#and I think it would be so cool to have like pages of notebook and sketches in between the fic writing)

[checkadii]

Thinking about this old ass screenshot . I don’t even remember which video that’s under and I’m frankly too lazy to redownload tiktok

[yellow-faerie]

Wow, I have a fic description and a fic title before I've even established a proper fic plot

(this is probably because I'm very excited about this fic and it's potential...)

Edit:

Here are my tags because I started explaining the plot and want it actually in the post rather than just the tags lol:

[chisungie]

.

[girl-lostconnection]

So..forgive me you're the first person I'm ever asking anything on Tumblr (Kinda new and I usually like to describe it like hiding in the corner and just watching everything quietly and leaving likes and I love your work) but I was thinking about your concept with 141 and reader dying and the notebook. Would there ever be a case where the others stumble upon it? Whether Price forgets (somehow) to put it away or someone's in the midst of searching for something and stumbles upon it?

Again, love your work, feel free to ignore this tho

Yeah, I think this type of readers people call “lurkers” which is cool🙂‍↕️you guys are usually the backbone of the audience, I enjoy you tremendously.

And that’s a really good question, anon!

You know what? Why not turn the heat up a little more for this pot with the frogs.

I can imagine Price not exactly forgetting it somewhere but harbouring it so close to himself that people start to notice. This specific notebook is always with him — under his armoured vest and in the front pocket of his shirts, on top of the stack of documents, edge of it peeking out of his pants pocket.

It’s always there when before he didn’t carry it with him. It’s small and simple, technically it shouldn’t rise any questions but Kyle is the first who notices it. Maybe because after your death he’s so sharply attuned to everyone else on the team, it’s practically unhealthy.

Kyle who watches John fumble with the leather bound corners of the little thing and wonders…what’s inside of it? They have been all grieving but your things have been taken by them all and shared fairly.

Simon doesn’t withhold your pictures or books with your annotations. Soap doesn’t say no when Gaz asks for one of the keychains. Kyle himself lets Simon and Johnny take one of your things each. Simon takes the big oversized T-shirt and Soap whisks away one of your hoodies, clutching it hard to himself, knuckles white with tension.

(Kyle will never admit but when he walked in on Johnny in hoodie with your name and rank on the back of it his knees buckled. For a moment a traitorous part of him thought you were there. For a moment he could breathe again)

So Price keeping something of you to himself almost felt unfair. It wasn’t, of course, no, Captain had every right to grieve and mourn in a way that made it easier for him.

But-

But Kyle missed you. Everyday and every morning he’d wake up, realisations hitting him again that you aren’t coming back. You are never coming back.

You disappeared so suddenly you were now everywhere.

The unwashed cup they couldn’t bring themselves to wash, the clothes and trinkets, the books and pictures. The notebooks.

Kyle remembers how you two played games in it, drawing X’s and O’s when debrief would get too long and your brains too sluggish to keep awake without external stimulation.

Kyle remembers you writing in them, so focused you oftentimes wouldn’t notice him getting closer until he’d plop himself down in front of you, pretending to pose. Your favourite model, wasn’t he?

Kyle remembers you smiling at him, eyes flickering to his face for a moment, your gaze so impossibly soft he feels like choking and burying himself next to you.

There is a whole life ahead. Kyle isn’t sure how to live it with a hole in this chest the size of your love.

It’s a selfish thought, maybe. Maybe he is selfish.

Maybe he should have been content with what he has been given. But he wasn’t.

So now he slips the notebook off Price’s desk when the man himself is so wrecked he can’t see straight. John’s drinking got worse after your death. Not yet enough to cause disciplinary action but enough to make them all worried.

Gaz has never seen him like that.

Why were they all lucky enough to meet you but not lucky enough to save you? Would the outcome be different if one of them went with you on that deployment? Could they save you if they knew how it ends?

Could they try?

Kyle’s fingers skim over the pages, your hoodie on him and if he pretends hard enough it almost feels like a hug. It almost feels like his body heat seeping through fabric is yours. Like you were just wearing it.

Like you didn’t leave at all.

Like you are coming back.

Kyle flips through the pages, gurgling wet laughter in his throat when he notices that you have been writing Simon’s jokes down and coming up with your own. (The “just got hospitalised due to peekaboo incident. They put me in ICU” joke almost makes Kyle choke).

Some part of him gets why Price has been guarding this specific journal so hard. Why he wasn’t letting anyone else close to it, because this right here is you.

Everything that’s left of your thoughts and feelings, of your humour and love, of your plans and scribbles.

It’s tangible proof that you were here. You lived, you loved, you thought. You were there and you were a person. Their favourite person. Their beloved one.

Maybe that’s why your small note hits him harder than he could have ever expected. A small resigned “I’m not sure I fit in. I’m not sure I’m not second…or fifth best in this case. Don’t even know if I wanna talk about it. Just plain stupid” splits Kyle’s scull open and leaves him bleeding and aching and shaking.

What…what did you mean “fifth best”? Why would you say that? What- no. Nonononono. No, it’s not fair. It’s not true, it has never been true.

Kyle feels like driving back to the cemetery and wrapping his car around the poll.

Kyle feels like clawing at the ground and sobbing-sobbing-sobbing.

Kyle feels like begging.

Please, no. Please, come back. Please, let him fix it, let him tell you the truth, let him tell you.

Kyle understands why Price was guarding the journal this fiercely. Kyle is so mad he feels like demolishing John’s office and yelling until his voice is raspy useless thing, vocal cords damaged, headache pounding inside his head and he’s burning from inside out.

Kyle looks at the page, his whole core so hollowed out you could feel an echo if you’d knocked.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do because you are gone.

Because he wants to say “I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry, I’d be better if I knew”, he wants to say “come back and scream at me, come back demand attention, come back and hurt me in return just please please come back”.

He wants to say “I love you” in a hundred different ways, he wants to kiss it better, he wants to hold you again, he wants you back, why can’t you come back, why can’t he get you back? He will change, he will do better, he will pay attention, he’s sorry, love, he’s so sorry.

Soap finds him just blankly staring at the page and he doesn’t understand at first, concern sharpening his features like one of the razors he uses for his drawing pencils.

Johnny sinks down next to him, lips pressing to Kyle’s temple, breath panting when Gaz doesn’t respond because he can’t.

He doesn’t know what to say.

How do you live knowing you may never change what already happened? How do you keep going knowing your tenderness is decaying six feet underground, that your love is springing with flowers when they should have stayed above the ground and picked them? How do you get over it? How?

Johnny’s eyes skim over the page and Gaz can feel when the realisation sinks in, when the body next to him is getting poured full with raw ache and ice sharp panic.

Johnny asks “Gaz whose journal is that”, Johnny pleads “Mate, talk to me, where did you get it?”, Johnny whimpers “Kyle tell me it’s not theirs, Kyle please, Kyle say something”.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do other than wrap himself around Soap and hold him despite the thrashing, despite the disbelieving laughter that descends into gasping for air and clawing at his back and shoulders.

Kyle doesn’t let him get out and do something stupid, like drive to the cemetery and wrap a car around the poll and curl near your gravestone.

There is an awfully loud gulp and the journal is getting carefully taken off Kyle’s lap, Simon’s fingers long and scarred — things broken too many times to grown back straight and narrow, calloused pads of his fingers catching on the paper of the notebook.

Kyle has to drag him down to them, he has to practically kick the ground from under Ghost’s feet because the man looks like he will get the shovel and get you out of the coffin.

(Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon refused to let them bury you, how he sat with you for days, until the decomposition became evident. Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon placed a phone in your coffin despite knowing that you are not coming back. Kyle doesn’t want to think that Simon was terrified the 4 of them might bury you alive).

Ghost looks like the sky just fell on his head, crashing his spine and grinding down his nerves. Ghost looks like he wants to cry but doesn’t know how.

Ghost looks like how they all feel.

Kyle forces the man into their cuddle pile and forces his hand to wrap around Johnny, because Soap digs his fingers into them like he’s falling-falling-falling. System crashing, bomb ticking, Rome burning down.

Funny how Ghost never understood the phrase “going mad with grief”, always felt like it was a bit of dramatisation. People die every day after all, don’t they? It’s statistically impossible to never lose a single person.

Funny how Soap gets it now perfectly. The shift of tectonic plates in his brain, the rewiring of the whole system, pain so intense he might have ash for heart now.

Funny how it’s not funny at all but Gaz still laughs, face wet when Simon tightens his grip and pulls Kyle in, letting him hide his face.

Taglist: @synthe4u

[kxsagi]

may I ask for blue lock characters headcanons on how they would propose to the reader if they have been together for more than 5 years? you can add anyone you like but this is for my one and only glorious supreme king isagi yoichi.

THANK YOU

“𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧”

a/n: i might like writing proposals more than fluff (i also have an isagi proposal fic i wrote here and i still love it sm)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, mikage reo, nagi seishiro

isagi yoichi

he’s been thinking about it for months. writing drafts in his notes app. texting rin for help and getting roasted. pacing the training room during breaks muttering, “what if she says no?” even though you’ve been his person for five whole years. 

when he finally does it, it’s quiet. domestic. intimate. just you and him on a sunday morning. he makes you breakfast with heart-shaped pancakes (they’re wonky, but endearing), and insists you stay in bed. when he brings the tray over, there’s a little folded napkin next to your juice. you open it and it reads: “marry me?” in his handwriting, complete with a nervous smiley face. 

you look up and he’s on one knee holding a ring with trembling hands, eyes glassy, voice cracking when he says, “i want to be with you forever. through every win, every loss. just… us.” 

he fumbles the ring, panics, catches it mid-air. cries when you say yes. you end up lying on the floor laughing with him, tangled in blankets and feelings. 

won’t shut up about how he bagged the love of his life. reposts his own engagement post three times. 

itoshi rin

takes 7 business days to say “i love you,” so proposing is the olympics of stress for him. 

he keeps the ring in his pocket for weeks. but every time he tries to do it, something throws him off. you burp mid-dinner. you wear his hoodie. you beat him at mario kart. it’s too much. he short circuits. 

finally proposes when you’re brushing your teeth together at night, and he’s looking at your face in the mirror like, this is it. this is what peace feels like. 

mutters, “marry me,” like he’s asking if you want takeout. then freezes. stares at your reflection. 

when you ask, “wait, for real?” he just nods and pulls out the ring from his hoodie pocket. he’s literally shaking. 

later pretends he had a whole speech of “i know i’m not good with words. but being with you makes life feel… less heavy. you make things better. you make me better. so please stay with me. forever,” but forgot it. he did not say that. he ended up saying: “u cool. marry me.” 

itoshi sae

it takes him years to admit he wants to marry you. not because he doubts it (he's known since day two), but because he's scared. terrified, even. of needing someone that deeply. of showing that part of himself. 

he doesn’t want something loud or flashy. instead, he books a quiet trip to a secluded coastal town in spain. it’s the off-season, the weather's breezy, and you spend the whole day exploring sleepy streets, eating gelato, watching the boats drift lazily in the harbor. 

at the end of the day, he takes you to a rocky overlook at sunset. the water’s glowing. the sky is all peach and gold. 

and then he hands you a little notebook. every page is dated. he’s been writing you letters for five years. 

entries from after matches, on planes, in hotel rooms. thoughts he never said out loud. memories. fears. the way his chest tightens every time he looks at you. how your laugh sounds when you’re brushing your teeth. how the world softens when you're near. 

the final page just says: “i don’t want to be brilliant without you. will you marry me?” 

you look up and he’s already kneeling, lips pressed into a line like he’s holding back a million emotions. 

“i know i’m difficult. i know i get quiet. but you’re the one thing i’m sure of. please say yes.” 

and when you do, his hands shake. his breath catches. he presses his forehead to yours, and for the first time in a long time, sae itoshi lets himself cry. 

you whisper something like “i love you, dummy,” and he laughs softly, the kind of laugh he saves just for you. 

he doesn’t post it. doesn’t tell the world. 

but at the next press conference, a reporter asks about the ring “so pretty it makes influencers cry” spotted on your finger by fans inspecting recent paparazzi pics of you. 

he just smirks and says, “guess i won something better than a trophy.” 

bachira meguru

his proposal is a chaotic masterpiece. it starts with you waking up to a crayon-drawn treasure map taped to your forehead. yes. your forehead. 

he’s turned your entire city into a love quest, each stop filled with inside jokes, goofy gifts, and memories from your relationship: your favorite boba place (the cashier gives you a note), the alley you once slow-danced in (there’s a heart chalk drawing), the bench where you first kissed (a polaroid taped under it). 

the final clue brings you to the soccer field where he first told you he loved you. it’s covered in fairy lights and handmade decorations (and probably a few fire hazards). he’s waiting at the center in a suit covered in paint splatters because “i wanted to look fancy and like me.” 

he runs up to you with a goofy grin, gets down on one knee, and says: “you’ve always been my favorite teammate. wanna play life together?” 

you say yes and he tackles you into the grass. you're both crying and laughing and covered in glitter somehow. he puts the ring on your toe as a joke first. classic bachira. 

kaiser michael

obnoxiously extravagant. skywriting? rented out a soccer stadium? flash mob in berlin? absolutely. 

but here's the twist: he plays it down. tells you you’re going to a “boring sponsor event.” 

when you get there, it’s pitch black… then boom. lights, camera, roses in the shape of your name, string quartet playing a romantic song, and kaiser walking toward you in a tux. 

"everyone knows i’m great. but being with you? that’s the only thing that ever made me better." 

drops to one knee like he’s on the cover of GQ proposals edition. the ring is a custom design with your birthstone and an engraving that says “you win. i surrender.” 

when you say yes, he kisses you so obnoxiously dramatically that the quartet messes up their notes. 

later posts a selfie of you two mid-kiss with the caption “#ringed 💍 #shewonfr.” comments on his own post: “undefeated.” 

mikage reo

reo has had the ring for eight months. he’s shown it to nagi. to his driver. to the chef. to his tailor. hell, he’s almost asked you during brunch three different times but chickened out because “no, it has to be perfect. 

so, he builds perfect. 

he rents out an entire rooftop in tokyo, overlooking the skyline where you both made so many memories together. he has a custom-built garden placed on the deck with flowers flown in from your childhood town. your favorite piano music plays softly in the background, courtesy of a live quartet. the air smells like your favorite scent. 

there’s no crowd, no press, no flashy headlines, just you and him, dressed in your finest, alone at a candlelit table under the stars. 

after dinner, he leads you through a string-lit walkway where framed photos from your relationship hang like a timeline: your first trip. your first christmas. your matching sweaters disaster. the moment he realized you were it. 

at the end, he stops, takes both your hands, and says with a nervous, reverent breath: “i’ve had access to everything: money, power, comfort. but nothing ever came close to what it felt like holding your hand for the first time.” 

he kneels. his voice wavers, but his heart doesn’t. “i don’t want a future if you’re not in it. will you marry me?” 

your “yes” comes with tears, kisses, and a full dip spin because reo is dramatic and romantic and very in love. 

later, when he twirls you around to slow music, he whispers: “you made me believe in forever.” 

(he doesn't even post it on social media. the moment is too sacred. but nagi leaks it by accident with a story captioned “finally. he shut up about it.”) 

nagi seishiro

nagi never liked effort. until you. and for the first time in his life, he wants to try. for you. 

he doesn’t propose with a big event or a plan that reo drafted. instead, it happens on a normal day, a slow, rainy morning where you're both wrapped in blankets, watching old anime on the couch. 

you’re sitting on his lap. he's playing with your fingers, tracing your knuckles with soft, sleepy circles. 

out of nowhere, he mumbles, “you ever think about marriage?” 

you blink. “uh… yeah?” 

he nods like it’s no big deal. “cool. wanna marry me then?” 

you pause. “wait… what?” 

he stretches, yawns, then digs into the hoodie he’s been wearing for three days and pulls out a velvet ring box like it’s nothing. like he didn’t practice this moment in front of the mirror at 3 AM while trying not to wake you. 

“got a ring and everything. it’s comfy. like you.” 

you’re crying and laughing and he just stares at you with those tired eyes that hide galaxies of devotion. “been with you so long it’s hard to imagine not being yours. don’t wanna try, honestly.” 

when you whisper yes, he finally smiles. a sleepy, bashful smile as he slips the ring on your finger. 

he kisses your cheek and hums, “cool… now i don’t have to stress about it anymore. let’s nap.” 

(he later uses the story to brag to reo: “took me five minutes. still beat you.”) 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[jensthwa]

show & tell pt. 2 (SMG x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

After the… masterclass you gave Mingi the night before, you’re left anxious on what the future holds for you both. But there’s a pool party you promised you would attend and there’s not really time for you to figure your feelings out before your best friend shows up at your door to drive you to it. So maybe today is not the day to figure your feelings out, right? It’s just a pool party anyways, so nothing out of the ordinary is going to happen… right?

PAIRING: best friend!mingi x afab reader.

GENRE: childhood best friends (idiots) to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 11k.

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) anxiety attack, attempt !!! at comedy, wooyoung being a little shit part two ft jongho, a new oc being the voice of reason, reader is clueless and in denial i fear, jealousy, miscommunication, fighting so this part is just a tiny bit angsty :(, confessions, teasing, face sitting, hand job, car sex (don't do it in public people, it can get you arrested), pet names (love and baby), a plot line at the end none of you guys are going to get until my new wip drops but it's worth the wait!

NOTES: hey everyone! thank you so much for patiently waiting for this second and last part to drop. i think that, after this one, if you guys want to request any drabbles or if i come up with some scenarios for this couple i will post them but for now nothing is on the works. what is on the works is a wip that's part of the same universe as this one, so pay attention to the new characters i mention if you want any clues! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: july 28th 2024.

TAGLIST (sorry if i forgot anyone, pls let me know!): @vannerriin / @mingtinysworld / @purple-bell / @bakepotatoman / @nxy3h / @taehyungmami / @nxcxllxsevens / @breadpuddingboys / @hotteokkay

masterlist.

When you wake the next morning, the consequences of restless sleep show up in your face as a reminder of what happened the night before. 

It's not that you regret it, it's more the fact that you feel so unapologetic about messing with the perfect dynamic you have with Mingi that caused you to toss and turn so much. 

Last night, after putting your duvet back on and then crashing into the mattress feeling all tingly and giddy, you asked yourself a thousand questions. 

The main one being: What the fuck did you do? 

The words kept repeating over and over in your head, your voice of reason (or your anxiety) screaming at you to get your phone and make it right before everything becomes a complicated, unresolvable mess. 

You had a brief moment of panic and heavy breathing, your chest tight with unspoken emotion and your eyes filled with tears. 

It was too much, so you forced yourself up and paced around for what felt like hours trying to get your feet back on the ground. Nothing was working, so you sat down at your desk and rested your forehead against it. 

When you didn't feel the usual coolness of the wood, a comfort sensation for when your studies got the best out of you for the day, and instead felt a pen almost stab you in the eye, you -very confused- leaned back. 

Mingi’s notebook and the pen he didn't put back on the pencil case seemed to stare back at you lovingly instead of mocking you for losing control over your own emotions. 

A sense of peace washed over you when you flipped the pages and landed on the instructions he wrote down. Memories of the amazing years you have had by his side started crossing your mind, like recomforting flashes that allowed your heartbeat to go back to normal: 

The first day you saw Mingi, chasing behind a worn out soccer ball and then kicking it so hard it landed on your lawn. 

The first time you two hugged, when your dad scolded you for having bad grades until you cried in front of him. 

The way he held your hand before heading inside to take the college admission exam, last year of highschool. 

His kind eyes. His reassuring smile. The way he made you feel just a few hours back. 

There's no getting rid of me either, love.

We'll figure it out. 

Letting a few contained tears run down your cheeks, you nodded to yourself as if he was there in the room with you. 

Yeah, you'll figure it out.  

And then proceeded to, very much, not figure shit out for the rest of the night. You could still feel his hands everywhere and hear his voice against your ear whispering how much he knows you and pays attention to you. 

You are fucked. 

It's all you can think about when you get ready for the day. It's all you can think about when you help your dad with lunch and when you let your parents know at the table that you are going out that same afternoon. 

“Mingi is driving you, right?” 

“Yeah…” you whisper in response, eyes focused on one specific spot at the table and mind a million years away from the conversation. 

“Good. He's such a good kid, Y/N, I'm glad he knows how to take care of you.” 

Choking on air when your brain finally catches up to her words, you look back up at your mother in shock “W-what?” 

“Yeah honey, what? Y/N can take care of herself,” your father chips in, unaware of your red cheeks or the honest expression of panic you're giving both of them “She's a big girl that carries around that, uh… What was it?— Ah, that pepper spray I gave her, right?” 

“R-right.” 

He lets out a satisfied see? at your answer, gives you a tiny smile and gets up from the table to take his finished plate over to the sink. 

Your mom stays behind, giving you a look you can't quite read before her usual calm expression washes it away. Only then, you can take a proper, very needed, calming breath. 

“I need to get ready. Thank you for the food.” 

“You made it, dear.” 

“I mean! For taking care of the, uh, plates,” you clumsily correct yourself right away, getting up from the table as well “Love you. Bye!” 

You don't miss the confused giggle on your way to your room and when you're behind closed doors, you finally take into consideration that you might be, in fact, overreacting.

Not much, you think, but just enough to give your feelings away. And it's truly a shame, because you were planning on concealing and bottle everything up until it, inevitably, blows up in your face. 

Maybe not the smartest option. 

If you bang your head against the wall with enough force maybe, just maybe it’ll help—

Someone's texting you. 

> gi: heeeeey > gi: just woke up lol > gi: had the best sleep ever tho > gi: how are you, love? 

Okay. So normal texting it is. Maybe your initial plan of just pretending nothing happened is, coincidentally, Mingi’s plan as well. 

So you type in it's literally almost one, ya lazy and let your thumb hover over the send button, eyebrows creased at a sudden realization. 

The casual texting annoys you. 

Sure, Mingi is used to keeping everything casual between him and the people he sleeps with, but you're not just anyone! You didn't sleep together, either! 

Oh, maybe that's why. 

But it ticks you off either way. 

Is he not feeling the same way you do? Did it mean something different for him than it did to you? What did it even mean to you in the first place?

Why, after all the panic you felt the night before, did you have any sort of expectation for today? 

It doesn't make any sense. 

You hit send. 

> gi: aaaaand?  > gi: god forbid a man gets a good night's rest after being thrown off a bed. 

Scoffing, your eyes roll before you can even control it and, to your demise, the giddiness returns. You respond with did you get hurt? awww and raise a hand to your blushed cheek before sending the message.

> gi: yeah wtf  > gi: my butt is all bruised.  > gi: kiss it better? 

Oh. 

Not casual texting. At. All. 

Or maybe it is? 

Ugh.

Blanking on everything Mingi has ever texted you before, you decide it's best to entertain yourself by getting all pretty to sit around the house party tonight and do nothing else instead of torturing your confused brain any longer. 

Using the help of an emoji to flip him off and, hopefully, gather yourself together enough to get ready, you shoot him another text rushing him to do the same because you don't want to be late. 

And he usually takes forever to get ready anyways.

Showering with very cold water, taking a good thirty minutes to decide whether to wear something comfy and fitting or sexy and fitting for the party do the job when it comes to taking your mind off him for, at least, the time being. 

Yunho was insistent the day before in that you didn't need to bring a bathing suit if you didn't want to, but you pack one anyways because you can sense Wooyoung's and Jongho’s intentions even if the youngest couldn't make it to your impromptu gathering yesterday. 

They know you hate when they get away with annoying you and throwing you into the nearest body of water -in this case, Yunho’s pool- in front of many people you don't know (therefore, you are not going to able to go insane mode on them) seems like the perfect opportunity to get away with it.

The last time they did it you weren't really able to scold them properly either, so they laughed and pointed at you until you threatened to kick their asses in a very dishonest but playful way. 

Mingi, of course, did nothing but laugh along with everyone else and then kiss your forehead as an apology later that day. 

That was last summer and since then both perpetrators have treated you to meals and buttered you up enough for you to forgive (as if you didn't do that the morning that followed the incident) but you never forget. 

Maybe you should. It would make the sight of Mingi parking outside your house easier, you think.

You're sure he's parking outside just to give your dad, who comes out to greet him with a hug, some peace of mind. He's very protective of you and he trusts Mingi even if he gives him a hard time everytime he sleeps over or takes you somewhere.  

Like now, you have a very clear view through your window of the sermon he's giving your best friend. You don't hear it but he's moving his hands in the air way too much for it not to be a clear step by step on what to do if you run into any trouble on the way to Yunho's. 

Mingi likes step by step and he's good at following instructions, so you don't think it's going to be an issue. 

God damnit, Y/N, get it together. 

Sighing, you pick up your bag, check your outfit once in front of the mirror, and rush downstairs and out of the door. 

“You do know how to change a tire, son?” 

Mingi is standing in front of your dad with his hands behind his back and a tight smile. 

“Yes sir, my dad taught me and then at the school they made sure I didn't forget about it.” 

“And make sure to—” 

“Could you let the guy breathe, dad?” 

They both turn to, your dad wears a mocking smile and you see Mingi’s tight one breaks into a genuine one a second later. A grateful one, even. 

He looks really good. Which is insane, considering that to you he looked like Chewbacca just yesterday morning. 

Crazy what a good orgasm can do to a person. Or maybe it's the first time you ever let yourself see him in this light. Either way, he's wearing light wash jeans and a fitted t-shirt that clings to him just right and it's going to drive you insane, you can just feel it. 

“I was just making sure that he—” 

“Knows what to do,” you nod “He knows what he's doing, dad. Stop giving him a hard time,” you give your dad a quick kiss on the cheek and then rush to the passenger seat, giving Mingi a glance so he can get in the car as well. 

“Alright. Love you, take care!” 

“Love you too, Mr. L/N!” Mingi says, getting into his seat and giving your dad the opportunity to see when he fastens his seatbelt. He doesn't say anything else, even though he didn't tell Mingi specifically that he loved him and instead gives you both a nod of approval. 

When Mingi finally drives off your street and into the main one, you sigh in relief. 

“He's neeever going to trust me, huh?” 

“He trusts you,” you say right away, cheek resting against the seat so you can take a proper look at him “I'm his only daughter and you're a man after all. Cut him some slack.” 

“He never cuts me some slack!” he fights back but you just laugh and he can't help but join you “You look really good, by the way. A dress? Are you trying to impress someone?” The tone he uses sparks the remaining tension from the night before, like zero time has passed since he kissed you goodnight by your front door. 

When you got into the car with Mingi, you didn't consider that you two would be alone for, at least, forty minutes before getting to your destination. Your mind skipped the fact that he has this new ability to fluster you by just existing near you and you curse it for not letting you prepare well enough for the way he's looking at you right now. 

“Obviously,” you answer in a whisper, clearing your throat a second later “Wooyoung needs to be distracted so he doesn't tackle me into the pool the second we get there. Don't know if it's gonna work on Jongho, though.” 

Mingi clicks his tongue, baring his teeth and pretending to really think about it “I don't think so, love. You'll have to bribe him into considering dropping their whole summer schtick for you.” 

“You can help me with that.” 

“Can I now?” 

“Yeah. You can just… lock him up in a room and my dress can do the rest of the work.” 

Your best friend laughs and then takes a hand off the steering wheel to roll the hem of your dress in between his thumb and index. His knuckles brush against your thigh and you almost -almost- make a noise at the sensation. 

“It's not the dress, love… It's who's wearing it.” 

A bit of silence passes within the both of you. 

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

Laughter fills the car and drowns out the honking on the other side of the street and you wonder why you were worried in the first place. 

Nothing has changed. 

Aside from the intention laced with the flirting, it feels the same way it ever did and you couldn't be more glad because now that you know Mingi doesn't hate you (like you thought for a brief moment last night) or wants to hard launch a relationship that doesn't exist to your friends the second he gets them all together in the same room, you can enjoy the car ride and the evening that's about to follow it.

So you flirt with him freely, listen and sing along to songs that just feel like summer summarized in three minutes of exquisite writing and roll your window down once Mingi takes a turn into a hill, trees replacing the buildings you're so used to seeing. 

Your friend is rich rich. His family makes good money and his parents go on lots of business trips. That being said, it's the first time you actually attend one of his parties, and so when you get to Yunho’s house and ring the doorbell, you’re caught by surprise because you can already hear the loud music playing in the backyard and the blend of new and familiar voices through the thick door. 

You expect him to open the door for you but Seonghwa’s smile is the first thing you see before you and Mingi both have the opportunity to step in. 

“You made it!” 

“It's pretty hard to miss this house, Hwa.” 

Your older friend side-hugs you and stays by your side while Mingi takes it upon himself to put your bags for the day in the pile of other bags next to the door “How are you doing today?” 

You're about to answer but when you look at him, you see him staring at Mingi, so you do too. He's staring at Hwa with a little smile “I'm doing good. I blocked her and everything and I can confidently say that…” he turns to you “My ego’s not bruised anymore.” 

If Seonghwa catches the spark between you and you best friend, he decides to ignore it “That's goo—” 

“Mingi!” 

What the hell is she doing here? 

Not, not that bitch from yesterday but this girl who Mingi meets with sometimes. You don't really know her, you just know she's gorgeous and that her name starts with an h, maybe? 

She's a fashion major and it shows in the way she's dressed up today. Truly, an enjoyable company whenever she's around at frat parties, a saving grace when you're tired of surrounding yourself with only men. 

Right now? She's your worst nightmare. 

Wrapping her arms around Mingi’s neck and getting on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek, she smiles like she knows she's getting laid tonight and your best friend does nothing to pull her away. 

She doesn't even say hi to you before dragging him to the backyard! You and Seonghwa follow them and when she takes Mingi’s arm and pulls him over to -you assume- introduce him to her friends, you almost stomp your feet like a little kid. 

Trying to get rid of the annoyed frown on your face, you turn to Hwa with a teasing smile and your eyebrows raised. 

“Well fuck me, am I right?” 

“I might!” Arms wrap around your waist and you feel Woo’s chin resting on your shoulder immediately after “That's a very nice dress, Y/N.” 

If Mingi was next to you, like you want him to be, you would give him a I told you so glance. Instead, you just look at Seonghwa with absolute horror before he snickers and goes away. 

“Right? And it looks horrible when it's drenched in nasty chlorine water.” 

“You can't possibly know that.” 

“I know a lot of things and— No! Woo, please don't,” you beg when he lifts you off the ground for a second. Behind you, you hear laughs and, even though you can't see them, you know it's San and Jongho “I just got here and I haven't even changed yet, please.” 

He turns you around and hugs you properly this time before letting you go. You take the opportunity to punch him in the arm and then go over to San and Jongho to do the same. 

“We'll let you get your swimsuit on this time.” 

“You're so considerate, Jong. Seriously, they're going to give you the Nobel prize if you don't stop.” He mocks you, repeating what you just said in a higher pitched voice and you laugh as you sit next to Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend, Gyuri. 

San also has a girl sitting beside him with his arm around her, but you don't really know her so you just wave at her. They're all in their bathing suits already “See how he tried to flirt with me to try to get me with my guard down? He's a monster.” 

“And in front of me, too? The nerve on this guy.” Gyuri, of course, backs you up immediately and you want to return her smile, but you can see Mingi from the corner of your eye and it's distracting. 

“Oh, they're ganging up on me already,” Wooyoung whines, sitting down in front of you both and handing you a drink “It's like my worst nightmare.” 

“He's enjoying it, don't let him convince you otherwise,” San says, getting up from his seat and taking his girl with him “Especially coming from you.” He points at Gyuri and you laugh. 

“We're just friends now!” 

“That's what you told me like three years ago before—” 

Wooyoung gets up to chase after him and San lets go of the girl's hand to try to get away from him. 

Turns out, you're not the one Woo tackles into the pool. This time, him and San crash down on the water hard and a few droplets of water wet your feet. Gyuri laughs and everyone else does too when they realize what's happening. 

Jongho gets up and joins them in the water soon after to try and help (kinda, not really) San escape the wrath of his best friend. 

You almost miss it, because you take the opportunity to look at your best friend and, when you do, he's already looking at you. 

Breath catches on your throat and the lump that forms afterwards has a name and a reason: Mingi is looking at you with so much longing it physically hurts. 

He looks like wants to drop everything and come and confuse your fragile mind even more, just like he did the night before. 

Then why the fuck is he there with whatever her name is and her friends and not sitting right next to you? 

You look away, grasping your drink for emotional support and convincing yourself you're starting to see things that are not actually there. 

“Why the fuck are y'all fighting this time?!” Yunho comes from inside the house and it's the first time you see him today “No choking! No running! It's literally in the rules!” 

“Wooyoung please let go of my boyfriend!” 

Ah. So she is San’s girlfriend. Still, you turn to Gyuri to ask. 

“Who is sh—” 

“San’s new girlfriend, Kyungmi. We don't give a fuck about her or San right now, we're mad at them,” you want to ask who we is, because Wooyoung seems like he's just playing, but she interrupts you again “What the fuck is going on with you and Mingi?” 

Huh?! 

You make a quick mental review of your plan. Conceal? Clearly it didn't work. Bury your emotions deep so no one notices? You probably can't recover from the way you smile just dropped. 

The only thing left on the list is pretend that you're insane, but you're not sure it'll work either. So you turn it on her: “Nothing much. He played Espresso like three times on a row on the way here and I almost kill him, but—” 

“You can't bullshit me, Y/N.” 

Great, that didn't work either. 

“I saw that. Seonghwa did too but he got up before I could convince him to ambush you,” she dramatically sighs, chugging the rest of her drink down “So, what is going on?” 

“Nothing,” that much is true “he's literally with a girl right now.” 

“And she will never mean as much to him as you do. Next.” 

“Gyuri… I really don't know what you want me to say.” 

Squinting her eyes at you suspiciously, Gyuri takes her time before answering and you fidget in your seat a little. Wooyoung liked her for a reason, she's feisty and goes straight to the point and it's something you usually admire but right now it's not the time for her to do this. 

“I just thought maybe it finally happened…” She whispers and shrugs the entire conversation off before getting up “Let's head inside. They're going to start grilling meat at any second and I also don't want to be near Wooyoung when he gets out of there.” She points at him and you laugh. 

Jongho has him in a chokehold and Yunho is trying to separate them while San desperately swims towards his girl that's still waiting for him near the edge of the pool. 

“Sure thing.” 

You pretend you don't feel Mingi's eyes on you as you move. 

This is not unusual. Whenever you all go to parties, hosted by someone inside of the friend group or not, you end up separating from Mingi. 

He does his thing. He's outgoing and he likes dancing while you enjoy conversation and drinking away at the rest of the party, occasionally making out with someone and calling it a night when your social battery runs out. 

So you hang out with Gyuri in the kitchen until the sun starts going down and when the last ray of it disappears you decide it's time to swim a bit before you're too tipsy for it to be safe. 

Grabbing your bag and greeting some new people you don't know at the door, you head up to the bathroom you are told by the host himself it's upstairs. 

When you're tying up the strands of your swimsuit, the door slams open and you jump and cover yourself up with your hands because you're not able to finish the job, so the strands fall down and the only thing holding the top part of the fabric it's you. 

“What the fuck, Mingi?” 

Turning around, you're only able to look at him through the mirror. 

“Lock the door next time! What if it was somebody else?” 

“People usually knock!” 

“I didn't mean to scare you, it's the door’s fault,” he makes a fool of himself trying to prove it “See? I— let me help you with that,” he closes the door again and, this time, he locks it before taking a short step and grabbing the strands of your top “It's the second time this week I scare you like that, huh? I’m sorry, love.” He ties the strands together with a secure knot and his apology finally allows your tense muscles to relax. 

You remind yourself that there's no valid reason for you to be mad at him. You'll figure it out, he said it himself, and maybe today is not the day to do so. 

But he's not stepping away once he's finished, he's not even saying anything else before his hands grab your waist and his chest collides to your back. 

Looking at him through the mirror again, you silently ask him with your eyes what he thinks he's doing. He ignores you, bending down so the tip of his nose can trace the skin on the side of your neck. 

“I missed you,” his voice sounds like honey when he says it and you, once again, curse the ability he has to make you crumble “and you disappeared like an hour ago.” 

You let out a sigh. 

“I was in the kitchen, Mingi, not missing and we were in the same space for at least twenty minutes before that and like… forty minutes in a car, together.” You remind him and he frowns “Besides, you were with Ha… Haneul?” 

“Hanni,” he corrects and you huff out a whatever “and she was introducing me to some of her friends that are in the same major as me, just a year over.” 

“Cool.” 

He pecks your shoulder. You do your best to not melt completely into him and fix your hair in the mirror. 

“Y/N…” he starts and you hum in acknowledgement “I missed you.” 

It pisses you off for some reason. The mature thing to do is to let him know but the words that leave you are petty and laced with annoyance. 

“I’m sure you did, buddy.” 

He grins against your skin and you turn around to face him, eyebrow raising. 

“What's so amusing?” 

At your tone, he seems taken aback but his smile stays curving his lips upwards.

“I'm just really happy to have this moment with you,” he says, matter of factly, and you press your hands against his chest to regain some personal space. He doesn't budge an inch “What's going on?” 

He's such a guy sometimes. 

“You're here, kissing my neck, while a gorgeous girl who I'm sure is waiting for you downstairs is probably bragging to her friends about how she's going home with you tonight and—” 

“Y/N, I'm literally taking you home.” 

“I can easily take a car back— Mingi, seriously,” taking a deep breath, you stare at him with all the honesty you can gather “I don't want to do whatever this is if afterwards you're going downstairs to dance and flirt with Haneul or whatever her name is.” 

He looks like he wants to correct you on it again, so you level him with a daring glance. 

He keeps his mouth shut. 

“And I also don't want you to hurt her feelings if you tell her you can't leave with her tonight, so—” 

“I don't give a shit about her feelings, love.” 

“Mingi, don't say that!” 

“I don't! I wasn't flirting with her at all, either! Listen, it's…” he stops to chuckle for a few seconds “I mean, it's adorable that you're jealous but there's no reason for you to—” 

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

It's the second time today you have said those exact words to him. The first time, you also felt your heart bang with such force against your rib cage but for a completely different reason. 

“I'm not one of the girls you fuck on the side when you're horny or bored out of your mind. Don't fucking treat me like one.” You warn and suddenly the image of you telling him that teaching him yesterday could mess you both up crosses your mind.  

“I'm not, Y/N! I'm just saying that you look adorable when you're—” 

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous when we are not together, Mingi? I'm literally looking out for the girl!” 

“You don't even know her name, love.” 

“That's not the fucking point!” 

He finally takes a step away from you, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath, surely.

Now you're pissed off because he saw right through you and your words. 

That disgusting weight on your chest you felt back by the pool while you kept staring at him from the corner of your eye? Jealousy. 

Now that he brought it up, it makes sense. 

You hate it. 

You always hated being put in a position where you felt the need to compare yourself to others. Always hated how easy it is for anger to run through your blood and infiltrate every waking thought until it clouds your judgment. 

Because you shouldn't be angry. He just said he didn't care about her feelings. 

And yet, all you can think about is that he spent an hour with her instead of you. 

When he turns to you, there's a storm in his eyes and you just don't want to hear it tonight. 

“Save it, keep it, sleep on it and we'll talk tomorrow,” picking your dress from the spot on the floor it's been sitting all this time, you put the fabric on, take your bag and then unlock the door “I’m going home.” 

You don't give him the opportunity to say anything else before getting out of the bathroom but you do hear a groan when you're rushing downstairs. 

Yeosang and Yunho are just leaving the kitchen when you trip on the last step and the host jogs the few steps to you after laughing. 

“There you are, Y/N. Listen, there's some meat already grilled back there but we're—” 

“I'm actually going home, Yun,” you cut him short “I'm not feeling that well. My plan was to swim a little before leaving but I don't think I can do it.” 

“Did something happen or…?” 

What happened is coming downstairs as he asks. 

“Nope. Nothing, I just think I'm catching a cold or something. Thank you so much for inviting me though!” You hug your friend quickly, kissing his cheek before pulling away. 

“Always…” Yunho is very observant but, as you always do, he doesn't press you with questions about what's going on “He's taking you home?” Pointing behind you, you don't have to turn around to get what he means. 

“Ye—” 

“No. He's having a great time here, I don't want to get in the way,” you shrug “I'll just get an uber or something. Don't worry.” 

Yunho frowns slightly, eyes moving from your face to over your shoulder. 

Immature. Petty. Rude. 

You're sure that's the way you’re coming off right now. But feeling anger bubbling behind the smile you give Yunho, you think it's better they make their assumptions instead of actually seeing you upset. 

You move to hug Yeosang as well and he murmurs his farewell. When you turn around, Mingi is no longer there and you don’t spare a look towards the floor to ceiling glass windows that separate the living area from the backyard because you're sure he's sitting right beside that girl again. 

As he should be. 

You bolt for the door, giving your friends a tiny smile before going down the few steps and into the hill. It's already dark and you're sure no uber driver it's going up this hill for the tip you're able to offer them, so you figure your best shot is to go down and try to find a cab on the main street. 

The light from your phone illuminates your scowl as you walk. Past the bushes and the trees and the lines of parallel parked cars where Mingi’s Lexus is. 

You don't notice him there until he opens the backdoor to block your step. 

“Get in the car, I'm taking you home.” 

Closing the door he just opened to stop you, you shake your head. 

“I told you I'm getting a ride and—”

“I don't give a fuck. Get in the car.” And then he's opening his door and closing it so fast it gives you no room for debating. 

He's angry. Shit. 

You can't even see him through the tinted window to assess how much damage you have done, so you look down the hill one more time and wonder if making the run for it is worth it. 

When your phone lights up with a notification from Gyuri asking you if everything's okay and to make it home safe, you take it as a sign to round the car and get into the passenger side with an annoyed huff. 

The engine comes to life. You're not looking at him but at the trees until the leaves start showing the building lights in-between them and soon you're on the main road. 

You can't even ask him to turn the radio on. Stubborn, you refuse to let the anger inside of you dissipate in fear of shame taking over. It's better being angry than being ashamed, at least in this exact moment because you can practically feel Mingi's anger through the silent treatment. 

But you need to say something. The silence is suffocating and the street is surprisingly empty so you can't distract yourself with anything. 

“You shouldn't have bothered.” 

“I am bothered. You bothered me.” 

Clenching your jaw, you turn to him in disbelief “I told you to stay at the goddamn party so we can fix this tomorrow but I bothered you?”

“Did I stutter or something?” 

“No, you're just not making any fucking sense!” 

“Yeah, fuck this,” you see him look around, biting the inside of his cheek like he's holding his words in “We're fixing this right now.” 

The car makes a harsh turn and you have to grab the door for support. 

“Mingi!” He's not listening to you anymore. His hard gaze stays on the road, it feels like forever before he pulls into a somewhat empty parking lot and when the vehicle stops you go to open the door and get the fuck away from him before you two kill eachother inside this car. 

That's an exaggeration but with the way he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, you know your pride doesn't stand a chance. 

The summer breeze briefly hits your face before his hand is on yours, closing the door and preventing you from, once again, escaping the situation. 

Frustrated, you let out a loud groan “What the fuck is your problem?!” 

“I don't know, Y/N! But I'll tell you what your problem is, alright?” he chuckles. It's a humorless sound, his face painted in something you've never seen before “Your problem is that you assume you know what everyone else is feeling and you assume you're right. But intuition can only get you so far, love, so I need you to take your head out of your ass and think logically for a second.” 

Flabbergasted, you think you murmur something in your defense but he cuts you short. 

“No! You didn't let me get a word out back there so now you're going to shut up and listen,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes “You assume you're smarter than everyone else but you're actually so dumb. Dumb, you're acting very dumb and reckless, Y/N! That back there?” he points out of the window to nothing but you know what he means “Leaving— Scratch that. Leaving me and not giving me a chance to say anything back? Trying to go down that hill alone and in the dark? Stupid.” 

Staring back at him with watery eyes, you don't even know what to say back except a whispered excuse me?

“And usually I would beat up anyone who even dares to call you that but I guess all these years I've been wrong about you. Because if you were smart, you would've realized that Hanni means nothing to me and I mean nothing to her. There's nothing, she loves appearances and that's it.” 

You knew that already, but you're not giving your stance up. 

What even is your stance? Ah, right, he treated you like an envious no one back there and not like his best friend.  

“Yeah, I can tell you mean nothing to her from the whiny tone and the hug and the dragging you to meet her friends, Mingi.” Scoffing at the memory, your lips press into a thin line. 

“Well, she's a friendly girl!” 

“She didn't even say hi to me!” 

“So she doesn't like you, Y/N! Who cares!” you sure don't but, again, you just stare at him in disbelief and his open arms, palms to the sky “Do you care? Because I don't! And guess what? I doesn't fucking matter if she likes you or not or if she wants me or not because I like you!” 

What? 

“W-what?” 

“I like you! And I'll choose you over her and everyone else again and again and again until you notice but fuck it's so tiring. You're so fixated on why I let her drag me to her friends that you completely ignored me the rest of the time we were there and maybe if you looked at me more than once you would've realized that I was staring back at you the whole afternoon!” 

You let out an annoyed chuckle “So you were, Mingi.” 

“I was! I was trying to get you to look at me and notice how bad I wanted you to come over, rescue me from that boring ass conversation, grab my hand and claim your place right beside me because—” he pauses, resting a hand on the steering wheel and looking at you like he can't believe he has to spell this out for you “Because I want nothing more than for her and everyone to know I’m yours! I'm sure everyone already fucking knows too, except you. So yeah, sometimes, you're pretty fucking dumb for such a smart woman, Y/N.” 

Words escape you. They escape your mind, your reason and your pride shrinks until it disappears behind all the love you feel for Mingi. 

So that's what you are feeling. That's what you felt yesterday night when the tiredness couldn't drown out your thoughts of him and all he meant to you. 

Love, love, love. In all its forms, in all its possible scenarios. Your heart burns for it and you used to think that your hopeless romantic desires began and died with the movies you tend to see and the books you tend to read, that it was impossible to feel this way for anyone but there he is, chest heaving in the yellow interior light, waiting for you to say something back. 

“And I realize that before yesterday I showed no interest in you but believe me when I say that I—” 

Shakily, you interrupt him with whispered words, heart soaring and hands reaching out to cup his beautiful face “Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

When you kiss him, you make sure to pour out everything you couldn't say a minute ago into it. 

When he kisses you back with the same feeling, it crosses your mind that he already forgave you. 

And when he grabs your waist and drags you over the break handle and the transmission to collide his chest against yours and drag his tongue along the seam of your bottom lip, you think that, for the first time ever, you have to tell him he's right. 

You are stupid. Stupid for not realizing it sooner, stupid for confusing his longing stares for something platonic, stupid for thinking you could wait until tomorrow to tell him he has the right to see and be with anyone he wants to because this is it. 

This. The way your entire body comes alive when he sighs into your mouth and groans at the way your knee opens up his legs to make room for you on his side of the car and partially on his lap. The way his thumbs run through your cheeks and dry the tears you didn't even feel falling down. The way your heart jumps frantically and the way its beats could get confused by his because you're so close. 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, you can't recall a time Mingi didn't make you feel this exact same way. It's overwhelming, it expands through you like a fire and it knocks the remaining air out of your lungs enough for you to pull away and rest your forehead against his, shaky breaths tangling together and fingers grasping the neck of his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself. 

You sniffle, incapable of not feeling emotional over his confession and your realization “I'm sorry, Mingi. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for treating you that way I was… I behaved like…” 

“An ass.” He nods and you look at him with the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. 

“Yeah,” you nod as well “I was an ass. A jealous ass.” 

“I know, love.” He whispers, eyes moving on your face before his lips are on yours again, briefly, sweetly, even if you don't feel like you deserve it “You tend to forget that I know you, hm? That I've seen you jealous before? You were an ass back then, too.” 

“Okay! Okay, stop calling me an ass, I get it.” 

“I'm sorry for waiting for you to do something when you didn't even… I guess you didn't know, right? The way I feel about you?” 

“I know now,” you whisper back, nudging your nose against his and then putting some distance so you can see him better “I feel the same way, by the way. We're shit at communicating, apparently, so I'll just tell you now that—” 

His lips are on yours again and he's giggling against them and shaking his head when he pulls away. Brown eyes search for yours and you're not sure what he's looking in them but he seems to find it, his muscles relaxing against the leather of his seat seconds later. 

So you kiss him again. And again and again until your back starts hurting and the steering wheel is pressed uncomfortably against it, forcing you to shift on his hold. 

“Let me… Wait.” He lets you go to pull his seat back and then closes his legs, forcing your knee to fall on his other side so you can fully straddle his lap “That's better. Now come here.” And then he’s grabbing the back of your neck and stealing your breath away again with another kiss.

The tension shifts right then. When he can fully feel you pressing up against him and when a noise escapes you once his hands drop and give your bare legs the attention you didn't even know you were craving. 

You thought a second ago that the sweet kisses would stop once you were both sated with the sweet aftermath of all the yelling and confessing but now you don't want it to stop. 

There's a lot to catch up on, a lot of missed time you need to make up for. 

You still want to make him feel good. The sparks from yesterday come alive again and soon you're yanking the strands of dark hair with your fingers and letting your mouth explore the skin of his neck. When you sink your teeth into his skin, he lets out the same noise he did the night before and you smile against the mark you just made. 

His lips find your shoulder and he breathes hard into it once your hips start moving at their own accord, slowly yet firmly, the pad of his fingers digging hard on your thighs until you break away from his neck to focus on his face again. 

“This goddamn dress, love.” 

Humming, you caress his red cheek with your lips “What about it?” 

“Been thinking about it all day…” 

“It worked, by the way.” 

“Woo?” 

“Mhm. Distracted him so he didn't throw me in the pool right away.” 

“And Jongho?” 

“Probably plotting against me right now.” 

He laughs softly into your skin “Probably.” 

Chuckling as well, you stop your movements and take in how he looks. Gone, a little too fucked up from just making out, lips swollen and eyes clouded with something you're getting too familiar with, too quick. 

“Worked on you, too.” 

He smiles and shrugs, letting his head drop into the headrest “You look good in everything, love. It doesn't really matter what you wear.” 

“Oh?” 

A firm hand trails up your body, slowly, from you leg to your hip, your waist to the side of your breasts and your until it cops your face with affection you never imagined you would experience. 

“I have always thought you are the most beautiful girl to ever exist.” 

This is it. 

Leaning into his touch, your lips connect to the palm of the hand holding you before you lean forward again. 

“I love you, Mingi.” 

He doesn't seem surprised by your confession and you're glad he knows. It doesn't really matter if it's too soon, if you even mean it in a romantic way or not, the love you have for him transcends all labels. 

“I love you too, Y/N.”

And his does too. 

You kiss him until it hurts. 

He kisses you until you're gasping and your body is pleading for more. 

The both of you kiss each other until you're sure nothing else will replace the taste of one another, that it will linger forever even if your paths stop crossing at any point in time. 

It feels like you're trapped somewhere where the clock doesn't tick at all, where you can take your time exploring him with your mouth and your hands. 

And then it doesn't. 

The fabric of the dress starts bothering you, his tight shirt is suddenly not tight enough and the hardness steadily growing and pressing into your core is screaming for attention you can't give him with all these clothes on the way. 

He feels it too, fingers tracing the hem of your dress for the second time today and then they're under it, pulling at the fabric up until it bunches on your waist. 

You're still wearing the swimsuit he helped you put on earlier but it does little to conceal how affected you are. Looking down, you're not even ashamed of it when he follows your eyes and lets his linger on the patch of wetness darkening the color of the bottoms. 

Still, he moves his hands upwards again and soon you're struggling to get the dress off, considering you're almost bumping the roof of the car when you straighten your spine to do so. 

“Wanna know what crossed my mind when I saw you in the bathroom?” 

When it's finally off, he immediately goes for it: His index tracing your collarbone and slowly descending, his short nail dragging against your skin before the rest of his fingers join, right in between your breasts, where there's fabric holding together the top of the swimsuit. 

He could easily tug on it if he wanted to. Instead, he ignores it and presses the heel of his hand against it, forcing you to lean back and almost bump into the steering wheel again. 

Unable to speak and panting, you only nod as a reply to his question. 

“How easy it would be to get on my knees and eat you out. I thought: What if I just…” Using his other hand to mess with the knots that keep the left bottom part of the swimsuit together, he demonstrates what he means without actually doing it, his eyes following the motions “Undo these, get on my knees and make her come all over my face?” 

“Fuck, Mingi…” 

“You would like that, wouldn't you?” He smirks without actually looking at you, the hand on your sternum traveling down against your skin before joining the other one, teasing the knots on the right. 

“Y-yes.” 

Maybe he can see it on your face, the sudden nervousness at the scene he painted before you, because he grabs one of your hands and brings them to his lips before drawing you close again “Please tell me your idiot ex-boyfriend ate you out when you were together.” 

Blush darkening, you make a face that gives the answer away. 

He groans “He's worse than I thought, fuck. Come here.” And without any warning, the back of his seat goes down until it touches the backseat with it.

Bracing yourself against his chest, because you went down with him as well, you huff out a surprised laugh “Go where?” 

“Up here. Let me teach you something tonight.” 

“Mingi…” 

“First, you need to make sure your hands are clean—” 

“Stop,” laughing, you interrupt his bad attempt at teasing you with the same words you used on him yesterday “There's no real support for me if we do this, where do I even—” 

“Knees here,” he motions the backseat and you could actually do it, but you would have to sit on his face instead of hovering like you imagine it would be more comfortable for him “hands here” he points to the grab handle and the headrest of the passenger seat and then straightens his spine a little, bringing his face closer to you so he can whisper right into your worn out lips “Turn the light off, I'll do the rest.” 

He looks like he's going to kiss you but then he falls back onto the seat with an excited smile curving his lips. 

What a tease. 

So of course you turn off the light and prop yourself up into the position he wants to. It's challenging, the car is not that small but it feels like it is and you very much would rather do this on a bed, spare his back and yours in the process, but excitement also runs through your body and your brain stops making up excuses for why should deny yourself of the pleasure of Mingi using his mouth to make you see stars the second his fingers undo the knots and peel the bottom half of your swimsuit off your body with ease. 

Lips trailing up your inner thighs and hands on each side of them, holding you in a secure position, Mingi doesn't tease you much before attaching his mouth to your heat and your subconsciousness flies out the window when his tongue flicks your clit. 

You look down at him and the sight of him enjoying himself has you beaming, the warmth spreads through you and the zeroes on your pussy. You don't even try to quiet down your moans, completely forgetting that you're in a public parking lot that can fill up at any second. 

But paying no mind to it either, Mingi also moans encouragingly into your wet folds when your hips move a little, chasing that high. 

He shifts his focus to your entrance, his tongue working itself into you and when you move your hips again at the feeling, his nose bumps into your clit in a way that has you grasping the headrest for support, right hand slipping down and resting on the window while your mouth hangs open and your eyes shut close. 

“Mingi… Baby, fuck, I'll—” he adds his thumb into his ministrations, pressing it against your clit the way he did yesterday and it only takes a few side to side movements for you to come undone on his mouth. 

And again, the intensity of your orgasm takes you by surprise. It's obviously not as intense as yesterday's but it still got you trembling so you want to curse him out for being that good at what he does. 

He eases you into it, slowing his mouth and you only register that it leaves you completely when your thighs are being kissed tenderly. 

Breathless, you look down at him and catch his smile before his teeth are sinking into your skin and forcing you to hiss out a laugh “Good?” 

“Yeah,” you smile, climbing down from your position and hovering over his lap in an attempt to not ruin his jeans. It's very obvious he enjoyed it too, his crotch holding the evidence tight and probably painfully against the fabric there “Really, really good.” 

You want to get on your knees and return the favor, make him squirm in pleasure, but the space is not working in your favor. So even though your thighs are hurting and sweat is dripping down your neck, you start working on the button and zipper of his jeans before he sits up.

He wants to say something, but your tongue is touching his and tasting yourself on it before he gets the chance. Clumsily, a little too far gone for your liking as well, you are able to get through the layers of clothes and let your hand hang over his dick “Are you gonna make me beg for it today?” 

“You don't have to, love.” 

“Beg?” you ask with a smile that he reciprocates “Or touch you?” your free hand brushes the hair out of his face, sliding down until you're propping his chin up with it, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly “Because I want to touch you. I want to make you feel so, so good, baby. Please.” 

He kisses the pad of your thumb and then takes it into his mouth, tongue caressing the tip of it until you're panting again and then nods. 

That's all the permission you need before taking him with your hand and pulling him out of his boxers. Taking your hand out briefly, you gather up saliva and spit right into it. 

Mingi lets out a noise at that. Interesting. 

Starting slow, you focus on his expression. Testing the waters, taking note of what he likes because, unlike him, you probably pushed to the corner of your mind every sexual conversation you two had before yesterday. You take a second to look down at it, the size is no surprise but your mouth waters at the image of you taking him into the heat of it. 

Maybe another time. For now, you focus on making him feel good with the little you can offer him in the enclosed space of his car. 

He mouths at your neck, choked up sobs vibrate through the skin on your collarbone and your top gets moved to the side so he can mark the side of your boobs as he pleases. It sets the fire inside of you alive again, your folds getting wetter when he rolls his tongue around your nipple and then throws his head back when you twist your hand in a motion he seems to really enjoy.

“Just like that, love.” 

To your delight, he's not quiet. He's loud, he's grabby, taking the opportunity to hold onto your ass and press down on the skin when you tease his slit and gather his precum on your fingers so you can spread it around his cock and your hand can slide easier. 

Movements get sloppy once he's close, he's no longer paying attention to you and you welcome it as a great sign, his hips bucking into your hand and he moves you forward until you're sitting on his lap again. 

The only thing preventing your pussy and his dick from touching is your hand. 

You glance at him and he looks back, probably the same idea popping up into his mind so you nod once.

The car moves as you two move around, to the back seat, the spine of his seat up and the entire thing moving forward to make space for him next to you, over you, on top of you once he kicks his jeans and boxers off to the floor. 

You reach out to him in a silent plea and he bends down to kiss you soft and moist and hot and breathy, sensually, with sweet sounds escaping both of you when you reach under his shirt and lift it up until he gets what you want. Discarding it with the rest of his clothes, your top follows it and the contentment you feel when his naked chest touches yours is unmeasurable. 

There's no real room to move around and there's not really any patience left within both of you, so when he apologizes when he moves his hips where he shouldn't and his tip brushes your entrance, you pull back from his bruising mouth. 

“Condom. Now.” 

He obliges right away, searching on his jeans for a minute or so and when he comes back he's smirking like he can't believe you “When I told you we needed to raincheck I didn't mean it to be like this. Bossy.” 

Even if you're punching him on his chest and giggling at his breathy words, you take the teasing with pride “You started it, Mingi!” 

Putting the condom on skilled and fast, he's soon resting his forehead against yours and kissing you softly again “I wanted you on my bed…” his lips trail down and the giggles die on your throat as he's kissing it, a moan escaping you “On your back or knees or riding me…” he continues in a whisper going down and down and down, giving your nipples attention before going back up and taking your mouth in his again “Making a mess on my cock…” 

He takes the opportunity to enter you slowly and you gasp at the stretch, wet enough so it doesn't hurt you but you're unfamiliar with him, with his size splitting you open deliciously. 

“F-fuck, Y/N.” Mingi leans back to watch you take him in and you whine again. Tilting your head back, you let him work himself in and you moan loudly when he almost bottoms out “Look at you…” 

You don't. You can't. He's pressing his thumb on your clit again to ease you through the stretch and it makes the heat pool in your belly like you didn't come in his mouth a few minutes ago. 

Slowly but surely it gets easier for him to rock his hips into you, mouth parting in pleasure when you remind yourself to look at him. His abdomen tenses when you run your nails against the skin there, softly, until you're detouring them into his back and sinking them in just enough to have him whining at the feeling. 

“Baby… Harder.” 

“Yeah?” 

Hips bucking up to meet his at a particularly hard trust, you reach up to him so he can rest his body weight on yours. Close like this, with the pace picking up, the knot on your lower half tightens and threatens to break. 

“You take me so well, love. Fuck, always knew you would,” you know he can feel your walls tightening around him at the praise, because he smiles and kisses you once before continuing “My pretty, pretty girl… Taking my cock so well…” he punctuates his words with the roll of his hips and you cry out, holding his face in between your hands, his eyes never leaving yours. 

In this position, his lower abdomen bumps into your clit and it's soon tipping you over the edge. 

“So good, so good, oh— Oh, God.” You're mumbling incoherently while Mingi keeps whispering sweet nothings and then the tension on your belly breaks. It takes three seconds of your walls pulsating around him for him to groan loudly into your mouth and come undone as well. 

The only thing you can hear is breathing, all you can feel is breathing. His against your chin, yours blowing on his hair when you rest your cheek on his temple. 

It takes a second to gather yourself again and when you do, you tilt your head back to give him a chaste kiss that he returns. 

“That was so good, baby.” You tell him and he smiles, nodding in agreement “I am sticking to the fucking seat though.” 

Mingi snorts and just like that the energy shifts back to the usual you. Only this time, you come back to it knowing that no one’s ever going to have you the way he does. 

He slips out of you, doing his thing with the condom and you sit up, looking through the windows and becoming aware of your surroundings for the first time since you got there. 

There's a car parked far away from you that's empty and the rest of the cars that were near it have left. You wonder how long this all took, because you lost track of time the second he told you he likes you. 

Chest still heaving and boxers now on, Mingi rests his back on the door and takes your hand in his “Is it dumb of me to assume you're my girlfriend now, love?” 

“Is it dumb that I assumed that's what I was when you said you like me?” 

“No,” he answers right away “not dumb at all.” 

Smiling, you nod “Then I'm your girlfriend, Mingi.” 

He beams at that and then he's crowding you again “Say it again.” 

“I'm your girlfriend.” you repeat, enunciating each word and giggling when he nuzzles his nose into the crimson on your cheek “I’m yours, baby.” 

Resting his forehead against yours, he hums in contempt “Good, because I've always been yours too.” 

“There's no way! You two... together? Guys… See, that would be me if I didn't see it coming but I'm smarter and cooler than everyone here so I did.” 

Wooyoung's over the top reaction has Mingi throwing his head back in a silent laugh and you staring at the black haired guy, unamused and a little offended. 

It's two days later and, as usual, you're at Wooyoung's and San’s apartment hanging out. 

After putting your clothes back on and going for some well deserved food, Mingi took you home, kissed you goodnight and showed up the next day after class to break the news to your parents. 

Your mom almost cried. Your dad too, but for a completely different reason. 

In the end, they both agreed they saw it coming and when you told Mingi’s parents, they said the same thing and invited yours to have celebratory dinner without you. 

What happened in Mingi’s room after was worth missing dinner anyways. 

Mingi and you decided to break the news when most of the group showed up for movie night and you were nervous to see their reactions. 

But everyone seems unaffected by it. 

“I knew you guys liked each other the second I met you. Ask Gyuri, she agrees with me.” 

“Sadly, I do.” Wooyoung's ex looks at you from her spot by the door, where she's getting her shoes on. 

She winks at you and you fake a gasp, falling into your boyfriend's lap with an annoyed huff. 

“And no one told us?!” 

“Sorry, Y/N. We didn't want to get in the way.” Hwa is apologetic and Yeosang nods alongside Hongjoong but you gape at them like they betrayed your trust. 

“To be fair we didn't know till’ last week, love.” 

“She didn't know.” Gyuri corrects him and now you turn to her to give her the betrayed look “You were pining over it for six months already.” 

“I say it was more like nine but…” Hwa shrugs and sips his cup, giving the man holding you close a knowing smile. 

Oh, they definitely talked about it, huh? 

“Nine months and no one cared to fill me in, huh?” 

“I’m sure Mingi did—” 

“Wooyoung!” 

“Well I didn't notice.” Yunho interferes with a shrug and gives you a recomforting smile that doesn't work at all. 

San laughs “That's because you're a puppy that can't even tell when someone likes you.” 

“Am not!” 

Everyone, including you and Mingi, make a noise in agreement with San.  

“You're one to talk, though, leave the puppy alone.” Gyuri tells her ex's best friend and Wooyoung laughs at him when his smile drops. 

There's some story there you don't know. 

“Guys… Does someone like me right now? Be honest.” 

Yeosang is about to tell him something but Jongho interrupts. 

“Enough with the love talk! Can we start the movie?” But he's pressing play already, so the answer doesn't really matter. 

Gyuri laughs once and Wooyoung makes his way over to her to give her a hug that she enjoys for one second tops before pushing him away. 

“Enjoy everyone! I'm so happy for you two, by the way, not that these neanderthals would tell you to your face but I'm sure they're too.” 

“Thank you, Gyuri.” Mingi murmurs from behind you and you mouth a thank you as well before she leaves for the night. 

Something about her best friend having a boy crisis. 

You don't miss the way San’s eyes follow her until she leaves or the way he looks at Woo, something clearly worrying him. 

His best friend ignores him, though, so you confirm that might just be a little pissed off at him after all. 

“Tell her to text you what happens.” San asks Woo once she leaves and he rolls his eyes. 

“Mhm. I’ll tell her to stop calling us neanderthals too.” 

You smile “Well, she's right.” 

“Nuh-uh!” 

Jongho has to stop the movie and you see him sulk while everyone else is arguing. Some of them, like Hwa and Yeo, are siding with you and Gyuri. And the rest of them, like your boyfriend, are telling them off. 

When you turn to face him, his argument dies mid-sentence because he stops to smile at you. He takes your face in his hand and kisses you for the first time ever in front of everyone else. The group stops the argument to tease you both and you laugh into his mouth. 

A cushion is thrown at you and Jongho gets up to separate your faces before sitting beside you with a pout on his lips. 

“Can we watch the goddamn movie?!” 

You're the happiest you've ever been.

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[mcrdvcks]

— warm

summary: After Matt tells Angela to not worry about her uncle's notes about missing people and Track 61, she turns to you, a PI.

'cause i'm cool on my own but it's warmer in your arms

word count: 4k+ pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader notes: i had this idea when i first watched the episode 6 - what if it was you instead of angela who got kidnapped and the reason why matt becomes daredevil again? also, i got the title from ariana grande (i love the deluxe of eternal sunshine so muchhh). anyways, enjoy! <3 warnings/tags: angst, mentions of blood, murder, and violence (canon-typical), mention of death, no heather (sorry not sorry), slight pining?, confession(s)

“Angela!” You exclaimed, standing up from your desk to walk over to her. “What a surprise, what’re you doin’ here?”

Angela looked around your office—it was just a small room, but it was good enough for your PI business. She shakily spoke, “I need your help. Mr. Murdock won’t help me, but I thought you would—”

“Matt?” You cut in.

She moved to sit down at a chair, “my uncle was onto something. He was investigating something. All those kidnappings, he started to track them.”

You sat back down, tilting your head as you thought. “What did Matt say?”

Angela sighed, frustrated, and looked away. "He told me to go to the police. He said he’s just a lawyer, and that it wasn’t safe for me to get involved."

You bit your lip, nodding slowly. "Well, he’s not wrong. But then again, this city isn’t exactly known for safety. Can’t really blame you for trying to do something."

"I know." Angela leaned forward, determination shining through her worry. "That's why I came to you. Hector trusted you. He always said you were smart and good at your job—said you had better instincts than most."

You smiled softly. "Your uncle was always too generous." You tapped your fingers gently against the desk. "Do you have anything specific he was looking into?"

Angela handed you a worn notebook, filled with scribbles and notes. "He was tracking the missing people, see?" She flipped open to a marked page, pointing urgently. "All along the old Q line, near Track 61. He thought someone was using the tunnels to hide."

Your gaze flicked over the notes, eyebrows furrowing. "These tunnels have been closed off for years," you muttered thoughtfully. "You sure Hector didn’t mention anyone suspicious? Anything strange before—"

"No," Angela cut you off quietly, shaking her head. "Nothing. But he seemed nervous. He wasn't sleeping. He was different."

You leaned back, sighing deeply. "Alright," you finally said, glancing up to meet her eyes. She seemed nervous, maybe a little hesitant to let it go. You licked your lips before speaking. “How ‘bout this? You tell me and show me everything Hector knew about Track 61 and the missing people, but under no circumstances are you to go there. It could be dangerous.”

Angela relaxed slightly, relief evident in her eyes. "Deal."

You nodded and leaned forward, flipping through Hector's notebook again. "Did he say anything else? Any details at all?"

Angela frowned, thinking carefully. "He mentioned graffiti. Kept saying the murals were important, but he never said why."

You paused. "Graffiti? Like those creepy murals popping up?"

She nodded quickly. "Yeah, those. He thought they were connected."

"Alright," you murmured, your voice quieter now as you concentrated. "I'll see what I can dig up. In the meantime, promise me you'll keep your distance from all this."

"I promise." Angela stood up, gathering her things. She paused at the door, turning back to you. "Thank you, Y/N."

You smiled gently. "Be safe, okay?"

"I will." Angela left quietly, shutting the door behind her.

You took another glance at Hector’s messy notes and let out a long breath. Your instincts hummed in quiet unease. Murals, kidnappings, and Track 61—it all felt like trouble. Hector had good instincts, and yours were starting to kick in as well.

You grabbed your phone, scrolling until Matt’s number showed up. Your finger hovered, hesitating. The silence stretched, heavy with memories you’d both been avoiding.

You shook your head and pressed call anyway.

Matt picked up on the second ring, voice careful. “Y/N?”

“You have a visitor earlier?” you asked lightly, leaning back in your chair.

He sighed. “Angela.”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, twirling your pen between your fingers. “She came here after you told her no.”

“You didn’t agree to help her, did you?”

“I’m a PI, Matt, remember?” you countered. “Helping people’s kind of my whole thing.”

“Y/N—”

“She’s desperate. Hector was onto something important,” you interrupted gently. “And if she’s right about Track 61, people might be in serious danger.”

He was quiet a moment, clearly conflicted. “You shouldn’t go looking into this. It’s too risky.”

You smiled a little. “Almost sounds like you care, Murdock.”

“Of course I care,” he replied, a subtle softness creeping into his voice. “Listen, just... promise me you won’t go down there alone.”

You hesitated, eyes drifting back down to the notebook. “I can’t promise that.”

“Y/N.”

“Matt,” you echoed firmly. “I’m not gonna sit back and ignore this. But, if it makes you feel better, I promise to be careful. How’s that?”

He exhaled softly through the phone. “I guess it’ll have to do.”

A pause lingered, neither of you sure what else to say.

“Be careful,” he finally murmured, voice quiet and sincere.

You nodded softly, though he couldn’t see. “Always am.”

You hung up and stared at your phone for a long moment. Hector's notebook lay open in front of you, his messy handwriting hinting at hidden secrets and unseen dangers. You knew Matt meant well, but sitting idly by wasn't your style—especially when something felt so deeply wrong.

So you'd tread carefully, like you'd promised, but you wouldn't stop. Not until you found answers.

---

Angela was onto something with the murals. You peered at a clean-up crew who had been spraying at the paint for at least an hour.

It hadn’t come off.

The paint was stubbornly stuck to the brick wall, not even budging with a power washer or some kind of solvent. You stepped closer, crossing your arms as you observed the crew’s frustration.

“What’s it made of?” you called over the sound of machinery.

A sanitation worker glanced your way, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Hell if I know. Some sorta epoxy. We tried every solvent we've got, but it ain't goin' anywhere.”

Epoxy. That explained the resistance. You stepped closer still, examining the mural more carefully. It was unsettling—something about the swirling, abstract shapes felt hauntingly deliberate.

“You ever see anything like it?” you asked, turning to him again.

He shook his head grimly. “Never. Word is they're all over town now. The Mayor’s pretty pissed about it, I hear.”

“Mayor Fisk?” you asked skeptically.

“Yeah, apparently he doesn’t like graffiti, especially ones that won’t come off.” He paused, glancing around as if someone could overhear. “Between you and me, heard a rumor these murals might be more than just paint.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Meaning?”

He hesitated. “Blood.”

Your breath caught slightly. You swallowed back a shiver, forcing yourself to nod calmly. “You have proof, or is this just talk?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Word spreads fast. But if you ask me, there’s a reason this paint won’t wash off easy.”

You murmured a quick thanks and stepped away, pulling your phone out of your pocket. This was worse than you thought.

You automatically hovered over Matt’s contact, but something stopped you.

He didn’t seem happy that you were investigating, let alone the fact that he hadn’t been Daredevil in a year.

Matt was no help to you.

You sighed, pocketing your phone. If Matt didn’t want to get involved, fine—you’d handle it yourself. That’s what you’d always done, after all. Still, a tiny ache lingered in your chest, quiet but insistent. Once upon a time, you’d have tackled this kind of thing together, without hesitation.

Not anymore.

You pushed the feeling away and turned back to the mural. The unsettling reds and blacks stared back at you mockingly. Blood. You shook your head, grimacing. This city always found new ways to get darker.

A voice startled you from your thoughts. “Admiring the artwork?”

You turned sharply, finding Detective Brett Mahoney watching you with his usual calm intensity. You knew him well enough—paths crossed often enough that you’d gained mutual respect. But he also knew your connection to Matt, which made interactions… interesting.

“Detective Mahoney,” you greeted dryly. “Here to arrest the wall or me?”

A faint smirk crossed his face. “Neither, if you behave yourself.”

“Since when do I cause trouble?”

“You got an hour?” he quipped lightly, stepping closer to examine the mural himself. His expression hardened a bit. “Should I even ask why you're here?”

“Following a lead.”

His gaze shifted to you carefully. “Connected to the missing people?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you know about it?”

“I know someone’s been busy,” he answered cryptically, scanning the paintwork again. “And not in a good way.”

“It’s blood, isn’t it?” you asked softly, following his line of sight.

His jaw tightened. “Officially, that hasn’t been confirmed.”

“Unofficially?”

He sighed. “Yeah. It’s blood.”

You crossed your arms, unsettled. “Whose jurisdiction is this?”

He chuckled without humor. “Mayor’s apparently putting together a task force to deal with it. Fisk handpicked everyone personally.”

You snorted bitterly. “That’s comforting.”

Mahoney eyed you thoughtfully. “This case isn’t a good place to be poking around alone, Y/N. Be careful, alright?”

“You’re the second person today who’s said that.”

“Maybe you should listen,” he pointed out calmly.

You hesitated, meeting his steady gaze. “And if I have information?”

“Share it with me.” His voice was genuine, quietly urgent. “Let me help.”

You nodded slowly, a bit guarded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.” Mahoney gave the mural one last lingering look, before stepping back. “And if you talk to your friend—” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “—make sure he’s careful too.”

“Matt’s not involved.”

Mahoney looked skeptical. “If you say so.”

He walked away, leaving you alone with the eerie mural and your tangled thoughts.

You took a deep breath, glanced back at the stubborn blood-red paint, and turned sharply on your heel. You had work to do.

---

You had one last thing to do before going into Track 61. You called Angela, and she picked up almost immediately.

“Angela, I need you to do something for me. If I don’t call back in an hour, I need you to call Matt.”

There was a long pause. “Why wouldn’t you call back?”

You sighed softly, glancing toward the darkened tunnel entrance. “Just a precaution, Angela. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“You don’t sound very convinced,” she said nervously. “Maybe you shouldn’t—”

“I’ll be fine,” you cut her off gently. “Just promise me, okay?”

She exhaled, reluctant but compliant. “Okay, I promise. One hour, Y/N.”

“Thank you.” You ended the call and pocketed your phone, adjusting the flashlight in your grip as you stepped into the abandoned tunnel.

The air inside was cold and stale, heavy with dust. You aimed your flashlight forward, the beam cutting through the darkness.

“C’mon,” you muttered quietly, “what were you onto, Hector?”

Every footstep echoed unnervingly against the walls. Graffiti streaked across the old brickwork—colorful, disturbing images illuminated by your passing light.

A sound shifted somewhere ahead. You froze instantly.

Silence.

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself. “Relax, Y/N, you’re fine,” you whispered, mostly to convince yourself.

You pressed forward cautiously, scanning the shadows. It felt colder the deeper you went, the uneasy quiet pressing against your nerves.

“Hello?” Your voice echoed slightly. “Anyone down here?”

A low, rustling noise answered from somewhere ahead.

You tensed, flashlight trembling just slightly in your hand. “Hello?” you called again, steadier this time. “Who’s there?”

No response—just that subtle shifting sound again, teasing at your ears.

You took another careful step forward.

Then everything happened fast.

A hand clamped roughly around your mouth from behind, muffling your startled scream. You struggled instantly, your flashlight clattering uselessly to the ground.

“Shh,” a voice hissed chillingly close to your ear. “Don’t scream.”

Your heartbeat thundered frantically in your chest as you twisted violently against the person holding you.

“Relax,” he said coldly. “You’re gonna be part of something beautiful.”

Panic flooded your senses, adrenaline surging hot and fierce. You fought desperately, thrashing and kicking.

“Damn it—hold still!” he snarled angrily, tightening his grip painfully.

You managed to elbow him sharply in the ribs, forcing a grunt of pain. The brief moment of distraction was all you needed—you broke free, gasping for breath.

You sprinted blindly forward through the darkness, adrenaline blurring your vision. Footsteps echoed close behind, and before you could think, a harsh impact sent you sprawling to the ground.

You rolled onto your back just as the figure loomed above you—a grotesque mask covering his face, streaked with blood and grime.

“You’re a fighter, aren’t you?” he whispered softly, voice darkly amused. “Good. That’ll make it more interesting.”

You scrambled backward desperately, nails scraping uselessly against stone. “Stay away!”

He stepped closer, unbothered by your warning. “You don’t understand. I need you.”

“Go to hell,” you spat fiercely.

He laughed softly, crouching down beside you. “After tonight, Y/N, we’ll both be there.”

Your stomach dropped at your name. He knew who you were. You opened your mouth to scream again, but something sharp pressed swiftly against your neck.

Darkness claimed you quickly, your last conscious thought a desperate, regretful wish:

Matt.

---

While investigating Track 61, Matt’s phone vibrated. “Call from Angela. Answer or decline? Call from Angela—”

“Hello?” Matt answered.

“Mr. Murdock? It’s Angela.”

"Angela," Matt replied sharply, an immediate sense of dread creeping into his voice. "What's wrong?"

"Y/N—she made me promise to call you if she didn't check back in," Angela explained, anxiety clear in every syllable. "She was going down into Track 61 to look around—it's been more than an hour. She hasn't answered her phone."

Matt’s breath hitched. His grip tightened instinctively around his phone. "Damn it. I told her not to go down there."

"I tried to talk her out of it," Angela said quickly. "She insisted. I don't know what to do—"

"Stay calm," Matt cut her off gently, forcing his own panic down. "Did she say exactly where she was going in the tunnels?"

"No, but she had Hector’s notes, the ones about graffiti," Angela responded quickly. "She mentioned something about the murals—she thought they might lead somewhere."

Matt ran his free hand through his hair, a heavy breath escaping him. "Alright. Listen carefully, Angela: stay at home with your parents. I'll take care of the rest."

Right after he ended the call with Angela he dialed nine-one-one, letting the phone ring while he stared straight ahead, mulling over what to do.

Finally, the call connected. “911, what is your emergency?” Matt brought the phone to his ear but paused before saying anything. “Hello?” His heart pounded as he held the phone at his side. “Hello? 911.”

“Fuck it.” He muttered.

---

Matt ran past the train as it travelled quickly past him on the tracks, spotting Muse at an entryway.

Muse turned sharply, the grotesque mask glinting in the dim tunnel light. Daredevil didn’t hesitate, lunging forward instantly and striking him with full force.

Muse stumbled backward, slamming into the wall. He recovered fast, reaching out to strike back, sharp and precise. Daredevil narrowly dodged, his senses heightened, listening carefully for any sound—your heartbeat, faint but still present in the room beyond.

Muse attacked again, quick and violent. Daredevil parried with his billy clubs, blocking blow after blow, feet shuffling through the tunnel as they traded rapid hits. Each strike echoed sharply against brick and metal.

Muse snarled angrily, grabbing at Daredevil’s throat. Matt twisted expertly, shoving Muse’s weight sideways. Muse lost his balance, but recovered instantly, swinging out wildly in retaliation. The fight moved quickly through the narrow entryway, deeper into the darkness.

They crashed into the room filled with paint cans and grotesque murals, disturbing tools and brushes scattering loudly across the concrete floor. Matt’s focus narrowed immediately onto the quiet rhythm of your pulse, a faint thump echoing weakly from your direction.

Muse seized a blade from his belt, lunging at Daredevil. Matt reacted sharply, ducking and countering, his billy clubs spinning with practiced ease. He connected harshly with Muse’s side, eliciting a pained grunt. Muse swung back, knife slicing sharply through the air.

Daredevil twisted swiftly, Muse’s blade narrowly missing his chest. Matt kicked out, knocking the knife from Muse’s grip. It skittered across the floor. Muse growled, charging aggressively forward.

Matt’s attention was split—Muse’s heavy breathing, violent movements, and your pulse, quiet and uneven in the corner of the room. His jaw clenched tightly, and he struck out again, determination fueling every precise movement.

Muse slammed Daredevil roughly against the wall, hands grappling at his throat, pushing relentlessly. Matt’s breath was short, strained. He twisted fiercely, kicking Muse away. Muse stumbled backward, crashing into paint cans and sending them clattering loudly.

Matt stepped forward again, sweat dripping down his face. Muse snarled fiercely, fists raised, attacking again with renewed fury. Matt matched his aggression blow for blow, movements fluid and powerful.

Muse swung brutally, managing to hit Daredevil squarely in the jaw. Matt staggered briefly, blood tasting sharp on his tongue, but immediately retaliated, sending Muse sprawling backward onto the floor. Matt’s senses picked up your weakening heartbeat, dread filling him with urgency.

Muse struggled to his feet, glaring hatefully. Daredevil moved swiftly, wrapping the cord of his billy clubs tightly around Muse’s neck. Muse gasped, choking as Matt pulled the clubs tightly upward, hoisting Muse from the ground, feet kicking desperately.

Suddenly, Matt's breath caught—your heartbeat stuttered and stopped entirely.

“No—” Matt choked out sharply, horror flooding his veins.

Muse’s body slumped, unconscious. Matt immediately abandoned him, rushing over to you.

He tore the IV harshly from your leg, hands shaking. His fingers felt desperately for a pulse—nothing.

“Damn it, Y/N,” he whispered fiercely, climbing onto the table beside you. He began chest compressions quickly, rhythmically. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t.”

He pressed harder, focused only on the faint hope of your heartbeat returning beneath his fingers. “C’mon, sweetheart, breathe,” he pleaded quietly, voice thick with emotion.

Seconds felt agonizingly slow. Matt’s breaths came in desperate, frantic pants. “Please, Y/N—”

Your chest suddenly rose sharply, and you gasped loudly, eyes snapping open in panic. Matt immediately cradled your face gently between his hands, voice urgent but tender. “It’s okay—I’m here. You're safe now.”

You blinked, confusion slowly fading into relief. “Matt?”

“Yeah,” he whispered softly, relief flooding his voice. “I’ve got you.”

Your breathing slowed, shaky but steady, your eyes filling with tears as reality sank in. Matt stayed close, thumbs stroking your cheeks gently, offering quiet reassurance.

“You came,” you managed weakly, voice breaking slightly.

“Always,” he murmured fiercely, pressing a relieved kiss to your forehead. “Always, Y/N.”

---

When you woke up, there were bright fluorescent lights above you and a needle taped to the inside of your elbow.

You blinked groggily, squinting at the too-bright room around you. Slowly, awareness trickled back—you were in a hospital. You shifted uncomfortably, your body feeling weak and drained.

“Hey.”

Matt's voice drew your attention immediately. He sat beside your bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His expression was tight, unreadable.

“Hey,” you managed, throat dry and scratchy. You cleared it gently. “How long have I been out?”

“Couple of hours,” he said softly, relief evident in his tone. “You lost a lot of blood. They're giving you a transfusion.”

You glanced at the needle taped securely to your skin and grimaced. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Matt's jaw tightened. “You scared me.”

“I scared myself,” you admitted quietly.

For a moment, there was silence, heavy and loaded. Matt finally exhaled sharply, leaning back in the hospital chair.

“You could’ve died, Y/N,” he said sharply, suddenly angry. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You flinched slightly at his tone, surprised by his anger. “Matt—”

“No.” He shook his head fiercely. “You promised me you’d be careful. What part of going down into dark tunnels alone with a serial killer running loose sounded careful to you?”

“I was trying to help,” you shot back weakly, frustration bubbling up inside you. “People were dying, Matt. Hector died. Angela asked for my help, and she was right. I wasn’t going to just sit by.”

“You almost became one of those people,” he snapped harshly, voice rising. “Do you understand that? You almost became another damn mural on a wall.”

You turned your head, biting your lip, eyes stinging slightly. His voice softened just a fraction.

“I know you think you have to handle everything on your own,” Matt said quietly. “But you don’t.”

You stared stubbornly at your hands, still not meeting his gaze.

“You could’ve called me first,” he added, frustration clear again. “You know I would’ve gone with you.”

You scoffed softly. “Would you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed, finally looking back up at him. “You’ve barely spoken to me since Foggy died. We’ve both avoided each other for months, and every time we talk it’s only about work. Would you really have gone with me? Or would you have given me the same speech you gave Angela about safety and not getting involved?”

Matt hesitated, jaw clenched tightly. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s exactly fair,” you argued softly. “Ever since Foggy, you’ve pulled away. Maybe I have too, but it’s not like we’ve been exactly open with each other.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he muttered, frustration and hurt tangled in his voice. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“From what, Matt? From this life?” You gestured weakly around the hospital room. “This life is exactly who we are. Foggy knew that, and so do I. You can’t protect me from it.”

“Maybe I wanted to protect you from me,” he finally said roughly, his voice breaking slightly. “You’ve seen what happens around me. Foggy died, Y/N. You almost did too. And it always comes back to Daredevil. I didn’t want you caught in the middle of that anymore.”

Your heart softened instantly at the guilt in his voice. “Matt—Foggy’s death wasn’t your fault. And tonight, that was my decision. You can’t keep taking responsibility for everyone around you.”

“You’re missing the point,” he murmured tightly, shaking his head. “The point is I can’t lose you too.”

Your heart skipped slightly, and you swallowed. “Matt...”

He let out a shaky breath, leaning forward again. “When your heart stopped—” he paused, voice breaking with emotion, “it was the worst feeling I've ever had. All I could think was that I waited too long. That I never told you...”

“Told me what?” you whispered cautiously, your pulse suddenly quickening.

“That I love you,” he admitted quietly. “God, Y/N, I’ve loved you for years. Long before Foggy died, long before I tried to pull away. But I pushed it aside because I thought it was safer. For both of us.”

You stared at him, breath caught tightly in your throat.

“Matt—” you began again, voice soft and trembling.

He reached for your hand, holding it tightly in his own, desperate and firm. “I almost lost you tonight because I was too damn stubborn and afraid. But I’m done hiding. I don’t care how dangerous it is. I don’t care if you tell me it’s too late. But you have to know—I love you.”

You exhaled shakily, blinking back sudden tears. “It’s not too late.”

His shoulders slumped in visible relief, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. He leaned closer, voice barely audible.

“Say it again,” he breathed softly.

You smiled faintly, tightening your hold on his hand. “It’s not too late, Matt. I love you too.”

He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against your hand for a moment, breathing deeply, letting your words settle inside him. When he opened them again, he smiled—a small, gentle smile filled with quiet hope and gratitude.

“You’re still infuriatingly reckless,” he murmured, voice teasing gently. “But God, I’m glad you’re okay.”

You chuckled weakly, squeezing his fingers. “Sorry about scaring you.”

Matt lifted your hand, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “Just promise me, next time, you won’t go alone.”

“Promise,” you said softly.

He exhaled in quiet relief, resting his head against your joined hands. You smiled faintly, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids again. His quiet presence beside you was comforting, familiar, safe.

“Stay?” you whispered quietly, voice thick with fatigue.

“Always,” he murmured softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The collection of letters that Bradley received from the fourth grade class provides him with entertainment while deployed. He takes the time to answer their questions and send a package back to the United States via air mail. But he has your email address. He also has a bit of a crush and some questions himself.

Warnings: Fluff, language

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

A few days later, when Bradley was done with his training protocols for the day, he returned to his bunk with a different mission in mind. While he unzipped his flight suit, he eyed the box which was taking up most of his nightstand, and a smile found its way to his lips. He managed to find a notebook that nobody wanted along with a thick, padded envelope, and he was going to take the time to respond to the fourth graders who wrote to him. 

He'd spent hours poring over the letters, laughing at some of the questions from the kids and frequently picking up that one photo. He couldn't stop going back for more. For another look at you. Just one more look. Okay, this really was the last one. He had to toss it across the small room toward his duffel so he could focus on something other than your smile and the fact that he might have a tiny crush on a fourth grade teacher who knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet.

The note from Jayden was on the top, and Bradley opened it up and started to jot down a response.

Jayden,

It was so nice to hear from you and the rest of your class. To answer your pertinent questions, I am currently stationed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The most disgusting food in the mess hall is easily the cabbage rolls (which taste nothing like cabbage... or rolls). The best food in the mess hall is surprisingly the meatloaf. And yes, I would love to see a photo of your Cocker Spaniel. Please send one next time. I hope you're studying and doing your best in school.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The next note he decided to tackle was the one from Violet who had the tiniest handwriting he'd ever seen. The page had at least fifteen questions written out, but he decided to answer just a few for her. He had to squint as he skimmed through them again.

Violet,

You seem very inquisitive. That's a great quality to have, especially if you want to be a pilot someday. No, I did not attend the Naval Academy. I went to the University of Virginia. Yes, the Navy is way better than the Air Force. Yes, I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes. Yes, they actually made me do it. No, I don't think I could make it as a Navy SEAL. Yes, I have been staying hydrated and getting enough sun, thanks so much for asking. Keep studying hard, because you have a lot of school ahead of you before officer training.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

Okay, so this was actually a lot of fun. Up next was a response to the note from Oliver, which made Bradley laugh every time he looked at it. 

Oliver,

Thank you so much for drawing the different Naval aircrafts for me. I hate to break it to you, but I actually do not fly the F-35 Lightning II. Yes, I know they look 'sickeningly cool'. Yes, I know it would be like 'slam dunking off the back of a dragon'. I guess I never knew I was jealous of those pilots until right now.... But I fly the equally cool if not quite as sickening looking F/A-18 Super Hornet. And yes, I would be more than happy to draw my own version of one for you. See below.

Lt. Bradley Bradshaw

The ten minutes he spent replicating his own aircraft to the best of his ability for Oliver churned out a pretty damn good result. He fished his phone out of the nightstand and took a picture to email to Nat when he had time, because she would find this whole thing amusing. Then he reached for the letters from Harrison, Nia and Jackie. He wrote his responses, and after a bit, he had a decent sized stack of letters all ready to go back to the fourth graders.

After a few more days, he worked his way through the entire class, and each kid would soon have a handwritten response on the way. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to say to you. The pretty teacher from the class photo that he now kept tucked in with his personal items. He worked on that one last, writing your full name at the top of the page and wishing you didn't go by the very non-specific Ms. which gave him zero clue as to whether or not you were married.

The package you sent was the nicest piece of deployment mail I have ever received. Thank you. I'm lucky it ended up in my hands. I'm impressed by how much all of your students have learned about aviation this year. I just hope I did them justice in regards to the questions they had for me.

I also hope you don't mind that I replied to each kid individually. They had some very amusing stories and questions, and I wanted to acknowledge all of them. But there was one question in particular that I was asked so many times, I thought I'd answer it here instead. My call sign is kind of a silly one, so it's okay if you all laugh. I go by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, and my helmet is mostly red, yellow and black.

Your kids seem like a fun bunch, but I bet they keep you on your toes. Feel free to let them know they can write back to me again, but please include my name on the package this time. I don't know that I'd be lucky enough to have it fall into my hands again by chance. I'll just be here somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a few more months, ready to answer any questions you throw at me. Hope to hear back from you soon.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The following day, he packed everything up and dropped it off with the rest of the ship's outgoing mail. There was a rumor that a helicopter would be coming to pick it up in the next day or two, and he wanted to make sure it got back to California and those fourth graders as soon as possible. On his way back to his bunk, Bradley stopped by the lounge to see if there was an iPad free, hoping to send a quick email or two. He was in luck. He also happened to have your email address memorized.

--------------------------

You yawned at your desk and checked the time on your computer. Within the next ten minutes, your classroom would go from silent solitude to mass chaos, so you took a minute to clear out your email inbox. You had a few messages from some parents and a reminder about Spirit Week from the superintendent. And a random piece of junk mail that must have slipped through the spam filters. You didn't know anyone with a US Navy email address, and you didn't know anyone named Bradley Bradshaw.

As you closed your laptop, you gasped and tried to pry it back open again as quickly as you could. The Navy! The package you sent a few weeks ago! Maybe it was someone writing back to your class! Of course it could just be someone saying they were sorry that they didn't have time to engage with your students, but you figured even that was better than nothing. 

"Come on," you whispered, entering your credentials again before your inbox reappeared on your screen. The email was just a few lines long, but it was addressed to you by name. You were smiling immediately as you read it.

I just wanted to let you know that I got the mail you sent to a deployed Naval Aviator. There's a package on its way to your school for your class. It should arrive in about a week or two. Your fourth graders provided me with several hours of entertainment, and I hope they find my answers to their many (and amusing) questions useful. Thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the photos, too. Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying them. Hope to hear from all of you again.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

You squealed and pumped your fists in the air. Someone actually got the box! And he actually responded! The other, older teachers thought you were just wasting your time when you deviated from the lesson plans a bit. Literally all of them said there was no way anyone would write back, even though you took the time to go through the proper channels at Top Gun on North Island. But now you could rub it in their faces, all thanks to Bradley Bradshaw who sounded like he'd had as much fun with this whole thing as your class had.

Then your day really started as Violet and Oliver burst into your classroom, calling out your name with excitement in their voices. The rest of your kids followed behind them, already asking about the plans for the day and what kind of adventure you'd be taking them on in each subject. 

When you clapped your hands twice and said, "Good morning," they all clapped and replied with their own greeting, and then they sat quietly with their gazes fixed on you. "Guess who I just got an email from!"

"The president!" 

"My grandma!"

"My Cocker Spaniel!"

"Oliver's grandma!"

You just shook your head and tried not to laugh as you said, "None of the above. But do you remember when we wrote and packed up those letters for a real aviator in the military to read?" Most of the kids nodded, so you added, "Well, he emailed us! And he sent us some mail that should arrive in about a week!"

And telling them that was a mistake. Because you didn't know a moment of peace after that. Every morning, you had kids rushing into the room to see if the promised piece of mail arrived yet. Every day you had to disappoint them, but you were finding yourself a little disappointed, too. You wanted to know what this Bradley Bradshaw guy sent back. 

You'd responded to his initial email letting him know you and the kids in your class were delighted to hear from him and that you would let him know when the mail he sent arrived at your school. He didn't respond, but you figured he was busy. Too busy to constantly muck about with your class while he was thousands of miles away on a deployment. 

And that was what left you standing at your desk with your mouth hanging open in awe when the padded envelope did finally arrive one morning. Because when you carefully cut it open, you found not just one letter to the class but individual handwritten notes, one for each child.

"Wow," you whispered, pulling the note with your name written on the top out of the stack. This man seemed humble and sweet, and his letter made you laugh in more than one spot as you read through it. Then you read it again. He sounded apologetic about responding to each individual kid, but you felt like your insides were melting. Who would do that? Who would take the time to give individual attention to a bunch of nine and ten year olds besides you? And you were technically getting paid to do it. 

Bradley Bradshaw seemed willing to continue to engage with your kids, and you weren't going to stop him. Because starting that morning, he became something of a legend to your class. A celebrity. A real lieutenant in the Navy replied to all of their silly questions, and their love of aviation just grew from there. You figured you were going to have to keep your lesson plans going a bit longer while their faces lit up as you walked around the room and handed them each their notes. You had taken the time to skim them beforehand, often laughing at his sense of humor which seemed to jump off the pages.

"Can we write back to him?" Jayden asked as everyone read their notes from Lieutenant Bradshaw. "I have more questions."

You smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may write back to him." Then you postponed your geology lesson until the next day and let them spend the next forty minutes writing some followup letters. You took some pictures of them diligently toiling away at their desks, excitement on their faces. Then you bit your lip and sat down at your own desk.

As you started to construct an email letting him know the envelope had arrived, your thoughts drifted to what he might be like. Humble and sweet, for sure. But he also made it a point to tell you that the box from your class was the best piece of mail he'd ever received while deployed. Maybe he was a little bit lonely. Maybe he was single. Maybe he was stationed on the west coast. Your thoughts started to get ahead of you, and it was hard to reel them in when you imagined him excited to see another email from you. Smiling when he was handed another box from your class during mail call.

Dear Lt Bradley Bradshaw,

We got the envelope from you today, and my kids are absolutely thrilled! I'm not sure if you know how hard it can be to wrangle eighteen fourth graders all at one time, but they are currently sitting quietly and working on new letters for you to read. Once again, please don't feel obligated to continue correspondence if you're too busy. I'm sure you have other people you could be writing to who want your attention as well. I just wanted you to know they are overjoyed that a Naval officer took the time to answer their questions about aviation.

I have attached some photos as proof that they are sitting still. Thanks again for making their day.

You signed your name at the bottom the way you always would from your work email account, and then you attached the photos. After a brief debate about adding the selfie you took with Violet where most of your face was visible, you decided to just go for it. Adding it to the mix wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like this semi mystery man would be up all night thinking about you. 

But you found that you were still thinking about him when you went home to your silent house and made dinner that evening. Maybe he was a little bit lonely, but maybe you were, too.

-------------------------

It was amazing how infrequently Bradley found himself thinking about Vanessa. He was busier now with his duties picking up a bit more as his deployment wore on, but even when he was tired and in his bunk at night, his thoughts seldom settled on her like he was afraid they might. He didn't miss her or her half-hearted emails, and he wasn't craving the connection of reunion sex with her. 

Instead, he was thinking about what a group of fourth graders were learning about this week and what their cute teacher was up to. It had been a few days since you emailed him, letting him know that his package was delivered to your school. You made it sound like the kids were excited that he sent it in the first place, and when he really thought about it, he supposed some officers would have just eaten the snacks and tossed the notes in the trash.

He didn't reply to the email yet, still thrown off a bit by the pictures you attached. Your classroom was vibrant, and the kids were absorbed as they worked on more notes for him to read whenever they happened to be delivered to the carrier. But the photo with you in it held his attention longer than it should have. The fact that you were working at a school that was just a handful of miles from his damn house made him feel warm.

But what would he do about it? What could he do about it? Nothing. He didn't want you to think he was creepy. He still knew essentially nothing else about you. The only thing he could do was keep it friendly if not professional. Unless of course you did something to push the boundaries of conversation into a more personal realm. God, if you did....he didn't think he would be able to handle it. 

The next day, when he was heading out on deck to talk to the mechanics who were doing regular maintenance on the aircrafts, he took his phone. "Hey, you mind if I take a few photos of some of the engine parts? I want to send them to a class of fourth graders who will think it's cool."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the head mechanic replied. Then he smiled and asked, "You dating a teacher?"

Well. Wouldn't that be something? Bradley would never run out of curious pen pals. He would always have some fourth graders to take interesting photos for and to send notes to. He'd always have a classroom to visit as soon as he got home from a deployment.

He couldn't help but picture you as the teacher.

"Nothing like that," he replied, his voice a little gravelly. "Just writing to some kids who are learning about aviation."

After dinner, when he had a chance to use an iPad in the lounge, he did his best to put together a response to your email that would at least hint at the curiosity he felt. 

If all it takes is mail from three thousand miles away to get your class to sit quietly, then I should probably be writing to you every day. But I'm sure you're a great teacher. That's a given considering how much your students learned and shared with me. And I can assure you that I'm more than happy to take the time to write to your class. And you. Please don't think I feel obligated, because I do not. I want to.

I have attached a few pictures of some F/A-18 engine components as well as some of my cockpit controls. Each photo is labeled, but please let me know if you have any questions.

It was nice hearing from you.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw 

As soon as he hit send, he wanted to kick himself. Should he have included a photo of his face like you had twice now? Or did he already sound too desperate to hear from you and your class again?

"Shit," he muttered, looking around the lounge as if there was going to be someone here proficient in the art of getting to know a fourth grade teacher without sounding stupid. But it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the next mail call or hope you decided to write back to his ramblings by the next time he checked his email. 

-----------------------------

You were going to have to scrape your jaw off the floor. You had no idea what this man's face even looked like, but his hands were... something else. And his thighs... well, they were pretty great, too. It must have been too long since you got laid, because you were sitting at your desk in your classroom staring at the set of photos in your inbox, currently unable to look away from his right hand. It was wrapped around the throttle of his aircraft. It was elegant with attractive veins and rough calluses. You were sure that you were supposed to be focusing on the cockpit controls, but all you could see was that hand and his thick, muscular thighs below.

The next photo was no better for you. He was holding up his helmet with his call sign Rooster emblazoned across the front, and you were able to see his left ring finger. There was no wedding band. There was no evidence of an outline where a wedding band would belong. There was just his big, strong hand.

You whimpered softly while your students worked on their math tests. You couldn't help it as you took one last look before logging out of your email account. And now you needed to know if his face matched the very attractive image you had in your mind. 

When Jayden called your name, you rocketed to your feet like you'd been caught red handed. "Yes?" you squeaked, your voice sounding higher pitched than usual.

"I'm done with my test. May I have the hall pass and use the restroom?"

You handed it to him as the rest of your class finished working through the math problems. A few minutes later, when you collected the papers from them, Violet asked, "When is Lieutenant Bradshaw going to write back to us?"

It had only been a few days since you mailed him the second box of notes and some more snacks, but it made you happy that they were all so invested in learning more from him. 

"It will probably be a few weeks before we get anything in the mail. However... he did email me some pictures of engine and cockpit parts from the aircraft carrier for me to share with you guys." When you looked around the room, the kids were on the edges of their seats, excited expressions on their faces. With a laugh you added, "I was going to wait until tomorrow and use the projector to show them all to you, but if you're very well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, maybe I could pull them up on my computer for you to see them today."

Not two hours later, you were just as excited as the kids were to look at the photos... again. As they crowded around your desk, you opened up the first one of the cockpit to a barrage of questions. 

"Is that really his jet?"

"Is that the throttle?"

"What do all the buttons do?"

"Was this right before he flew it?"

Once again you were distracted, but you managed to click over to the next photo, and the kids gasped in delight. 

"His helmet is so cool!"

"It says Rooster!"

"That's his call sign!"

"Red is my favorite color!"

You just smiled softly and laughed. "Should we go ahead and start working on another list of questions for him?" you asked as you slowly scrolled through the rest of the pictures. "He said we can write back to him as much as we want to." When everyone cheered, you handed Oliver a marker and pointed to the board at the front of the classroom. "Let's start making a list."

You listened to all of your students call out questions for Bradley while Oliver wrote them down. Then Violet asked, "Can he send us a picture of his whole jet? From the outside of it?"

You cleared your throat and added, "Maybe he could get someone else to take the picture so he could stand in front of it. For size comparison."

Violet nodded, but you knew you were a fraud. Sure, it would be great for the kids to understand just how massive the F/A-18s were compared to an actual person, but you were the one who wanted to see all of Bradley. You were itching for it now. 

Later that night, you drank most of a bottle of wine and did something you promised yourself you'd never do. You logged into your work email account after nine o'clock. You skipped over the handful of unread emails from parents and clicked on the icon to compose a new message. With your liquid courage goading you on, you typed up a response to Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and hit send before you could think twice.

Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now. 

We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.

You couldn't believe how forward you were being with this man who you'd never even met in person, but you fell asleep thinking about his hands and what they might be capable of.

-------------------------

This Bradley makes me swoon. I've never wanted to be a fourth grade teacher so badly in my life. There is something that's starting to blossom between them even though they haven't even met in person. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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[flufftato]

Sincerely, who?

Haikyuu! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Bokuto Koutarou ❥➳·₊˚

ꕀ

〃fluff 〃pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x reader 〃wc: 983

a/n: Special guest - my love Akaashi hehe. Btw i'm so torn. Do you think bo is a "babe" or "baby" guy?

Bokuto is a needy little shit.

If you were to make a playlist for him, “needy” by Ariana Grande would be the first song.

You noticed this trait when you first met him. This loud, oddly owl-like wing spiker was in constant need of praises and encouragement from his teammates in every game.

But you still ended up falling for him.

After years of dating, it has become a habit of yours to leave a little note in Bokuto’s gym bag every day.

It’s really just a simple reminder to stay hydrated, eat his lunch properly, and a ‘I love you’ at the end. It’s a daily dose of affection to keep him going.

And it works. It keeps him going the entire day.

Sometimes when you’re in the mood, you’ll put in some extra loves for him. Maybe a short poem you saw online or a cheesy pick-up line you think he might like. Whenever you do, Bokuto swears he could spike 24/7 straight through the week.

But today just as you were trying to tuck the note into his bag, the phone rang.

You put the folded note down on the kitchen counter before heading to the living room where the phone was.

It was a windy day. Autumn had officially arrived last week, and the breeze was colder than usual.

Autumn has always been your favourite. It’s not too hot like summer, not freezing cold like winter — just cool enough to save on eletricity bills.

You really shouldn’t have opened the window that morning.

While you were still on the call, the wind picked up and fluttered across the kitchen. The note, left too close to the edge, was blown off the counter.

A few minutes later, Bokuto came bounding in, grabbed his gym bag with a quick shout of, “Gotta go, babe! Love you, bye!” and was out the door before you could even say back.

By the time you returned to the kitchen, you spotted the little folded note resting quitely on the floor near the fridge.

Crap…oh well.

You shrugged it off, thinking he would be fine without the note for just one day.

How wrong you were.

The aftermath landed right on his teammates.

Akaashi, specifically, suffered the most.

—

“Akaashiii, don’t toss to me! I don’t think I can spike without y/n’s note!”

“Okay. I’ll toss to the others.”

“Huh—”

Akaashi is so used to this. He knows Bokuto just needs a moment before bouncing back in full force.

But not today.

Bokuto eventually grows restless, so Akaashi decides it’s the perfect time to set for him — only to see the ball lands right past the line. Twice.

That’s when Akaashi knows this is serious.

Frowning at his sulking teammate slouching in the corner of the room, Akaashi sighs. It’s time to act.

He rips a page from his notebook, pulls out a pen from his pencil case, and quietly slips into the storage room.

Akaashi sits on a folded mat, pen in hand, staring down at the torn piece of paper. For a long moment, he just…thinks.

He tries his best to recall the notes Bokuto had gleefully shoved in his face over the past few months. But it’s all a blur now. And he deeply regrets never reading them properly.

So he switches tactics. What would he want to read if someone left him a loving note? What would touch his heart and give him the much needed boost?

“Just a few more hours before you can finally be at peace, honey.”

…Yeah, no. That’s not gonna work.

After what feels like five hours (but was really actually ten minutes), he finally writes something that looks passable. He even makes sure to mimic your handwriting.

“You’re the best. See you tonight”

Akaashi caps the pen with a nod. This should be good enough.

He slips back into the court and casually sneaks the note into the bottom of Bokuto’s bag.

“Bokuto-san,” Bokuto’s hair perks up slightly. “Do you have a spare kneepad? I can’t find the other one.” And the hair deflates again.

But being the sweetheart he is, Bokuto still drags himself over to fetch the extra kneepads from his bag.

When his fingertips brush against the paper, he freezes.

“What is it, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi appears right on cue behind him.

Bokuto stares at the note that he swears was not there before in utter confusion.

“It’s…a note?”

“Ah, it’s from y/n, isn’t it? That looks like her handwritting,” Akaashi says smoothly, almost too smooth.

“I don’t know…it looks kinda off. And it’s usually longer…”

“Maybe she wrote it in a rush. Still sweet of her, though. Even when she’s busy, she still makes time to write them.” Akaashi’s fingers are crossed behind his back.

Bokuto squints at it suspiciously…Well, he did saw you on the phone sounding serious this morning. Maybe you rushed off to answer the call — that would explain the hasty words and handwriting.

Just as Akaashi thinks he’s about to be caught, the little clueless owl lights up and immediately calls you.

As soon as you answer, he gasps dramatically:

“Babe! I saw the note! I thought you forgot! I love you too my little matcha mochi!”

“Wha—”

“Sorry babe, can't talk long. Break’s almost over. I'll see you at home, bye!” Beep.

You’re left standing in the living room, phone still pressed to your ear as your eyes landed on the real note resting neatly on the coffee table.

Later that evening, you receive a heartfelt text from Akaashi, thanking you for hyping Bokuto with all those notes.

And begging you to never stop. Not even for a day.

You made it up to Bokuto that night with plenty of kisses and snuggles, and you made a mental note to buy Akaashi lunch tomorrow.

Oh and burn that real note before Bokuto finds out.

© flufftato • please do not repost, edit, claim, translate without permission •

[cardansriddle]

The diary - Tom Riddle x fem!reader

Summary:

When you stumbled upon a mysterious diary in the second-floor lavatory, you never imagined you would be caught in the web of Tom Riddle. What begins as innocent curiosity becomes something darker, as he slips into your dreams, your thoughts, your very skin. And before you realize it, he isn’t just haunting your nights—he’s consuming you, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left that hasn’t been touched by him.

Warnings: dark themes, smut, dub-con? kind of. not proofread. dumbledore cameo

A/N: Hopefully this is a worthy comeback!! It's been such a long time since I last posted here so I hope this isn't too rusty. I surprisingly enjoyed writing a darker narrative so lmk what you guys think!

༻♛༺

You were not exactly at fault for how it started.

You had only wandered into the second-floor girls' lavatory following a trail of water—moonlight slicing through the cracked windows, painting the tiles in silver streaks. The bathroom had been flooding. You’d slipped your wand from your robe pocket, lips parting to cast a simple Reparo to fix the broken pipes—and then you saw it.

A diary.

Its black leather cover shimmered with a slick sheen, as though it had not been drenched at all. There was a mysterious pull to it, and you approached it, not thinking, only feeling—as if the world narrowed to that single object.

The moment your fingers brushed the surface, cool and impossibly dry, a strange silence fell over the lavatory, and something in you shifted. When you grasped it in your hands, you had been overcome with an urge to never part with it again, and just like that...it began.

You had first turned the diary over to determine who it belonged to and had only seen the gold-embroidered name. Tom Marvolo Riddle. The name was unfamiliar to you.

You flipped through its blank pages, frowning. Nothing. No memories. No clues. And yet... it called to be written in, like it craved ink the way lungs craved air. So one day, when you were in the library, you decided to scribble in it, only for the ink to sink into pages of the diary and disappear with no trace left behind.

Then, seconds later, letters bled onto the parchment, neat and elegant.

Hello.

To say you were bewildered, would be an understatement. You thought perhaps it was a trick of light, or maybe it was your lack of sleep finally catching up to you and causing you to imagine things, when once again, words appeared on the page.

What is your name?

You sat for a minute, contemplating if you should really converse with this charmed item. You had never heard of such magic before, and before you knew it, your curiosity had won over any rational thoughts. You hesitated, but only briefly. Then, quill trembling, you wrote your name.

Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Tom Riddle.

Browsing through your head, you came to the conclusion that you had never heard of the name before. Dipping your quill in the ink, you asked him the question that was ringing through your mind.

How are you writing to me through this diary?

I am a memory preserved in this diary.

Your hand faltered. So you were not just conversing with a charmed notebook, you were actually talking to a real person. Well...a memory of a person. A boy sealed in pages like a soul trapped between ink and silence.

Are you a student at Hogwarts?

I was. A long time ago.

Why have you preserved yourself in this diary?

There was no answer. You waited for what felt like hours but could have been only a few minutes, yet he did not respond. There was a strange energy surrounding the item, and had you not been so transfixed, perhaps you would have listened to your intuition and given the diary away to a professor. But your desire to find out more about it clouded over any reason, so you shut the diary and stored it safely in your trunk.

༻♛༺

The next time you opened the cursed object was hours after curfew. You sat cross-legged on your bed, curiosity flooding your brain with endless questions as you picked up your quill and wrote.

Hello, Tom.

It took a few moments for his reply to appear.

Good evening.

You chatted with him for what felt like hours, asking countless questions (and making sure not to touch upon the subject of his preservation in the diary lest he leave you without an answer again), and he in turn inquired you about your life.

You felt silly— finding so much pleasure in talking to a diary, but there was something enigmatic about this Tom Riddle persona that had you hooked.

He asked you things—where you grew up, what subjects you enjoyed, which House you were in. You told him everything. Not because he demanded it, but because with every answer you gave, he gave you more. Ideas, stories, the weight of his voice echoing in the shape of words.

You spoke to him every day. A strange intimacy began to form between you. One that defied explanation.

You shared complaints about professors. Tales of your friends. Moments of quiet vulnerability. You asked him about the school during his time—what had changed, who he had known. He answered thoughtfully, sometimes fondly. But never about himself.

There was always a shadow behind his sentences, like something coiled, waiting.

But as a week passed ever since you first opened that diary, you noticed the unusual amount of exhaustion that would take over your body. You were in a constant state of sleep deprivation, and no amount of potions could keep you energetic enough to go about your day without collapsing.

And then, the dreams began.

They started subtly.

You were wandering Hogwarts, yet it felt different—older, taller. The stone was darker, the air thicker. You turned a corner, and there he was. Standing beneath the arches near the Great Hall, his figure blurred like memory, his eyes like ink poured into glass. A boy—no, a young man. Tall and poised, as if carved from obsidian and smoke. His school robes were immaculate, draped across his frame like they were stitched directly to his spine, and the torchlight behind him caught the sharp angles of his face with clarity.

He was impossibly handsome.

The kind of beauty that felt wrong. Otherworldly. His cheekbones were high and cruel, his mouth curved in a knowing, unreadable line. Dark hair framed his face in elegant waves, shadowing his brow just enough to deepen the darkness in his eyes.

And his eyes were bottomless. Liquid night. No warmth. Only gravity, as though they could pull entire thoughts from your skull if you stared too long.

You knew, without him saying a word: this was Tom Riddle.

You froze, pulse thundering. It was the first time you'd seen him—beyond ink and parchment.

His gaze swept over you, slow and precise, like a knife deciding where to cut.

“Is this a dream?” You whispered.

He stepped forward. Just one pace. Enough to close space, enough to make your breath catch.

“Is it you I’ve been speaking to?” Your voice was smaller now. “The one in the diary?”

He smiled then.

It wasn’t reassuring.

“Yes,” he said.

And just like that—he vanished.

You woke up with a start.

The dormitory was quiet, but everything felt wrong. The edges of your vision blurred as you sat up slowly, blinking into the dim, gray light of early morning.

You were still in your bed. Still in the castle. Still yourself.

Your chest felt tight, as though the air was thicker somehow—harder to breathe. And even though you had just woken, your body pulsed with exhaustion.

The memory of it clung to you like fog—the image of him standing beneath the arches. That strange blend of reverence and possession in his gaze. It felt more real than the four-poster bed around you. More vivid than the chill creeping up your spine.

You pushed the sheets away, shakily reached for your wand, and lit the tip with a whispered Lumos.

The diary was exactly where you had hidden it: under your pillow.

Your fingers brushed over its cool leather cover. You pulled it into your lap, opened it to the first blank page, and hesitated before dipping your quill into ink.

Your hand trembled as you wrote:

Did you come into my dream?

A pause.

Nothing.

No reply.

You swallowed. The silence on the page seemed louder than anything else in the room.

You tried again, slower this time.

Was that really you? I saw you. I spoke to you. Is that possible? Can you do that?

Still, as the ink sank into the page and disappeared, the pages remained stubbornly blank.

The silence felt… deliberate.

You pressed your lips together and stared at the space where his words should have appeared for what felt like eternity.

༻♛༺

The next dream came the following night, as though the moment your head touched your pillow, you slipped into his world.

This time, he was waiting for you in the Astronomy Tower, seated on the ledge with the stars behind him. The wind curled around his form, but he didn’t shiver. His posture was perfect. As though he didn’t feel the cold. Perhaps he didn't.

“You are back again” he stated simply.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you replied, more breath than voice.

“You always have a choice,” Tom murmured. “But curiosity… it tends to be stronger than fear.”

You stood a few feet away, uncertain.

“I don’t understand why I’m seeing you.”

“Because I wanted you to,” he said, tilting his head, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You met his gaze, perplexed. “Why?”

He ignored your question, abandoning his post at the ledge in favour of stepping closer to you. "You have been asking about me." His tone was disapproving as he regarded you. "You will stop."

"I just wanted to know, to understand—"

“Curiosity,” he interrupted sharply, “is a disease. And you are already sick with it.”

His eyes roamed your face, not unkindly, but with a dangerous precision. As though he were committing each of your expressions to memory. Or dissecting them.

“Not all answers are meant for you. Not all doors are meant to be opened.”

That was the last thing he said before you woke up. You ran your hands over your face, wet with sweat. For the first time since finding the diary, you felt something curl beneath your skin.

Not curiosity. Not excitement.

Something closer to dread.

You couldn't shake the feeling anymore.

The dreams, the exhaustion, the way the world seemed increasingly distant during the day—all of it pointed back to him. Tom.

You had to find answers to the mystery that was this man. You decided to not heed his warnings, and made a mental note to inquire some of your Professors about a student named Tom Riddle.

So throughout the day, as you ignored your friends' concerned questions about your worn-down state, you began your inquiries. Though they seemed fruitless, that is until you crossed paths with Professor Dumbledore that evening outside the Great Hall.

He had always watched you closely—too closely, some students said—but now, when he met your eyes, it was as though he already knew something was amiss.

He greeted you upon your approached, eyes glinting like distant stars, and as perceptive as he was, he made a deduction “you seem… troubled.”

"I wished to ask you about something." You hesitated, then drew a shallow breath.

He waited patiently, nodding his head as he gestured for you to continue. “Professor… have you ever heard of a student named Tom Riddle?”

The silence that followed made the air go cold.

Dumbledore didn’t answer right away. He studied you in that piercing, quiet way of his. As if trying to read not just what you said, but what you meant.

“What brings this particular name to mind?” he asked carefully.

Your fingers curled at your sides. Part of you screamed not to tell him, but the other—rational, terrified part—knew you couldn’t keep pretending you understood what was happening.

“I… found a diary,” you said. “In the castle. It had his name on it.”

Dumbledore’s eyes darkened, barely perceptibly. “A diary?” he repeated. “Where exactly did you find this diary?”

You hesitated. “In the second-floor lavatory."

His face shifted subtly. Something like gravity passed behind his expression.

“Dear girl,” he began, and his voice took on a different weight—no longer gentle, but grave. “You must bring this diary to me. First thing tomorrow morning. Do you understand?”

You nodded, slow, reluctant.

“Do not write in it,” he continued. “Do not open it. Do not let it remain near your bed. This is important. There are things in this castle—remnants of old power—that do not sleep quietly.”

You were confused, but his words lodged somewhere in your chest, and for a moment you truly meant to obey. Truly.

You went straight to your dormitory after dinner, mind spinning. You placed the diary on your desk and pushed it away like it might bite you. You told yourself you would give it to Dumbledore in the morning.

But your body was already betraying you. Before you could even undress or extinguish the lamp, the fatigue crushed over you like a tide. Your vision blurred. Your head hit the pillow without you realizing it.

And in the dark—

He was waiting. And he was not happy.

“I warned you, even if you don’t remember,” he was livid, eyes flashing red as he stared you down. “Not all doors are meant to be opened.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” he cut in. “You opened the door. You wrote in my diary. You let me in.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t know what you were.”

“Don’t pretend you regret it now.”

His fingers brushed your temple, featherlight. Your breath hitched at the contact—cold and electric. The sensation spilled through you like ice and fire, your skin hyperaware, tingling in the wake of his touch.

“You’ve been dreaming of me ever since,” he said, voice almost tender. “And each time… I take a little more.”

That silenced you.

His hand fell away.

And in that stillness, something inside you twisted—the slow dawning of comprehension. You felt your body differently now. Worn, sluggish. A tightness in your chest, as though some invisible thread had been pulling at your core night after night.

“What do you mean?” you asked, more quietly. “What are you taking?”

He looked at you, and for the first time, the answer wasn’t a riddle or a misdirection.

“You.”

You stared at him, the cold settling deeper into your bones now.

“My energy,” you whispered.

“My sustenance,” he corrected, with something like reverence. “You nourish me. Every moment you spend with me in this place brings me closer to what I once was.”

Your lips parted to speak, but you couldn’t find your voice. He was still watching you—his gaze almost gentle, but entirely unrepentant.

“This is how you’re here,” you breathed. “In my dreams. The diary...”

He nodded. “Dreams are the easiest doors to slip through. And you… you left yours wide open.”

You took a step back. He didn’t follow.

“So you’re not just a memory,” you said slowly. “You’re becoming real again.”

He gave a slow, almost regal inclination of his head. “The diary preserved more than memory. It preserved me. My soul, fractured, yes… but not broken. Not dead. And now—” he inhaled softly, as if tasting something on the air “—I am closer than ever.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. “And when you’ve taken enough…?”

“Then I’ll be whole again.” His voice darkened with quiet ecstasy. “I will return.”

You felt your stomach sink. Your heart thundered against your ribcage as you dared to ask the next question. “Will I survive it?” Though you already knew.

He tilted his head once more, thoughtful. Almost amused. “No.”

The silence between you stretched, and for a moment, it felt like the dream would shatter under the weight of it.

But then, he stepped forward once again.

“I could drain you,” he said, and this time, his hand rested against your cheek—tender, reverent. “But I find I don’t want to.”

You looked up at him, dazed. “Why?”

Tom smiled. His thumb brushed your lower lip, and your breath trembled. "I find that you amuse me. It almost makes me want to keep you."

You trembled beneath his touch. It felt more real than ever.

“I can almost feel the heat of your blood,” he said, so softly it was almost a kiss, leaning in so close his lips nearly touched your ear. “Taste your thoughts before you think them.”

You felt your knees weaken.

His eyes grew darker, his smile more sinister as he continued. “There are… other ways,” he whispered. “Slower ways. You give willingly. A little more each night. And I become more… solid. Less shadow, more flesh.”

“No,” you whispered, stepping back. “I don’t want this. I—I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Tom tilted his head, that calm, terrible amusement flickering across his features.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said softly. “You wrote to me. You dreamed of me. You gave me everything, piece by piece. And now you want to pretend you didn’t?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t mean to. You infiltrated my dreams. You took from me. I would have never touched that diary if I knew it would lead to this.” You spat.

He brushed your neck with the back of his fingers. The touch was maddening, featherlight and possessive. Your mind screamed to claw your way back to the waking world and burn the damn diary. But your body—traitorous, aching, hungry—moved toward him without permission. His hand slid to your hip, slow, deliberate, and you grabbed his wrist—not to pull him closer. To stop him.

"I will keep you, how does that sound, pet?" Though he was not really asking you. Only toying with you.

“I’m not yours,”

“You were the moment you opened the diary,” he murmured. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.”

His hand cupped your jaw—cool, precise—but his lips were already descending, and when they touched yours, it was like stepping into fire.

The kiss started slow, a careful claiming. His mouth moved against yours with an eerie tenderness. But the softness burned away fast as you tried to resist, replaced by something deeper—hungrier. His other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you felt it: the sharp line of his body, the impossible heat of him despite the dream. Solid. Real.

Too real.

You gasped into his mouth, and he took the sound like an offering, slipping his tongue past your lips to taste you, coax you deeper. His fingers threaded through your hair, and he pulled until a groan escaped your throat.

Your mind screamed at you to push him away, but you were powerless and for a traitorous moment, you found you didn’t want to leave.

Not now.

Not when your blood hummed and your skin tingled and your body arched toward his like it knew him.

His lips trailed to your jaw, down your throat, leaving a blazing path in their wake. Every kiss was slow, deliberate, reverent—as though he were marking you.

“You see?” he whispered against your skin. “You’re giving.

You didn’t know how the room had changed, only that now you were lying on soft silk sheets, his body above yours, his weight pressing into you. His robes vanished, unspoken, revealing skin pale as marble, carved and perfect. Not boyish. Not innocent. This was a man shaped by ambition, by power, and now—by you.

His eyes—black and gleaming—darkened further, as though those words fed something inside him deeper than magic.

“I will have you,” he said. “And I will keep you.”

He kissed you again—harder this time—and his hands roamed, exploring every inch of you like he was memorizing, claiming, devouring. His name left your lips in a shuddering breath as your clothes faded from your body with the surreal, effortless logic of dreams. Nothing between you now—just skin and heat and the thrum of something sinister binding the two of you together.

He moved over you like a storm—controlled, but intense. His touch was all-consuming. Every motion was deliberate, coaxing the ache between your thighs into a feverish need. He knew exactly what he was doing, guiding your body to open beneath him, to receive him, to belong to him.

When he finally pressed inside you, slow and deep, you cried out—not in pain, but in overwhelming pleasure. He groaned against your neck, a sound of satisfaction, of ownership.

“You feel that?” he whispered into your ear, voice shaking with restraint. “This is real. You’re making me real.”

You clung to him, to the impossible way he filled you, the pressure and stretch and warmth of it, as he began to move. Each thrust was smooth, calculated—building steadily, matching your breath, your moans, until your body rose to meet his instinctively.

His mouth never left your skin. Bites, words—some in Parseltongue—spilled into the hollow of your throat, down your chest, laced with magic you could feel.

You couldn’t speak. You didn’t want to.

You only felt.

The pleasure within you approached fast, and when you came, your body arched into his, trembling and gasping. He followed you seconds later, with a sound so deep, so raw, lodged from his throat. He buried his face in your neck as he spilled inside you, hips stuttering, every inch of him tense, vibrating with power.

After, he didn’t pull away. Staking his claim while inside you.

“I told you there were other ways,” he whispered. “You’ll sleep deeply now. But in the morning… you’ll feel me. In every part of you.”

You drifted into unconsciousness in his arms, too spent to resist, too dazed to care. You had given in. 

Your head screamed.

Your body sighed.

༻♛༺

[orellazalonia]

Because He Always Knows

Summary: You're close friends with Bucky Barnes, trusting his quiet, protective nature. What you don’t know is that Bucky is secretly obsessed with you. Watching you, tracking your every move, and quietly eliminating anyone who gets too close. And he’ll do anything to keep you safe, close…and his. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes. Stalking. Tracking reader (location, cameras, etc.) Some implied violence toward others. Yandere themes.

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: Not going to lie, I have not seen many Yandere Bucky fics. Maybe I’m not looking hard enough. I think it’d be cool to turn this into a series though, depends if other people like it or not. You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Main Masterlist

You’d known Bucky Barnes for a while now. Ever since you joined the Avengers on the intel and support side, he’d somehow gravitated toward you. Quiet and subtle. He never talked much unless spoken to, and whenever he did, it was always calm and short. But around you, he softened a little. He offered small, quiet smiles, sat beside you even when there were empty seats elsewhere. And he always seemed to know when you needed help. It was comforting. Familiar. You thought of him as a good friend, someone who didn’t push or pry.

What you didn’t know was that Bucky knew your schedule better than you did. He knew what time you got your coffee, which café down the block you preferred, and even which music you played in your room when you were winding down.

He never broke your trust. At least, not in any obvious way. But he was always watching. From rooftops. From darkened hallways. Even from shadows in the compound when you thought you were alone. He wasn’t trying to be creepy, not in his mind. He just needed to make sure you were safe. That no one got too close. That you didn’t drift away from him.

When you talked about a new friend one afternoon, some guy from the tech department who made you laugh, Bucky’s smile faltered for only a second. You didn’t notice it, but it was there, a flicker of cold calculation beneath the warmth. He nodded, asked a few harmless questions about him, and then let the topic drop. Later that day, the tech guy mysteriously fell down a flight of stairs. Nothing serious, but just enough to keep him out of work for a few weeks. Bucky never said anything. He simply showed up at your door like any other day with soup this time and a quiet, “Need company?”

You welcomed him in. Why wouldn’t you? He was always so gentle with you, always so present. His gloved hands carried your groceries, fixed your lock when it jammed, even installed extra security on your windows “just in case.” You never questioned how he knew you’d been anxious after that strange man on the subway followed you home. You never told anyone about it, but Bucky acted before you even had to.

Sometimes, you’d catch him watching you a second too long. His gaze intense, unreadable. He’d look away quickly, but the feeling would linger. You chalked it up to Bucky just being… Bucky. A little odd, a little broken, but ultimately good.

You didn’t see the way his jaw tensed when someone touched your arm. You didn’t notice the thin notebooks he kept tucked away, filled with observations about you. What you wore, what you said, who you talked to. Every page was a soft obsession written in ink, filled with the belief that you were his. Not in a romantic, normal way. In a quiet, inevitable, belonging sort of way. You were his peace, his reason, and he would burn the world down before letting someone else take you.

To you, he was just a friend. A good one. Steady. Loyal. Maybe a little protective.

To Bucky, you were everything. And he was never more than a few feet behind you; watching, guarding, and waiting. Always waiting.

One evening, you stayed late in the compound’s tech lab. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a backlog of reports and an excuse to avoid your empty apartment, then you heard the door open. Bucky stopped by with two coffees, one black, one exactly the way you liked yours. He didn’t ask if you wanted one. Come to think of it, he never did. Somehow, he just knew.

You smiled and thanked him as he sat nearby, silent as ever, occasionally glancing at your screen. It was quiet, comfortable even, until you laughed at something on your phone.

“Who’s that?” Bucky asked, and you glanced up. His tone was calm, but you noticed the way his shoulders tightened.

“Just a guy I matched with,” You said, smiling without much thought. You didn’t think he would know or understand what dating apps are in the modern day. “We’ve been texting a little. He’s funny.”

You missed it, but Bucky’s knuckles whitened around his cup. “You gonna meet him?”

“Maybe,” You shrugged. “We’ll see.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the floor for a beat too long. You assumed it was one of his quiet spells again: those moments where the past clawed at him and left him speechless. You reached over and gently squeezed his arm.

“Hey. You okay?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

You didn’t ask what about. You’d learned not to push him. You knew he would talk if he needed to. But behind his still eyes, something shifted.

That night, he followed you home like he always did. He was quiet as a shadow, footsteps masked by the hum of the city and his experience as the Winter Soldier. You made it home safely, texted him a “thank you for the coffee,” and turned in for the night. Bucky stayed outside your building for hours, hidden across the street. He didn’t move for a while, didn’t blink. Just waited.

The next day, your date canceled. No explanation. Just a sudden, awkward message and a block. You frowned at your phone, confused and disappointed.

“He didn’t deserve your time anyway,” Bucky tried to comfort you later when you vented about it. The way he looked at you, soft smile and worried eyes, you found yourself agreeing. Though, you weren’t sure why.

Days passed. The missed connections started to pile up. Plans you made with others were mysteriously interrupted. It was always something: car issues, sudden emergencies, sick coworkers. Yet Bucky was always around, always the one to stay and offer, “Want to grab food instead?” or say “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.” You welcomed the company. He was stable, kind and he cared.

But something started to gnaw at you. The feeling of being watched never quite left. Doors you were sure you locked felt slightly ajar. Items shifted. Your phone sometimes buzzed with strange glitches. You mentioned it in passing to Bucky. But he reassured you softly like he always did, “You’re safe. I promise.” His voice was low, almost reverent.

And you believed him, because no one protected you like Bucky did. No one was as constant, as present. Besides, you were probably overthinking it anyways.

What you didn’t see were the cameras tucked in the corners of your ceiling, hidden well behind the smoke detector and air vents. You didn’t know some tracking program had been installed on your phone nor the way Bucky’s fingers traced your location like a map he’d memorized.

To you, he was just Bucky. A little rough around the edges. A quiet and stead friend who was always there for you.

To him, you were the reason he hadn’t fallen apart completely. You were everything. His home. His anchor. And if you ever tried to leave him, if you ever even thought of running, he’d know. But he knows you wouldn’t do such a thing, you don’t even suspect a thing. Perhaps you never will. It’s better for you this way. But if you did, he would catch on immediately. Because he always knows.

[unhakies]

i see that ur requests r open… heh… give me a leehan x idol!secretly a marine biologist reader NOW. like reader is a good idol friend thats done a collabd either bnd and leehan really liked her and then found out she does marine biology professionally behind her idol life and he js falls in love THANK YEEEWWW😛😛😛😛

the tides between us. k. leehan (req!)

pairing: idol!leehan x idol!marine biologist fem reader.

word count: 716

genre: fluff, romance, oneshot

notes — i was gonna go to sleep but this was SUCH a good and cute idea that i HAD to whip something up real quick.

you weren't trying to hide anything. well, not really anyways. but in an industry where one can get hated on for simply 'being smart' it's obvious why you would keep that part of your life behind.

nobody noticed.

well, that's what you told yourself.

you met the boynextdoor members during a special year-end stage collab, and needless to say you've been close since. there was woonhak made you laugh until your cheeks hurt, or even jaehyun who dragged you into chaotic tiktok challenges you definitely didnt want to take part in.

but then there was leehan.

he didn't say much at first. but you could always feel his eyes on you.

you sat in the corner of the practice room, cooling down after a tough practice session, tongue poking out of your mouth in concentration as you scribbled away in your notebook.

you were so engrossed in drawing you hadn't even noticed someone was standing over you until they spoke.

"nice whale."

you almost screamed.

"oh my GOD, leehan you scared me." you put a hand over your chest. you breathed out a large breath before continuing. "thank you, it was just a little doodle." you smiled before putting your book to the side.

he sat down next to you, examining the drawing. "you draw often?" he asked, flipping through the pages.

"mhm, sometimes. it helps me think." he just nodded in response, stopping back to your recent drawing. "i think i've seen this species before." he started.

you froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. "huh?"

"the whale. it's dorsal fin, it's head shape. it's pretty easy to tell that its a sei whale." he pointed as he names the characteristics.

you stared at him. you knew he liked fish, but wow.

he gave his signature grin, "i have a knack for this stuff."

you blinked. "well, you're right, it is a sei whale."

he smirked. "lucky guess."

but you knew it wasn't luck at all.

he was reading you like an open book.

days passed by, and it was like he was in a true crime documentary, collecting evidence like his life depended on it.

when he dropped by your dorms to pick something up, he spotted the plethora of sea life books on your bookshelf. he noticed your necklace, the small seashell shaped pendant catching his eye. or even the way your eyes lingered on his fish themed phone case.

the two of you were left in the break room. the rest of the members left to do god knows what. you were doodling in your fish themed sketchbook again, as leehan kept his gaze fixed on you.

you looked up at him.

"are you trying to figure me out?" you chuckled softly.

"a little."

"so, whats your verdict?" you closed your book and sat forward.

"i think you care about a lot of things most people overlook,"

you swallow and look away, you couldn't bare to look at him in the eyes. it's like the room got smaller.

"and i think that's beautiful." he finished. you mustered up the courage to speak. "thank you.." you said, cheeks burning.

he just gave a knowing smile and said nothing else.

the next day, you walked into your break room, your eyes landing on the familiar fish cover of your book. but this time, there was a yellow sticky note on it.

"your whale drawing the other day was really good. ps; i named him seihan." - L

you laughed, startling the staff members who were working on stuff around the room, but you could care less.

leehan found a part of you you thought nobody would see. he didn't just accept it. he liked it.

he liked you.

your staff mentioned something about someone leaving a gift for you in your break room. again.

you didn't need a degree to know it was leehan.

you opened up the small pale blue box. inside a seashell, delicate and smooth with soft blue and pink lines, and a note.

"for when you can't hear the ocean, hold this to your ear. i hope it helps you feel as close to home as it does for me." - L

you bite your lip.

maybe the tide has fully come in

and you might be ready to let it.

perm taglist; @sh0dor1

[ro4love]

“Crazy For You Oh Boy”

You accidentally switched your notebook with the bllk boys and they find the love letter you wrote for them stashed between the pages

Character: Isagi, Bachira, Chigiri, Rin

Cw: Fluff!, lowkey bad writing and ooc 😞, fem!reader implied

Isagi Yoichi —

Found it when he was flipping through the pages, wondering why his notebook was filled with glitter gel pen ink and drawn on hearts

Read it out of curiosity cause he’s silly but a privacy invasive little punk

The first sentence, To Isagi Yoichi. Boom. He malfunctions

Comes to school the next day acting like a saint as if he didn’t completely breached your privacy man get this guy an acting gig

Casually slides the notebook your way without the letter, and internally melts as he watches you look for it

“So… the letter, was it really for me?

Tried to sound cool asking that but his voice went a little high pitched at the end (don’t get this man an acting gig…)

When he saw you were a lot more flustered than he was, he gained back the confidence he lost

“So… if I asked you out this weekend you’d say yes?”

He’s the dream man i’m afraid

Bachira Meguru —

Mind you he didn’t even think twice when he decided to open the letter

Is jumping around in his room reading it like he’s high on sugar

Ranted to his mom about it btw, she now knows your name, your face, your height, your favorite food, your address, your social security number

Doesn’t even wait the next day, texts you right away to ask to meet up

When he’s face to face with you, straight up yelled the loudest “YES!” (got side eyes from passing civilians)

You’re standing there like ??? Cause you haven’t realized your notebook is missing (she’s just like me)

When he explained, you instinctively hid your face in your sleeves, almost cried because nah I would too

Took your wrists in his hands and looked at you with the saddest puppy eyes ever (you fold btw)

“Why are you hiding…? I like you too! That means we’re girlfriend and boyfriend, right?”

He’s cute or whatever 😒

Chigiri Hyoma —

Tried restraining himself from reading because snooping around something obviously private was immoral

Eventually gave in to curiosity when he saw his name on the letter

His face is gradually getting redder as he reads your writing because he’s so flustered (saur cute 🙁)

Comes to school the next day like normal, not even acknowledging you, and you’re just there shitting bricks because you don’t know where the letter was

Gave you your notebook before you could leave to your next class, seemingly untainted but you still checked for the letter

You saw the sealed was undone and immediately opened to inspect, that’s when you notice the extra writing

‘So when are you going to ask me out? Don’t keep me waiting too long’

#needthat

Itoshi Rin —

Wouldn’t have even noticed the letter because the minute he opened your notebook, he closed it back cause it was, his words, unreadable and too bright (ho 😕)

The letter dropped onto his lap when he went to put the notebook away (you were set up for failure since the beginning 💔)

Would’ve left it be if it weren’t for the big heart sealing the envelope, curiosity (and jealousy) got to him I’m afraid

Read the letter with an irked face like he wants to fight someone, but that’s just his flustered face guys 🙏🏻

Confesses to you through text but like in his own way

“Be my girlfriend” “huh 😦 (okay)” that’s how it went

#needthat 2

I’m scared to post this but I’m still gonna, this post was inspired by this tiktok!

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

an idea if u do decide to take rqs: foods enha would cook/bake u as their significant other

but u can always delete this :P

ahhh i love cute lil domestic prompts like this oneee,,,sorry it took me a while to get to this anon! here are lil blurbs of meals enha would cook for you hehe (only the hyung line though because i have insane writer's block rn) here's a lil something something before the next part of the no doubt series!

& side note: to all u fine line enthusiasts, the heeseung one is for you ;)

THE BOYFRIEND CHEF DIARIES ─ hyung line ⭑.ᐟ 

HEESEUNG doesn't know how to cook until after midnight. until it's quiet, the both of you probably half asleep, curled up on the couch and watching some rom-com that you forced him to watch with you (but he definitely still cried). until your stomach growls at the end of the movie and he slowly turns to you and gives you the look. you sigh. "hee, it's late, let's just go to be—" "baby, are you ready for gourmet?" yup, he's a lost cause. he disappears into the kitchen for a solid ten minutes and when he comes out, messy hair, wide grin and all—there in his hands: instant spicy ramyeon. he proudly places it on the coffee table in front of you before sprinting back into the kitchen and running back with the finishing touch: a slice of cheese. "amazing. beautiful. a masterpiece," he whispers to himself. you roll your eyes at your dramatic boyfriend. you regret buying him the pack of ramen to stock up at home. "okay, open up," he holds the bowl up under your chin with the chopsticks dangling in front of you, his eyes watching you intently. and when you finish, at the expense of your own tastebuds dying from spice, he runs back into the kitchen and makes you cool down with, of course, a single box of—coffee milk.

JAY only exists to spoil you. that's it. that's his sole purpose on this earth. so when you say you're hungry? oh, he's not cooking you a meal, no. he writes a cookbook for you. buried somewhere in one of the shelves of your shared kitchen—he has a notebook. a sacred notebook where he's literally documented the recipe to every meal you've ever liked—whether homemade, or meals from restaurants that he would attempt to recreate for you when it's too late at night for him to order in for you. so when you mutter you're hungry—he gasps and runs to grab it. "okay baby, what are we feeling tonight?" he's flipping through the pages like a man possessed. "do you want the stew from that place we went to last week? we should have all the ingredients. i'll sub the radish with potato." flip. "oh! what about the grilled chicken from our trip last year? i think i perfected the sauce, trust me." flip. "wait. no. no no—this is it. i'll make your favorite stea—" "jay." he freezes. his hand is mid-page-turn. you raise an eyebrow, amused at your endearing psychopath of a boyfriend. "i just wanted a snack." jay grins. "perfect. i'll start the grill, you grab the steak." sigh.

JAKE tries to surprise you with pancakes. not in a sweet breakfast-in-bed, 'good morning, my love' kind of way. no. he wakes you up at 2:43AM because he got hungry and missed you. "jake," you mumble, eyes still closed. "i've been here. the whole time." "i know," he whispers dramatically, already half-laying across your body, "but i still missed you." "...we're literally touching." "doesn't count. you have to be awake," he sighs, before releasing a storm of desperate kisses all over your face. "please, please, please come to the kitchen or i will cry. from starvation. and love." and so here you are—sitting on the counter, legs dangling, watching this menace of your boyfriend mix banana milk into his pancake batter, claiming he saw it once on tiktok and now must try it. a couple minutes—and a few stolen kisses from the counter later—and they're slightly undercooked. and shaped like questionable blobs in his attempt to make them heart-shaped. and he calls them 'jake-cakes.' but he tops it off with some strawberries and whipped cream and mumbles something about presentation being overrated anyways. then he places the plate beside you with a grin, slipping between your legs and feeding you a bite like it's a wedding cake moment. you chew slowly. it's raw. he looks at you like you hung the stars. so you smile anyways. it's the thought that counts.

SUNGHOON has never touched a kitchen utensil in his entire life. but it's late at night, and you're craving pasta. pasta. so, one frantic google search on how to boil water and one very questionable hour later—"wait," you smack your lips together, chewing the noodles he proudly presented in front of you as if he was a master chef himself. "it's...really good, hoon." his eyes go wide. "REALLY?" you nod, fighting back a smile. "yeah, seriously. i'm impressed." he blinks. "like, good good? or good-for-a-guy-who-thought-the-spatula-was-a-back-scratcher good?" you giggle. "good good, babe. i like it, good job." he throws his head back and pumps the air like a cartoon character. "I AM HIM!" he runs a victory lap around the kitchen and crashes right into you, wrapping his arms tight around your waist and lifting you up like you're his trophy for cooking one (1) decent meal. pasta sauce gets everywhere in process—but you're laughing, sweet and loud, all while sunghoon's thinking one thing: thank god he found that jar of pasta sauce in back of the pantry.

this is actually just pure crack, i apologize heh

[crumblekitten]

Hear me out, pornstar luke castellan...

Either where the reader is not aware of it or where the reader is a new comer and he offers to help her grow a following...

pornstar!luke castellan x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, bondage, unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk (kind of), choking, recording of sexual acts, long ish build up to the smut

A/N: I tweaked this just slightly, Luke’s a pornstar and asks his girlfriend to film with him but she is already aware that he does porn.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN INTERNET CONSUMPTION.

He settled into the pillows next to you, but there was an almost mischievous look on his face. He watched you read for a few seconds, before he turned to the side, leaning his head against one hand as he looked at you. "Can I ask you something?" He asked, a smirk beginning to grow on his face.

“Sure” you didn’t take your eyes off the book you had in your hands, but you started to thread your fingers through his hair Luke hummed in contentment as you played with his hair, his eyes closing for a moment before he spoke. "What would you say if I asked you to star in one of my videos." “One of your…porn videos?” "Yeah, one of those." He said with a grin, turning onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow. He leaned over to get closer to you, his gaze roaming over your body with a new expression.

“I mean, I guess but what would we even be doing in it?” Now that was a good question. Luke paused, thinking for a moment before his eyebrows shot up and his smirk returned to his face. "Actually...can I show you something?" He asked, raising himself off the bed and going over to his dresser. “Sure..?” You set the book down on the nightstand and turned to face him.

He rummaged around in the drawers for a moment, before pulling out a small notebook. "Okay, now it's a little embarrassing, but just bear with me for a second-" He said, returning to the bed. He sat down next to you, propping open the notebook and beginning to flip through the pages. He had a look of slight embarrassment on his face as he looked through various pages of the notebook, his writing in a messy scrawl. It took a moment, but he finally found what he was looking for. He turned the notebook towards you, showing you a page of ideas.

“Okay, so I’ve written down a bunch of stuff I was kinda thinking for the video…if you agree, obviously” He said, clearing his throat as he pointed towards one of the written ideas on the page. “Bondage?” He nodded, his face turning slightly red. He still had an almost cocky look on his face, trying to look cool and casual. "Yeah...well, like a light version of it. I thought it would suit you, if you'd be up for it." “So like just my wrists?”

He nodded, his gaze flickering to your wrists for a moment. "Yeah, just your wrists. They'd either be bound together or to something else, like my bedframe for example." “Fuck it. Sure why not.”That definitely got his attention, an almost feral grin appearing across his face. He set the notebook down, moving closer towards you. "You sure? You'd be down?" “Yeah, if we could just try to keep my face out of it”

"Yeah, no problem. I can work with that." He said with a nod, his hand coming up to rest on your waist. His fingers began to toy with the hem of your nightshirt, his gaze roaming over your body. "Mm..You're amazing you know that?" “I know, now go get a camera or something I have no clue how this works” You gave him a kiss on the cheek before he got up

Luke laughed, reluctantly pulling away to go over to his desk. He rooted around through a few drawers, before pulling out a camcorder, with a tripod sitting on the desk nearby. He set everything up, before turning to look back at you. "You ready?" “Uh yeah guess so…how do we start this anyway?”

He walked over to you, his arm looping around your waist to pull you closer. "Don't worry, I'll start you off easy." He said, his hand moving to the hem of your shirt, beginning to pull it slowly up your body. His knuckles were skimming along your bare skin, a slight smirk growing on his face as he pulled your shirt up over your head. He tossed it to the side, and turned away to quickly root around in a drawer. He pulled out a red silky rope, before closing the drawer and turning back to you. He began to unwind the rope, holding your gaze all the while. "Now, sit back on the bed and hold your hands up, princess." “Against the headboard?”

"Mmhm. You'll be against the headboard." He confirmed, moving to kneel on the bed next to you. He began to wrap the rope around your wrists, being careful that it wasn't too tight. He wrapped the rope around your wrists and you tugged slightly to make sure they were secure against the headboard

Luke kept a firm grip on the rope as he worked, his mind already wandering to the possibilities that would ensue with your wrists tied up. After a few moments, he was done. He sat back to admire his work, his gaze taking in the pretty way the red rope contrasted against your skin. "Perfect." He murmured, his breath slightly uneven. “Worked up already? I’m honored.”

He let out a quiet laugh, leaning over to press a kiss to your neck. He didn't say anything, his teeth nipping softly at your skin as a hand came up to toy with the waistband of your shorts. Your breathing shaked slightly as you arched into his touch, trying to get him closer.

He noticed the movement, letting out a hum against your skin as his hand slipped under the waistband of your shorts. His touch wandered, drifting down further, getting so close to where you wanted but not exactly. "Mm, look at you." He purred, his voice low and gravelly against your neck.

He continued to move his hand down, his touch light and teasing. He was slowly getting closer to where you wanted, but he was taking his time getting there. "You're so sensitive already, I haven't even done anything yet..." “Luke please…don’t make me beg”

That was the exact response he was looking for. He chuckled against your skin, the sound low in his throat. “You're so impatient, princess. But since you asked so nicely..."

His hand continued to drift further, his touch finally reaching your center. He let out a soft gasp as he felt how wet you were, his fingers beginning to lightly trace over you. He pressed another kiss to your neck, his breath ragged against your skin as he spoke. "See? I just wanted to take my time with you." His fingers were starting to move faster, his touch teasing and precise. He knew exactly what you wanted, exactly what you liked. It was like he was playing a game to see how much it took to break you down. And it was getting close to working.

You pulled against the bindings on your wrists “Luke- fuck hurry up…please.” He hummed upon hearing your words, his fingers still moving over you. But he couldn't help but tease you just a bit more. "So impatient...you don't need to beg, princess. I'll get to you when I want to." He purred, his teeth nipping at your collar bone. He took his hand out of your shorts and pulled them down your legs along with your panties.

He tossed them off the side of the bed, moving to sit back and take in the sight of you. Your legs were parted, your body open to him. His breathing was fast, his eyes roaming over your body with a hungry gaze. "God, you look so pretty all tied up for me like this." He groaned, his voice low in his throat. Luke peeled his shirt off and your eyes grazed over him with hunger, taking in his now bare chest. He caught your gaze, a look of satisfaction on his face as he noticed your eyes on his body. "Like what you see, princess?" He asked with a smirk, beginning to work at his sweatpants. “Oh shut up…”

He chuckled, pulling his pants off and tossing them to the side. He returned back to you shortly after, his body hovering over yours as he looked down at you with a playful expression. "Make me." He teased, bringing one hand up to toy with one of your bound wrists. Your face flushed at the reminder of the bonds and you looked away quickly starting to get embarrassed.

He laughed softly, gripping your chin to turn your gaze back to his. His thumb brushed over your lip, his smirk growing as he looked down at you and your flushed face. "Don't look away, princess. I want you to watch." You made the mistake of flicking your gaze down to look at his hardened length, his tip was flushed against your thigh, a small bud of pre starting to gather there.

He saw where your gaze was, and let out a low groan at the feeling of his tip pressed against your thigh, so close to where he wanted to be. "You keep looking like that, princess, and you're gonna be the death of me." He murmured, lowering himself more so he was completely on top of you. His lips found your neck again. His fingers teased over your slit and you gasped as he pressed down on your clit and started to rub in slow circles teasing you.

He hummed against your neck, his movements slow and teasing. He pressed and rubbed his fingers against your clit, his gaze locked on your face to watch your reaction as he brought it to his lips. "Look at you, princess... So sensitive. I've barely even touched you, and you're already falling apart." He murmured against your ear

“God- Luke I need more-“ The begging from you was like music to his ears. He loved seeing you like this, desperate for his touch, begging for more. "You want more, huh? You're so eager for me, princess." He said, his voice low in his throat. He brought his attention back to your neck, his tongue and teeth leaving marks. His hand left your clit, moving to lightly run a finger over your entrance. He paused for a moment, relishing in the way your body reacted to him so eagerly. "Looks like I don't need to stretch you out. You're already so wet, princess. So eager for me, aren’t you?”

He groaned against your neck, his hand still teasing at your entrance. He was growing impatient, his own body itching for more contact, needing to be closer to you, craving the feeling of you around him. "You have no idea how bad I want you right now, princess. You look so good like this, all tied up and eager for me." He said, his voice shaky with arousal. He slipped one finger into your core. He gasped at the feeling, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he added another finger, pumping them into you slowly. "Just look at how eager you are for me, princess. You're taking me so well.”

You were pulling against the bonds, you wanted to touch him so badly but couldn’t. He could see you tugging desperately at the bounds around your wrists, clearly wanting to be able to touch him, but he loved seeing you helpless like this. And he knew how badly you were wanting him. "Don't struggle, princess. I want to see you like this. Let me take care of you." He purred, his fingers now pumping into you faster. His own breathing was ragged, his mind clouded with the need to be closer to you. He could feel his own desperation grow, but he wanted more.

Luke shifted on the bed and pulled his fingers out of your core, causing you to let out a whine. He groaned as he saw your face, your whine sounding like music to his ears. He moved so that he was fully positioned between your legs, his hands grasping your thighs. "Don't worry, princess. I know what you need. I'll give it to you." He spread the slick from his fingers onto his tip, he was flushed pink and starting to leak pre-cum. He let out a breathy moan as he pushed the tip of his cock into you he took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment as he gathered his control before speaking. "Look at me, princess. I want to see your face." His hand gripped your chin so you would look at him as he pushed his length all the way into your core.

He gasped once he was fully inside you, his hand moving to grip your hips as he slowly pulled out again. His jaw was clenched, his eyes locked on you, and the way your body reacted to him. He muttered a soft “mine.” into your ear, that was all the warning you got before he slammed fully into you and started a rough pace. His face buried into your neck as he started to move, his pace rough and relentless. He was moving on instinct, the need to be closer to you taking over.

He couldn't get enough, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he started to whisper into your ear all the things he wanted to do, the thing he needed to do to you, things that might have bordered on obsessive but he didn't care. Luke leaned back off of you slightly so what was happening was still in clear view of the camera, he spread your legs further open and licked his thumb and used it to rub tight circles on your clit. He didn't hold back, his actions purely for the camera, for whatever audience he was doing this for. He wanted to make you look absolutely wrecked, to make them know that you were his.

He never slowed his pace, but as he shifted slightly for the camera you felt him graze against the spongy spot inside you, you felt your walls flutter at the contact and your wrists pulled at the bonds “shit- Luke keep going-“ He chuckled softly in your ear at your words, and the way you kept trying to get closer to him. He was keeping up his fast and rough pace, his hand keeping a fast and precise pace on your clit as he whispered into your ear. "I knew you would look good on camera. I knew they would all love to see you like this. So needy for me, princess. And so desperate to be mine." You whined, as he kept hitting that spot inside you, you could feel yourself getting closer.

He saw how close you were getting, his movements getting more deliberate, wanting to push you closer to the edge. "You're close. Look how wrecked you look, princess. So desperate and needy and all for me." He murmured into your ear, his eyes locked onto your face as he made sure the camera got a good view. Luke’s hand wrapped around your neck as he went faster, your legs were starting to shake. He could feel you shaking underneath him, your body tightening around him as he continued his rough pace. The hand wrapped around your neck was just enough pressure to feel like a threat but not quite hurt, his thumb moving over the place his fingers laid. "Come on, princess. I know you're close, come for me. Let me see my girl fall apart for me, you can do it." Your eyes fluttered shut as a strong wave of arousal hit you, you felt your walls spasming around him as you released.

He gasped at the feeling of you coming around him, his eyes darkening and his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, a deep groan being heard coming from the both of you as he slammed all the way into you one last time as he spilled his cum into you. He groaned as he came, his body collapsing against yours. His grip loosened on your hair, and he laid his head on your shoulder, his breathing harsh and ragged. He was still for a moment, before raising his head to look at your face, a satisfied smirk on his face. You both stayed like that for a few moments until Luke turned off the camera and leaned back over you ”I think I’ll keep that video just for me this time.”

My requests are currently open if you want to request something!

[nana-au]

i have headcanons for church boy! yuta/eren. bear with me.

yuta would act innocent and be innocent.

eren would act innocent and actually be a fucking freak.

note: sorry to any religious readers, but for this drabble's sake, i am identifying reader as agnostic/atheist. please refrain from reading this fic if you may get offended. my intentions are not to disrespect anyone or their religion.

both of them were raised in the church, their fathers being pastors so they have this pressure to be good boys. i imagine they both wear the purity rings their family gave them and they spend all their free time at the church. helping their dad find topics for his sermons, volunteering at summer bible camp, putting up decorations for holidays, etc.

maybe you would meet them at bible study. at first you were annoyed your parents signed you up for it but once you saw the tall, dark haired boy at the front of the room you suddenly couldn't think of being anywhere better.

they both would be the spitting image of perfection. dressed in their sunday best, without a wrinkle on their dress shirt. eren would probably have his sleeves rolled up, his forearms flexing when he leaned across the table to help the girl in front of you find her page.

both of them would have spotless, leather shoes that went click clack click clack across the linoleum floor of the now sweltering bible study classroom.

yuta would be so enthusiastic leading the group. his smile genuine and his gelled hair a little messy from constantly running a hand through it. his dark eyes somehow became the lightest things in the room while he dived into passage after passage.

the two of them would introduce themselves to you upon noticing how lost you looked. your parents had decided to turn a new leaf, and suddenly you all went from only attending every christmas/easter service to your family attending every sunday sermon. to say the adjustment was unwelcomed for you would be sort of an understatement. you felt lost while listening to your pastor bring up names like 'corinthians'... and who even is 'matthew'? You were exhausted, and burnt out and how bad of a teacher would they be to not notice someone who needed some guidance in the teaching's of the lord?

yuta would introduce himself - his smile a permanent fixture on his face while he shakes your hand. "if you have any questions, please don't be afraid to ask," he promises you, "that's what I'm here for." his voice was soft and his hand would basically swallow yours in his grasp - but his grip on you was gentle. you could only nod, your ability to speak lost on you upon receiving his undivided attention. his presence could only be described as angelic. his eyes on you felt like sun rays on a cool summer day and his touch felt like water - quenching a thirst inside of you that you didn't realize you had. he caused your breath to catch in your throat but if he noticed he didn't point it out. he was far too polite for that. in reality, yuta was unaware of his affect on people; especially you. you knew that if he was aware - he wasn't the type to take advantage of it.

eren wouldn't be able to hold back a smirk watching you struggle to keep up with what everyone else seemed to understand with ease. he would come over to your table group, singling you out loudly in front of everyone, "having a little trouble?" ...to anyone who was used to seeing eren every day since a young boy they would believe his expression showed genuine concern. but all you saw was a man unwilling to hide his smirk as you stuttered your way through a verse. a man utterly amused being in the presence of a girl who wasn't raised the way he was. he always seemed to linger behind you after your first interaction with him. he watched you highlight the passages he read out loud and witnessed you doodling in the little notebook that was meant for you to annotate. he leaned over your chair, his arms caging you between him and his chest pressing against your back. "cute. but let's make sure we're focusing, hmm?" he whispered into your ear.

they both would end up inviting you to do private studies with them at their home - they were the pastor's son after all - and what better way to prepare to take over as pastor one day then to be able to bring an unbeliever into the light of god?

you couldn't deny them even if you tried. there was something about them that drew you closer.

eren was all-consuming. there was something about the way he carried himself - domineering almost. the tan skin of his neck flexing with every deep swallow he took - his gaze unnerving under the fluorescent lighting of the bible study room while he watched you thumb through the pages of your clearly unused bible.

yuta was electric. he held a youthful attitude towards everything. the kind of carefree only a man of faith could have; so sure of his beliefs and finding comfort in the stories he taught. he was kind, and warm... you hadn't thought it possible to find a man so gentle. or easily flustered.

you had realized the both of them had a deeper reasoning to invite you to study at their house - whether they were aware of it or not.

(pt. 2 coming soon i have to go to work :sob:)