#I don’t want to look at this anymore I don’t want to tHINK

[kurooh]

❤︎ LOVE POTIONS ! — MY HERO ACADEMIA

⊹₊˚. VALENTINE’S DAY 2025 — aphrodisiacs are both a curse and a blessing. / midoriya izuku, bakugo katsuki, todoroki shoto, kirishima eijirou, kaminari denki, & takami keigo.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, aphrodisiacs / sex pollen, dirty talk, edging, brattiness, overstimulation, squirting, threesome, sickness but it’s sexy, breeding kink, unprotected sex.

xoxo, juno. everyone pretend it’s v-day 💘

MIDORIYA IZUKU.

⟡ getting hit by a villain’s quirk right before valentine’s day was not something you’d planned to do. somehow, the effects of the quirk end up being an early gift and also a curse.

fat tears race down izuku’s face, his hands grasping weakly at the sheets with each dizzying bounce of your ass onto his thighs. an hour has passed, spent in different positions around the house with less than five minute breaks in between—but no matter how many times you cum, the glowy pink ring around your irises doesn’t go away.

“too much, ‘s too much,” he slurs, words running into each other and becoming jumbled nonsense. “baby, i can’t, not anymore—shit! ‘m empty now, and it h-hurts so bad.”

“hurts?” you parrot disbelievingly, too deep under the spell to feel the burn in your thighs. “‘zuku, know what hurts?”

“no, i know,” he sobs, balls squeezing painfully as the familiar pressure returns to his cock. it’s familiar, but it’s not the same; there’s no cum involved, he’s been drained too dry to give you anything. “l-last time, please. i need a minute to, ngh, relax.”

it hurts. izuku’s cock is practically purple with overstimulation, but he’s too entranced to pull you off himself. when you’d arrived home, tugging at his belt and babbling about what had happened, izuku took a moment to consider if he had any notes on something like this.

villains with these types of quirks have always been rare, and it’s just his luck that one popped up before valentine’s day.

the couch groans from the combination of movement and weight on it, yawning with wear. izuku has never underestimated your strength or sex drive, but this . . you’re bouncy, and he’s wondering if the villain’s quirk enhanced your stamina too.

in a startling display of affection, you grab at his jaw and kiss away his tears, cooing sweet, sensual nothings into his ear. your voice is smooth when you tell him how good he’s doing, how sexy he looks when he’s whining so sweetly. just when he’s thinking it can’t get any better, you hit him where he’s weakest with a sultry murmur of want you to put a baby in me, izuku.

flustered, he can’t help but let out a squeal when you nip at his neck, kissing over previous bites and smatterings of freckles.

“do what you want with me,” he surrenders, verdant green eyes meeting your own. “hah, if that’s what you want, jus’ use me. fuck me, baby.”

BAKUGO KATSUKI.

⟡ you have the misfortune of tracking a villain with japan’s number one hero, the all too explosive dynamight. everything completely unravels during the confrontation, when katsuki’s rushing forward to deliver the final blow. the dastardly villain releases a thick, noxious smoke that fills the air with a sickening sweetness — despite all the coughing and hacking, he manages to subdue the villain until the police arrive, but you never make it back to the agency to regroup.

ridiculous, is all you can think as you’re being folded in half in the back of a company car that’s sneakily wedged in an alleyway. katsuki’s not-so-gentle teeth nip at the tender skin of your thighs, and he doesn’t think twice about the marks that are sure to show up by tomorrow.

“d-deeper, katsuki,” you writhe against the seats, too handsy for his liking. “please, it’s not deep eno—”

“shut it,” he grunts, scowling down at you. his usual expression doesn’t quite have the same effect it usually does, since it’s been mellowed out by the villain’s aphrodisiac like quirk. “don’t you dare tell me how to fuck, got it?”

a bratty huff escapes you, and you make a show of rolling your eyes at him, seemingly unimpressed. “i wouldn’t have to if you’d just do it right. oh, but who am i to judge the number one?”

a vein bulges from his forehead as he listens, crimson eyes seething silently while you continue to lay it on thick. “i guess dynamight can fuck however he wants, even if it’s subpar—”

in an instant, katsuki’s hand is on your throat and applying just enough pressure to force out a gasp from you. that teasing and talking back worked—now he’s really about to come undone, show you just how strong the number one pro can really be.

“can’t take that back now, can you? if you think you can insult me and order me around, oh,” katsuki grinds his teeth, pressing your knees into your chest without taking a moment to appreciate the pretty moan that leaves you. “fuck, you’ve got another thing coming. shut your mouth.”

“make me.”

he can’t seem to recall a time where he’s ever been this turned on—that aphrodisiac quirk’s got nothing on the way you talk to him, challenge him in a way that nobody has before.

katsuki draws his hips back, slow and deliberate in each movement. you were right, he wasn’t giving you his all; but now, he will, and he won’t stop until you eat your words. deeper? harder? faster? if that’s what you’re asking for, he’ll give it to you.

you watch breathlessly, mesmerized by the frustrated scrunch of his face, all because he can’t stop replaying your words in his head. a harsh slap to your clit snaps you out of your daze the moment it lands, stinging terribly.

“let’s work up to that, alright? you’re going to—”

“what if i don’t, katsuki?” you tip your chin up at him, looking down your nose at him. “then what?”

another slap, this time with a little more strength behind it. he disregards everything you just said, getting ready to give you an explosive orgasm you’ll have to work hard for.

“that’s what. now, let’s try that again—you’ll be good and count each slap, unless you want me to spank this slutty pussy raw,” satisfied by the responding clench of your cunt, he arches a brow and smirks. “your choice, brat.”

TODOROKI SHOTO.

⟡ with a new, unstable virus spreading rapidly through japan, scientists are racing to develop a cure. it seems to act like the standard flu, but it affects quirk users differently—shoto ends up with an unusual kind of fever.

“ah, ‘m cumming, sho,” cum squirts from your pussy like a waterfall, and everything’s so overwhelming that you unintentionally push his cock out. “good, ‘s so fucking good.”

sweat coats his face, clinging to the rough scar on shoto’s left side. panting, he sucks in a breath, grasping around for his swollen cock.

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks once his tip slides through your sticky folds and makes your back jolt off the bed, “it’s just—shit, it’s not enough.”

“a-again? i, hah, don’t know if that’s a good—”

shoto shakes his head, shivering as a thin layer of frost appears on his right cheek; it sparkles brilliantly before melting into droplets of water that drip from his jaw. “i’m still burning up,” it’s completely out of bounds, but the low rasp of his sickly voice scratches an itch in your brain. “see, lovey? can’t even use my quirk to fix it.”

a sigh escapes you, and you spread your trembly thighs one more time. “i might be too tired to drive you to the hospital after this,” you warn.

“i know, but baby,” gratefully, shoto pushes forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside you. his warm hand settles on your lower belly to add some pressure, gearing you up for another explosive orgasm. “i don’t wanna be like this when we go to the hospital.”

he flushes darkly with embarrassment, and the mental image of a tortured shoto rutting into a hospital bed as waves of the fever’s severe effects overwhelm him is enough to make you soften.

once he starts to thrust, developing a rhythm that would put your own fingers to shame, his mouth drops open and he’s babbling incoherently. “ . . always so fucking hot around you, baby. i-it’s not my fault you’re so—haa, shit—so perfect, making me burn up whenever you’re not looking.”

and because being this deep inside you is as close as he can get to heaven, shoto sees no reason to hold back on the honest praise. he’s always been a little shy to express himself during sex, mouth drying up whenever he tries to say something rather dirty, but not now. since his brain is being fried by the heat at the moment, he won’t feel any embarrassment.

“sho, right there,” a breath is punched out of your lungs, and your nails scratch at his shoulders each time his tip kisses your sweet spot. “oh god, ‘m gonna make a mess again!”

his cock twitches and he moans your name, only egging you on. “can’t wait to taste it, darling.”

you fall off the edge, his words serving as the final push. euphoria curls through you, cresting like a wave until the sensitivity becomes too much, bringing you back to earth. abs clenching, shoto pulls out to cover your stomach in white.

in an instant, shoto’s temperature drops. quietly, he shivers against you, huffing into your neck.

“i want to stay like this before we leave.”

“you’ve got ice forming rapidly on your back, sho.”

“it’ll melt if i’m cuddling with you . . could you also rub my back? maybe i just need to sleep it off.”

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU.

⟡ eijirou listened to you specifically tell him NOT to eat the wrapped cookies you had in the fridge and when you left, he did exactly that.

“babe, baby, you feel so good,” cum races down his fingers in creamy rivulets, puddling at the base of his cock. caught up in his fantasy, eijirou flicks his wrist faster, hoping with all his heart to imitate the hot squeeze of your cunt. “s-so pretty when you take me, always so fuckin’ beautiful.”

his voice cracks just as the door opens, and your purse falls to the floor. your boyfriend is spread out on the bed, flushed feverishly and gasping out your name like he’s delirious—it would be the perfect scene to come home to if you didn’t spot two torn cookie wrappers near him.

“eijirou,” you speak his name lowly, catching his eyes and raising a brow. he’s not sure if he should feel awkward or turned on because of your scolding tone, so he just swallows dryly and looks toward you with hooded eyes. “already forgot the speech i gave you? why’d you eat the cookies?”

shame creeps up his neck and makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. grasping for a response, eijirou decides to question you right back. “why’d you have sex cookies in the fridge?”

“they were a surprise for valentine’s!”

oh.

now he really feels dumb for spoiling your plans. perhaps if he hadn’t been so hungry, so greedy, he wouldn’t be embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

but the feeling doesn’t last long—your tough face drops into something more sultry: doe eyes and an upturned quirk of your lips that’s sure to finish him.

the mattress sinks under your weight, and you scoot beside him with a self satisfied smile. it’s small and quiet, but a voice in the back of his head tells him maybe you wanted this to happen; you certainly don’t look too upset about it.

“no way, baby,” a hiss escapes him when you slap his cum-stained hand away from his cock, instead choosing to replace them with your own. “am i dreaming? mrs. red riot, are you—”

his narration throws you off, and you choke just kissing his tip. you know eijirou’s surprised and eternally grateful, but damn. “mr. red riot, you’d be quiet if you wanted me to.”

“sorry,” he says earnestly, tensing up to hide the fact that he’s shaking like a leaf when you finally take him in your mouth. “i’ve just—” he inhales sharply as you slowly, torturously take him inch by inch. “i’ve been waiting s-so long for you to come home, babe.”

you swallow, throat squeezing tight around his cock, and eijirou’s clean hand flies to the back of your head, hovering precariously. “i’m crazy about you, all day every day, and the cookies made it worse. ‘m sorry for spoiling the surprise, i didn’t mean to—haa, w-what’re you doing to me? oh, you’re gonna make me—”

it doesn’t take long for obscene slurps and occasional gags to fill the room as you suck eijirou’s cock, spoiling him with each languid bob of your head. it’s too much, and the tension grows thicker in his gut, setting his insides ablaze with anticipation.

he’s hurtling toward his high, jerking his hips up and shamelessly preparing to fill up your throat this quickly—but then, you push yourself off of him. a shudder ripples through his body, and he throws you a pained, wide eyed look.

“why’d you..? baby?”

you motion for him to lay on his back, and he can see the gears in your head turning behind a wicked smile. “might as well draw it out, hm?”

“you’re gonna milk me?”

he’s so cute . .

you want to see him crying.

you hum, “only until you’re begging for me to stop.”

KAMINARI DENKI, ft. SERO HANTA

⟡ an undercover sting at a mysterious village with your work partners doesn’t go as smoothly as planned. the village, out in the far country, has been reported as the one place with the highest levels of quirk activity in japan. little did you know about the fact that this place is home to infectious pollen that makes its way into people via the air, or about its temporary effects on people . .

“what the fuck,” you moan, vision blurry between their faces and intermittent flashes of light. “there’s no way it’s from a plant, it can’t be—”

hanta’s tongue darts out to lick the salt away from his upper lip, and he points a finger toward a passage in the encyclopedia. “the symptoms are, ngh, the same.”

one of your hands works denki’s cock while the other shakily flips through an encyclopedia of germs and the like; hanta’s buried to the hilt inside of you, tan cheeks flushed with exertion.

“can’t you just read after?” denki unhelpfully suggests, blinking back a few tears while sparks of electricity fly off from his blond hair. “let’s just fix—yeah, baby, jus’ like that—fix the problem now and figure it out later.”

“shut it, denks,” hanta rolls his eyes, rocking his hips into you. despite the fact that the three of you are totally naked and in the middle of some kind of threesome, you’re researching what apparently caused this surge of uncontrollable arousal.

things began not long after you arrived in the village, where everything had looked unsuspecting and normal. surely there was a villain lurking around somewhere . . ? why else would there be so much unusual activity, enough to alert the authorities?

“look, they f-found something similar in america,” hanta’s voice wavers uncharacteristically, his own high racing through him with such intensity he doubles over.

“forget about the book,” denki’s begging while pressing dazed kisses to your tits, one hand tossing the book aside and slipping between your trembling thighs. “c’mon, babe. show us what you look like when you cum.”

perhaps this is something to be selfish about — when will an opportunity to fuck your hot coworkers come around again? hanta’s everything you’ve been daydreaming about, with a muscular physique sharp enough to have been cut from stone. denki’s just as attractive, though his features are softer, the result of his constant snacking while on the job or in the agency.

hanta nods in assent, already trailing over the edge. “want you to gush all over me, baby.”

thrashing under denki’s fingers, it momentarily occurs to you that maybe they’re a little too experienced. neither of them were concerned with a threesome when it was suggested, and there’s no mistakes in their almost synchronized movements.

just watching your eyes flutter and roll back is enough to make denki cum with a moan of your name as his cock sprays white. hanta’s pupils probably dilate a hundred times their size at the erotic sight, and his hips begin to stutter as heat races up his spine.

denki, shaking profusely, musters his voice and maintains his hurried pace. “g-good girl, go on ‘n let it out.”

since stepping foot into the village and inhaling that damn pollen, the pro hero’s been getting realistic flashes of thoughts he’s kept locked away for some time. you, on your knees, looking up at him like you’re ready to do more than just please. you, with your pretty eyes full of tears as you lose your mind beneath him.

an orgasm stronger than the lustful effects of any aphrodisiac tears through you, and your cunt bears down so hard it forces out hanta’s own high as well. with all his might, he tries to resist the surge of weakness that hits him and fails—he collapses on top of you, hugging you closely and burying his face in your neck.

loosely, your jaw hangs open and breathy gasps leave your mouth. denki’s sparking with electricity beside you and simultaneously struggling to get it under control. a single yellow spark flies off his body and mildly electrocutes hanta, snapping him back to reality. he jerks against you, sounding exhausted.

“uh. so, um, what’re we supposed to report when we get back?”

TAKAMI KEIGO.

⟡ bless his heart. for valentine’s, he decides to be a silk heart-shaped box of japan’s most expensive chocolate for you. he’d been so focused on finding your favorite flavors along with new ones that he didn’t even realize that he’d purchased sex chocolate.

“it hurts, dovey. it’s s-so painful.”

since sharing the box of chocolates with you, keigo’s been reduced to a pathetic mess who can’t seem to stop shaking when you just barely touch him. vermilion feathers puff up and out at his back, his messy wings conveying the way he’s crumbling inside.

you’re just as hot, skin crawling with a lustful itch only keigo can scratch for you. the frenetic beating of his wings whips up cold gusts of wind stronger than any ceiling fan, and not a single goosebump rises on your skin.

“right there, kei,” you moan, tears gathering in your eyes as he continuously hits your sweet spot. “oh my god, don’t stop.”

as if he’d ever plan to.

he hiccups, face flushed and hair tousled like he’s just returned from some mission out in the wild. softly, with the barest note of urgency, keigo whines out your name and a request.

“dovey, c’mon,” his voice cracks halfway through his sentence, shattered with unmistakable pleasure. “just tell me what you want, and i’ll, ah, i’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

keigo’s entire body thrums with the need, the purpose, to please you, and his own pleasure hinges on you and your praise. sure enough, you cry out to him, words saccharine and addicting.

“make me cum, kei,” and he doesn’t need any further instruction, not when he knows your body this well. smooth fingers slip between your thighs and work your clit, causing your back to arch when he applies just enough pressure to send electricity through your nerves.

you’re wrapping around keigo’s waist, drawing him in and breaking down his self control easily.

“want me to fill up this pussy, baby? i can do it again and again—” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts that amplify the clap of skin against skin almost as much as a quirk could, “while you take it like you were made to.”

quaking beneath him, you nod frantically, as if those are the words you’ve been waiting to hear. while he was so vividly illustrating the scene, his wings unconsciously began to wrap around your bodies, a sign of how much he wants it too.

you gasp, eyes squeezing shut with the last image being keigo’s face, twisted in ecstasy and scrunched with concentration. “gonna—‘m gonna cum, kei!”

“with me, dovey, please,” sweat pours down the sides of his face as the heated bliss tightens in his gut, applying an unbearable pressure to his cock. “let me feel you cum around me, ughhh.”

sloppily, keigo presses open mouthed kisses to your lips, and a delighted moan escapes him when you kiss back. your lips are soft against his, and your tongue carries the sweet taste of valentine’s chocolates, the expensive ones he’d come home with earlier.

with his orgasm creeping up on him and dulling his surroundings, a brief thought occurs to him about those chocolates. the sales lady had raised a brow when he filled up the customizable box with many pink chocolates that had been sitting in a case separate from the rest.. no, that can’t be right. surely this is the common valentine’s day effect on couples—it can’t be from the chocolate, can it?

[cloudyluun]

Raw & Reckless | boyfriend!harry

Summary: A steamy shower turns filthy fast when Harry gets his hands on you. He fucks you hard against the wall, but you’re too desperate to care about barriers—ripping the condom off mid-fuck, craving him raw. It’s reckless, it’s rough, and neither of you would change a thing. But once the pleasure fades, reality lingers… What does crossing that line really mean? And why does it feel so right?

Wordt Count: 2,1k

A/N: Ohhh, you guys are so nasty for this one, and I love myself for it 😌. The way Y/N was so desperate she just ripped the condom off mid-fuck??? INSANE behavior. Unhinged. I would like to personally thank me for this filth. And then the soft, maybe we don’t even care about protection anymore moment??? Crying, throwing up, sliding down the wall. I just get me.

Anyway, I hope this wrecked you as much as it wrecked me while writing it. Enjoy, my little heathens. And remember: Harry always gives you what you want. 😉

Warnings: 

Explicit Smut (18+)

Unprotected sex (Condom is removed mid-fuck)

Breeding kink / discussion of pregnancy

Shower sex & wall sex

Hair pulling, choking, overstimulation

Filthy dirty talk & desperation

Light aftercare & emotional conversations

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

“You keep that up, angel, and I’ll fuck you right here.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, though it has nothing to do with the water cascading over your bodies. You should probably play coy, tease him a little, but you don’t have it in you—not when he’s already so hard, not when his hands are gripping your hips like he’s holding himself back.

Instead, you tilt your head up, lips brushing his jaw as you whisper, “Then do it.”

A low groan rumbles from his chest, his fingers digging into your skin before he spins you around, pressing your back against his front. His hands glide up, up, up, until his fingers are threading into your wet hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp. His other hand slides over your stomach, down between your legs, teasing.

“You want it that bad?” he taunts, pressing his cock against the curve of your ass, making you feel just how hard he is. “Couldn’t even get through a shower without thinking about me fucking you, huh?”

You whimper, pressing back against him, rubbing your slick body against his. His fingers slip lower, grazing your clit, and you jolt against him.

“Fuck, Harry,” you pant, nails digging into his wrist.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lips skimming along the column of your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses. “Love when you beg for it.”

His fingers keep teasing, rubbing slow, lazy circles, never enough. You arch into his touch, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more of him. But he’s taking his time, enjoying how wrecked you already are.

“You look so pretty when you’re needy, angel,” he purrs, voice thick with amusement.

You nearly whine, pushing your hips against him, trying to get some kind of relief. His chuckle is dark, condescending.

“Patience, baby. Want you dripping for me before I fuck you against this wall.”

Your breath stutters, eyes fluttering shut. He always gets what he wants.

And tonight is no different.

Harry moves fast, flipping you so your chest is pressed against the cold tiles, the slick heat of his body flush against your back. The contrast makes you whimper, but he’s already reaching past you, grabbing a condom from the small ledge where your shampoo bottles sit.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to watch him in your peripheral vision as he tears the foil open with his teeth. He’s barely keeping it together, his cock thick and leaking against your ass, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he rolls the rubber down his length.

He groans, one hand pressing into the small of your back, the other gripping himself, dragging the swollen tip of his cock through your folds. He doesn’t push in yet—just teases, coating himself in your arousal, nudging your clit with each slow, taunting pass.

You keen, pushing back against him, desperate for more.

“So fucking needy,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement, but there’s a rough edge to it—like he’s just as desperate as you are.

“Yes,” you gasp, fingers bracing against the wall. “Need you, please.”

He chuckles, low and dark. “Yeah? Need me to fuck this pretty cunt?”

“Harry, please—”

He thrusts in.

The air rips from your lungs as he fills you in one swift, brutal movement, stretching you wide around his cock. Your fingers flex against the tile, a strangled moan catching in your throat as the pressure settles, delicious and deep.

“Fuck,” he grits, voice wrecked. His hands squeeze at your hips, like he’s grounding himself, like he’s barely holding on. “So fucking tight, angel. Always so good for me.”

He pulls back—almost all the way out—before slamming back in, his hips meeting your ass with a sharp slap. You cry out, body jolting from the force of it.

Then he sets a pace. A brutal one.

His fingers dig into your waist, holding you in place as he fucks into you, each thrust rough, deep, making your body jolt with every push forward. The slick slide of his cock is overwhelming, the water streaming down your backs only adding to the sensation.

Your moans echo off the walls, mixing with the sharp slap of skin on skin and the steady rush of the shower.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just holds, tilting your chin up slightly, claiming control.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick with lust. “Fuckin’ dripping for me. That desperate to be fucked, huh?”

You nod, your words lost to the wrecked, breathless sounds leaving your lips.

“Good fucking girl,” he praises, his mouth trailing over your shoulder, biting down just enough to make you jolt. “Taking me so deep. Bet you love it, don’t you?”

“Yes—yes, Harry,” you whimper, pressing back against him, trying to meet his thrusts.

He grins against your damp skin, his hand sliding down from your throat, fingers dipping between your legs. His touch is immediate—rubbing fast, relentless circles over your clit, making your whole body seize up from the sudden wave of pleasure.

“Gonna come for me?” he murmurs, voice dark, dangerous. “Gonna let me fuck you through it?”

Your legs shake, the build-up twisting inside you, spiraling too fast, too strong.

“Harry,” you gasp, barely able to hold yourself up.

“That’s it,” he encourages, voice thick with approval. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

You shatter.

The orgasm rips through you with no warning, knocking the breath from your lungs, making you tremble against the tile. Your walls pulse around him, and he groans, muttering curses under his breath, not slowing, not letting up.

He keeps fucking you through it, his thrusts brutal, overstimulating, prolonging the pleasure until you’re nearly collapsing against the shower wall, gasping for breath, legs barely holding you up.

But he’s still not done.

Not even close.

Your body is still trembling, oversensitive and spent, but Harry isn’t satisfied—not yet. His arms tighten around you as he spins you both away from the shower, stepping out onto the bathmat with the same urgency burning in his gaze.

The steam clings to your skin, to the mirrors, to the air between you, thick and heady. He moves fast, pressing you up against the fogged-up mirror, his chest heaving, his damp curls sticking to his forehead.

Your breath hitches as the cold glass presses against your back, a stark contrast to the burning heat between your bodies.

And then you feel it—the condom. A thin, frustrating barrier.

Your fingers slide down, trailing over the deep ridges of his stomach, down to where he’s still buried inside you. You don’t even hesitate.

Harry groans as you grip the base of his cock, rolling the latex up, tearing it off, letting it fall to the bathroom floor with a soft thud.

His breath stutters. His pupils blow wide.

“What’re you doing, baby?” His voice is wrecked, raw with lust, his fingers tightening around your thighs.

You pant against his lips, nails dragging down his spine. “Want you. Want you to fuck me properly.”

His jaw tenses, his cock twitching between your legs as the realization sinks in. “Yeah?” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You really want it raw that bad?”

You whimper, nodding, rolling your hips against him, desperate for the slick slide of his cock without anything in the way. “Need to feel you, H. Need all of you.”

That’s all it takes.

With a deep, wrecked groan, he thrusts forward, slamming into you bare, sinking in deep, the heat of him overwhelming.

You both gasp at the difference—at the way he stretches you wider, the way every ridge, every vein, every inch of him is unfiltered now, nothing dulling the feeling.

“Fuck,” he grits out, pressing his forehead against yours, his whole body shuddering. “So fucking greedy for me, aren’t you?”

You moan, nodding mindlessly, already wrecked.

His hands slip under your thighs, hiking your legs higher, spreading you open even more as he pounds into you, each thrust slamming you back against the glass. The mirror shakes behind you, your reflection nothing but a hazy blur of bodies moving together, sweat and steam making it impossible to see anything but movement.

“Wanted this all along, didn’t you?” he growls, biting at your jaw, his hips snapping forward with a filthy squelch. “Wanted me to fuck you properly, no barriers, no protection—just me and you.”

You whine, head falling back, overwhelmed. “Yes—yes, Harry—”

His fingers grip your jaw, forcing your eyes back to him. “Look at me,” he demands, voice thick and rough. “Wanna watch you fall apart for me again.”

And then his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, desperate circles, sending sparks shooting through you.

“Harry,” you sob, clenching around him, your whole body tensing.

His thrusts grow erratic, deeper, harder. “That’s it, baby. Fucking take it. Take every inch.”

You shatter.

The orgasm crashes through you, harder than before, your walls pulsing around his cock, drawing a strangled groan from his throat. His hips stutter, his grip tightening, and then he’s following you over the edge.

He buries himself as deep as he can go, moaning against your throat as he spills inside you, hot and thick, filling you up just like you wanted.

The only sound in the room is your heavy, uneven breathing, the occasional drip of water from your wet hair onto the tile. Your body trembles against his, weak and boneless, your arms wrapped around his neck as he holds you close.

Neither of you moves for a moment, just clinging to each other, still wrapped in the aftermath of everything that just happened.

His lips brush against your damp skin, soft and reverent, as if he’s still trying to process it all.

Then, with a deep, breathless chuckle, he tilts his head back to look at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his swollen lips. “Didn’t think you’d be that desperate to rip it off.”

You hum, lazily running your fingers through the damp curls sticking to his forehead. “Didn’t think you’d let me.”

His expression softens, his thumb stroking over your cheek. “I’d give you anything you wanted.”

Your stomach flutters, a warmth spreading through your chest. The weight of his words settles between you, heavy in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion.

You both know what it means.

You swallow, nudging your nose against his, your lips brushing over his in a barely-there kiss. “That was the first time we… y’know. Without anything.”

His grip on you tightens, his brows furrowing slightly. “Yeah.” His voice is softer now, almost cautious. “Are you okay with that?”

You nod, your fingers tracing slow circles over his bare shoulders. “I wanted it.”

He exhales, pressing his forehead to yours. “Me too.”

A pause, just long enough for both of you to get lost in the moment.

Then, because it’s Harry, his smirk returns, though there’s a tenderness behind it. “Still,” he murmurs, trailing his hands down your sides, his touch featherlight. “Might need to get you a morning-after pill.”

You bite your lip, tilting your head. “Or…”

His eyes darken, his grip tightening on your hips. “Or?”

Your heart is racing now, but you hold his gaze, your fingers slipping down to where he’s still inside you, still sensitive, still warm.

“Or,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the sound of your breathing, “maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

His entire body stills.

For the first time, Harry looks at you like he’s truly, completely stunned—like the weight of what you just said knocks the air from his lungs.

“Baby…” His voice is hoarse, almost like he doesn’t know what to say.

You don’t either.

But there’s something in the way he holds you, in the way he studies your face like he’s searching for any sign of hesitation, in the way his hands cradle your waist with a gentleness that makes your chest ache.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, suddenly shy, tucking your face into his neck. “Just… thinking about it.”

He exhales shakily, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’ll talk about it, yeah?”

You nod against him, feeling the press of his lips, the warmth of his body against yours, the quiet safety of being held like this.

And then—

“Think we got dirty again,” you whisper, nudging him back toward the shower.

Harry groans, but he’s already reaching for you.

“Gonna fucking ruin you, angel.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry

@mema10

@angelbabyyy99

@iloveharrystyles04

@cinemharry

@drwho06

@donutsandpalmtrees

@panini

@mads3502

@imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

@one-sweet-gubler

@rizosrizos26

@ciriceimpera

@everyscarisahealingplace

@hello-heyhi

@sexymfharriet

@lizsogolden

@hannah9921

@chicabonitasblog

@huhidontknowstuff

@berrywoods1245

@jennovaaa

@angeldavis777

@prettygurl-2009

@almostcontentcreator

@run-for-the-hills

@maudie-duan

@dipmeinhoneyh

[loservillepopulationthirteen]

It continues to get worse

Goon#2: I’m so sorry boss! I didn’t know they were a teenager when I sold to them!

Red hood, sighing: atp im not even angry anymore

Goon#3:thank goodness!

Red Hood: I’m just dissapointed. I thought after all these years…

Goon#2: OH GOD THATS WORSE BOSS! EVERYONE KNOWS THAT!

Red Hood: Do better

The goons: Yes, sir!

*after Red Hood leaves*

Goon#1: the dad levels are so strong!!!!

-

Some child: *in danger and scared*

Jason, seeing his child self in the kid (canon btw): hey, hey it’s okay *acts like what his kid self needed because the levels of projection and need for therapy are so strong on this one*

Goon#5: his dad insticts… they’re kicking in…

-

Red hood, walking in to see his ‘organization’ messed up: What are you doing?!?

Goon#3, whose desperatly trying to fix it: uhhhh

Goon#5: Goon 3 tripped over your copy of pride and prejudice while carrying stuff

Goon#3: I’ll kill you

Goon#5: :P

Red Hood: *distraughtly trying to find his book*

Goon#1: Heres your book boss! Saved it while everyone was panicking

Jason, who was borrowing it from Alfred because they do book swaps: your my favorite goon now

Goon#1: *victory dance as all the other goons glare*

-

Batman: I am-

Red Hood: not supposed to be in crime alley

Batman, giving big kicked puppy (???) vibes: the kids want to see you at dinner :( Agent A requested it

Red Hood: the ‘kids’ ruined my case

Batman: Agent A made cookies

Red Hood: …

Red hood: yeah okay i’ll wrap up and go home

Vengence in the night, the scourage of the villain, Batman: *pleased vibes*

Goon#6, already texting the gc: Red Hood dadded the BATMAN!!

Goon#2, replying: Can’t believe Red Hood was so mad he almost missed Dinner with his Kids…

Oracle, who can hack gcs and thinks this is hysterical: im about to do something really funny *discreetly sends more evidence of Red Hood being ‘Batman’s Dad’*

-

*Red Hood, about to order something when the tiniest Robin bursts into the warehouse during the middle of the day*

Red Hood, frantic: what are you doing here?!? It’s a school day!!! (Jason loves school)

Robin: tch… it was dumb anyways… just some dumb kids… they don’t even know how to fight

Red Hood: Do you want me to text B or cover for you?

Robin: … I do not want to go back right now

Red Hood: okay, okay… why don’t we go back to my apartment and drink some vegan hot chocolate

Robin: i’d like that

(Jason, in his head: man im a great big brother- i remember when dick would take me out during school hours)

Goon#4: Oh my god, how many kids does this guy have?!?

Goon#5: who even gave birth to that many?!?

Goon#3: maybe theyre adopted?

Goon#4: no thats stupid they all have the same black hair and blue eyed features

Goon#5: …

Goon#3: you can’t think like that about our boss!

Goon#5: I didn’t say anything

Goon#3: I could hear your thoughts

Goon#4: I thought metas werent allowed in gotham?

Goon#3: no thats just a rumor- wait i meant metaphorically

Goon#5: …

Goon#4: …

Goon#3: can’t believe all of you misunderstood my one sentence I bet boss never went through people horribly misconstruing him!

-

Red hood: *visibly tired that morning*

Goon#4: Rough Night?

Red Hood: nah, just my uh… family broke into my apartment to watch movies last night because I ‘missed movie night’

Goon#5: *nods sagely* children amirite?

Red Hood: *snorts* they definitely act like children

-

*Black Bat kicks Red Hood in the face*

Red Hood, writhing in agony on the floor: ow owww what was that forrr

Goon#1, sympathetically patting his back: daughters, amirite?

Jason, thinking about Lady Shiva: I guess?

-

Goon#2: Boss!!!

Red Hood: ?

Goon#2: I… joined a knitting club some time back after you told me to quit being high and get a hobby… and uh…

Goon#2: *shoves a knit scarf that says ‘worlds okayest Boss’ but the B looks a bit messy like it was supposed to be a D but the B was hastily changed later from somethinng starting with D(ad) to Boss* okaythatsitbye *runs away*

Red Hood: what was that all about???

Red Hood, staring at the scarf and tearing up: I’m so glad I’m having a good effect on the community

The goon squad, from afar: *wiping tears as they watch Red Hood’s reaction*

-

Red Hood: *sighs* so I’m experimenting with different recipes to surprise my uhhh greatest inspiration (alfred)

The goons: *listening intently*

Red Hood: And I have extras.

Goon squad: *cheering*

Red Hood, embarrassed: shut up or I’m giving them all to the alley kids and not you!

Goon squad: *rush to grab it*

Goon#2: oooh i love the peppermint one! Very christmassy

Red Hood: *snorts at christmasussy like the immature 19 year old his is that no one pays heed to*

Goon#3: Is there coffee in this one?

Red Hood: just to bring out the chocolate flavor- one of the robi- uh younger ones is addicted to coffee and I’m not trying to give him an avenue

Goon#1: You’re so responsible boss!

Red Hood: *shocked and happy as this is the first time anyones ever called post mortem Jason responsible*

-

*finally at the reveal*

Red Hood: I have… something to show you *takes off his helmet*

goons: *open staring*

goon#5: wow you look… young for your age!

goon#4: drop the skin care routine

Jason, in his head: wow they must mean the six months I was in the ground for I didn’t realize it was that obvious!

Jason, out loud: Lazarus water

Goon#3, been hired for some weird stuff before: *gasps* no wonder old men are so obsessed with it!

Jason: *snorts*

Will Jason ever realize his goons think hes some kind of immortal old aged man with a great skin care routine (goon#5)/vampire (goon#2) /wereworlf (goon#3) / cryptid old man (goon#1) /gotham pollution gone well (goon#4 who got booed out)

find out next time in- what do you mean i dont get to make a show out of Red Hood goons?!?

Imagine in the beginning, before Red Hood's goons figure out that he is a baby, they think he is a single dad of a bunch of kids, instead. And it is not like they are wrong, since he does parent all kids of Crime Alley, but they mean not them. They mean Bats, instead.

No one is sure how old Red Hood is. But they saw a single white streak of the hair once, so he is... old, right? And these Batkids, they always hang around him, whining and asking for something - surely, it is his kids? Right? That gotta be it.

Red Hood: Now, back to- Sorry, I need to take a call. Goons: Sure, sir. Red Hood: What... Oh my god, Red. What do you mean, you don't know how to wash the carpet without- Spoiled brat. Okay, listen to me, you first need to get a really hot water... Goons: That's definitely his son being in troubles.

(It was Tim, who accidentally ruined Alfred's favourite carpet. He was in big troubles that day.)

Robin, appearing on the doorstep of Red Hood's den: Scram. I am here to see Hood. Goons, staring at little Damian: Hm-m. Red Hood, pushing them away: Bad day? (Damian wordlessly raising his arms to be picked up by Jason) Okay. It is fine. Goons: Hm-m-M.

Nightwing, whining: You are so boring. Why don't you want to play Twister with us this Sunday? Red Hood, rolling his eyes: Shut up. Goons, overhearing the conversation: Kids, am I right? Red Hood: Huh?

Goons, watching Batman and Red Hood shouting on each other on the rooftop: Hey, do we think Batman is also his kid?.. Goons: (thoughtful pause) Red Hood, completely pissed off by his dad in the meanwhile: I am TIRED of you. Go back to your stupid ass CAVE and think about your behaviour. I don't want to see you AGAIN. Batman: But- Red Hood: OUT OF MY TURF. NOW!!! Goons, staring at Batman, who walks away sulkily: ...HM-M.

Red Hood, staring at the "Best Dad" merch, given him by his goons on his birthday: I am confused. Do they mean kids from Alley, or they view themselves as my kids... What does it mean? Uh. Whatever. It is kinda sweet. Red Hood, on the next day: Thanks, guys. Very thoughtful of you! Goons, high-fiving each other: Sure, boss!

[enhaflixer]

psh - king of tears. TEASER

Chaebol Husband!Sunghoon | Queen of Tears AU

Teaser #2 FULL FIC OUT NOW! HEREEE

📌 summary: your marriage to park sunghoon was supposed to be a fairytale—until it wasn’t.

now it’s cold stares across the dinner table, separate bedrooms in a mansion too big for the both of you, and divorce papers waiting to be signed.

you were ready to walk away. he let you.

so why does he look at you like he’s the one who lost everything?

my fake marriage! Heeseung fic teaser

word count: maybeee around 15-20K

release date: 23rd Feb

genre: angst | slow burn | second chance romance | marriage in crisis | Queen of Tears AU | SMUT ANGST FLUFF (in that order)

⚠️ content warnings (explicit, minors dni!):  a marriage falling apart but neither of you can let go, divorce papers as a weapon but neither of you sign them first, staring at an empty side of the bed and pretending it doesn’t hurt, watching him struggle alone but being too proud to help, "we’re not together anymore." // "then why do you still wear your ring?", high society pressure, business marriages, and pretending everything is fine when it’s not, fighting in the rain because what’s a rich people angst fic without that?, angst-heavy sex (sex while crying, sex while angry, sex while pretending it doesn’t mean anything) "we’re supposed to be over, so why are you still fucking me like you love me?" breathless, desperate sunghoon (bc when he breaks, he breaks) sunghoon is sick, weak, exhausted—but still strong enough to pin you down "i don’t love you anymore." // "then stop moaning my name.", luxury penthouse sex but it’s tragic, a hand around your throat but it’s not just about control—it’s about possession, he fucks you like he’s trying to remind you who you belong to, aftercare that isn’t really aftercare bc he still won’t say he loves you,

-

The first thing you see when you step into the house is Park Sunghoon, sitting on the couch in the dim light of the living room.

The divorce papers sit between you on the glass coffee table—untouched.

"You haven’t signed them." Your voice is steady. Controlled. Nothing like how you feel inside.

Sunghoon takes a slow sip of his whiskey, his expression unreadable as he sets the glass down with a soft clink.

"No," he says simply.

You exhale sharply. "Sunghoon—"

"Say it." His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the room like a blade.

You blink. "Say what?"

His gaze lifts to yours—steady, unreadable, but not cold. Not now.

"Say you don’t love me anymore."

Your breath catches.

It’s supposed to be easy. The marriage is over. You’re walking away.

But the way he’s looking at you now? The way his fingers ghost over the edge of the divorce papers but never actually touch them?

You realize, with a sinking weight in your chest, that if you say it—if you lie—

He might actually let you go.

The air between you is thick, suffocating. You should leave. You should turn around, walk up the marble staircase, and lock the door to your separate bedroom like you always do.

But you don’t.

Instead, you step forward.

Sunghoon’s eyes flicker with something dark, something unreadable, as you stop in front of him. His cologne lingers in the air—subtle but intoxicating, a scent that’s too familiar, too much like home.

"You don’t get to do this," you murmur.

His gaze flickers. "Do what?"

You glare at him, your pulse hammering. "Pretend to care when you never did."

Something snaps. Fast. Brutal.

The next thing you know, you’re on the couch, pinned beneath him, Sunghoon’s hand wrapped around your throat.

Your pulse stutters beneath his fingers—not tight enough to hurt, but just enough to hold you there, just enough to remind you who he is.

"You think I never cared?" His voice is low, rough. Dangerous.

Your heart stumbles.

His other hand slides up your thigh, barely touching, but enough to make you burn.

"You think I don’t want you?" Sunghoon exhales sharply, his jaw clenched. His fingers flex around your throat, like he’s testing you, waiting for you to push him away.

But you don’t.

Instead, you lift your chin, your own fingers wrapping around his wrist.

"I think you don’t know how to want me without ruining me," you whisper.

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

For a second, just a second, he looks wrecked.

Then his grip tightens—just enough.

Your breath catches.

His lips brush against your ear, voice a low warning.

"Tell me to stop."

You should.

"You won't, will you?"

You don’t.

His lips crash into yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s everything he’s held back for months—all the anger, the heartbreak, the longing.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, as he kisses you like he’s drowning, like you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

You hate him. You hate him.

But the way you arch into him, the way you tug at his shirt, the way you let his hands roam your body—

You don’t stop him.

Not when he drags you into his lap. Not when he whispers your name like it’s the only thing he knows. Not when his fingers slip under your dress, ghosting over your bare skin—teasing, testing, waiting for you to push him away.

But you don’t.

Instead, you breathe against his lips, a whisper, a confession—"I hate you."

Sunghoon lets out a breathless, bitter laugh.

"Liar."

-

TAGLIST: Closed!

[babsworlds]

WE LISTEN AND WE DON’T JUDGE.

pairing. Pedro Pascal x younger! fem! reader

synopsis. you and Pedro do the we listen and we don’t judge trend.

warnings. mention of age gap (late 20s/late 40s), short fic.

babs’ notes. guys ik this trend isn’t trend anymore but i just had to write it

EVEN THOUGH YOU DIDN’T WANT TO ADMIT IT, you were a chronically online person. You weren’t particularly proud of it, but the constant stream of trends on TikTok was enough to keep you entertained for hours.

You loved to post mini vlogs and grwms videos on TikTok. It was fun to do, and the bonus money it brought in was a welcome perk. The creative process of filming, editing, and sharing snippets of your life with the world brought you a sense of joy and fulfillment.

On the other hand, Pedro was content with simply posting stories on Instagram. Being an older man, his Instagram was a bit chaotic, yet endearingly so. He mostly posted pictures with you, capturing beautiful moments and showcasing your love and adventures together.

So when you saw the TikTok trend We Listen and We Don’t Judge, where partners share little, harmless secrets, you just knew you had to do it with Pedro.

To your surprise, it didn’t take much to convince him; he was always up for these kinds of fun. What took longer was explaining the trend to him, but somehow, you managed to get through it.

You pressed record, and both of you said in unison, “We Listen and we don’t judge.” You couldn't help but notice Pedro's adorable expression on the phone screen; he looked so happy to be there.

“Okay, I’ll start,” you said, turning to look at your boyfriend. You took a moment to think of what to say first. “I can hear you when you’re singing in the shower, and it sounds terrible,” you said, trying hard to hold back your laughter.

Pedro narrowed his eyes at you, a mix of mock indignation and amusement crossing his face. Deep down, he knew there was a bit of truth in your words. “We listen and we don’t judge,” you both repeated in sync, and now it was his turn.

Pedro took a deep breath and grinned. “When we first met, I thought you are a bit of brat,” he admitted.

Your mouth dropped open in shock. You hadn’t expected him to be that blunt. But, as the trend dictated, you couldn’t judge. You managed to keep your expression neutral, despite your surprise.

Pedro chuckled, noticing your reaction. “I know, it sounds horrible, but that’s what I thought at first,” he said, his tone softer.

You ignored him with an eye roll, “We listen and we don’t judge.”

“Sometimes you get me so upset when you forget something,” you confessed, scanning his expression on the phone screen. “But I always remind myself you’re just an old man,” you chuckled, looking at him.

Pedro took this secret well and just shrugged. “That was obvious, I am an old man,” he said with a smile.

“We listen and we don’t judge,”

Pedro's eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned in closer to the camera. “Your Spanish is bad... like really bad,” he said with a smile, clearly enjoying the playful banter. It really sounded like he came just for the hate, but you smiled, ready to dish it back.

“Well, your French isn’t good either,” you retorted, raising an eyebrow.

“We listen and we don’t judge,”

“I hate when you fart and blame it on me,” you said, the words barely escaping your mouth before you both burst into laughter. Pedro's eyes widened in shock, his laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.

“Jesus Christ Y/n, you can’t say shit like that to people,” Pedro exclaimed with laugh, trying to calm himself down. He had expected many things, but not this.

Your laughter was infectious, and Pedro couldn't help but join in, his body shaking with mirth. “Well, it's true!” you said, still giggling. “You do it all the time.”

Pedro wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. But we listen and we don’t judge, remember?”

You both repeated, “We listen and we don’t judge,” in unison, still grinning from ear to ear.

"When I was filming Gladiator, some lady asked me if you're my daughter," Pedro chuckled, referring to your age difference. The memory seemed to amuse him greatly, and the twinkle in his eyes made it clear he found the situation hilarious.

You gave him a knowing stare. "We listen and we don't judge," you said, the words almost automatic now.

"I love when you wear glasses, it turns me on so bad," you said with a smirk, your voice dropping a notch. It was a bold confession, one that you knew would get a rise out of him. You couldn't help but think about your PR manager, already dreading the phone call you'd probably get after posting this video.

Pedro's smirk matched yours, his eyes filled with a mix of confidence and affection. "Knew that," he said confidently, his gaze locking with yours. His playful tone, combined with the way he looked at you, sent a shiver down your spine.

Of course, you did have to cut out some parts because Pedro could be a dirty bastard and truly had no filter. His unfiltered remarks were hilarious but perhaps a bit too much for the fans and especially your PR managers.

[noir-lullaby]

Love is Blind | Terry Richmond

Summary: Falling in love without seeing each other was the easy part. But when the doors open and you finally lay eyes on Terry Richmond, you realise this isn't just an experiment anymore. It's real.

Warnings: pure fluff.

Author’s Note: Y’all, Terry Richmond on Love Is Blind was not on my bingo card, but here we are! 😭 I had so much fun writing this.

Word Count: ~2,800 words

The moment you signed up for Love Is Blind, you told yourself you weren’t going to settle. No half-hearted connections, no forcing sparks that weren’t there. You wanted something real. And yet, sitting on this couch in the pod, you found yourself falling. Hard.

His voice was deep, steady, a soothing kind of rich that made you lean in closer to the wall that separated you. There was a quiet strength to the way he spoke, an intentionality behind every word. He listened to you—not just hearing, but truly absorbing everything you said.

“So you really teach second grade?” Terry asked, a smile evident in his tone.

“Mhm, going on five years now. They keep me on my toes, but I love it. It’s beautiful seeing their minds expand, especially our little Black and brown babies. I want them to see the world as big as they want it to be.”

Terry hummed, a thoughtful pause before he responded. “That’s dope. I respect that.”

You grinned. “And you? A former Marine?”

“Yeah. Did my time, but I knew early on I wasn’t staying in forever. Too much blind loyalty, y’know? And I ain’t with all that.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I won’t lie, I’ve always had complicated feelings about the military.”

“How so?”

You exhaled, choosing your words carefully. “I get why people serve. I really do. But it’s hard knowing how much harm our government has done, especially to people who look like us. I could never put my life on the line for a country that’s never fully protected us.”

Terry was quiet for a beat before he spoke, voice even. “I hear you. And honestly? I don’t disagree. I enlisted ‘cause I needed stability. Wanted to make sure my family was good. But the deeper I got into it, the more I saw the cracks. So I left.”

You bit your lip, thinking. “Do you regret it?”

“Nah. It made me who I am, but it don’t define me. I’m more than that.”

Something in your chest warmed at that. You liked the way he saw himself, how he wasn’t confined to one experience, one box. It made you want to know more.

Days turned into weeks, and with every conversation, the connection deepened. You spoke about everything—the best soul food spots, your love for old-school R&B, the books that changed your lives. Be still, your heart.

The laughter, the teasing, the little moments of vulnerability—it all built to this moment.

“I know this might be crazy,” Terry started, voice lower now, like he was holding his breath. “But I can’t ignore what I feel for you. I don’t need to see your face to know I wanna build something real with you.”

Your heart pounded. You had dreamed of this moment, but with him, it felt different. It felt right.

“Terry,” you whispered, emotion thick in your throat.

“Will you marry me?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the answer already there. “Yes.”

--

The night before the reveal, you barely slept. Your mind raced with excitement, nerves, and the tiniest sliver of doubt. What if he wasn’t attracted to you? What if the chemistry fizzled when you were face to face? But deep down, you knew it wasn’t just about looks. You had fallen for his mind, his heart, the way he made you feel safe without even seeing you.

And then, the moment came.

Standing behind the doors, your hands trembled. This was it. The moment you would finally see him, no walls, no barriers. Just you and him.

The doors opened, and your breath hitched.

Terry Richmond stood there, tall and strong, blue-grey eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made your stomach flip. He was beautiful, and the way his lips parted in awe made you feel like the most radiant woman in the world.

“Damn,” he exhaled, running a hand over his goatee. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

You let out a soft laugh, stepping forward as he pulled you into his arms. The embrace was firm, secure, like home. He smelled of cedarwood and something distinctly him, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you, there was nothing but warmth in his gaze.

“We really did this, huh?” you murmured, fingers tracing the lapels of his suit.

“Yeah, we did,” he said, voice full of certainty. “And I ain’t letting go.”

Neither were you.

You couldn’t stop staring at him, drinking in every detail—his strong jawline, the faint scar on his brow, the way his hands held yours like he was afraid to let go. “I was scared,” you admitted. “That maybe this connection wouldn’t feel as real in person. But looking at you now? I’ve never been more sure.”

Terry cupped your cheek, thumb grazing your skin gently. “I know what you mean. But I felt you before I saw you. And now that I see you?” He leaned in, voice low and reverent. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

Before you could overthink it, his lips captured yours in a slow, deep kiss. The world around you faded, cameras and crew slipping into nothingness as you melted into him. His hands anchored you, fingers pressing into the small of your back as he deepened the kiss, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the way you tasted. Your arms looped around his neck, holding him close, needing him closer. It was soft and urgent all at once, a promise sealed between you.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he pressed his forehead against yours, a small smirk on his lips. “Yeah,” he murmured. “This is real.”

The first few minutes together felt like a dream. The way he held your hand, the way he whispered little reassurances—You good? You nervous?—all of it made you melt. The cameras, the producers, all faded into the background. It was just the two of you.

“So… what now, fiancée?” he teased, smirking as he twirled your fingers between his own.

You laughed, tilting your head. “I guess we get ready for the real world.”

“Think we’ll survive?” he asked, half-joking, half-serious.

You squeezed his hand. “As long as you’re in it, I’m ready.”

Terry studied you for a long moment, like he was committing every detail of your face to memory. Then, with a slow, confident nod, he smiled. “Then let’s do this, baby.”

And for the first time in a long time, you felt completely, undeniably, ready too.

taglist: @nayaesworld @slvt4her @novahreign @nbanenefrmdao @kaylalb @woahthatshitfat

[coryndoll]

waking up to you ₍₁₂₎

plot ── you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

content ── this a long one i fear, another journal entry (u can literally see it right there help), rafe being as bf as he can, more ward awkward avoiding tension, some talks !! reader taking a few more steps to coming home

authors note ── ermm hi guys, I FINALLY FOUND THE TIME TO WRITE. lmk if u still wanna be part of this tag list, i was unable to keep up with any of my last requests for this series on the last part because its been 2 months so please lmk now or turn my notifications on !! <3

previous

‘ it all came crashing down again. family dinner at the camerons. i swear i tried, i really did. i didn’t want to be that girl anymore. the one they all whisper about behind my back, the one they think is just a spoiled, bitchy princess. i really thought i was getting better. but i guess i was wrong.

i’m so angry at myself, i can’t even see straight. i was rude. i didn’t mean to be, but i was to everyone. & i know they saw it. i saw the looks, heard the tension. i could feel it, like they were all waiting for me to screw up. waiting for me to be the person they’ve always known. i tried to prove them wrong, but i ended up just making it worse.

and sarah?? she just doesn’t get it. i don’t even know why i said half of the things i did. she said something that just triggered me & i couldn’t stop myself.

i just started spitting out words, things i probably didn’t even mean, all because i wanted to hurt her the way i was hurt. because i couldn’t stand the thought that maybe they were right about me. & rafe had to intervene too. it was so fucking embarrassing.

it was like the moment she opened her mouth, i became that girl again. the girl who can’t hold her tongue, the girl who lashes out when she feels cornered. & maybe that’s exactly what i am. maybe i haven’t changed. maybe they were right all along.

it’s like, every time i try to take a step forward, i end up falling so far back & i can’t even pick myself up anymore.

like what’s the point of changing if nothing changes? what’s the point of trying to be better when people are always going to see you as the same bitch you’ve always been?

maybe i really haven’t changed. ’

the journal is gripped tightly in your hand as you read the words that spill from the page, feeling the weight of the other y/n’s heartache.

everything she says, all the bitterness and the regret, it feels so raw, so real, and it stings like something you’ve felt before. you don’t know if you’re even supposed to feel sorry for her, but something tugs at your chest still.

the y/n who wrote this, she really believed it, didn’t she? she believed she hadn’t changed, that no matter how much she tried, she was always going to be stuck in this version of herself. the girl who could never win.

a soft sigh slips from your lips as you shut the journal with a soft thud. you toss it onto the desk like it might catch fire if you hold it any longer and lean back in the chair with a sigh.

for a moment, you just sit there, staring at the closed journal, your thoughts spinning. it’s clear now how much that argument with sarah weighed on her.

even if sarah and rafe don’t care about it anymore, because they don’t, right? otherwise, sarah wouldn’t have been so friendly when you first landed here, and rafe wouldn’t have looked so damn happy to wake up next to you. her.

but jesus, it must’ve taken a toll if she felt the need to spill her guts onto these pages.

you run your hands back through your hair, bringing your knees up to your chest as you try to make sense of it all. so, what’s the point of this? why are you here? why her? you don’t get it. any of it. but for some reason, it feels like time is slipping through your fingers, like there’s some invisible clock ticking down, and if you don’t figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do soon, you’ll never make it back home.

your chest tightens at the thought, and you look back at the journal on the desk. it doesn’t hold the answers you need, but for a second, you feel like maybe it’s the only thing tying you to the pieces of her life.

you will get back home.

you have to.

the first floor of the home feels colder than you expected, but you can hear something downstairs in the basement. it’s just muffled voices, sarah’s laugh, rafe saying something you can’t quite make out.

you take a slow breath, pulling your jacket tighter around your body as you walk down the steps. the closer you get, the more your chest tightens, like you’re walking into something you’re not supposed to see.

from the last few steps, you spot them. sarah’s leaning against the glass wall of the wine cellar, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her head tilted back in laughter. rafe is crouched inside the glass room, fiddling with something in his hands, while ward kneels near an empty wine rack, muttering something under his breath.

you haven’t been down here yet. the room feels so untouched, so pristine, like it belongs in one of those glossy magazines about rich people’s homes. there’s a bar in the far left corner of the room, the walls are lined with racks of expensive wine bottles, each label perfectly aligned. the air is cooler here, crisp and sharp, carrying the faint scent of oak and something else you can’t quite place.

rafe is the first to notice you. he glances over his shoulder as he stands, his foot pressing against the ground for balance. his hands fidget for a second before he straightens, brushing them over the front of his shirt. sarah notices his distraction and follows his gaze, her laugh fading into a quiet smile as she turns to look at you.

and then there’s ward. crouched near the wine rack, he drags a hand down his face and jaw, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to collect himself. when his eyes meet yours, the air shifts.

the tension is immediate. it always is.

you feel it in the way sarah and rafe go quiet, not because they have anything against you, but because it’s almost instinctual when ward’s in the room. you can’t blame them.

rafe’s the first to move. he runs a hand over his buzzed hair, his lips parting like he’s about to say something to ward, but instead, he steps out of the glass room and toward you. his hand reaches out to gently grasp your shoulders, his touch grounding.

“hey, babe,” he says softly, his voice low enough that it doesn’t carry far. “what are you— what are you doing up here? i thought you said you were reading.”

right, the lie you told him so you can read his real girlfriends journal.

you open your mouth to respond, but ward cuts in from behind the glass. “it’s fine, rafe,” he says, his tone even but clipped, like he’s dismissing the entire situation before it can escalate.

rafe’s grip on your shoulders tightens for a moment before he glances back at his dad. you follow his gaze, your eyes locking on ward as he stands, clearing his throat. his hand drags down his beard again, and he turns his attention back to the wine bottles.

he adjusts one of them, then another, like he’s mentally calculating if they’re placed correctly. finally, he straightens, his shoulders rolling back as he steps out of the cellar.

rafe’s hand slides down to yours, his fingers wrapping around yours as he gently pulls you off the stairs and onto the tile floor. ward doesn’t say anything as he walks past. he nods at you, a brief acknowledgment, before continuing up the stairs.

you gnaw on your bottom lip, trying to ignore the knot forming in your stomach. what could this version of you have possibly done to make him act like this all the time?

rafe looks back at sarah, who’s still standing near the wine racks, her expression unreadable. then he turns back to you, his voice softer now. “i’ll be back, alright?” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “we can watch our movie tonight.”

“but dad wanted to watch that new movie with us in the living room tonight,” sarah pipes up, her voice cutting through the quiet. she shifts her weight, her arms crossing over her chest. “are you seriously bailing on him again? you already did last month. he’s not gonna be so happy.”

rafe’s jaw tightens, and he snaps at her, “yeah, but dad is never happy.”

you know that isn’t true. ward was literally just laughing before you came downstairs. rafe’s just trying to make you feel better, to shift the blame onto someone else.

he looks at you again, his gaze softening. “i’ll be there soon, okay?” he promises, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips before disappearing up the stairs.

you stand there in silence, your arms wrapping around yourself instinctively, as if to shield against the invisible judgment that seems to follow you everywhere in this house.

you’re not even sure why you feel this way. it’s not your fault ward doesn’t like you. it’s not even you he doesn’t like. but being in the place of someone who carries so much baggage with him makes it impossible not to take it personally.

you glance toward sarah, who hasn’t moved from her spot near the bar. she doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you with an unreadable expression. then, with a light shrug, she pulls out a stool and sits down, leaning her elbows on the bar behind her.

“hey,” she says casually, her voice cutting through the quiet, “at least he only left the room this time. you know, instead of muttering something under his breath like he used to.”

your brows furrow, and for a moment, you just stare at her, trying to figure out if she’s serious. she’s smiling, clearly trying to lighten the mood, but her words settle awkwardly in your chest.

you huff, crossing the room and sliding onto the stool next to her. “is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask, your voice low and a little sharp, though not intentionally.

sarah’s smile falters. her shoulders straighten, and she tilts her head slightly, studying you. “i mean . . .” she starts, but then stops, her frown deepening. “you’re really upset about this, huh?”

you don’t answer right away. you just look down at the polished wood of the bar, tracing an invisible line with your finger.

sarah doesn’t press you for a response. instead, she leans back a little, resting her hands on the edge of the bar. “look,” she says after a moment, her tone softer now, “i know my dad. he’s . . . stubborn. i mean like, painfully stubborn. me and rafe and even wheezie get it from him. but he’ll get over it. he always does. and honestly, he’s kind of stupid if he doesn’t see you for who you really are.”

you glance at her, surprised by the conviction in her voice. “and who am i, exactly?”

sarah smiles, but it’s not the teasing kind you’re used to. it’s thoughtful, almost sad. “you’re someone who loves my brother. and i mean, really loves him. i never thought i’d see that, you know? someone like you, loving someone like rafe.”

your brows knit together, and you shift in your seat, tilting your head. “someone like me?”

she hesitates, her gaze dropping for a second before meeting yours again. “yeah,” she says quietly. “you’re . . . you. independent, smart, ambitious. you don’t take anyone’s crap, not even his. and trust me, he needs that. but more than that, you’ve always been real, like authentic. even when you were kind of a bitch, and sorry, but you were sometimes, you were just . . . lost. we all were.”

her words hit you harder than you expect, and you’re not sure why. maybe it’s because she’s seeing y/n, like really seeing her, in a way that no one else in this house seems to.

“you’ve been one of my best friends for years,” sarah continues, her voice steady but warm. “even when we weren’t as close, i always knew you were still you. and now? now, you’re finding yourself again. and it’s really good to see. even if it took my idiot brother to bring you back.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head. “i don’t know if i’m really ‘back.’”

sarah shrugs, leaning forward on her elbows. “maybe not. but you’re getting there. and honestly, if my dad doesn’t see that? if he doesn’t see how much you love rafe, how much you’re trying? then he’s an even bigger idiot than i thought.”

you can’t help but grin at that, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “that’s your dad you’re talking about.”

“yeah, well,” sarah says, grinning back, “he deserves it sometimes.”

there’s a moment of quiet between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that feels like an understanding, like a bridge being built.

“and . . . i’m actually, like, so sorry for last week,” you say with a wave of your hand. “for the way i blew up on you. i could’ve handled it so much better, but i didn’t. and that’s on me. i’m trying to do better, to be better, so stuff like that doesn’t happen again.”

sarah’s eyes soften, and she reaches over to place a hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “oh my god, y/n, it’s fine,” she says, her tone light and reassuring. “seriously. one argument isn’t going to ruin us. i know you’re trying, and i see it. besides, if we’ve survived rafe’s terrible cooking, i think we can survive anything.”

you can’t help but laugh at that even though the memories aren’t yours, but the tension in your chest is easing just a little. “you’re not wrong,” you play it off, shaking your head.

sarah snorts, leaning back on her stool. “see? we’ve been through worse. and we’re still here.”

then, she straightens up, her expression turning more serious.

“you really are changing, y/n,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “and i like this new version of you. and someday, the whole world’s gonna see it too. especially when we’re traveling to every country, helping everyone, saving who we can.”

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift, “traveling.”

sarah nods, her smile returning, though it’s tinged with something bittersweet. “yeah. remember? that stupid plan we made in the eighth grade. i can’t believe i remember that. you and me, seeing the world, doing something that matters. i mean, we’re obviously still doing that, right?”

her words stir something in you, something deep and unspoken. you don’t remember reading about it in the journal, but it feels so warm.

as far as you can tell, in the show it was like sarah’s life was pretty much just figured out for her, as if she’d be stuck in outerbanks all her life but . . . even y/n managed to build plans with her to explore the world. sarah didn’t need some treasure hunting plot, she had y/n.

“yeah,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “we’re still doing that.”

sarah’s smile widens, and before you can say anything else, she leans in, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. you hesitate for only a second before hugging her back, resting your chin on her shoulder.

but the hug ends too quickly, and not in the way you expect. one second, sarah’s leaning forward, and the next, she’s losing her balance.

you feel yourself teetering backward, your hand instinctively shooting out to steady yourself on the edge of the bar, but it’s no use, sarah’s grip slips, and in her panic, she reaches for the counter.

the sound of glass shattering on the floor is instant. sharp. final.

your heart jumps into your throat as both of you freeze, wide-eyed.

“oh my god,” you whisper, staring at the bar even though you can’t see the damage from where you’re sitting. your mouth falls open, and you glance at sarah, whose face is twisted into a mixture of guilt and disbelief.

“oh my god,” sarah echoes, her voice quieter but no less panicked. she’s leaning over the counter, trying to peek at the mess below, though it’s clear she can’t see anything either.

you don’t know whether to laugh or panic, and for a few seconds, you do neither. you just stare at her, waiting for her reaction.

finally, sarah pulls back and looks at you, her lips pressed into a tight line as if she’s trying to hold it together. but then her expression cracks, and she lets out a breathy, almost defeated laugh.

“okay. okay, this is fine,” she says, more to herself than to you. “i’ll clean it up. just . . . go upstairs, and i’ll meet you up there.”

“are you sure?” you ask, watching as she makes her way across the room toward a neatly hung broom and dustpan set on the wall.

“yes, i’m sure,” she says, already pulling the broom off its hook. “this isn’t my first time breaking something down here. trust me, i’ve got this.”

you chuckle, shaking your head as you stand. “if you say so,” you say, still feeling a little guilty.

you linger for a moment, watching as she starts sweeping up the shards of glass with practiced ease. then, with a final glance over your shoulder, you head for the stairs.

you take the last step cautiously, your hand grazing the banister as your eyes scan the room. that’s when you see him.

rafe is just leaving the kitchen, his broad shoulders disappearing through the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard.

“a’right, i’ll be back,” he calls out, his voice carrying easily through the space. you watch him go, your gaze lingering on the door for a moment before it hits you. you’re not alone.

ward is still in the kitchen. he’s standing at the head of the island, facing you, his hands resting on the countertop. his posture is stiff, almost tense, like he’s deep in thought.

your first instinct is to turn around, to slip quietly into the living room and make your way to the staircase that leads up to rafe’s room. oh, wonder how this’ll play out. if ward’s here, he probably doesn’t want you here.

he doesn’t move at first. his hands rest on the edge of the counter, his gaze cast downward like he’s deep in thought or maybe just tired. for a second, it looks like he’s about to scratch the back of his head and walk away, but he stays rooted in place.

and then, before you can stop yourself, you take a step forward.

“why don’t you like me?”

your voice comes out stronger than you expect, cutting through the silence like a knife.

ward freezes. his head lifts slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a sharpness that makes your breath hitch. at first, he looks almost offended, his brows pulling together in a way that feels like a warning. but then, slowly, his expression shifts.

he doesn’t say anything.

“no, seriously,” you press, your voice a little shakier now but still firm. “why don’t you like me? for god knows how long, you’ve been nothing but . . . or no, you’ve been literally nothing.”

ward’s gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s something in the way he tilts his head slightly, like he’s listening even if he doesn’t want to.

“i can’t wrap my head around it,” you continue, the words coming faster now. “are we ever going to fix this? or are we just going to live the rest of our lives avoiding each other? because, honestly, it feels like we owe it to the family to at least try to communicate. every time i walk into a room with you, it’s like everything and everyone goes still. and i just— what did i ever do to you?”

your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate it, hate how vulnerable you sound. but you don’t look away. you can’t.

ward’s head lowers slightly, his eyes narrowing as he stares at you. it’s the kind of look a parent gives when they hear something they don’t like. it’s stern, almost disapproving. but you’re just as upset as he is, and you feel like you have every right to be.

he cocks his head toward the island, the motion subtle but deliberate. it takes you a moment to realize he’s gesturing to one of the stools.

“sit down,” he says.

you hesitate, your brows furrowing as you try to gauge his intentions. but then he turns away, walking over to the sink.

you watch as he picks up a towel and starts wiping down a plate. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say anything else, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake.

still, you move toward the stool, your steps cautious. you settle into it carefully, your shoulders tense but beginning to ease as you watch him work.

finally, ward glances at you out of the corner of his eye. he sets the plate down on the counter, his hand still holding the towel as he speaks.

“i don’t hate you, you know,” he says, his voice calm but firm. his movements are slow, deliberate, like he’s trying to buy himself time before speaking again.

he presses his palms against the edge of the sink, his fingers flexing once before he turns his head slightly in your direction. “and i was wrong,” he says, nodding once like he’s confirming it to himself as much as to you. “i know that.”

your breath catches. of all the things you expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

ward turns to face you fully, his expression unreadable but not as closed off as before. you don’t say anything, just watching, waiting, because this conversation, this moment, shouldn’t be happening with you. it should be happening with her.

but it’s not. it’s you. and you don’t know what to do with that.

he sighs, rubbing his fingers together for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest. “i’ve been watching you these past few months,” he admits, his voice quieter now, more measured. “i see you. i see how much you’ve changed.”

you swallow hard, your fingers curling into your palms.

“you’re getting better.” he nods again, almost like he’s convincing himself. “i don’t think i ever said that to you. but i should have. you always had a good heart when you were a kid,” he continues, his voice distant, like he’s remembering. “but somewhere along the way, you lost it.”

“but then you came around,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “and i see that now. and look, i know i’m not the easiest person. i know i have my expectations, and i know that sometimes . . . i hold onto things longer than i should.”

he shakes his head slightly. “but you’ve proven me wrong, y/n.”

your breath catches.

ward looks at you like he’s really seeing you, his expression unreadable but different, not as guarded, not as cold. “i don’t think i’ve ever told you that. and i should have, and i’m sorry.”

your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak. you just wait.

“for a long time, i thought . . .” he pauses, considering his next words carefully. “i thought you were a bad influence on rafe, on the girls. and maybe, back then, you were. but now?” he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “now, i see that you’re good for him. good for this family.”

“he loves you,” ward continues, his voice steady. “and i know you love him. that means something. that matters.”

your fingers twitch slightly in your lap. you don’t know what to say. you don’t even know if you should say anything.

there’s a beat of silence before he shifts his weight slightly and exhales. “look, i know this week has been . . . a lot,” he says, almost like he’s testing the words before fully committing to them. “but if you’d like, maybe, you could come with us somewhere for a few weeks like we used to when you guys were kids.”

your brows knit together slightly, lips parting in quiet surprise.

“it wouldn’t be for a while, ‘til maybe this summer,” he adds quickly, almost like he’s giving you an out. “but if you wanted to.”

you don’t know what to say. for the first time, ward cameron isn’t just tolerating your presence. he’s inviting you in. holy shit, did you just seal the deal for y/n’s relationship with ward? did you seal the deal for yourself?

ward watches you, waiting, and when you don’t say anything right away, he tilts his head slightly, his brows raising in that way dads do when they’re expecting a response. then he exhales through his nose, almost amused, shaking his head slightly.

“well?” he prompts, voice still firm but with an edge of something lighter, something that almost sounds like patience.

you blink. you don’t know what to say, but ward is still looking at you, expectant but not forceful. so you swallow the hesitation in your throat and nod slightly. “yeah,” you say softly. “forgiven . . . thank you. for everything.”

his lips press together, and he gives a single nod, like he’s acknowledging the weight of those words. then, after a beat, he pats his palm against the counter once, as if sealing the conversation.

sarah steps onto the main floor, glancing behind her as if making sure the basement isn’t suddenly going to collapse after the mess she just cleaned up, only to immediately pause.

her eyes flicker between you and her dad, seated at the island, not avoiding each other, not silently pretending the other doesn’t exist.

she hesitates, like she’s unsure if she walked in at the wrong time or if she’s even in the right house. her brows furrow, her nose scrunches slightly.

“what’s going on?” her voice is like she’s caught onto something she wasn’t meant to see.

before you or ward can even think of an answer, the sound of the sliding door from the backyard shifts open, and rafe’s voice cuts in, casual and unaware. “hey, dad, i couldn’t find the—” he starts, stepping inside, but he slows his pace almost immediately when his eyes land on the scene in front of him.

his gaze flickers between you and ward, then to sarah, like maybe she’ll have some kind of explanation, but she’s just as clueless as he is. still, there’s something almost amused in her expression, like she’s already piecing things together faster than her brother.

rafe, on the other hand, looks at the two of you like this is some kind of elaborate prank. his lips part slightly, his head tilts, brows drawing together in that signature confused-cameron look.

ward, ever the composed one, is the first to break the silence. he leans back slightly, hands resting on the island as he shifts his attention to his kids. “we were just talking,” he says simply, though there’s an unmistakable ease to his voice that wasn’t there before.

sarah’s eyes narrow slightly, suspicious, but there’s a flicker of something impressed there too. rafe, still playing catch-up, shakes his head slightly, trying to process whatever the hell he just walked into.

before either of them can dig into it further, ward smoothly changes the subject. “what movie are you guys thinking for tonight?” he asks, his tone light, almost casual.

you barely have a moment to process the shift before he turns to you. “y/n, why don’t you help me with the snacks?”

it’s not a question, it’s an invitation. a surprising, unexpected invitation.

rafe reacts immediately, jerking his head back like he just got whiplash. “what?” he blurts out, pure disbelief coloring his tone.

your eyebrows shoot up, equally taken aback, but you catch the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at sarah’s lips, like she’s already reading into this moment and what it means.

still, you nod, pushing yourself up from the stool, hesitating only for a second before making your way around the counter to where ward stands. as you pass rafe, you send him a look, a silent, wide-eyed ‘oh my god’ look, and he just blinks at you, still visibly struggling to compute whatever the hell is happening.

ward, unfazed, reaches up into a cabinet, searching for something. “hey, sar, rafe,” he calls, his voice even. “can you two set up the movie and let rose and wheezie know to be downstairs in . . .” he pauses mid-sentence, then glances toward you as if waiting for confirmation on a time.

you shrug slightly, guestimating. “fifteen minutes?”

ward nods, turning back to his kids. “fifteen minutes,” he repeats, and with that, he resumes rummaging through the cabinet for the right bowls.

sarah takes a step back first, but not before glancing at rafe, her expression absolutely gloating. she doesn’t say anything, but the way she tilts her head, the way her brows lift slightly, it’s enough to tell him, this is happening.

rafe exhales sharply, shakes his head in disbelief, and finally turns toward the living room, muttering something under his breath about how this is going to take some getting used to.

and just like that, the dynamic shifts. for the first time since you’ve been here, something feels different. maybe even . . . right.

tags ── @v2los @cosmixstar @meeuhsworld @lilithblackkk @rovckwells @cherrylooney @iissza @namelesslosers @cocolovey @rafeyswrd @odairtrqsh @gretag13 @vivian-555 @lunaleah @smol-coffee-addict @twinge-vix @drewsephrry @avngrssckr @cali-888 @simpingcorner @nymphetkoo @pinkpantheris @ilyrafe @romaescapes @thereallifebambi @rafesweetie @faephoria @solo-pitstop-vibes @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @sgecorrow @rafesgiirl @ravisinghs-wife @booksntings @tinyfairies @maybankslover @honeyluvsatj @darleneslane @alysaaaa444 @w4nnabeurs @thewrittenpodcast @watersquirtpewpewboomm @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @benbarneslut @illicit-affcirs @helo1281917 ++

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[writeriguess]

Katsuki Bakugo x female reader where:

Reader is a nurse and Katsuki is brought in after he got injured in a boss fight. Nothing too serious, a nasty gash on his arm that needs stitches. Katsuki recognises reader as his childhood best friend. He pushed her away back then because he had a crush on her and didn't know how else to deal with it. End it how you want.

A Memory

The emergency room was a blur of movement, the harsh fluorescent lights bouncing off the sterile white walls. You moved efficiently, weaving through the chaos, clipboard in hand, until a familiar name flashed on your patient list.

Bakugo Katsuki.

You barely had time to process it before stepping into the room. There he was, sprawled out on the hospital bed, one arm lazily draped over his stomach while the other—his dominant one—was held out for examination. The deep gash along his bicep oozed blood, staining the gauze a nurse had hastily pressed against it before calling for a doctor.

Your heart clenched.

It had been years since you’d last seen him, but there was no mistaking those sharp crimson eyes or the scowl twisting his features. His hair was still the same wild mess, though now streaked with dried sweat and dust. He was bigger, broader, clad in his hero costume that was ripped in various places. But it was him.

You cleared your throat. “Bakugo.”

His gaze snapped to yours, ready with a glare—until recognition struck him like a punch to the gut.

“…No way.” His voice was gruff, slightly raspy from battle. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“Good to see you too,” you said dryly, stepping closer. You reached for his arm, ignoring the way he flinched ever so slightly. “I’m going to need to stitch this up. Looks like the boss you were fighting gave you a hard time.”

“Tch. Just a scratch.” He turned his head away, but you could see the tension in his jaw.

Typical Bakugo. Still stubborn, still pretending he was invincible. But he wasn’t a boy anymore, and neither were you.

You prepped the suture kit in silence, focusing on the task at hand. But you felt his eyes flickering toward you, again and again. The weight of unspoken words settled between you, heavier than any wound you could stitch closed.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he finally muttered, his voice lower this time.

You raised a brow, carefully inserting the needle into his skin. “Didn’t think you wanted to.”

He winced, but you knew it wasn’t from the stitches.

“Damn it,” he growled, exhaling sharply. “I was a dumbass back then.”

You paused for a beat, waiting for him to continue.

Bakugo shifted uncomfortably. His usual arrogance was still there, but something else lurked beneath it—guilt.

“I pushed you away,” he admitted, staring at the ceiling now. “Didn’t know how else to—” He huffed. “Doesn’t matter.”

You let out a small sigh, tying off the last stitch. “It mattered to me.”

His jaw clenched. “I know.”

The honesty in his voice surprised you. You weren’t sure what you’d expected—maybe some deflection, maybe a snarky comment. But this? This was new.

“You know,” you said, voice softer now, “I waited for an explanation back then. Something. Anything.”

Bakugo exhaled harshly, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his uninjured hand. “Yeah. And I was too much of a dumbass to give it to you.”

A small silence stretched between you, the tension thick but not entirely unpleasant. His fingers flexed slightly against the bed, as if itching to reach out.

You busied yourself with checking the gauze again, even though it was secure. “So why now?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Because… I don’t wanna waste more time.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the rawness in his tone. You glanced up at him, surprised by the way his eyes held none of their usual fiery defiance—just something real, something genuine.

“You’ve changed,” you murmured.

His lips twisted slightly, not quite a smirk but something close. “Tch. Took me long enough, huh?”

You chuckled softly. “Yeah, it did.”

For a moment, it felt like old times again, the familiarity settling between you like a long-forgotten warmth. It wasn’t perfect. There were still scars—both old and new—but maybe, just maybe, there was still something worth salvaging.

“Hey,” he muttered, scratching at his neck. “Can I… I dunno, buy you a coffee or somethin’ sometime?”

Your lips quirked up. “Is this your way of apologizing?”

He scowled. “It’s my way of talkin’ to you again, dumbass.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Alright, Bakugo. Coffee it is.”

For the first time since he walked into that hospital, his lips twitched upward—just slightly. It wasn’t much, but for him, it was everything.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Never mind I had one more in the tank.

‘Who’s you’re favourite person?’ Sam asked once.

‘Joaquin.’ You replied without hesitation.

Sam’s brow quirks upwards as a amused smile crept on his face, the same face that you and Joaquin had teased him constantly that made him look as though he knew something about you both, he didn’t understand the joke but that only made it funnier for you and Joaquin. ‘Why?’ He said.

You shrugged. ‘Why not. He’s my favourite person because when I’m with him I can be myself, I can be a little silly and not feel bad about it. I can be stupid and instead of laughing at me, Joaquin is laughing with me.’ You smiled to yourself when you remembered how you tripped over thin air, only for Joaquin to catch you as he tells you to be careful, only for him to trip over his own feet seconds later which lead to the pair of you laughing at the irony of the moment; To you that was the beauty of Joaquin Torres.

‘Joaquin is someone who I can go to in conference, knowing he’ll always have my back, offer wise sage like advice even when it’s like three in the morning and we’re both half out of our minds. As long as I know k have Joaquin in my corner, then I can take on anything and everything for he’s my friend, my other half, my person whom I can’t live without as I don’t want to ever think of having to live without him anymore.’ You continued as you remembered how often you spent in his room more then your own at this point, always feeling that warmth within your chest whenever you saw him after mission and how happy you were to see him come back from his without so much as some minor bruises and cuts.

You remembered how often you’d find yourself tucked protectively within his embrace after movie nights and how you’d give just about anything just to stay like this within his arms forever, protected and protecting him when you found his head on your chest on the rare occasion where he needed your comfort, never once withholding it from him as he was more then deserving of anything and everything. You couldn’t help but swoon when you remembered the nights where you both would go to the roof of the compound to watch the stars, only to find yourself looking at them as they visited within his eyes, the man was beautiful and he knew it and you weren’t one to let him forgot it either.

‘He’s my favourite person because he’s authentically himself, never giving up his true self just to fit in with the rest and I admire him for doing so. He’s my person because without him I’ve got nothing, he’s my person because he makes life brighter and more worthwhile and worth running the risk for and I can’t thank him enough for being my person.’ You finished telling Sam, who had been looking over your shoulder the entire time, which made you furrow your brows as you looked to see what had caught his attention, only to see that Joaquin was stood in the doorway behind you with his arms crossed over his chest; smiling.

‘He’s asked you the same thing huh?’ He says with a playful air to his voice, but his eyes held a sense of sincerity as he pushed himself away to move to your side, leaving your feeling a rush of warmth wash over you from the close proximity when he moves his head so it was near your ear. ‘But I’m glad to hear that I’m your favourite person, the feelings more than reciprocated my love.’ He whispered before pressing a kiss to your forehead tenderly, making you lean into his touch and smiling stupidly, but that was the effect he had over you without having to try though that’s what you loved most about him.

[weneeya]

worried m.list | rules

pairing. jason todd x reader

note. omg i love jason sm of course i'd do that ; worried jason is adorable, my boy is doing his best <3

You were supposed to be here. He left you alone in your apartment before he left for his night patrol. So why weren’t you here anymore? Where were you? Jason thought he was about to go crazy. He was searching everywhere, calling your phone, but you weren’t answering at all.

Yes, he came back earlier than usual, but it was a reason to disappear, was it? What if something bad had happened while he was gone? Jason was making the worst scenarios in his head. Until he heard the sound of the door opening. He turned around and you arrived in the living room, a bit surprised. 

You didn’t have the time to say anything that Jason was standing in front of you, a visible frown across his eyebrows. “Where the hell were you?!” His voice was too loud, too angry ; you didn’t like that at all. You slowly raised an eyebrow at his tone, feeling the slight irritation growing inside of you. 

“My friend needed me, so I left to see her.” You explained but it didn’t calm Jason at all. “You know Gotham’s not safe at night. What if you got attacked, or worse?” He was clearly angry, but it simply made you angry too. You weren’t a child, you didn’t need him to act like he was your own father. 

“Quit yelling at me, would ya?” Your tone was harsh, and it caught him off guard. He wasn’t so used to any reaction like this from you, so he was taken aback. He was about to answer when you pointed at his chest, looking into his eyes. “I don’t need you to protect myself, Jason. I’m a grown adult!” And in those words, you left the living room to get locked up in the bathroom. You really needed a shower. 

Jason stayed alone in here, standing up and a bit lost about what just happened. Did he get too far? He knew you were strong enough to defend yourself ; he loved you for that. But he couldn’t help it ; he was always worried when he knew you were alone in the streets at night. He meant what he said: Gotham wasn’t safe at all, and he knew what he was talking about. 

He saw so many people get hurt without any reason, and he was just so scared to lose you. Anger was his only way to express those feelings, but making you mad was the last thing he ever wanted. So he sat on the couch and waited for you to get out of the bathroom. It took you long minutes, and he was almost falling asleep. Or at least, he would have if he wasn’t thinking so much about what he wanted to tell you. 

When you joined the living room again, your gaze met his figure and you rolled your eyes. You sat next to him in silence, hating this stupid sad look on his face. You hated to see it, but he needed to understand what was wrong. Jason took your hand softly in his. “Look at me, please… I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to react like this.” You turned around, meeting his eyes ; and he knew he wasn’t lying. There was too much sincerity in it for that ; you knew him by heart. 

You stayed silent, waiting for him to keep going for a moment. He breathed out softly, leaving a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “I was just… worried. I’m always so scared when you’re alone out there. I know you’re strong ; but those guys can be crazy.” And how could you blame him? You knew Jason got through hell because of one of them. You finally completely turned to face him, grabbing both his hands between yours. 

“I’m not angry because you’re worried. I am because you yelled at me like I was completely dumb and not careful.” He slowly nodded at your words, understanding that he didn’t react the way he should have. Your hand gently moved to his cheek so you could stroke it with your thumb so slightly. Jason leaned onto your touch, eyes now closed at the feeling. 

You felt like home for him, and he’d rather die than having to lose this feeling once more. He left a soft kiss against the palm of your hand, making you smile lightly. “I’d be careful with my reactions,” he told you, looking back at your eyes. You leaned forward a little, leaving a small peck against his lips. “And I won’t leave without telling you where I am.” 

A silent agreement, so things could work. Jason was making so many efforts for you, all the time ; the less you could do was to do some efforts too. Moreover, Jason was clearly worth it. The boy needed a comfort and safe place to calm his home ; and you were ready to be this for him.

thank you for reading!

[wonderthor]

alpha toji does not want anymore kids, but that doesn’t mean shit to you in the middle of your heat

he has you in a prone bone, dropping his hips down hard and mean, thrusting into you as deep as he can so you can feel him in your stomach.

“tooojiii”

“yeah baby?”, he says with a big smirk on his face as he licks behind your ear, making your head lean up a bit.

“want it, you’re kn-knot”

he giggles, “can’t give it to you right now pretty girl, don’t wanna knock you up”

“but i need it, need it so baaaaad!”

you’re sobbing while he’s laughing. he thinks he’s got it in control, has slept with enough omegas to know how to keep his alpha instincts in check. or so he tells himself.

“shhhh, just be quiet and take it. just let me make you feel better pretty.”

you dig your nails in the covers of your bed at his hips slapping into yours even harder.

“but i can’t feel…hmmm…better unless y-you gimme your knot!”

he ignores you and keeps licking at your ear, trying to keep both of your minds off of it.

completely pissing you off.

“alpha! need your knot! give it to me! please please please! gonna die without it!”

he really laughs at that.

“don’t be so dramatic baby. just hold on, alpha’s gonna make you feel all better real soon.”

you whine, his answer not good enough for your heat-ridden mind.

“toji…need you to fill me up…all the way…keep it inside, please? i’ll be so good, p-please be a good alpha and knot me!”

toji falters at that, not expecting your words to reach his very controlled alpha instincts.

he leans down and wraps you up in his arms, putting his heavy body weight on you and holding you up at the same time. he picks up his pace and drops his hips down into you harder, making your eyes roll back in your head. he moves his head down to lick at your scent gland.

all of the new stimulation has you babbling “knot knot knot” over and over in his ear.

he grunts and sucks on your scent gland, trying to get you to shut up and get his body to stop listening to you. he’s close and trying to hard not to fuck up now. unfortunately, you know his body too well and can tell how close he is by the arrhythmia of his thrusts.

“yes! yes alpha! please! please give me your knot! want to feel you so deep inside! w-want to feel it for days! please be a good alpha and fill your omega up nice and deep with your knot!”

fuck.

he can’t help it when he growls loud and mean and sinks his teeth in your shoulder, his hips still and his knot that he was so desperately trying to pull out locks in place. both of you reach your climax together at you fitting together like a puzzle, ropes and ropes of his cum filling you up all the way to the brim.

you drop your head into the covers in exhaustion, shivers taking over your body. he leans up and looks down in disbelief.

he can’t believe he really fucking did that.

when his knot deflates after emptying everything he had into you, your climbing into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“thank you toji! you’re the best alpha ever!”

he pouts, “i’m going to go get you a muzzle before your next wave starts.”

[arcanarix]

yandere geto, slice of life, geto is a piece of shit as per usual but simultaneously he's also whipped for u

geto claims he’ll allow the world to burn to a crisp if it meant keeping you in his arms, which isn’t entirely far off from the truth. that’s his goal either way, isn’t it? he wants a world without monkeys, save for you who is his sole exception, and he insists you take care to understand the gravity of such a choice. he wants a world where sorcerers are free to just be.

you do take advantage of his devotion—or is it obsession, a kind of limerence even?—at times.

like in this moment, rejoicing in the stillness as he massages some oil and lotion into your skin as you lay upon these fresh silk sheets. burying your head into your folded arms, breathing through your nose. calming ambient music fills the room from geto’s bose bluetooth speaker on the nightstand. candlesticks are lit in different corners of the room. you feel him lean in, the ends of his mane brushing against your shoulders, kissing into the nape of your neck as he finishes pampering you after a trying day for the both of you.

“are you with me, my love?” he mumbles into your ear.

“mm-mhm,” you hum back, eyes rolling up to peer at him. “is there something you need, suguru?”

“you,” he admits, his finger tracing your cheek. “always you.”

you twist around, laying on your back now as opposed to your stomach. your eyes flutter as you reach out to rest your hands on his chest, tracing the chiseled lines, feeling him relax beneath your touch.

“and if i don’t wish to?” you challenge.

“then it’s okay,” he claims, a little too quickly, a little too certain.

your eyebrows furrow, tone laced in suspicion. “and if… i do wish to?”

“then that’s okay too,” he breathes, his face drawing close to yours. “more than.”

how can you be so sure he’s telling the truth? he claims to respect your boundaries but then he always gets his way. you don’t ever take what he says at face value, and yet…

you study his eyes. those deep pools of amethyst, seeking something. you almost think you find some form of… genuineness.

you still can’t trust him.

the devil is always angelic in appearance, to lull you into a sense of security.

“we will not tonight,” you finalize, testing the waters. as you expect he scowls but relents, pulling away but not without flashing you that look of his, like an indignant, spoiled child. “and i do not love you.”

he winces like your words actually sting.

“you don’t need to,” he snaps, but to your shock, you don’t flinch. “because you can’t leave me. you’ve nowhere to go.”

“yes,” you spit back at him. “you’ve ensured that when you killed everyone i ever loved.”

and made me watch.

“then you understand how serious i am about you,” he continues, and you almost are appalled by the desperation in his tone—like he actually knows what’s best for you. “about us. it’d be in your best interest to get used to it. you’ve already been wise enough not to run away, so you understand, we’re meant to be, and you belong to me. you just haven’t caught up to me yet, but how can i have expected it?”

he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, wipes away a tear that nearly escapes from your eyes as you’re flooded with those memories of a past you can’t return to anymore.

“you simple girl,” he coos, “one day, you’ll see. you’re just lucky i’m willing to wait.”

you grit your teeth.

“i’d sooner allow one of your spirits to eat me alive than love you.”

his scowl returns.

“that’s unfortunate,” he sighs with a shrug. “i guess i’ll just have to have enough love for us both, pet.”

[preiyers]

♱ SLEEPOVER — LUIGI MANGIONE X READER

SUMMARY: telling your boyfriend you won't be sleeping over for the night to see his reaction

A/N: this is sort of inspired by this tiktok

as the movie's end credits rolled, you moved off of luigi's chest, you place down the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table right infront of the couch.

then you sit up on the couch, him doing the same and stretching out his legs.

"that was a good movie huh?" he tells you as he places the blanket along his legs and yours.

"it was!" you smile at him and go on your phone for a while before he checks out some other movies on netflix.from the side of your eye, you could see him pouting as he was focused on reading the summaries of the films on the teleivision and an idea came up in your mind.

"baby, i don't think i'll be sleeping over tonight." you turn to face him, placing the blanket away from your legs now.

he glances between you and the television. "what? yes you are," he says in a straight tone before continuing the scrolling, waiting for you to break and say you were just kidding but when he doesn't hear the usual chipper for you, he stops scrolling.

there was a look on your face that he just knew you weren't lying and when his whole demeanor changes, you knew you got him.

"why baby? is something wrong?" he takes your hand in his as he looks into your eyes worriedly.

you just sigh and shake your head, removing your hand from his.

“i don’t know, i don’t really wanna sleep here. might stay over at a motel or something.” you shrug after speaking.

“why?” and as he speaks, he slowly lays on your lap, arms draped on you and his head on your thighs.

“i just don’t wanna,”

“no.” his voice was muffled by the blanket and he repeatedly says no to try and convince you to not leave his apartment.

“what do you mean no? i’m gonna have to leave soon to get a place or drive to mine,” you try your best to not laugh at the situation, he was very much convinced you weren’t kidding around.

“no-no stay, i’m tired,” luigi was starting to sound like a whining child, begging his parents to let him stay in bed for more hours. “i’ll sleep right here,” hands find your waist and places one there as he pretends to let out a yawn.

“but i don’t wanna sleep here,” you tell him, placing a hand on his head, tangling your fingers in his curls.

“why?” his free hand formed in a fist and lightly jabs your thigh with a light punch. you can tell from the tone of his voice he was sulking, and it made it even cuter that he didn’t want you to go.

“i don’t know i just wanna sleep somewhere else tonight,” he looks up at you, not laying on your thighs anymore then he lets out a breath.

“but how are you gonna get… cuddles and kisses?” now, he was doing the sweet voice to you, eyes sad as he looks at you.

you chuckled softly, caressing his temple with your thumb.

"it’s okay, i can have ‘em next time.” you tried your best to not laugh as you said it.

he whines even more which makes you giggle. he goes quiet for a while, head still on your lap and next thing you know he tucks his arms under you then carries you bridal style.

that man made sure he was going to sleep and wake up with cuddles and kisses.

TAGLIST !

@fuckitiloveyouu @meikoismartha @strawbxrryaxolotyl @ilovetoomanymen @onlyangelicc @for-lovers-always @freeluigihesbae @6oldie

comment if u wanna be added

[iamgonnagetyouback]

finally got the time to read this and omg amora!! how did you make my heart break but heal at the same time ♡

Mattheo had seen Theo at his lowest before. After brutal duels, after fights with his father, after sleepless nights filled with too much firewhisky and not enough self-preservation. But this? This was different.

no because why did this line alone kick me straight in the chest??? i can’t breathe.

Theo was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had the answers to all of his problems.

i love the scenery you set here

Mattheo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Mate." No response. "You look like shit." Still nothing.

i laughed and cried at the same time. mattheo is so done and i love him for it

Theo let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Pathetic. Yeah. That sounds about right."

sir. sir please. my heart can’t take this level of self-loathing. i need to lie down.

"I don’t know who I am without you," he admitted, voice raw.

i need a moment. i need several moments.

"You were the one who broke us, Theo. You made that choice." "I know." His voice cracked. "And I hate myself for it. Every second of every day, I regret it."

if you wanted me to feel like i got punched in the soul, congrats amora, you succeeded.

I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if I can. But if I have to spend the rest of my life proving to you that what we had—what we have—is real, then I will. Even if it’s too late.

stoppppp i’m screaming into my pillow.

and then those letters?!?!??!?

"If you told me to wait for you, I would. I would wait for days, for months, for years—as long as it took for you to believe that I never meant those words."

someone check on me because i am not okay.

i can’t even form coherent thoughts anymore, just violently kicking my feet and clutching my chest.

i will be thinking about this at completely random times during the day and losing my mind over it.

amora, just know that i am sending you a virtual standing ovation. you’ve ruined me. congratulations.

ps. i could go on and on about this but i'm not gonna instead i am coming in your dms and ranting to you about it...

rewritten

theodore nott x reader

summary: part 3, can Theo fix things between you two? after so much heartbreak can you give him a second chance?

a/n:im sorry this took so long, I got hit with writers block and discouragement, hope you guys like it!!

Navigation; masterlist; request rules; part 1; part 2

Mattheo had seen Theo at his lowest before. After brutal duels, after fights with his father, after sleepless nights filled with too much firewhisky and not enough self-preservation. But this? This was different.

This wasn’t anger. Wasn’t recklessness.

This was nothingness.

Theo was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had the answers to all of his problems. His dorm was a disaster—papers scattered, books left open, untouched meals sitting cold on his desk. The only movement in the room came from the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Mattheo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed."Mate."

No response.

"You look like shit."

Still nothing.

Mattheo sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping further into the room. "Alright, fine. You wanna sit here and wallow, go ahead. But you do know this isn’t sustainable, right?"

Theo didn’t even blink.

"Skipping class, not eating, shutting everyone out—what’s the end goal here?"

Silence.

Mattheo clenched his jaw, patience wearing thin. He walked over and grabbed a book off Theo’s desk before chucking it at him. It hit his shoulder, but Theo barely reacted.

That pissed Mattheo off.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" he snapped. "What, you’re just gonna waste away in here? That’s your big plan?"

Finally, Theo shifted. Slowly, he looked up, his face pale and hollow. His voice, when he spoke, was rough. "What do you want me to do, Mattheo?"

"Oh, I don’t know—anything but this?" Mattheo gestured around the room. "You’ve made some stupid decisions before, but this? This is pathetic, even for you."

Theo let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Pathetic. Yeah. That sounds about right."

Mattheo exhaled sharply, dragging a chair closer and sitting across from him. "Listen, I get it. You fucked up. Big time. But wasting away in here isn’t gonna change that. You want her back? Fight for her. You want to move on? Then do it. But don’t just sit here acting like your life is over because she walked away."

Theo’s eyes darkened. "It is over."

Mattheo froze.

It wasn’t the words that shook him—it was the way Theo meant them.

"You don’t get it," Theo muttered, voice raw. "She wasn’t just some girl, Mattheo. She was everything. And I ruined it. I ruined her." His fingers dug into his knees, knuckles white. "So tell me, what exactly am I supposed to do now?"

For the first time, Mattheo didn’t have a quick response. Because fuck—he didn’t know.

He had never seen Theo like this before.

But he did know one thing.

"You need to talk to her," he said finally.

Theo scoffed, shaking his head. "She won’t listen."

Mattheo leaned forward. "Not if you keep sulking like a bloody ghost. But if you really love her? Then you have to at least try."

Theo swallowed hard, his walls cracking just a bit.

Mattheo sighed, standing up. "Look, I can’t force you to get your shit together. But I can ask for help." He glanced toward the door. "If you won’t go to her, maybe she’ll come to you."

Theo’s head snapped up. "Mattheo—"

"Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle," Mattheo said with a smirk, but there was no humor behind it. "Just sit tight, yeah?"

And with that, he walked out, leaving Theo alone with his demons.

The days after your fight with Theodore Nott were oddly quiet. Not because the world had stopped moving, but because a part of you had. No matter how much you tried to push forward, his words still echoed in your head.

“it was just a bet!”

Now, you were sitting in the Great Hall, trying to focus on your breakfast when a presence loomed over you.

"Can we talk?"

You glanced up and met Mattheo Riddle’s gaze. His usual smirk was absent, his dark eyes serious. That alone sent a chill down your spine. Mattheo never looked serious.

You hesitated. "Depends. What about?"

He exhaled sharply and took a seat across from you without invitation. "It’s Theo."

Your stomach twisted, but you masked it with indifference. "Not my problem."

Mattheo scoffed. "Yeah, well, that’s the thing. He’s not exactly making himself anyone’s problem anymore. He’s barely eating, hasn’t been to class in days, and I haven’t seen him leave his room since—" He stopped himself, but you knew what he was about to say.

Since you left him on his knees in the library.

You forced yourself to take a bite of toast, despite suddenly losing your appetite. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

"You don’t have to do anything. But maybe… just talk to him?"

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "You do remember that he completely shattered my trust, right? That I was just some game to him?"

Mattheo ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I know, okay? I know he screwed up. And if you never want to see him again, I get it. But…" His voice lowered. "I don’t think he’s okay. I don’t think he will be if someone doesn’t pull him out of whatever the hell he’s drowning in."

That made your chest tighten. No matter how much Theo had hurt you, you couldn’t pretend you didn’t care. But did you care enough to reopen old wounds? To look at the person who betrayed you and risk getting hurt all over again?

Mattheo must have seen your hesitation because he leaned forward, his voice softer now. "I wouldn’t be here begging if I thought he could fix this himself. But he can’t. And like it or not, you’re the only one who can get through to him."

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea.

But deep down, you already knew what you were going to do.

You stood in front of his dormitory door, your hand hovering over the doorknob, the air thick with uncertainty. You’d come here, but now that you were standing here, the doubt crept back in. Was this the right choice? Could you really face him? Could you even talk to him without everything you felt rushing back—without everything he did rushing back?

You knocked softly, but there was no response. The quiet only made the pressure in your chest grow. Hesitant, you slowly turned the knob, and to your surprise, the door creaked open.

The room was dim, only a few rays of light slipping through the curtains. And there, in the middle of the room, was Theodore Nott. He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression. His body was curled into itself, as if he were trying to shrink away from the world.

A pang of guilt surged through you. You wanted to turn away, to run, but you couldn’t.

Your feet moved before you could stop them, one step at a time, until you were standing beside his bed. You swallowed hard, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside you. "Theo?"

His head snapped toward the sound of your voice, his eyes wide with shock. His expression froze as he stared at you—like he was afraid, as if seeing you might be some cruel trick. His eyes, so full of confusion and fear, shimmered with unshed tears.

"Y/N?… You came?" His voice was barely a whisper, like he didn’t believe you were really there.

A wave of emotion washed over you, but you pushed it down, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mattheo said you weren’t doing well.”

Theo didn’t say anything. He just stared at you, as if your words hadn’t even fully registered yet. His eyes searched your face, every line of his body tense, too afraid to even move, like any sudden movement would make you disappear. You could see how broken he looked, how much he wanted to believe this wasn’t just some dream.

He opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself, as if trying to find the right words, or maybe wondering if words even mattered anymore.

You glanced past him into the room. It was a mess—books scattered, clothes thrown carelessly, a tray of untouched food on the desk. It smelled like stale air and something heartbreakingly lonely.

You hesitated before speaking. "This isn’t you, Theo."

"I don’t know who I am without you," he admitted, voice raw.

You turned to him sharply, something inside you cracking at the sheer honesty in his voice. "Theo…"

"No, let me say this."He exhaled shakily, running a trembling hand through his hair. "I know I don’t deserve to ask for anything from you. I don’t deserve to stand here and beg, but—" He cut himself off, pressing his lips together like he was trying to hold himself together.

And then, quietly, "I don’t know how to exist without you."

Your breath hitched. "You were the one who broke us, Theo. You made that choice."

"I know." His voice cracked. "And I hate myself for it. Every second of every day, I regret it. The bet, the lies, all of it—it was the biggest mistake of my life."

You swallowed, arms tightening around yourself. "Then why did you do it?"

"Because I was a coward." He let out a bitter laugh. "Because I had you—this brilliant, beautiful, impossible thing—and I was terrified that you were too good to be real. That I would love you and you would leave, so I ruined it before you could."

His confession left you breathless.

You had spent so long believing you were never enough for him. That you had been nothing but a game. But hearing this—hearing that he had been just as scared as you had—made your chest ache.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Theo whispered. "But I did. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I need you to know that I loved you. That I still do."

You blinked, eyes burning. "Theo…"

"I would move mountains just to be with you again," he continued, voice shaking. "Even if it takes years. Even if you never look at me the same way again. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that you were never just a bet to me."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, unbidden, and Theo’s breath stuttered like the sight of your pain was physically hurting him.

He reached out instinctively but stopped himself, his hands hovering inches from yours. "Tell me there’s still a chance." His voice was barely a whisper. "Even if it’s not today. Even if it’s not soon. Just tell me I haven’t lost you forever."

You stood there, heart hammering, torn between the pain of the past and the boy in front of you—broken, vulnerable, real.

This was the moment.

The moment where you could walk away, close the door, leave him to his regret.

Or you could stay.

You took a breath.

And then, finally, you spoke.

The first few days after you left his dorm were the hardest.

Theo had promised you he’d fix himself, that he’d become better—not for you, but for himself first. But promises were just words, and words had never been enough. Not when he had already shattered your trust once.

So, for the first time in weeks, he forced himself out of bed.

It wasn’t easy. The weight of his mistakes clung to him like a sickness, making even the smallest things feel impossible. Eating felt pointless. Attending class felt meaningless. But he did it anyway. One step at a time.

At breakfast, Mattheo raised an eyebrow when Theo sat down at their usual table, his plate only half-full.

"Didn’t think I’d see you out of that damn room anytime soon," Mattheo muttered, nudging his shoulder.

Theo didn’t respond right away, just picked at his food before finally saying, "I need to fix things."

Mattheo huffed out a short laugh, though there was no malice behind it. "Yeah? And how do you plan on doing that?"

Theo didn’t have an answer yet. But he knew one thing—he couldn’t keep being this version of himself. The one who wallowed in his grief, who drowned in guilt without trying to swim to the surface.

So, he changed.

He stopped avoiding the world. Stopped shutting people out.

He went to class, even when his mind screamed at him to go back to bed. He studied harder than he ever had before, pouring himself into books instead of his own self-loathing. When his friends spoke to him, he actually listened instead of shutting them out.

He even picked up his journal again, spilling his thoughts onto paper in a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos inside his head. He wrote letters—ones meant for you, ones that would never be sent. Some were apologies, some were confessions, but all of them were real.

But it wasn’t about getting you back.

It was about becoming someone who deserved you.

Someone you could trust again.

Weeks passed before he saw you again.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t fate. It was just life forcing their paths to cross like it always did.

You were sitting by the Black Lake, your nose buried in a book, completely lost in the words. He should’ve walked away. Should’ve kept his distance. But his feet betrayed him, halting a few steps away from you.

You must’ve felt his presence because you looked up, your eyes meeting his.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Theo braced himself for the worst—coldness, anger, maybe even indifference. But instead, you studied him, like if you were trying to figure out if the person standing before you was the same one who had broken your heart.

"You look… different," you said softly.

Theo swallowed. "I had to be."

your gaze didn’t waver. "Why?"

"Because the person I was before didn’t deserve you."

Something flickered in your expression, but you didn’t look away. You just nodded, your grip tightening around the book on your lap.

Not forgiveness. Not yet.

But something.

Weeks turned into months. Theo didn’t push, didn’t force his way back into your life. He just showed up.

Not in the obvious ways. He didn’t beg or plead. Didn’t bombard her with apologies. Instead, he proved himself in the quiet moments.

He helped first-years struggling with their potions when no one was watching. He started paying attention in class, excelling in subjects he used to neglect. He let people rely on him, let himself become someone trustworthy—not just to you, but to everyone around him.

And then, when the time was right, he left something for you.

A book.

Your favorite one, sitting on the library table where you used to study together. But inside, tucked between the pages, were letters.

Dozens of them. Some dated weeks ago, some written only days before.

You hesitated before picking it up, flipping through the pages. And then you saw the first note.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry One

Date: The Night You Left

I haven’t stopped thinking about the look in your eyes. The way you froze. The way your breath caught like I had knocked the air out of you.

I keep telling myself that if I had just shut up, if I had just walked away instead of letting my anger win, you’d still be here. But I didn’t. I let the worst version of myself take control, and now I have to live with the fact that the last thing you heard from me was a lie.

Because that’s what it was. A lie.

You were never a bet.

Not for a single second.

You were the first thing in my life that ever felt real. The first person who looked at me like I was worth something. The first person I ever truly, fully loved. And I threw that away. I let my pride, my temper, my own self-destruction take over, and I broke the one thing I never wanted to lose.

I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if I can. But if I have to spend the rest of my life proving to you that what we had—what we have—is real, then I will.

Even if it’s too late.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 2

Date: One Week Without You

I see you everywhere.

In the empty chair across from me in the library. In the spaces between my fingers where yours used to fit. In the quiet moments where your voice used to live.

And I wonder—do you miss me at all? Do you hear my name in whispers? Do you reach for me in your sleep? Or am I just a scar you’re waiting to fade?

If you told me to wait for you, I would. I would wait for days, for months, for years—as long as it took for you to believe that I never meant those words. That you were never a game to me. That you were the only thing that ever made sense in my life.

But you haven’t told me anything.

So I wait anyway.

Because I can’t imagine a world where I ever stop hoping for you.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 3

Date: Two Weeks Without You

I should’ve told you how beautiful you looked in the mornings, when your hair was a mess and your voice was still laced with sleep.

I should’ve told you how your laugh could pull me out of my worst days, how it became the sound I searched for in crowded rooms.

I should’ve told you that loving you scared me. That it made me feel like I had something to lose for the first time in my life.

I should’ve told you that the night we had our first kiss, I went back to my dorm, sat on my bed, and smiled—just sat there, grinning like an idiot, because I knew, in that moment, that I was done for. That you had ruined me for anyone else.

I should’ve told you that I loved you more than I loved myself.

Maybe if I had, you’d still be here.

-theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 4

Date: three Weeks Without You

You probably don’t know that I still sit in the library, right where you left me. Not every night. Just the ones where I can’t breathe.

You probably don’t know that I reread our old notes, the ones we used to pass back and forth in class. I keep them in my bag like they’re sacred, like they’re proof that once, you laughed with me. That once, I wasn’t just a mistake to you.

You probably don’t know that every time I hear your name, my hands shake.

That I’ve started keeping a list of all the things I should’ve done differently.

That I miss you in a way that feels like it might kill me.

But the worst part?

You probably don’t care anymore.

And I deserve that.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 5

Date: The Day You Knocked on My Door

I thought I was dreaming.

I heard the knock, but I didn’t move. I figured it was Mattheo, coming to drag me out of this room again, to remind me that I’m still supposed to be alive, even when I feel like I’m not.

But then I heard your voice.

And suddenly, I was alive.

I was shocked to see you. Not because I didn’t want to see you—I ached to see you—but because I was afraid. Afraid that I had imagined it. Afraid that you were here just to tell me, to my face, that you were done for good.

But you weren’t.

You were there.

Standing in my doorway, looking at me like you didn’t recognize me anymore. Maybe you don’t. Maybe I really am just a shell of the person you once loved.

You didn’t say anything at first. And I didn’t either. I was too busy memorizing the way your hands twitched at your sides, the way your lips parted slightly like you wanted to speak but didn’t know where to start.

And then, finally—"Mattheo said I should talk to you."

Your voice was quieter than I remembered. Or maybe I had just forgotten what it was like to hear it so close.

I wanted to tell you everything. I wanted to fall to my knees again and beg, to tell you that I haven’t slept, that I haven’t breathed right since you walked away, that I would do anything to rewrite the past.

But instead, I just nodded.

Because I knew this wasn’t my moment to fall apart. This was your moment to decide if I was worth saving.

So I stood there.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Daring to believe that maybe—just maybe—you hadn’t given up on me yet.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 6

Date: One Month Without You

I don’t just want your forgiveness.

I want your trust. Your laughter. Your sleepy morning voice. The way you roll your eyes at me but secretly smile when you think I’m not looking. The way you say my name like it’s something safe.

I want you.

And I know I have no right to ask for that.

But if there is even the smallest chance—if there is even the tiniest sliver of hope that you still look at me and see something worth saving—then I will not waste it.

I will prove it to you. With every breath, with every action, with every single moment I have left in this life.

Because I love you.

And I will spend a lifetime making it right.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

At first, your hands tremble. The pages feel heavier than they should, like they’re carrying all the weight of the past, of everything left unsaid, of him.

You tell yourself you’ll just read one. Just a glimpse. Just to know if he even cares.

But then one turns into two. Then three. Then all of them.

And suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Because this isn’t just guilt. This isn’t just some empty apology, some desperate attempt to win you back with words. This is raw. This is pain. This is love.

This is a boy breaking himself open, spilling every ugly, unspoken truth onto paper because he doesn’t know how else to reach you.

And God, you feel it.

You feel it in the way his handwriting shakes in some letters but steadies in others, like he’s fighting himself, like he’s trying to hold on and let go at the same time.

You feel it in the confessions he never said out loud—the ones about how he saw you in everything, how he would’ve moved mountains to take it all back, how he doesn’t just want you to forgive him, he wants you to trust him.

And when you read the last letter—the one about how he would spend a lifetime making it right—you realize something.

He never stopped fighting for you.

Not once.

Not even when he thought he had already lost.

And then, with your chest so tight it almost hurts, you look up.

He’s already watching you.

Theo looks like he’s barely breathing, like the moment is too fragile, like if he moves too fast, you might disappear. There’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen in a long time—something that almost makes your throat close up.

Hope.

He doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting. Letting you decide what happens next.

And for the first time in a long time, you realize…

He means it.

Every word. Every promise.

The silence between you stretches, thick with everything unsaid. The letters are still clutched in your hands, his words lingering in your chest, pressing against the pieces of your heart that you swore were too broken to be put back together.

Theo swallows hard. His hands twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. "Say something," he finally murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. "Do you really mean it?"

He doesn’t hesitate. "Every word."

"And you’re not just saying all of this because you miss me? Because you feel guilty?" Your voice is careful, guarded—because this has to be real. If you give him your heart again, there’s no surviving if he shatters it a second time.

Theo steps closer. Not too close, but enough that you can see the raw desperation in his eyes. "I’m saying this because losing you was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Because I was an idiot, and I hurt you, and I will never forgive myself for that." He pauses, his breath shaky. "But more than anything, I’m saying it because I love you. I never stopped. And I never will.*"

Your heart clenches painfully. "Theo…"

"You don’t have to say it back," he cuts in quickly. "You don’t have to promise me anything. Just—" He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. "Just tell me there’s a chance. Tell me I haven’t lost you forever."

You look at him then, really look at him. He’s not the same person he was that night in the library. He’s not the boy who let pride and recklessness ruin the best thing in his life. He’s different. He’s trying.

And that’s when you know.

You step forward, closing the distance between you. His breath catches as your hand brushes against his—light, hesitant, but enough to make his whole body go still.

"I’m still angry," you admit softly. "I’m still hurt."

Theo nods, his jaw tightening. "I know."

"But…" You take a breath, steadying yourself. "I believe you."

His eyes widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting those words. "You—"

"I believe that you mean it," you clarify. "And if you’re really going to prove it—if you’re really going to fight for this—"

You pause, feeling the weight of this moment. Then, finally, you say the words that make his breath shudder.

"Then I’m willing to try."

For a second, Theo doesn’t move. He just stares at you, like he’s afraid he imagined it. But then—

"You won’t regret it," he swears, his voice cracking slightly. "I swear on everything, I won’t waste this chance."

And when he finally, finally takes your hand—holding it like it’s the most precious thing in the world— you let him.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

tag list: @simp-for-fantasy @nottinmyheart

[gheshjjb]

I came home early from class today not expecting anything to crazy, but that was my mistake. As I entered my house I nears the shower going off. I didn’t think much of it until I passed the bathroom and saw the door was open, and along with the sounds of the shower I also heard..moaning? Curiosity getting the better of me I looked. And what do I see? My brother Sam making out in the shower with some other jock. Except it wasn’t my brother. Because my brother, at least to my knowledge was as straight as an arrow, and definitely not as much of a whore as he was being right now. No Sam the serious preppy bro ish jock wouldn’t act like this, but I know who would. My uncle Jay who took over his body a couple weeks ago. He’d just been evicted and had nowhere to go. He wasn’t really in contact with the rest of my family except for me, he was desperate and I thought what I was doing what the right thing. And I thought I’d be able to teach my smug older brother a lesson. He’d been such an asshole growing up and it only got worse since he’s stayed home to go to college. but I was wrong. Apparently uncle Jay was gay and had been whoring out Sam’s body ever since he stepped foot into his 20 years younger jock body. It was only supposed to be temporary, but uncle Jay is making no moves to leave Sam’s body, dressing in barely nothing, parading his basically naked body around the house. He dumped Sam’s high school sweetheart and instead started bringing random hunks to the house to fuck. Shit I don’t know what to do now, I can’t find the spell to undo it. Uncle Jay must’ve hidden it or something, he really doesn’t want to leave. Sam’s definitely more tolerable now I guess, he’s not being an ass to me anymore, but that’s because he’s more preoccupied with “other” things. I guess I’ll just have to see how this plays out.

[i-dared-myself]

Forced to Main

Stray Kids x reader

Requested by anonymous: Hey I’ve been reading your Skz x 9th member fics And wanted to request one where reader used to be the main vocal but got tons of hate during idk maybe maxident era and after gets scared to sing any of her old lines so she like becomes a rapper and doesn’t get much lines anymore

“Are you sure you don’t want to take these lines?” Chan asks, looking up from his laptop. He’s wearing his usual soft smile, dimples forming at the corners.

“I’m sure.” You scroll through your feed, liking a post. “Rapping is fine.”

After the hateful comments you received during the MAXIDENT era, you took a backseat. You had cried for hours over the harsh words the media said about you. Now you refuse to do anything except rap, not wanting to be exposed to the cruel spotlight.

“It’s just…” Chan shifts and types something in, keys clacking. “We don’t have a lot of rapping lines. And they get taken by the others, so you don’t get a lot of lines.”

“I’m okay with it.” You stand up, slipping your phone in your pocket. “Are we done now?”

Chan sighs and shrugs. “I guess so. I’ll send you the lines so that you can prep for recording.”

“Sounds great.” You turn your back to him and go out the door, not catching the expression on his face. 

You wander down to the dance studio, where Hyunjin and Minho are working on a new dance. You watch them from the doorway, a small smile on your lips.

Hyunjin glanced up, rubbing at his buzzed hair. “Oh, what are you doing here?”

“I have nothing else to do.” You wander inside, noticing the glance they share with each other. “What? What’s that look for?”

Minho rolls out his shoulders, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “The others are working on voices right now. Why don’t you join them?”

“I don’t have my lines yet.” You shake your head. “Chan’s figuring something out for my rap verse.”

Hyunjin brightens. “Oh! What if you take some of the main vocals! Remember you used to do that?”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Minho questions. He reaches for his water bottle and uncaps the top. “You used to do it, and you’re good at it.”

“No, I’m not good,” you firmly say. “And I’m just going to rap.”

Hyunjin frowns, but doesn’t push the matter further. He switches topics, eyes flicking to Minho before back to you. “Did you want to help us with this dance then?”

Minho swallows his sip of water before placing the bottle down. “There’s a lift we need to work on.”

“A lift?” you repeat. “Uh, I guess. Who am I lifting?”

Hyunjin scoffs. “Oh, please. I’m buffer than you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Let’s arm wrestle. Loser gets lifted.”

Minho chuckles darkly, almost menacingly. “I want to see this.”

There’s a table set up in the corner, so the three of you gather around it. You and Hyunjin face off, with Minho being the referee. You struggle for a minute before he slams your arm down.

You flex your wrist, feeling spasms of your old wrist injury. “Okay, fine. Lift me.”

Minho and Hyunjin get into position, holding their hands out for you to step on. You stabilize yourself with your hands on their shoulders, wobbling slightly as they push you upwards.

“Okay,” Minho says, “now carefully-“

You fall.

Your injured wrist catches the most of your weight with a sickening crunch.

Hyunjin gags, covering his eyes. “That’s- Oh my gosh!”

Your eyes water at the pain, clutching it with your other hand. “I- It really hurts.”

Minho kneels next to you, eyebrows pinched with concern. “Yeah… Hyunjin, go get Chan.”

“It hurts.” You whimper as Minho gently touches your wrist. He retracts his hand and awkwardly pats his back.

“This is entirely your fault,” he tells you, much to your outrage.

“What?” you exclaim, pain momentarily forgotten. “How the hell is this my fault?”

“You lost to Hyunjin.” Minho points his chin to the table where the arm wrestling had occurred. “If you had won, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Chan hurries in with wide eyes, Hyunjin and a first aid attendant behind him. He motions to you and the first aid attendant bustles over to you. Your wrist is examined and you’re told to go to the hospital.

“I’ll drive you,” Chan says, patting himself down. He locates his phone (in his pocket as usual) and messages the rest of the group. “Minho, Hyunjin, go home and prepare dinner,” Chan orders. “We’ll get there as soon as we can.”

Hyunjin nods. “Will do. Uh, does preparing dinner mean getting food delivered?”

Chan waves a hand at them, shooing you out the door. “Sure. Whatever.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You broke your wrist, and are in a cast. It won’t be off in time for an upcoming performance, which means you can’t do your choreography. Yours includes a lot of hand movements, and you can’t exactly do that now.

Felix perks up on the couch. “What about if she takes the main vocals? It doesn’t have any hand motions.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Jisung says with a mouthful of dinner, which was not homemade. “Seungmin is good at rapping and could take over.”

Seungmin shrugs. “I’d be okay with it.”

Everyone faces you, and your stomach sinks. This is it. What you had been dreading.

“I’m not sure,” you warily say. “I’m not the best at it.”

“What are you talking about?” Changbin lifts the corner of his lip. “You’re great. I don’t know why you took rapping when you’re amazing at main vocal.”

You shift in your seat, glaring at your cast. Everyone had tried to sign it and you had barely kept them away.

“Give it a try?” Jeongin pleads. He blinks slowly, making sure to be as adorable as possible. “Pretty please?”

Damn him and his cuteness.

“Fine,” you relent, sighing heavily. You scowl at him and he just smiles pleasantly. “I’ll do it.”

Chan stands up, placing his hands on his hips. “Great. Now that it’s settled, we’ll practise this new arrangement tomorrow. I want everyone up at seven, and in the van by eight.”

You get to your feet, wanting to go hide in your room. Felix is watching you with a knowing look that makes you want to bury your face in a pillow so he can’t force the truth out of you.

“Wait,” Felix says before you can escape. “Is there a reason you think you’re not good enough for main vocals?”

You duck your head, avoiding eye contact. “No.”

“That wasn’t very convincing,” Seungmin remarks. “You suck at lying.”

You whip your head up to glower at him. “If my arm wasn’t broken I’d-“

“You’d what?” Seungmin taunts. He snickers to himself. “You’re too scared to sing any of your old lines.”

Your expression crumbles, and everyone sucks in a breath. You sink back onto the couch as tears bubble into the corners of your eyes.

“Too far,” Jeongin murmurs to Seungmin.

Seungmin lifts his chin. “I’m not wrong. Or are you going to lie again?”

“You’re not wrong,” you admit bitterly. “I’m scared.”

Hyunjin scoots closer to you on the couch. “We’re talking about the assholes that said you couldn’t hit the high notes, right?”

You sniffle and wipe at your face. “Yeah.”

“Well have they ever hit the high notes?” Jisung raises an eyebrow. “No. Their opinions aren’t worth shit.”

Chan smiles softly at you, handing you a box of tissues. “That’s right. Although I would’ve said it in nicer words.” He shoots Jisung and Hyunjin pointed looks. “The only opinion that matters is yours.”

“And mine,” Seungmin adds. “And I think you’re fantastic.”

Changbin holds out his arms. “Hug?”

You nod and let him envelop you in a warm embrace. Your eyes droop from the stress of everything, and he notices.

“Bedtime?” Changbin suggests. 

You peel away. “Yeah, I’ll go off to bed now. Goodnight, everyone.”

“Sorry about your broken wrist,” Minho calls after you as you go up the stairs. “It’s Hyunjin’s fault.”

You hear Hyunjin’s muffled cries of protest as the others start scolding him for dropping you. You smile, ready to sing your old lines again.

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