation" for Lando if you are still taking requests! I love your writing sm!!❤️❤️
thank you so much!!!
lando norris x reader, 1.5k. request something from here!
“I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?”
You tilt your head at Lando as he slides back into his seat across from you, curious. He looks uncharacteristically serious. “What, did your card get declined or something?”
“That’s—uh, excuse me? No.” Lando scoffs, scrunching his nose at you at the same time as he flips you off playfully. “My card did not decline, thank you very much. I’ll say it again, good news or bad news first?”
“Good news first, always,” You insist firmly.
Lando sighs, propping his elbows up on the table. “Good news, you got a free meal on me again. Bad news, there's a whole crowd of cameras and fans outside the restaurant right now and no way out the back.”
“Oh.”
Even just thinking about having to push through the whole gaggle of paparazzi outside has an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. You know you should be used to it by now, seeing as you’ve been with Lando for a while and known him even longer, but it’s not something you go through on a regular basis. You’ve tried your very best to avoid it, really.
Without him, nobody notices you. You can blend in with others and not have to worry about whether or not your life is being looked at through a microscope.
With him, you feel thrust into the spotlight. Even though you know they’re not here for you, they’re here for him, it doesn’t seem like anyone cares so long as they get a picture of Lando. Of course, not all of the fans are like that, but in your experience, things can get out of hand very quickly.
“I’m sorry, love. I know how much you hate crowds.”
“Um, yeah, it’s alright. I can handle it.” Your voice sounds breathy, even to you, and Lando takes notice, his brow creasing in concern.
“You sure? I can leave now and you can wait here til it all dies down. I promise I’ll circle back for you,” He offers, tilting his head. He reaches across the table to take your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. Half of you wants to play it safe and take him up on the offer. It would be easier on yourself to take that route.
At the same time, you don’t want to hide anymore. The greater part of you feels like it's about time you mustered up the courage to embrace the very thing that makes you nervous. Lando has to do it everyday, surely you can handle it once.
“No. We’ll leave together,” You decide, firmer this time. He smiles and stands from his seat, ever a gentleman as he helps you up from your own seat. Your previous confidence takes a rather large blow when you get to the waiting area of the restaurant and actually see just how large the crowd outside is. You stop suddenly.
“I’ve got you,” He says softly. “I won’t let go of you.”
“Promise?”
Lando holds out his pinky towards you in a silent promise, a pre race tradition you’ve adopted to help him settle his nerves before a race. You study his completely sincere expression for a few moments before letting out a sharp exhale through your nose, hooking your pinky around his. Both of you bring your linked hands up to your mouth, kissing the side of your fists to seal the promise.
A silly gesture from way back in his karting days, but the significance it holds now is set in stone.
“Okay. Okay, fuck, let’s get this over with!” His fingers slide into yours now, squeezing your hand reassuringly just for good measure.
It feels like a full body assault on all your senses coming from all sides the moment you step outside. Flashing cameras, screaming fans, being jostled around even as Lando pushes through the crowd first to try to clear the way for you. You make the mistake of looking out into the crowd instead of keeping your head down like him, and instantly you’re blinded by a series of photos being snapped inches in front of your face.
You can’t see a thing anymore, vision swimming with white spots no matter how much you blink to try to get rid of them. You stumble on the uneven cobblestones, and Lando’s grip on your hand tightens, his other arm slipping around your waist to steady you before you trip again.
“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” He says into your ear, holding you close. He’s the only thing keeping you from panicking, your anchor in the ocean of people as he forges on towards the car waiting at the edge of the sidewalk. “Here, step up. Yeah, that’s it, grab there. Watch your head.”
You scramble into the backseat of the car as quickly as you can so Lando can climb in after you. The door slams shut, and all that remains is silence. No more clamoring, no more screaming, just the rumble of the car under you and the telltale lurch that you’ve started to move.
Collapsing back against the headrest, you laugh, high pitched and disbelieving.
“Are you alright?” Lando’s voice sounds strained, tinged with concern, and his hand squeezes yours again. “All in one piece? All your limbs still attached?”
“Ha ha. Very funny. I’m okay, I just can’t really see anything right now,” You sigh. Your vision is still fuzzy, even in the darkness of the car. If you focus hard enough, you can kind of make out faint outlines of your surroundings, but you know it’ll be a bit until you’ll be seeing things clearly again. Lando makes a worried sound, and you're sure if you could see him his head would be cocked to the side, brows pinched in the middle. “Just the flashing cameras, probably. Now I know why you wear sunglasses everywhere you go.”
He laughs then, giggles at you like you've said something absolutely hilarious. “I told you why I always have them on me! Did you think I was joking?”
“No, I just always thought you were being a douchebag.”
“Excuse me?”
“Only douchebags wear glasses indoors, Lando. And blind people, but you're not blind.”
“You might be after this,” He snickers. You shove him with a huff. Well, your smack hits something firm and he yelps, so you assume it’s him. “Ow, jesus—fine, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I shouldn't be making fun of blind people.”
“You shouldn’t be making fun of me! Why didn’t you bring them today?”
“I did!” He insists. “I just…left them right here on the seat. Whoopsies.”
“Whoopsies.”
The car returns you to Lando’s building, and thankfully by then your vision has returned so you can make your way up to his floor on your own. Lando’s gone quiet on the elevator ride up, which is a bit uncharacteristic of him. After a good meal like the one you’ve just had, usually he’s talking about how he wants to dive into bed and sleep for ten years. This time, he just stares at the changing numbers above the door silently.
He wanders to the couch as soon as you get into the apartment, whereas you make your way over to the kitchen to grab some water. You grab a glass from the cabinet, not turning around as you ask, “Water, Lan?”
“Do you ever regret it?” Lando sounds small, unsure. You freeze, wait for him to keep going, but he doesn’t. Confused, you turn around with the glass still in hand to see him not even looking at you, instead focusing hard on picking at a loose thread at the edge of his sleeve.
He fiddles when he’s upset, something you’d learned quite early on in just being around him. He’s actually quite easy to read, really. Or maybe it’s just because you love him so much you’ve become attuned to his body language, what he does when he’s sad, mad, and everything in between.
You give an acknowledging noise for him to elaborate, and he drops the thread, finally looking up at you. “Being with me.”
“Now why would you ever think that?” You’re the concerned one now, rushing over to sit beside him on the cushions.
He shrugs, letting his shoulders drop heavily. “I dunno, just…everything that comes with me, it’s a lot to deal with, y’know? Sometimes I wonder if you wish my life wasn't so…public all the time.”
You take Lando’s face in your hands firmly, tilting his chin up so he's looking directly at you. “I will gladly take you and everything you come with. No matter what it is. I never want you to doubt that, my love.”
“I don’t,” He says softly, a flicker of a smile gracing his face. “How did I ever get so lucky with you?”
“I think it was the knobby knees and giant head that really made young me go, yeah, I want that one. I think the sentiment still stands too.”
Lando's smile disppears. Now he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're mean. You're mean and I hate you."
"That was for making fun of me earlier!"
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wicked influence
Poly!Ghostface x fem!reader
a/n: I’ve wanted to write for Scream for forever and have never gotten around to it. Well, it’s slasher season baby! I finally have my reason. (When I tell you that this movie was my sexual awakening as a child, I mean it. That’s not necessarily good, but it’s true. )
Summary: Visiting a Halloween carnival with your two best friends doesn’t seem that bad until you reach the haunted house. You’ve never been able to explain your fear of demons to anyone before, you have no idea where it comes from. But you do know, going into a hell themed house with teenagers screaming shitty Latin at you is one of your worst nightmares. You think everything’s okay until, suddenly, your nights are filled with visits from a strange shadowy entity and you don’t recognize the look in Stu’s eyes anymore. (Part of my Halloween Palooza)
“Hey! Demons are a perfectly rational thing to be afraid of.”
Billy scoffs and rolls his eyes, nudging you further toward the haunted house. “Alright, alright, would you calm down and just move it.” You stare into the gaping jaw of the devil that serves as the entrance to the house. You know this is all just a way for people to make a quick buck.
There’s not going to be anything in there except teenage actors and shitty SFX makeup. But that doesn’t make the looming doorway any less menacing. It doesn’t make your heart stop racing or your breathing any easier.
Billy frowns as some people shove past you all, tired of waiting for you to move inside. They cut the line and you can’t help but be grateful. Your nails dig into your palms until you feel the warmth of blood and have to swallow down bile.
Stu and Billy both lean towards you, varying looks of confusion on their faces. “Holy shit,” a grin breaks out on Stu’s face and he smiles widely at you. “You’re terrified, aren’t you?” He pokes you like you might be a statue, unmoving and solemn.
You stumble back and are effectively broken out of your terrified stupor. You swat at Stu’s wandering hands and glare at him. “Shut the fuck up,” you snap. But in your anxious state, it all comes out as one jumbled mess.
Billy lets out a disappointed sigh and gives you a funny look. “Alright, let’s just go. You’re not going in and it’s stupid to just stand out here all night.” Stu opens his mouth to argue but Billy shoots him a sharp look. You hate how sensitive they think you are. You can handle one stupid fucking haunted house. You’re not completely useless.
Still, you practically gulp as the Devil’s eyes bore into yours. You feel like your soul is being sucked out through your feet, leaving you startlingly cold. “I,” you clear your throat, waiting until it feels strong enough to speak. “I can do this,” you grit out, sounding like you’re trying to convince yourself more than them.
Stuf lets out a brief chuckle and Billy throws his elbow into his gut. Stu doubles over dramatically and you can’t help but laugh a little. Billy gives you a raised brow and you nod your head. “I just need a little nudge,” you mutter, glancing back at the house.
Stu grins and creeps behind you. “I got you babes,” he tells you in a ridiculous voice. You barely have a second to process what’s happening before he’s lifting you up and practically tossing you inside. Immediately, there’s a fake chainsaw in your face and a screaming Bubba Sawyer. You stumble back with a gasp, falling into Stu’s open arms.
“How’s that for a nudge?” Billy mutters as he brushes past you. You grab onto the back of his shirt and follow behind him. He glances over his shoulder at you with a knowing smirk and continues forward. None of the scares get him, but they get you.
The actors catch onto that. They also catch onto how fake and dramatic Stu is. Half of them target you for a good scream and the other half avoid you because of how obnoxious he’s being. You can already tell how bored BIlly is. There’s not enough gore in here for him.
He needs more blood splatter and fresh corpses, while you’re pleasantly surprised by the contents of the house. You’d really been dreading the demonic themes, but it seems like that’s not a huge factor. So far it’s just a few overzealous teens and some spiders on a string.
Sure, it’s still scaring the bejeezus out of you. But there’s a difference between a quick scream and a deeply rooted phobia.
You don’t know when this supernatural fear of yours began. Maybe your parents let you traumatize yourself with the crucifix scene in The Exorcist too young. But you know it’s been with you nearly your entire life.
You think you’re safe, that you can just relax and let yourself have fun, then you reach the final door. The lights are flickering so hard you think you might have a seizure, but you can see enough to know what’s before you. A red, rotted door, with three upside-down nines barely hanging onto it.
“Oh god,” you whisper and you think the boys can’t hear you. But then you feel Stu’s hands suddenly clamping around your neck and you leap into Billy with a shrill scream. Billy flinches away from the noise, turning to glare at you.
Stu doubles over, laughing his ass off at your expense and grinning wildly at you. “Jesus, we’re not even in there yet. What is wrong with you?” He says it like a joke but you can hear the truth of it lingering. It stings, the slight cruelty in his tone.
There’s nothing wrong with being afraid of something. Fear is healthy. The absence of fear is idiocy. You shove past Billy and turn to Stu with a mean glare. “I’m going to go in here and when I get out, I’m fucking leaving you.”
You shove the door open and take a step inside. You put on a brave face for about five seconds before you turn to see if they’ll follow you. You see just a glimpse of them before the door creaks closed. Billy is leaning against the wall, watching you with a half-amused expression. But Stu looks odd.
That doesn’t even seem like the right word. His face is completely devoid of any emotion. He looks expressionless and you’ve never seen Stu like that before. Whether it’s for good reason or not, he’s always making a face. Right now, you don’t even recognize him. Were it not for the outfit he was wearing you would think someone else had snuck up behind Billy.
The door is closed before you can call out to him and you find yourself plunged in complete darkness. There’s no noise for a long few moments. You can’t tell which way is the door and which is the exit.
At first, you worry you went in the wrong direction and entered an empty part of the house. A sudden cackle breaks through the air, and you leap forward, stumbling into the wall. You can already feel your heart beginning to race. Even though you can hear the static of a speaker and you know, deep down, that it's fake, you’re frozen in fear.
There’s a brief flash of light, just enough for you to see torn wallpaper and upside-down crosses. And something standing in the corner. “All alone?” A voice rasps and you whimper, pressing yourself up against the wall. You can’t tell if your eyes are open or closed, it’s too dark to know. You hope they’re closed. Whatever’s about to happen is going to traumatize you, you just know it.
A door creaks behind you just as the lights begin flickering on and off. Through brief flashes of illumination, you see something running towards you. They’re screaming Latin at you, water hits your face and you begin screaming uncontrollably. Footsteps pound towards you, egging on the racing beat of your heart.
A jarring grip lands on your shoulder and you swing out wildly. Your fist connects with something hard and you hiss in pain. There’s a brief pause where the only thing you can hear is your panting.
“Ow!” Someone snaps, an irritated raspy voice. The lights flick on and you squint against the sudden glare, blinking rapidly to try and lessen the burn on your eyes.
Billy and Stu stand on either side of you, astonished looks on both of their faces. A teenage boy in a shitty priest costume and red face paint stands before you. He’s rubbing his eye and cussing at you. “You fucking punched me!”
“You ran at me!” You yell back immediately, glaring at the little asshole. “I don’t think you’re supposed to touch me.”
He glares at you through one eye and points to Stu and Billy. “I didn’t!” He shouts and you flinch back, grimacing. “Your fucking friend did.” You clench your eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. Both you and Billy turn slowly towards Stu. His face is as red as the kid’s as he struggles to contain his laughter.
“Unbelievable!” You snap at him, slapping his shoulder roughly. He jolts, narrowing his eyes down at you.
“Hey!” He protests, “I was joking around. You’re the one that punched him.” He points the blame to you and you can’t argue. You did, technically, punch him. But it’s Stu’s fault. If he hadn’t snuck up on you, you would have just kept on screaming. You never would have touched the kid.
In awkward silence, you walk the boy out of the haunted house and buy him a cold drink to press against his steadily swelling eye. You can see purple shining through the fading paint and grimace. He throws himself down on a wooden picnic table and sighs forlornly.
“Thanks a lot, lady,” he mutters bitterly. Stu’s lips twitch as he watches the kid tug at his costume. You glare up at him and shove him away. He stumbles behind the table shooting you a sharp glare. You’re taken aback by the look.
It’s not like you’ve never gotten a little pushy with him before. His love language was manhandling. But the look on his face is unrecognizable. You’d thought you’d imagined it earlier, how off he had seemed. But it’s not fake now. You’re looking it clearly in the eye and you can’t deny the truth of it.
“I’m gonna sue,” the kid grumbles and you’re snapped out of your stare-off. You try and shake off the chilling feeling of unfamiliarity but it’s nearly impossible. You’re still wound up from the haunted house, you’re sure you’re just imagining things.
Billy shoves his shoulder and the kid falls back onto the table. “You’re not suing.”
He puffs his chest up and glares at Billy, “I could.”
Billy places his hand on the table, leaning in on the kid’s space until he’s flinching back. You avert your eyes, uncomfortable with the sudden display of dominance. Yet, you don’t stop him from bullying the kid out of a lawsuit. “You won’t,” Billy tells him, a clear threat.
The kid gives a shaky nod of his head, but Billy still doesn’t let up. There’s a slight curl of malice to his lips, you glance over to Stu for support. His attention is rapt upon Billy, something like hunger in his eyes. You feel like you’re watching two lions corner a gazelle, you can practically see the boy’s hands trembling from fear.
“Alright,” you clear your throat and tug Billy back by the shirt. He resists you at first and you know he only backs off because he wants to. It’s not for you. You look at the boy and give him a weak smile, “I really am sorry,” you can hear Stu laughing behind him and roll your eyes. The kid takes the drink off his eye and glares at you.
“Yeah, whatever lady. Why don’t you take a valium or something and chill the hell out?” He gets off the bench and brushes past you, shaking his head. You glance down at your fist and hiss at the pain shooting along your fingers. The skin of your knuckles is split and aching from hitting him.
Billy huffs out a laugh and takes your hand in his. “Really got him, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t mean to,” you argue petulantly.
Stu finally collects himself and rejoins you both, throwing his gangly body on the wooden picnic table. “Why don’t you tell his face that?” He practically snorts, looking down at your hand and then laughing all over again. It’s really not that funny. Even Billy looks confused by his boisterous nature.
He’s a dick, but this is a lot. You and Billy exchange a confused glance before looking back at Stu. But he’s silent now, already staring back at you both. Again, chills go up and down your arms at the empty look in his eyes. His lips are smiling, but his eyes are devoid of anything.
“Maybe we should just go home.” You suggest, trying to keep the suspicion out of your tone. “Carnival’s a bust,” Billy exchanges one last look with you before nodding.
“We still doing movies at Stu’s?” You desperately want to say no. Right now, all you want is to get as far away from him as possible. Earlier, with them and the kid, that’s normal. They’ve always had a bit of a mean streak when it comes to people weaker than them.
The way his eyes are boring into you right now is anything but normal. You’ve never felt quite so uncomfortable near him, but you can’t ignore the feeling. Every primal instinct of survival is screaming at you to run, but you can’t. You can’t say no. All you do is nod, tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. Stu’s eyes brighten slightly at your words, but it’s still nothing compared to how it should be.
You get ahead of Billy, not wanting to walk next to Stu. All you need is a good night’s sleep and you’ll be over this whole thing. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of too many eyes lingering on you as you make the trek to the car. The wet straw beneath your feet swallows the sounds of your steps and you try not to be discomforted by the quiet. It’s a carnival, where did all the people go?
The black-and-white static of the TV is the only thing to illuminate the room. It shines upon your face, makes it so you can only see in that square of light. You assume Billy is on the ground, passed out. And Stu is probably curled up in the overstuffed armchair.
Yet, you can’t look. As much as you try to crane your neck, try and find some comfort in their presence, you can’t move. Your body is pinned down by a weight you can’t see, only feel. This isn’t sleep paralysis. It’s like being held down by someone stronger and bigger than you.
You have no control over your body. You have no control over anything. Your breathing kicks up, coming in short panicked bursts. Your eyes roll around wildly, trying to find something, anything, to focus on.
You find yourself depressingly devoid of any distractions. Until a shadow creeps along the ceiling. At first, you think it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you. Like when you stare at one spot in the dark for too long and start to see impossible shapes.
But this is different. No matter how many times you blink or look away, it keeps moving. You whimper as it crawls over you. It dangles from the ceiling. You see nothing, only feel its eyes on you. There is no clear shape lurking within it, just malevolent malice.
It drops down behind the arm of the couch and you open your mouth to scream, hoping to wake one of the boys. Nothing comes out but a strangled gasp of air. You struggle for noise but the more you try, the harder you find it to bring air in.
Your eyes swim as you go lightheaded. You almost miss the tendrils creeping over the fabric of the couch. You almost don’t see it covering your feet. You wish you had missed it. You wish you just closed your eyes and never opened them again. But it’s like something is keeping those pried open too.
You can’t feel your legs. That’s the weight. It’s not someone holding you down. Your body is completely limp. It’s as though your bones were replaced with metal, you’re sinking so far into the cushions they’re rising around you. Even your fingers are too heavy to twitch.
You begin to feel it in your head, a sudden sinking feeling as it tips further and further back. Soon, you can only watch the shadow through your peripheral. Cold terror washes over you and fills your veins with something ill.
It covers your legs like a veil, slithering on them. Your thighs shoot apart and the blanket goes flying across the room. You can only let out a choked whimper as it dives between your parted limbs.
You shoot up with a gasp, sunlight peers through Stu’s living room windows, filling the room with much-needed warmth. You glance down, fisting the blanket and tugging it up to your chest in relief. Your heart is still racing and there’s sweat caked along your neck. But you can move your body freely again. It must have just been an awful nightmare.
You glance to the side and nearly scream. Stu lounges in the armchair, Billy’s still asleep on the ground. Stu stares right at you, empty eyes, wide smile. “Good dream?” he inquires, but the tone of his voice tells you he already knows the answer.
You swallow, fighting the sandpaper feeling of your throat and shaking your head. “No,” you croak, afraid to speak much louder than a whisper.
His smile widens and you feel your head feeling heavy again. “I love a good nightmare,” he admits, like it’s an awful secret. He leans back in the chair and turns towards the TV, mindlessly flicking through the channels.
With his gaze off you, you glance down and pull the waistband of your shorts down. You swallow down your tears and bile. Your underwear, like you feared, is gone. You glance towards Stu and narrow your eyes at the back of his head. You have an idea who took them.
Your parents are out of town for the week. Normally that means Billy and Stu infesting your home like pests. They’re being oddly evasive when you call, though. Not that you’re complaining. You haven’t been interested in being around Stu since the carnival.
He makes you feel unsafe. As much of a dick as he could be, never, have you ever feared him before. But you do now. You’re terrified of him. Even thinking about him makes you want to get up and check your closets for unwanted intruders.
However, as much as his absence is a relief, it brings with it its own problems. Nothing with Stu can ever be easy, can it?
You keep having the same nightmare. Except each night it gets closer and closer. You feel more of it than you ever want to. They’re turning into uncomfortably sexual dreams. You wake up wet and without any underwear. You can’t blame Stu for that when he’s not even in your house, though. Which leaves you fucking petrified when you wake up.
Because you know, deep down, you know someone wasn’t in your house. Something was, though. A heavy presence lingers over you during the day and makes you terrified to walk around the open spaces of your home. You’d lock yourself in your room all week if you could, but even that doesn’t feel safe.
The door slams behind you and you jolt forward with a scream. You stare at your backdoor with a horrified expression, glaring at it like it might start talking and reveal its secrets. Your house is old, there’s nothing odd about doors occasionally closing on your own.
Except, that hadn’t been open. You’ve kept it firmly locked all week, terrified of a possible home invasion. You need to stop watching scary movies on your own.
You pull your knees into your chest, staring at your door until you’re satisfied it’s not going to slam shut again. Slowly, you turn back towards your TV and keep watching the only good sitcom you could find at this time of night.
The second you let yourself get comfortable, however, you hear your bedroom door upstairs slam shut, followed quickly by rushing footsteps. Your eyes widen in terror and you mute your TV, glaring up at the ceiling and hoping you just imagined it.
Footsteps behind you, running across the linoleum. You whip around, nearly shrieking when you spot something black darting into your pantry closet. You scramble for the phone beside you. You slam 911 into the keypad and press it against your ear, keeping your eyes riveted on the pantry closet.
There’s a steady beep on the other end. The line’s dead. Someone cut your phone line. That’s okay. You can work with that. You can beat something real, but you’ve got no hope against something otherworldly.
You stand slowly, unmuting the TV so the laugh track will cover your movements better. You creep towards your linen closet, reaching for the bat your dad keeps in there for this very reason. He’s got different weapons placed all over the house and you blame him for some of your paranoia. But right now, you’re eternally grateful for the protection it’s providing you.
You slip into the kitchen, sliding quietly across the tiles on your socks. You position yourself behind the pantry door, your hand shaking as you reach for the handle. Just as you rip it open, the lights go out.
You scream wildly, waving the bat around with as much force as you can, hoping to just hit something solid. Glass crashes against the floor and you feel the bat connecting with something. The lights flip back on and your mother’s vase is shattered along the ground. There’s no sign of the intruder and you think you might throw up when you hear more footsteps upstairs, two sets this time.
But then someone darts through the living room, another flash of black before they’re gone. Three? How are you supposed to handle three?
Something titters behind you, bordering on a giggle, and you whip around, bat waving through the air recklessly. No one was there, no sign anyone was. And there’s no possible way for you to have missed them running past you. There’s nowhere to go or hide.
You think of the shadow you’ve seen in the closet and the lights flicker like they’re agreeing with you. The thing that’s been haunting your nightmares, it’s in the house with you. The lights flicker again and your stomach drops to the floor. Your heart is in your throat as you hear your voice chanted from upstairs.
It’s like staring at the Devil’s eyes at the circus again. You feel like there’s something being taken from you. You feel cold, empty, like you’re missing something you need. Something’s toying with you. Making you it’s twisted little plaything.
You can feel the tears clawing their way up your throat. The call of your voice gets louder and louder until it feels like it's being screamed straight into your ears. You want to run, want to fight, want to do anything but stand here and you can’t.
You can’t move. It’s just like your dreams. Your bones are metal and you are stuck. There’s a rough shove to your back, though you don’t feel physical hands on you. And then someone’s moving you, your legs are puppeteered as you’re directed up the stairs.
You stub your toes on every step, crawling up them like a child learning to use them for the first time. Every time you slow down or try and stop, you’re dragged forward again. Your bedroom door creaks open and warmth carves its way down your cheeks.
You stumble inside, the bat thudding to the floor as your hand goes limp around the handle. You want to call out to the entity, but your jaw is wired shut. You stand in the middle of your room, sobbing and terrified and completely alone.
Your closet door slowly creaks open and you brace yourself for the worst. Billy comes flying out, shouting nonsense at you as you scream until your throat feels bloody. Stu follows behind him, ripping off his stupid mask and giving you a wide-eyed look.
You crumple to the floor, covering your head and crying as you come down from the fear that you are being haunted. Stu kneels before you, hands gentle as they take your arms away from your head.
He looks like Stu now. He looks like the boy you grew up with. His eyes are full of worry as he pushes wet strands of hair off your cheeks. “Hey, hey, alright,” he tugs you into his chest and you throw your arms around him wildly. You cling tightly to him, taking in heaving breaths and trying to find some comfort from his touch.
“You fucking dicks,” you sob into his sweater. “I thought I was going to die.”
Billy scoffs as he stares awkwardly behind him. “Yeah,” he mutters bluntly, “I can tell.” He watches you cry for a little while longer before he gets irritated. “Hey, this was supposed to be fun. Would you lighten up?”
You suck in a deep breath, astonishment at what he just said temporarily stopping the tears of terror. You rip yourself away from Stu, ignoring the way his hands linger. “Excuse me?” You demand, glaring up at Billy.
He shrugs, “It was just a prank, chill out.”
You scoff, taking in a sharp breath and nodding your head. “Right, no, you’re right. It’s not like my friends used my biggest fucking fear against me!” You shout, shoving him backward. He stumbles into the corner of your desk and you glare at him and Stu.
“You’re horrible fucking friends, you know that.” You storm out of your room and pause at the top of the stairs. They linger in your doorway. Stu looks like a kicked dog and Billy looks like he’s about to blow the hell up.
“I don’t even know how you guys pulled all that shit off, but fuck you.” You give them both an astonished glare before shaking your head and going back down the stairs. “I hate you,” you scream, your voice shrill and full of uncontrollable rage.
Billy almost follows after you, probably to give you a shit apology and then let everything smooth over naturally. But he stops, foot hovering over the top of the stairs. He glances back at Stu and frowns, “What the hell did you do?” Stu gives him a confused look and Billy glares. “She wasn’t supposed to be terrified for her life, fuckwad. What the hell did you do to her?”
Stu shrugs and gives him a too-wide grin and for the first time, Billy finds himself disturbed by his friend. “Magician’s secret man, cannot, will not tell.” He zips his mouth shut and tosses the key, winking at Billy. Billy gives him a disgusted scoff and follows after you. They can hear you ranting in the kitchen, slamming your drawers shut, and shouting vile insults at them.
Stu watches Billy go down the stairs, his smile slowly fading from his face. Something dark passes over Stu’s face, something wicked, something unnatural. Perhaps it was all just a trick.
Or maybe that kid’s Latin wasn’t so fake after all.
end. — I do not own the characters or the movie Scream, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
#Billy loomis x reader#stu macher x reader#poly!ghostface x reader#Billy loomis#stu macher#scream x reader#slashers x reader#slasher x reader#slashers x you#slasher x you#ghostface x reader#ghostface x you#Ghostface#Belle’s Halloween Palooza 2024
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lava lamp
in which spencer reid comforts gn!reader when you find yourself contending with a sudden bout of depression
fluff
warnings/tags: established relationship, reader has depression, task paralysis, spencer reid can't cure your depression but he sure can't make it worse
a/n: this is most definitely not inspired by the pink lava lamp in my room. it has nothing to do with that. extremely short and sweet, WC <800
The room is awash in hot pink.
It’s interrupted only by dark shadows cutting lines across the floor and the furniture. The blinds are down over the window so moonlight can’t seep in—assuming the moon is in fact out now. You’re not actually sure. You don’t know how long you’ve been lying here like this, studying the soft glow of the lava lamp where it sits on the bedside table, watching the blobs of orange separate and conjoin and float around each other like they’re dancing in the suspending liquid.
The sound of keys in the front door, of it scuffing against the floor as it opens and squeaking shut and the lock clicking back into place, inspire the tiniest spark of joy inside you. For a few moments you remain in solitude—listening to the sounds of the kitchen sink running as Spencer washes his hands, a glass being set down on the counter, the soft rustle of fabric on fabric as he takes his coat off. Maybe you have really excellent hearing. Maybe you’re just imagining the sounds because you’re so familiar with his post-work rituals.
Finally the bedroom door opens, catching your legs in a triangle of yellow light, and sounds cease—Spencer is surely standing in the doorway, surely surprised to find you sprawled on the bed, staring vacantly at the lamp you’d purchased last winter from an antique shop.
The door closes again, encasing you in an amnion of pink warmth once more.
“Hi,” he says, quietly enough.
You don’t respond. Not for a lack of affection. Just for a lack of energy, really. Spencer is used to you, and he doesn’t let your heavy mood stop him from moving to sit on the mattress behind you. The heat of his hand is a comforting weight as it finds your back, slowly rubbing up and down. There is always so much love in the way he touches you.
“How’re you feeling, honey?”
A quiet moment passes in which you’re gathering the energy to speak for the first time in hours. Spencer doesn’t rush you.
“Tired.”
More quiet.
“What kind of tired?”
But he knows what kind of tired.
“I tried to fold laundry,” you mumble, lacking even the gumption to move your mouth much as you speak. You tap the laundry basket with your toe where it sits on the foot of the bed. The laundry inside remains very much unfolded.
“I can handle it.”
If you had any more vitality you’d say, you shouldn’t have to, you just got home from a full day’s work, I’ll take care of it—but the truth is, you can’t handle it and you can’t take care of anything—not even yourself. All you can do is watch orange bubbles float in radioactive pink liquid.
“I don’t know what happened,” you whisper. A few tears take you by surprise as they roll down over the bridge of your nose, though your face remains stony. “I’ve been here for hours.”
Spencer’s hand remains steadfast on your back and you wish you could express how grateful you are for it and for him and for his gentle voice, always.
“Maybe nothing happened. Maybe some days are just hard.”
You sniffle. The answer is unsatisfying, but so is life, sometimes. And you know he’s right.
“Yeah.”
Time passes. A few minutes, maybe, of listening to your own ears ring, to the haunting frequency of the old building, of the upstairs neighbors walking around and snatches of music coming from cars on the streets below.
“You know, I sometimes have days where I just want to lie down and stare at the lava lamp too. I think a lot of people feel that way.”
You turn your head just slightly and finally see him, cast in the soft lambent glow, smiling down at you in that unconscious, serene way, that is little more than a curve of his lip. Just seeing his face makes something in your chest unclench.
“Really?”
The soft arch of his smile flickers momentarily wider.
“Metaphorically speaking.”
He’s perfect.
You reach over your own waist to grab his hand, and he interlocks your fingers, running his thumb over yours.
Spencer knows it, but you tell him anyway. “I love you.”
He leans down and kisses you, so softly it’s like medicine.
You know it, but Spencer says it back anyway, sweetly against your lips, heads pressed together. “I love you.”
And you much prefer this view to the lava lamp.
#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds#spencer reid x fem!reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic
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✨ How Your Dominant Planet Secretly Shapes Your Teenage Brain ✨
Have you ever looked back at your late teens and wondered why you were so obsessed with certain things? Like, one friend was glued to their guitar and poetry journals, another was training for their fifth marathon, and you? You were probably neck-deep in your thing. Here’s the deal: your dominant planet was pulling the strings behind the scenes, shaping how your mind worked and what you gravitated toward without you even realizing it.
Let’s break it down:
🌞 SUN Dominant: "I need to shine—what’s the point otherwise?" Late teens for Sun-kissed folks are like a personal hero’s journey. You’re obsessed with figuring out who you are. Your brain’s constantly asking, Am I good enough? Do people see my worth? You might’ve been the captain of the debate team, the drama club star, or just that person who somehow made walking to the cafeteria look like a runway. How your mind works: Everything feels like a stage, and you want to perform your best—even in front of yourself. You seek validation, yes, but deep down, it’s about finding your inner confidence.
🌙 MOON Dominant: "I feel… everything. Is that normal?" For Moon folks, the late teens are an emotional hurricane. You’re all about understanding feelings, whether it’s yours or everyone else’s. You probably overthink texts (why’d they only reply with “k”?), cry over movies you’ve seen a million times, and have deep, borderline-therapeutic convos with your bestie. How your mind works: You process the world emotionally first, logically second. You’re learning how to handle your empathy without drowning in it.
🔥 MARS Dominant: "Let’s go! But… where are we going?" Mars kids are powered by action and passion, and your late teens are when you’re learning to channel that fire. Your brain thrives on challenges, so you probably signed up for every sport, pushed yourself in the gym, or got way too into proving someone wrong in an argument. Impulse control? We’ll work on that later. How your mind works: You process through doing. Sitting around theorizing makes you twitchy. You need action, even if it’s messy. Picking fights on the basketball court because the ref made a bad call, then realizing you’re actually just mad your crush didn’t text you back.
💬 MERCURY Dominant: "Wait, how does that work? Tell me everything!" Mercury-dominant teens are curiosity machines. Your brain’s like a search engine that never stops running. You want to know why, how, who, and what if. You’re that kid who can’t let a fun fact go without looking it up. Debates? Bring ’em on. Trivia? Your jam. Group chats? You run them. How your mind works: You connect ideas at lightning speed. Learning isn’t just a necessity; it’s your love language. Staying up until 3 a.m. watching YouTube videos about conspiracy theories, then showing up to school explaining why aliens totally built the pyramids.
💎 VENUS Dominant: "Why settle for okay when life can be beautiful?" Your late teens are a crash course in pleasure, relationships, and aesthetics. You’re probably experimenting with your style (cue questionable fashion phases), figuring out love (hello, hopeless romantic), or diving into art and music. Life needs to feel good, or it’s just not worth it. How your mind works: You’re tuned to beauty and connection. Your decisions are emotional but driven by desire—whether it’s for love, art, or the perfect selfie.Spending an hour perfecting your eyeliner just to go to the grocery store because what if you meet someone cute?
🌍 SATURN Dominant: "I’m too busy for nonsense." While your friends are out making impulsive mistakes, you’re busy building your future. Saturn-dominant teens have an old-soul vibe. You’re focused on responsibility, probably working a part-time job while juggling school and worrying about saving for college. Fun? Sure, but only if it’s productive. How your mind works: You crave structure and long-term success. While others wing it, you plan 10 steps ahead. Skipping a party to study for finals because failing isn’t an option—not because of pressure, but because you expect better from yourself.
🚀 RAHU Dominant: "What’s the wildest thing I can do right now?" Rahu teens are like explorers charting unknown territory. You’re obsessed with breaking rules, chasing thrills, and doing the forbidden. If it’s edgy, you’re into it. You’re the one sneaking out, dyeing your hair neon green, or trying things that make adults nervous. How your mind works: You’re wired to seek more. More excitement, more knowledge, more of life’s extremes. Going on a spontaneous road trip with friends, breaking the rules, or getting into something your parents wouldn’t approve of—just because it felt like the next big adventure.
🌌 KETU Dominant: "I’m here, but also not really here." Ketu teens are all about spiritual detachment. You’re introspective, reflective, and a bit aloof. While everyone else is chasing their dreams, you’re figuring out why dreams matter at all. Meditation, tarot, or even just staring at the stars for hours—you’re vibing on a higher plane. How your mind works: You reject surface-level stuff, diving into the depths of existence. But you also need to learn to be present. Skipping out on big social events to sit at a park by yourself, journaling about the mysteries of life, or getting into spiritual practices like meditation because they felt more authentic than anything else.
🚀 JUPITER Dominant: "Knowledge is freedom, and I’m going after it!" Jupiter-dominant teens are all about growth, knowledge, and the bigger picture. Your late teens were likely filled with plans for the future, exploring new ideas, and constantly looking for ways to improve. You may have been the one always talking about your next big trip, your dream career, or the philosophies that shaped your world view. How your mind works: You crave expansion and understanding. Learning is your path to freedom. Deep-diving into a topic you just discovered, researching potential career paths, or discussing ideas about travel, culture, and self-improvement with anyone who would listen. Your teenage years were wild, weren’t they? Which planet had your brain on lock? Reblog with your planetary dominant and let’s compare chaotic late-teen stories. 🌠
#astrology#vedicastrology#tropical astrology#venus#mars#jupiter#moon#ketu#AstrologyCommunity#VedicAstrology#StarryWisdom#CosmicJourney#MysticVibes#SpiritualAwakening#AstroInsights#AstroBlog#DivineGuidance#InnerJourney#SeekersUnite#SoulSearchers#AlignedEnergy#YourSoulTribe#SelfExploration#vedic astro notes#vedic astro observations#vedic astrology#darakaraka#venus darakaraka#sidereal astrology#naskshatra
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hello!
Could you maybe do poly!marauders x reader and the boys discovering she has a major praise kink!
It doesn’t have to be smutty or it can be whatever you think!!
(ps: you are such an amazing author and the way you write the marauders together and their personalities is impeccable 💋)
This was fun and funny, thanks for requesting!
cw: praise kink, suggestive ending (no smut)
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words
Remus makes a soft hissing sound. “Is that how you always chop onions?”
You look at him sideways. “With a knife? Yes.”
“Don’t be cheeky,” he says, smiling. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
You look down at your cutting board, still chopping but now bemused. “I don’t plan on it.”
James, who’s appeared over your shoulder, makes a similar sound, hissing through his teeth. “No, sweetheart.” He places his hand over yours on the handle of the knife, silently prompting you to stop. “Rem’s right, you’re going to lose the tips of your fingers.”
You feel a tad defensive of your chopping skills. “I’ve managed to keep them all ‘til now. What am I doing wrong?”
“Here, let me.” James eases the knife from your grip, squishing in alongside you in front of the cutting board and taking your onion. “See, you want to curl your fingers in a tiny bit so the knife skims off them. Like a claw.”
You lean over, peering at his hand. “It looks hard to keep a grip like that.”
“It takes a bit of practice,” he allows. James slices through the onion a few times with smooth, easy motions, then passes the knife back to you. “Give it a try.”
You try to hold the onion the way he had, looking at James for approval. He taps your pinkie finger, getting you to curl that one a bit more, before smiling at you.
“There you go. That’s good, now try cutting down your knuckles.”
“This feels scarier than my way,” you admit, though you do as he says, skimming the knife down your knuckles and slicing through the onion slowly.
“No, you’ve got it,” James praises. “That’s really good, angel. You’re a natural.”
Your cheeks are starting to warm from all the compliments. “Thanks,” you say in a small voice.
“Don’t go getting shy,” says Sirius, coming in to steal a dry pasta noodle from Remus. He bites down on it with a crack that makes James grimace. “You were so vocal about how you knew the proper way a minute ago.”
“I still like my way better,” you say, recovering some.
“Right, well do it this way for our peace of mind, would you?” James’ hand warms the small of your back as he watches you work. “You have very pretty fingers, and I don’t think I’m being too presumptuous in saying that we all like them too much to risk it. Plus, you’ve picked it up so quickly.”
The heat from your face spreads lower. It’s all you can do to squeak out a meek “okay.” You’re grateful when James leaves to return to his own task.
A minute later, Remus comes over to check that you’re doing what you’re supposed to. He hums approvingly. “Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. All the air in your lungs dries up. “Thank you, darling. That looks great.”
“She learned from the best,” James quips.
Remus hums and kisses his hair too before turning back to his work. It’s only a handful of seconds before they realize you’ve not replied.
“Dove?” Remus looks at you.
“Hm?” you hum tightly.
“You alright?”
“Mhm.”
James and Sirius have turned to look now, too. You keep your face downturned to the cutting board, but you can feel the weight of three curious stares on the back of your head. Sirius prowls over to you like a cat, taking you by the shoulders and turning you slowly.
“Humor me for a moment?” he asks, smirking. “I want to test a theory.”
You’re wound too tightly by this point to respond, his smug teasing pushing you to the edges of sanity. You barely have the wherewithal to set your knife down carefully behind you.
Your boyfriend’s cold hands find your warm face, shit-eating grin only spreading as he takes his time feeling about your cheeks with his knuckles and fingers. Sirius isn’t always the most perceptive of your boyfriends, but unfortunately, humiliatingly, he’s the first to unravel this particular mystery.
He asks smoothly, “Do you like it when we tell you how good you are, pretty girl?”
You’re not sure if he can actually feel the flare of heat to your face at the words, but something about your expression must confirm it. Sirius laughs gleefully.
“Awe, angel.” James comes over to wrap his arms around you from the side, also laughing. “I didn’t know we were winding you up when we talked like that. I was just trying to compliment what a quick learner you are.”
“She is a quick learner,” Sirius says in a salacious tone. “You always follow instructions well, don’t you, gorgeous?”
“Stop,” you plead, covering your face with your hands and forcing Sirius to move his. All three of your boyfriends snicker, James pressing a conciliatory kiss to your burning ear. “It’s not like it happens all the time, you’re just being so much right now. You can’t just call someone—call them—”
“A good girl?” Remus asks you, and you don’t think he’s putting on a tone like Sirius is, you really don’t, but his regular voice is already so nearly pornographic that the heat in your core spreads anyway.
“Right,” you say weakly.
Remus chuckles. “I didn’t mean anything by it, sweetheart. Sorry if I put you in an…uncomfortable position.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” Sirius is giddy, smugness dialed up to eleven. “This is a revelation. Just think what we could do with this. You’ve given us all a gift, babe.”
“Oh, our poor girl,” James laughs when you try to hide your face in his shoulder. “Sirius is right, this is good! It’s always good for us to know what you like, right?”
You’re too flustered to reply, but Remus agrees for you, humming contemplatively.
“You know,” he says, “if I leave this to simmer for a while, we could make it up to you now, dove. I’d feel awful if I wound you up without giving you any payoff.”
His tone implies he’s at least partly joking, but Sirius doesn’t take it that way. He has you all in the bedroom in thirty seconds flat, your chopping left to wait for your return.
#poly!marauders#poly!marauders x reader#poly marauders#poly marauders x reader#poly!marauders x fem!reader#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders x self insert#poly!marauders fanfiction#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders fluff#praise k!nk#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders drabble#poly!marauders blurb#poly!marauders oneshot#james potter#james potter x reader#sirius black#sirius black x reader#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#the marauders#marauders era#marauders x reader#hp marauders
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Breaking Through
ONESHOT
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Daryl’s reckless behavior on a supply run nearly gets him killed, pushing you to remind him how to stay humble. Little did you know, his attitude was hiding something much deeper that only you could break through.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: MOMMY KINK / SMUT / BODY WORSHIP / ORAL SEX / EDGING / TEASING / HURT / COMFORT / AFTERCARE / LANGUAGE
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.799
ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: LATE S5 & EARLY S6
ʀᴇǫᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ: @mayday2007
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: I truly hope I did your request justice! I also hope that the length of it is okay and that it met your expectations. And thank you so much for your patience!
MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES
You leaned against the porch, one of the few spots in Alexandria that didn’t make you want to rip your hair out. It all felt too damn clean sometimes, too fake even. Here, it was easy to forget how the world had gone to shit, but... Daryl? He never let himself forget. He was walking around by the gate, looking like an animal waiting for a fight, and you knew why...
Rick and a few others were getting ready for a run—another trip outside the safe walls to scavenge for supplies. But more than that, it was an excuse for Daryl to escape the suffocation of Alexandria. He’d rather be out there with the walkers than in here, playing pretend.
"Daryl," you called out, and he stopped pacing and turned to face you, his eyes narrowing like he was already preparing for a lecture from you.
"What?" He grunted, sounding as defensive as ever. He was always on alert these days, and it was only getting worse since you arrived in Alexandria.
"Listen," you started, stepping down from the porch and running toward him as he prepared to leave. "I know you hate this place, and I understand; I really do, but you need to keep your head on straight out there. You’re not just out there for yourself. You’ve got Rick, Glenn, and Michonne with you today. You fuck anything up; they could get hurt too. Please, just be careful."
He looked away, scuffing his boot against the ground like a stubborn child who didn’t want to hear what you were saying. "Ain’t no damn kid. Can handle myself," he growled back at you.
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. "You might be able to handle yourself, sure, and we all know that you are more than capable of doing that, but that doesn’t mean you can act reckless. You need to listen to Rick, do what he says, and stop acting like a damn brat. You keep pulling this shit, and one of these days, it’s gonna bite you in the ass. Literally."
Daryl clenched his jaw and scoffed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually argue with you. But then he just shook his head. "Yer done now?"
"No, Daryl, I’m not done," you snapped back, feeling your frustration grow and almost boil over. "I’m tired of watching you do this bullshit, okay? We’re all trying to make this work, and you’re out there acting like you’ve got a death wish. We’ve lost too many people already, and I’m not about to lose you or anyone else because you couldn’t keep your damn self in check."
For a second, you saw something like vulnerability, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He looked away again, like he was trying to block out your words, not wanting to listen to you.
"Just... think about what I said, okay?" You said, the tone in your voice softening slightly. You didn’t want to push him too hard, but you couldn’t just let this slide again all the time. "I’m not trying to piss you off, Daryl. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. We all need you to come back. I... I need you to come back."
He didn’t say anything; he just gave you a nod before finally turning away. But as you watched him walk toward Rick, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that something bad was going to happen on this run.
Rick was already waiting by the gate, his hands on his hips as he looked around Alexandria. He seemed to be tired, but when he saw you approaching as well, he gave you a small smile.
"Did you talk to him?" Rick asked, his voice whispering, so only you could hear.
"Yeah," you replied, glancing over at Daryl, who was busy playing around with his knife. "But you know how he is. Stubborn as hell."
Rick laughed a little, but there was no real humor in it. "Yeah. Isn't that the truth? Don’t worry, I'll keep an eye on him while we’re out there, alright? If he does something stupid..."
"You'll make sure he doesn’t," you interrupted, not needing him to finish the sentence.
"Alright. Got it. We’ll be back before you know it," Rick said, louder now and turning to the gate as it opened, and Glenn arrived with the car. "We’re heading out. Stay close, keep quiet, and don’t take any unnecessary risks. We get what we need, and we get back. That's it."
You watched as Daryl took his crossbow and walked with Rick and the others over to the truck. You were worried, sure, but you forced yourself to stay calm. This was Daryl Dixon, after all. He was tough, he was resourceful, and he’d been through far worse than this. But still, there was that uncomfortable feeling in the back of your mind, the one that told you things weren’t going to go smoothly today.
Rick took Daryl aside in the meantime. "Listen, Daryl. We stick to the plan, and we get back without any extra bullshit. You got that?"
Daryl glared at Rick but didn’t say anything. You knew that look; it was the one that said he was going to do what he wanted anyway.
With that, Rick and the others—Glenn and Michonne, in this case—headed out, leaving you in Alexandria with the rest of the group.
You turned away, heading back to the house, but your thoughts were still with Daryl. You just hoped he’d listen to you for once, or rather, Rick. Because if he didn’t, you weren’t sure you’d be able to forgive him—or yourself—if something went wrong.
The truck stopped at the side of a parking lot some time later. Abandoned cars were standing around all over the place, with their windows shattered and rotting corpses still sitting in some of them. It was a graveyard. Rick turned off the engine and looked over to the building, his face already showing that things were about to get rough.
"This place is full of walkers," Rick mumbled, looking around the area. "Okay… We get in, we get out. No fucking around. Got it?"
Everyone nodded, even Daryl, though the look in his eyes told a different story. Alexandria was killing him slowly, suffocating him with its safety and daily routine, and one could see he was just waiting to break free, to remind himself what it felt like to be out there again, in the real world, and not living in an illusion.
"Stick together," Rick continued, his eyes narrowing at Daryl like he could read his mind. "We’re hitting that grocery store, grabbing what we can, and getting the hell out. Nothing else, no bullshit."
Daryl grunted in response, his hand tightening around his crossbow. He wasn’t making any promises; that was clear enough, but at least he wasn’t outright showing it. That would have to be good enough. The four of them got out of the truck, their weapons ready, and slowly made their way toward the store. It looked like it had been raided a few times already, but Rick had heard from Aaron that a shipment had been left behind in the storage rooms—lots of canned food, water, and even medicine inside the small pharmacy of the store, locked up in the back, just waiting to be taken. Easy, if they played it safe.
Of course, playing it safe had not been Daryl’s way of doing it lately, not when his blood was boiling, and especially not since the prison, Terminus, and the other hell everyone went through. And especially not ever since Alexandria.
They went through the side entrance, which was once for the people that had worked there, the glass doors hanging off their hinges, and one could easily guess how most of the walkers got into the store in the first place, apart from those walkers that’ve died inside while scavenging. The inside of the store was pure chaos, with broken shelves, rotten food, and other empty products all across the floor. They moved quietly as Rick led the way, his Colt Python out and ready as always, Glenn close behind with his knife drawn, and Michonne with her sword, while Daryl was at the end, pointing his crossbow around as well. They soon made it to the back of the store, where the stockroom doors were, without drawing any attention so far.
"Alright," Rick whispered, motioning for the others to cover him. "Glenn and I will try to open the door. Michonne, watch our backs. Daryl, you—"
But before Rick could finish, Daryl was already moving. He didn’t like waiting, didn’t like standing around while others decided what to do, or having to wait for a plan. Without a word, he went off to the right, disappearing down one of the side aisles, his crossbow at the ready.
"Daryl!" Rick hissed, but there was no stopping him.
"Shit," Glenn grumbled in a bit of annoyance and panic, his eyes looking at Rick. "Where the hell is he going? What is he doing?"
Rick shook his head in frustration. "Just... just stay here," he ordered before walking after Daryl, cursing to himself with every step.
Daryl moved fast, his crossbow raised as he approached the loading dock at the back of the store from another side. He could hear the sounds of walkers moving behind the metal door, but this was exactly what he was looking for. He shoved the door open with a grunt, with the door making a noise that could be heard all throughout the whole store.
The walkers inside turned at the sound, and they immediately moved forward, their arms outstretched.
"C’mon, ya ugly bastards," Daryl mumbled, the first bolt killing the nearest walker in an instant. The walker fell to the ground, but the others kept coming.
He reloaded quickly, but just as he was about to fire again, a hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him off balance. He hadn’t noticed the few other walkers, hidden in an open employee restroom nearby, their fingers grabbing his vest with their teeth only inches away from his face.
"Fuck!" Daryl growled, kicking the walker in front of him back and grabbing his knife. But he soon stumbled, falling down to the floor with the two of them on top of him. The impact knocked the knife from his hands, letting it slide across the floor, just out of reach, as he struggled to push the walkers off.
Then, just as the walkers’ teeth were about to bite into his flesh, several gunshots could be heard. Daryl gasped for breath, shoving the dead off him as he got to his feet, his heart racing while he looked over at Rick standing in the doorway with his Colt Python.
"You stupid son of a bitch," Rick said, lowering the gun. "What the hell were you even thinking?"
Daryl wiped the blood from his face, glaring at Rick but not saying a single word. He didn’t need to—he knew he’d fucked up, and Rick certainly knew it too.
But Rick didn’t wait for an explanation. "We need to hurry. Get your damn ass back to the truck. Now!"
For now, Daryl didn’t argue. He grabbed his crossbow and knife, putting it over his shoulder as he moved past Rick and over to Glenn and Michonne. He could feel Rick’s eyes on his back, judging him, and it took everything in him not to lash out. But he knew Rick was right. He’d been reckless, and it had nearly cost him his life. Not only that, but the supply run failed with the other walkers in the front of the store now moving toward the storage room.
Once outside, Daryl couldn’t ignore the thought that he’d fucked up more than just the run. He’d broken the trust, not just with Rick but with you. And he knew he’d have to face the consequences when he got back.
The sun was starting to set when you saw Rick and the others coming through the gate. You’d been waiting, walking around Alexandria, trying to distract yourself. But the deal had been clear—Rick would bring Daryl back in one piece and tell you every detail. But the moment you caught sight of Rick, you knew something had gone wrong. It was written all over his face, as was the fact that they had no supplies with them.
"Rick," you called out, running over to him.
He looked up at you, nodding and narrowing his eyes. You hated that look. It meant bad news, and you were tired of bad news.
"What happened?" You demanded as he walked next to you. "Where’s Daryl?"
"He’s fine," Rick said, holding up a hand to calm you down, though it didn’t do shit for your nerves. "I don't know where he is right now. Jumped right out of the truck. Physically, he’s okay. But, hell, it was close. Too close. Again."
Your stomach dropped at his words. This was getting out of hand. "What do you mean, 'close'?"
Rick rubbed the back of his neck, looking away for a moment. "We were in that store Aaron told us about, wanting to get the supplies. Daryl decided to go off on his own, like he always does lately. Didn’t wait for us as a backup, just did his own thing. Not even telling us that there was an easier way and that he has seen it. Next thing I know, he’s nearly got two walkers biting into his damn neck."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" You asked, your hands balling into fists at your sides. "I told him—hell, we both told him so many times—not to pull that lone wolf bullshit anymore! And he still did it? I can’t fucking believe it!"
Rick nodded. "Yeah. Same old Daryl, too stubborn for his own good. I got there in time, but if I hadn’t... well, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now."
You sucked in a breath, trying to calm the rage inside you. But it was hard—damn hard—when you pictured Daryl almost getting himself killed because he couldn’t follow simple instructions. "What the hell is wrong with him, Rick? Why does he keep doing this shit? Is Alexandria that bad for him? I mean, yeah, we all aren’t used to this... illusion, but hell, we’re at least trying to make the best of it! All of us!"
Rick sighed, leaning against the porch railing once you both arrived at the house. "I don’t think it’s only about Alexandria, not entirely. But yeah, it’s too controlled, too... fake. So he goes out there, trying to prove he’s still... still who he was out there. But it’s not like none of us tries the exact same thing. We all do. Or did."
You shook your head in frustration. "I get it; I do. But we can’t keep going on like this. He’s going to get himself killed—or worse, get someone else hurt. I’m fucking done sitting around, hoping he’ll pull his head out of his damn ass!"
Rick looked at you with a small smile. "By now I was thinking the same thing on the way back. We’ve tried to talk sense into him, but he isn’t listening. He’s too stubborn."
"That’s it," you finally said. "I’m handling this. If he won’t listen to you, maybe he’ll finally listen to me. But one way or another, this shit stops today, I swear."
Rick’s eyebrows moved up in surprise before he nodded slowly. "You sure? I don’t think you should push him into a corner."
You smirked, but it was more due to annoyance than amusement. "Oh, I’m sure. He’s going to learn today that there’s more than one way to get his damn ass in line. Trust me, Rick. Otherwise… Otherwise, I just don’t know what to do anymore."
Rick laughed a little and shook his head. "Alright then. Just don’t go too hard on him. And you must remember that it takes time. With… all of this."
You waved him off, already halfway down the steps of the porch. "He’ll be fine, Rick."
As you headed toward the garage, where you knew Daryl was probably working on his bike, your mind was already racing with what you were going to say. This wasn’t just about Daryl acting like a reckless asshole—this was about keeping him and the others alive, keeping him from throwing away everything you’d fought so hard for in this new world, with the rest of the group.
The moment you stepped into the garage, he barely looked your way, too focused on tightening a bolt that didn’t even need any more tightening. But you weren’t about to let him ignore you, not after what Rick had told you.
"Daryl," you started, but he only grunted in response, and that was about it—just a damn grunt, like he couldn’t be bothered to reply with words. And it pissed you off how he could be so nonchalant after nearly getting himself killed.
"Look at me," you snapped, stepping closer to him. "I said... Look at me, Dixon."
He paused, his hand stilling on the wrench, before finally looking into your eyes with a scoff.
"You think you can just go off on your own and do whatever the fuck you want? Well, guess what, Daryl? You almost got your damn throat ripped out today. And for what? Because you couldn’t listen? Because you’re too stubborn to accept that you’re part of a community now, and not some lone wolf out there in the woods with a group he helps out every now and then?" You said, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Ain’t like that," he mumbled, but it didn’t really sound like he was trying to defend himself.
"Bullshit!" You shot back, stepping even closer until you were right in his face, close enough to see the way his eyes widened slightly. "It’s exactly like that, and you know it. And for what? To prove something? To whom? You ain’t gotta prove anything to me, Daryl. And certainly not our group. But you do owe it to us to stop acting like a fucking idiot!"
He turned away from you, but you weren’t done yet. "This isn’t just about you anymore, Dixon. Every time you pull this shit, you put everyone at risk. Everyone! You get bit, we lose a member of this group. A member of our damn family! You die, and we all suffer! Do you even get that? Or are you that stuck with your own damn head up your ass that you can’t see that?"
"Ain’t need ya shittin’ on me," he growled, his voice quiet, but you caught something like guilt in it. "Can handle my ass."
"Clearly," you snapped at him with sarcasm. "Because you handled yourself so well today that Rick had to pull your ass out of a walker’s mouth. Real smooth, Daryl! Real fucking smooth!"
He flinched at that, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to face you. "Ain’t like I needed any damn help."
You didn’t back down, though. You were way past that. "And that’s the problem, Daryl. You think that you don’t need anyone. But guess what? You do. You need us, and we need you. So stop acting like an asshole and start thinking about what you’re doing to everyone else."
For a second, you thought he might lash out. But instead, he just looked at you—really looked at you—like he was trying to figure something out. "Why ya care s’ much?" He finally asked.
You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Because I give a shit, you damn idiot. Because I... care about you more than anyone else here even knows, and I’m not about to watch you throw your life away over some macho bullshit, or whatever you’re trying to act like. You think I want to lose you? You think any of us do?"
He stared at you. "Ain’t tryna make shit harder," he muttered, looking down at the ground, shrugging his shoulders. "Jus’... can’t stand it ‘ere sometimes. Ain’t me ‘round ‘ere."
"Who you are isn’t some reckless idiot who doesn’t give a damn about anyone else. Who you are is someone who’s saved more lives than you can count, someone who’s part of a family now. And yeah, maybe it’s different here and maybe it’s hard, but that doesn’t give you the right to check out whenever you feel like it, as if this community is a fucking hotel!"
He didn’t say anything; he just kept looking at you with those blue, searching eyes, like he was waiting for you to give him something—some kind of direction.
You took a deep breath. "Daryl, you need to stop this shit. You need to stop before you get yourself killed. And if you won’t listen to Rick, then you’ll damn well listen to me. Got it?"
"Yeah," he said, almost whispering. "Got it."
"Good," you said. "Because this stops now. You’re done running off, done putting yourself at risk for no damn reason. From now on, you listen, just like before. We’re all a big team, Daryl, and we still are despite everything. Understand?"
"Yeah… Do ya still lo—" He started but stopped himself from speaking any further. "Are ya mad?"
"What? No, I’m not mad," you answered, stepping back to leave, wanting to give him some space. "But I’m hurt and disappointed."
Daryl sat there for a long time after you left. He gritted his teeth, and his fists were clenched, but it wasn’t anger. It was guilt. Shame even. All he knew was that he’d fucked up.
"Stupid, stupid fuckin’ idiot," he mumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair while he could still hear your voice in his head. "Fuckin’ piece o' shit. Can’t even keep yer damn head straight."
He felt like a fool, like a stubborn kid who’d just been put in his place. But it wasn’t just the anger that stuck with him—it was the look in your eyes, the pain and fear of what could’ve happened to him.
"Gotta make this right," he grumbled, now walking around the garage. "Ain’t gonna let her think I’m some reckless asshole who don’t care ‘bout nothin’." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She’s right… Been actin’ like a damn idiot. But… shit, need t’ prove I ain’t just some fuckup."
He knew you’d left him alone on purpose, letting him think about it, just like you’ve done several times before. But this time, he wasn’t going to sit here and wait for you to come back. He had a plan—a rather half-baked plan, but it was all he had. He needed to show you how much you meant to him and how much he needed you.
"Fuck, she’s gonna kill me," he sighed, shaking his head as he made his way out of the garage. And he knew exactly where and in what house he was going to find you.
You were already half asleep, lying on the floor on a mattress, when you felt someone being there—before you even opened your eyes. It was Daryl, of course, kneeling over you as he carefully pulled the sheets back.
"What the hell are you doing, Dixon?" You mumbled, still groggy. "Leave me alone."
He didn’t answer right away; he just pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another, moving down your arm, his lips barely touching your skin. It was slow on purpose, like he was trying to worship every inch of you to make up for all the stupid shit he’d done. And it was working, even if it pissed you off that he thought he could just... seduce his way out of this.
"Daryl," you warned, but your voice was weak due to the way his strong, big hands were now sliding down your sides to your waist.
"‘M sorry," he whispered, before he kissed the sensitive spot on your neck. "Fucked it up, I know that. But need ya to know... I ain’t a fool. I need ya, more than ya fuckin’ know."
You wanted to stay mad, to shove him away from you and tell him to get his shit together, but his touch—God, it was like he knew exactly what he was doing, like he was taking away your anger with every kiss and every touch of his hands. And when he put his head lower, kissing along your ribs after he pulled up your shirt, you felt almost frustrated.
"Daryl," you breathed out as a warning again, but he didn’t stop. He slid his hands further up your shirt, pulling it over your head as he kissed down your ribs, his fingers grabbing your body like he was trying to show you that he was still alive.
"Need ya," he mumbled against your skin, his voice sounding almost desperate. "Need ya t’ know I ain’t takin’ this for granted."
"Daryl, stop…" You started, but your words were cut off by a gasp as he found that spot just above your waist, his lips kissing you harder, and his teeth softly biting your skin. You felt a shiver run through you, and hell, you hated how much you wanted this, how much you wanted him to keep going.
"I’ll stop if ya want me to, I swear," he whispered, but he didn’t stop, not really. His hands slid down, undoing your pants and wanting to slide them down, which made you stop breathing for a moment.
You were looking at him, your eyes narrowing. "You think you can just—" You started, but then he shut you up—kissing you hard and long, cutting off your words. And fuck, if it didn’t make your whole body shiver with need.
"Can’t help it," he muttered against your lips, his voice a little shaky, like he was losing control. "Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya, ‘bout how much I need ya."
"You think this makes up for what you did? For your reckless behavior?" You asked, shaking your head slightly.
"Nah," he admitted. "Gotta show ya somehow. Gotta show ya how much I fuckin’ care."
You grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands away from your pants, even though you were already aching for him. "You don’t get to touch me like that," you said. "Not until I say so."
He swallowed hard, his breath stopping as he nodded, his eyes wide. "Please," he whispered, looking up at you and waiting for permission.
"Please what?" You demanded, tightening your grip on his wrists. "You think you can just come in here and expect me to forgive you? After everything?"
"Nah," he stammered, his eyes looking down to the floor again. "But… I need ya. I need ya t’ see that I can make it right."
"You wanna make it right, Daryl?" You asked again. "Then you’re gonna do exactly what I say, like I said."
"Yeah," he answered, his body almost trembling with the need to make you forgive him. "I’ll do whatever ya want."
You let go of his wrists, letting them fall back to his sides. "Take off your clothes," you ordered, the tone in your voice leaving no room for argument.
He hesitated for just a second, but then he started to stand up and get out of his clothes, his hands shaking as he got out of his shirt, then his pants, and the rest, until he was standing there, naked and vulnerable before you.
"Now get back on your knees," you demanded, watching as his eyes widened.
He dropped to his knees, waiting for your next command. And fuck, if that didn’t send a rush of power straight through you.
You stood over him, your hand reaching out to grab his hair, pulling his head back so he was forced to look up at you. "Look at me."
And he did. He slowly looked up in shame.
"You don’t get to play the lone wolf out there," you continued, stepping closer, your hand grabbing his chin, moving his head up further. "Not anymore. You almost got yourself killed."
"I know," he muttered. "‘M sorry..."
He wanted—no, he needed—to show you how he felt about his mistakes, and he was ready to do it on his knees if that’s what you demanded.
You let go of him, letting him fall forward, as you lay back down onto the mattress. "Show me," you simply said.
And he did—God, he did... He kissed every inch of you, his lips moving lower, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you might disappear, and he held onto you like you were the only person able to keep him safe.
He didn’t need to be told twice—he knew what he had to do to make things right.
You leaned back on the mattress, spreading your legs just enough to invite him closer, and watched his hands shake a little as they slid up your thighs.
"Yes," he whispered quietly. He was trying to be tough, but you could see through it. The man was already lost in you, in the need to make you feel good to make up for his earlier bullshit.
No, he couldn’t keep his hands off you; the way he now nearly ripped off the rest of your clothes was almost urgent.
"Goddamn," he whispered, his eyes wide and hungry as he took in the sight of you. "So fuckin’ beautiful."
His hands were trembling as he reached for your bra, fumbling with it before finally getting it off. He slid it off your shoulders, throwing it over to your pants on the floor, his eyes never leaving your breasts.
Daryl’s mouth went dry as he leaned in, his lips stopping just above one nipple. "Can’t believe yer lettin’ me touch ya like this," he whispered, more to himself than to you. Then he closed his mouth around your nipple, his tongue moving over it, making you gasp.
He sucked and licked, using his teeth just a little, sliding them lightly against it, while his other hand was pinching and rolling the other.
"Fuck, Daryl," you groaned, your hands moving through his hair, holding him close as he worshiped your breasts like they were the most important things in the world. "Don’t stop."
He growled against your skin and kept going; he kept sucking, licking, and teasing until your nipples were swollen and hard, sensitive to every little touch.
He soon pulled back, a line of spit connecting his mouth to your nipple before it broke, and he greedily licked over it once more. His eyes were full with need, his breathing heavy as he looked up at you, like he was waiting for permission to keep going.
"You’re going to be a good boy and keep worshipping me?" You asked, your voice teasing and commanding him at the same time.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Please… Need t’…"
"Then do it," you ordered, and that was all the encouragement he needed.
Daryl’s hands moved lower, sliding down your sides, moving along your hips before coming to a stop between your legs. His fingers brushed against your pussy, finding you already wet and wanting, and he let out a growl.
He started slowly, almost with hesitation, like he was worshipping at some holy altar. His lips brushed over the inside of your thighs, soft at first, but when you grabbed his hair again, he got the message. His mouth found your pussy the moment he ripped off your panties, and it was as if a switch flipped.
Daryl buried his face between your legs, his tongue working desperately, like he couldn’t get enough of you. You let out a moan, your hand tightening in his hair, guiding him but also keeping him under your control.
"Fuck, Daryl," you breathed out. "Just like that."
And he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. Every part of him was focused on you—on the taste of you, the way you trembled when he hit just the right spot. He was completely at your mercy, with the need to prove himself to make you proud.
You could feel him moan against you and how he was getting lost in it, in you. You knew he was desperate for more, desperate for any sign that he was doing good and that you’d forgive him. But you weren’t about to make it easy for him. Not yet, at least.
You pulled back slightly, just enough to get him away from you, and he looked up at you, his lips wet and parted, already missing the taste of you. "Please," he growled out, and you could see the need to do more, to have more of you.
"You keep listening to me. You understand?" You asked, caressing his head gently.
"Yeah," he stammered and nodded in return.
You pushed his head back down, with his tongue slipping inside your pussy almost immediately, like he was trying to eat out every bit of forgiveness he could get.
And fuck, did it feel good. The way he was eating out your pussy, every little move of his tongue, the way he sucked on your clit just hard enough to make you see stars—it was like he was made for this, made to worship you.
"Fuck, don’… don’ make me stop," he growled out in between. He was trembling now, hands still gripping your hips tightly, his eyes wide with something that seemed close to panic, like he couldn’t stand being away from you for even a second.
But you leaned down, grabbing his chin, forcing him to look at you. "You want to make this right? You wait until I’m ready."
He nodded quickly, swallowing hard, his eyes pleading without a word and barely holding it together. He was ready to do anything you asked, to wait as long as you wanted him to, just for a chance to taste you again.
"Good boy," you moaned, suddenly pulling him up to kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips. He kissed you like he was starved for it, holding on for dear life.
And you could feel how hard he was—the desperate twitching of his already leaking cock against your thigh—but you weren’t done teasing him yet. "You’re doing so good, Daryl. Go on now."
"Yes, mommy," he whimpered, the word coming out of his mouth before he could even stop it.
"What did you just call me?" You asked in shock and froze.
Daryl’s eyes widened in shock and panic. "Didn’t mean t’ say that," he said, his voice trembling. "I jus’—"
"Say it again," you commanded, cutting him off. "Say it."
He swallowed hard, his eyes looking around as if searching for an escape, but he knew he couldn’t hide from you. "Yes, mommy," he whispered quietly, a shiver running through him as he said the word again.
But you didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped to the floor. "Good boy," you simply answered. "Go on…"
He didn’t hesitate, his hands following the curves of your body again, his lips following close behind. He kissed down your neck, in between your breasts, along your stomach as he moved lower, his hands soon enough sliding up your thighs and over your pussy.
"Shit," he mumbled, his eyes widening as he realized just how ready you were for him. "Yer so fuckin’ wet."
He didn’t say anything else, too focused on what he was doing. His fingers moved through your wet folds, teasing you until you were trembling with need, and he circled your clit with his thumb slowly on purpose, watching your face for every little reaction.
And one moan—that was all he needed. He leaned in, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue sliding over your clit, licking and sucking it gently all over. He didn’t rush, didn’t hurry, and took his time.
"Fuck, Daryl," you moaned, your fingers gripping his hair, holding him in place as he devoured you. "That’s it… don’t stop."
He didn’t need to be told twice. He kept going, kept licking, sucking, and teasing until you were right on the edge and close to coming.
The control he was giving you made you feel powerful, and hell, if that wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever experienced.
"Please, mommy," he begged. "Lemme make ya cum now."
"Keep going," you commanded, feeling yourself getting closer due to his words. "Don’t stop. Oh, fuck…"
He obeyed, and when you finally came, you gasped and moaned, your body arching and trembling under the force of it. But as soon as you began to come down from your orgasm, you noticed how he started to get more aggressive, his hands gripping your hips harder. He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning into yours as he moved back up.
"Wanna fuck ya," he growled almost primal, grabbing his cock and pushing it against your pussy.
But you shoved him back. "Not so fast," you said. "You’re going to do it my way."
He looked at you with frustration and desperation. "But… I need ya," he said, his voice cracking a little bit. "Please!"
You didn’t give in. Instead, you watched as he tried to hold himself back. "If you want more, you’re going to have to do it my way, Daryl. How many times do I have to tell you?"
"Yeah, ‘kay," he murmured and nodded, his voice trembling.
"Not yet," you said, wrapping your hand around his shaft. The hardness of his cock was pulsing against your hand, and you enjoyed the power it gave you. "You’re going to wait a little longer."
Daryl’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into the mattress as he tried to control himself. "Please," he begged, his voice raw and desperate. "Need it."
You only smiled, slowly stroking him, your movements maddeningly slow. "You want more?" You teased, leaning closer to him. "You want me to keep going? To make you cum already as well?"
He nodded quickly. "Yes! Please, mommy. Can’t take it no more!"
You took your time, each move up and down his shaft, making him moan and writhe.
"Fuck, don’ stop," he groaned. "Please, I can’t—"
"Hush now," you interrupted, squeezing his cock. "You’re going to wait until I say so. If you want to be a good boy, you’ll follow my instructions."
Daryl’s cock was coated in his pre-cum and throbbing in your hand, and every time you squeezed just a little harder, he would shiver, his voice breaking into pleas and whimpers.
"Please… ‘M so close," he whimpered. "Can’t hold back much longer."
You looked down at him, smirking, and then you jerked him faster and harder, bringing him right to the edge. His body was tense and almost painfully trying to hold off his orgasm.
"Daryl," you said softly, your hand driving him mad. "I want you to beg for it. Just a little bit more."
His pleas turned into desperate murmurs as he struggled with himself. "Please… Need t’… Jus’ let me... Oh fuck!"
With a final pump, you brought him right to the very edge again, feeling his cock throbbing against your palm. Then, just when you could see he was about to break, you pulled back, stopping altogether.
Daryl let out a whimper, his eyes desperate. "Fuck, please… Need it."
You leaned in close, kissing his neck. "Not yet. I want you to really feel it, to know how much you need me."
"Please," he begged again. "Please..."
"Tell me how much you need it," you smiled at him.
He swallowed hard, his voice cracking as he spoke. "Need it so bad, mommy, please... Need t’ cum for ya. Need ya..."
You gave him one final, hard stroke, and then you stopped again, making him groan and tremble over you, the muscles in his arms tensing up painfully hard. "Good boy," you whispered, finally giving him permission to slide into your pussy, just not all the way.
"No further," you said. "Just the tip. Hold it back."
He groaned, his hands gripping the sheets next to you on the mattress. "Please," he begged, his voice breaking. "Lemme fuck ya..."
You ignored his pleas, your hand still pumping up and down his shaft. "Say it," you commanded. "Say you’re my good boy, Daryl."
"‘M yer good boy," he mumbled, closing his eyes in embarrassment.
Finally, when you could see the look on his face—the way he was practically begging to come—you leaned in. "You want it now?"
"Yeah," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, mommy..."
His cock was pulsing, the tip pressing into you just enough to make him groan but not enough to give him what he wanted.
You watched as a sudden tear rolled down his cheek—a single, small, and tiny drop. The sight of it—so rare for someone like Daryl—made you widen your eyes. You could see the complete surrender—the way he was completely at your mercy.
Without warning, you pushed against him, taking him all the way in, and made him cry out, his body shuddering as he filled you up and feeling your pussy stretch around his cock. The look of shock and ecstasy on his face was too much, even for you. His eyes widened, his lips parting slightly, and his cock was pulsing inside you, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"Fuck! Fuck…"
And the moment you took him in fully, he came hard inside of you with a loud groan, his body trying to push in as deep as possible as he reached his orgasm, while you held him close, feeling the last of his cum filling you up as he finished.
You soon lay there, your body still tingling, but Daryl, on the other hand, was a mess after he quickly pulled out of you. Now his walls were coming back up, and he was doing his best to act like he didn’t need a damn thing from you.
He was trying to play it cool, turning his face away, still shaking a little bit. "Jus’… gotta go," he mumbled, trying to shove you away. "Don’ need ya all up in m’ shit now."
"Oh, come on. You can’t be serious," you smirked, running a finger teasingly down his chest.
He glared at you, trying to push you away once more. "‘M fine. Jus’ leave me ‘lone," he grumbled.
"Look at you, all tough and cold again. But you were begging for it only a minute ago." You let your hand move over his skin, feeling his muscles twitch. "And now you’re just going to be an ass about it? Not a chance."
He froze as you touched him. "Shut up," he snapped. "Don’t need yer damn pity."
You rolled your eyes, leaning in close. "Pity? This isn’t pity, Daryl."
He tried to pull away again, but you held him close, your hands moving up to his chin. You tilted his head so he had no choice but to look at you.
"Seriously?" You said with a smile. "You’re going to act like a brat now? After everything?" You moved closer, teasing him with a kiss on his lips.
Daryl’s breath stopped for a second, and you felt him shudder under your touch. "Fuck off," he muttered, but it was sounding rather weak, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than you.
You laughed, cupping his chin more firmly. "Make me. Or... maybe you really are just a brat who needs to be put in his place all over again."
He shivered as he fought with himself. "No… Don’ need this," he mumbled, but it was clear he was losing the battle against himself. His voice was getting quieter, and he knew that he was failing miserably.
Then, you finally met his lips with yours. It was a slow, gentle kiss, with you wanting to give him reassurance. He moaned against them, the sound full of desperation.
When you pulled back, you saw how his eyes were wide, and he suddenly nuzzled up against you, his face buried in your neck, his body trembling as if he was trying to hold onto whatever was left of his defenses.
"‘M so sorry," he murmured against your skin, his voice breaking. "Didn’ mean t’... I jus’—"
You ran your fingers through his hair, cuddling him closer as he clung to you. "Quiet," you whispered, putting your lips against his forehead. "It’s okay."
He wrapped his arms around you, his grip a little rough as if he was afraid you might slip away. "I fucked up," he said. "Almos’ got m’self killed an’ hurt ya. ‘M so damn sorry."
You held him close, his body pressed against yours. "I know," you said softly. "But you’re still alive, Daryl."
But the moment of calm was ruined when Daryl’s body tensed up again, with him starting to sob violently.
"Shit," he choked out, tears rolling down his cheeks. "‘M such a fuckin’ asshole. Messed everythin’ up. Could’ve died an’—"
You shushed him, holding him even tighter, pressing kisses to his temples. You didn’t say much, letting your actions speak louder than any words even could.
He kept mumbling apologies, his sobs so intense that they shook his whole body. "Ain’t good ‘nough. ‘M worthless. Jus’ a useless piece o’ shit," he sobbed further, his voice cracking.
You gently cupped his face again, lifting it so you could look into his wet eyes. Slowly, you wiped the tears away with your thumbs, kissing his cheeks where the tears had been rolling down.
"Hush," you whispered softly. "You’re not a useless piece of shit. You’re not worthless. You made a mistake, but you’re here, and you’re alive. That’s what matters."
He needed to hear that you weren’t disappointed and that you still loved him despite everything.
Daryl looked up at you, his eyes all red and swollen, but his sobbing began to calm down. And as he finally started to relax, his grip on you softened, but he didn’t let go. He was still clinging to you, needing you to remind him that he was loved and that he was enough.
"Thanks," he whispered quietly. "For… everythin’."
You smiled to yourself, playing with his hair. "Anytime," you murmured, pressing another soft kiss to the top of his head.
You didn’t need to say anything more; your arms around him were enough to help him find his way back to feeling okay. The walls he’d built were finally down, and for now, he was just Daryl—raw and in need of someone to help him piece himself back together.
TAG-LIST: @itwasntaphasema
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