#he’s such an idiot i want to make love to him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zorosangell · 1 day ago

Note

Hi!!! First off I wanna say how AMAZING ur writing is like truly WOW. I loveee how you write jealous Zoro, but I neeeedd some jealous, possessive reader. Reader don’t play about Zoro just as much as he don’t play about her. You can also totally add some spice if you want *wink wink*

⛥ﾟ・。 stall

synopsis: after you catch a girl trying to spike zoro's drink, all hell breaks loose... hell being you.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, a whole lot of profanity, reader's crashout is incredibly valid, reader is a BADDIE, nami is a down ass bitch, girl talk, zoro looooves his girl.

a/n: i'd be this crazy too if I had zoro as a bf

"Look at her! All giggly and shit... he's never said anything that funny his whole life," you huffed, brows furrowed and lip jutted in a pout as you watched from the window of the bathroom door.

"She is kinda hammin' it up," Nami agreed, peaking along with you. "But that doesn't explain why you dragged me out here."

"'Cause I needed someone to spy with. And I didn't wanna look crazy doing it at a table."

"Hon', you look crazy now!"

"Hey!"

With a harsh sigh, you came off your tippy-toes, your heels making a soft clack against the bathroom tile as you turned to your red-headed friend.

"I do not!"

"(y/n), you are in your best dressed while stalking your boyfriend from the grimy bathroom of a dive bar," she deadpanned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I love you... but this is insane."

Slowly, you deflated, shoulders slightly sinking at the facts presented for you.

It did look kind of crazy.

'A warranted kind of crazy...'

The girl out there with the annoyingly silky hair and infuriatingly beautiful dress had been practically throwing herself at Zoro since the moment she saw him.

And it had only been a week since you and the crew arrived at Asaashi.

The Sunny was in need of repairs, so the crew docked at a nearby port island in order to give Franky enough space and time to fix her up.

And guess who happened to be the harbormaster?

Every day, without fail, she had managed to tail your swordsman, following him and showering him with praise whenever she could.

You hadn't had not two seconds alone with him before she came barging in with some excuse like a pirate crew she needed help collecting from or boats she needed help destroying.

You knew Zoro had never—and would never—entertain her advances, but being his girlfriend, you couldn't help but feel some type of way.

"She knows exactly who I am, and she knows exactly what she's doing," you stated, firmly, pointing at the window. "I can't just sit around and do nothing, Nami."

"Well, hanging out in the bathroom surely isn't helping."

With a sigh, she stepped closer, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"You've got more history with that idiot than that girl could ever know. And if you actually think she has a shot with him, then maybe you aren't as smart as I thought you were..."

"Hey!"

Amused, Nami let out a small snicker, before focusing on the task at hand.

"You're his girlfriend. And you've got every right to walk out there and plop yourself down on his lap. Kiss him! Shove your tongue down his throat! Lay your claim, girl! Men do it all the time."

Surprised, your nose scrunched.

"Really?"

"You think Zoro starts getting hot and heavy with you whenever Sanji's around just for fun?"

She paused a moment, thinking about her statement.

"Well... yes, for fun, but it's also a power-play."

Shaking her head, she returned to her point.

"So be bold! Take charge! Show that bitch who's boss!"

"Yeah!"

With new determination, you turned on your heel, throwing the bathroom door wide open and storming out.

Only to immediately rush back in.

"She's coming! Hide!"

"(y/n)!"

Quickly, you snatched up Nami's wrist, dragging her into a stall and shutting the door just in time for the woman and her friend to walk in.

"Oh, my god, Siva, the guy you're talking to is so hot," the friend commended, audibly plopping her bag down on one of the sinks. "Where did you find him?"

"At work," she smirked, going straight for the mirrors to check her makeup. "His crew's been docked here for about a week. We've been getting to know each other better."

"I'm surprised a man like him isn't snatched up already," the friend remarked, slowly gliding the bright red lipstick across her lips.

"Oh, he is," Siva grinned, her lips curling in an almost witch-like expression. "But she's practically out the picture already."

At that, anger began to bubble in your stomach, your brows furrowing at the statement.

'Oh, she fuckin' didn't.'

Just as you were about to open the door, Nami looped her arms under your armpits, frantically holding you back.

"Clearly not enough. He hasn't touched you all night," the friend reminded, beginning to touch up her eye shadow.

"All week," Siva corrected, annoyed, as she grabbed something out her dress pocket. "But this little baby's gonna change all that."

You and the navigator paused your struggle for a moment, brows quirking as you both peeked in the crack of the stall to see what she was holding.

It was a small bottle.

"Few drops of this in his sake and he'll be up for anything."

"Few drops? He'll need ten bottles just to get a buzz," the friend scrunched her nose.

"Nuh-uh. Whole bottle's enough to kill a dragon."

You were clenching your fists so hard, your knuckles were turning white.

"What about the girlfriend?" the friend asked, amused.

"What about her? She'll be old like last week's shoe sale. Tossed out and left with the trash."

"Girl, you are bad..."

"It's good to be."

"Y'know what's gonna be really good?!"

Without hesitation, you kicked open the stall door, the resounding boom scaring the shit out of them

"When I kick your fucking ass!"

Seamlessly, you kicked off your heels before launching forward, grabbing Siva by her silky hair and letting off a rapid-fire round of punches, her poor balance easily taking you both to the ground.

"My extensions!" Siva shrieked as you tossed a clump of fake hair, attempting to lift her arms in order to shield her face.

"Siva!" the friend gasped, quickly moving to assist. "Don't worry! I'll get her!"

"Get who?" Nami scoffed, hopping on one foot as she attempted to take off her heels and take out her earrings. "You're not jumping my girl, bitch!"

Stalling for time, Nami stepped on the girl's toes with the point of her heel before finally managing to get it off, promptly snatching her up before she could grab you.

"Get the fuck off me, you fucking cunt!" Siva spat as you continued to throttle her head.

"Shut the fuck up!" you barked, tossing her into a tiled wall.

"Oh, that is fucking it!" she growled, brows furrowed and newly invigorated.

"C'mon, bitch! I'm right here!"

With a roar of anger, she charged you, slamming you both against another wall before you flipped her over and tackled her out the bathroom, taking the door completely off its hinges.

"Keep fuckin' trying me, hoe! I'm not scared of you!" you spat, the two of you right back where you started as you grabbed her hair once again, slamming her head against the hard wood of the door—Nami still being in a fist fight with the friend in the bathroom.

"Ohhhh, shit! Cat fight!" a random patron exclaimed, calling the attention of the entire bar.

Everyone cheered, letting out shouts of oohs and aahs as you whooped the woman's ass, the sight honestly a marvel as you did so effortlessly, without devil fruit powers nor freakish strength to back you up.

Just will and a whole lot of grit.

Though, it wasn't long before a certain pair of strong arms grabbed you, pulling you away from the woman as you frantically thrashed around like an angry cat.

None other than your boyfriend.

"No, Zoro! M'not done beatin' her ass!" you whined, attempting to wiggle out of his tight grip.

"Yes, you are," he shut down, instantly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're leaving."

"Nami-swan, please! A goddess like yourself shouldn't dirty your hands with things like this!" Sanji pleaded, attempting to pry your red-headed friend off the other girl.

"Fuck that! This bitch tried to pull my hair out!"

"Yeah! Run away, bitch!" Siva taunted, sitting up from the ground with a painful wince.

"Run away?!" you scoffed, eyes wide. "Oh, hell nah! Zoro, let me go!"

"No," he denied, tossing you over his shoulder before starting toward the door. "Let's go, cook! Hurry the hell up!"

"Give me a damn second! She's got a death hold on her!" Sanji grunted, finally managing to loosen Nami's grip on the friend's neck before pulling her off.

"My fucking teeth!" Siva screeched, cupping at least five in her palm with horror.

"Thank my man, bitch! He's the only reason you're still breathing!" you barked, grabbing a nearby man's drink and tossing it at her. "Have fun suckin' sailor dick, toothless!"

"Fuck you!"

"Eat my ass!" you pulled down your eyelid, sticking out your tongue as you waved around a humongous chunk of hair. "Bald-headed bitch!"

The following shriek was high enough to shatter glass, but it sounded like music to your ears as you laughed, tossing her extensions on the ground as Zoro finally exited the bar.

With a sigh, he started in the direction of the Sunny—per Sanji's instructions—glancing back at you with a raised brow.

"You wanna tell me what all that was back there?" he asked.

Slowly coming down from your high, your shoulders slightly sank, arms crossing over your chest.

"She won't be coming around you anymore," you huffed, firm and final.

At that, Zoro finally realized what this was all about, forcing a small smirk to curl on his lips.

Letting out a chuckle, he pressed a soft kiss against your thigh, his large palm giving your ass a quick squeeze.

"Crazy woman..."

#zorosangell #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa #roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro #zoro x reader #op

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itsraceweekbitches · 2 days ago

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JUST HOW FAKE ARE WE?

summary: Your so-far-successful fake relationship with Max takes a different turn in Monaco. But how far will things go eventually? ✤ pairing: Max Verstappen x reader ✤ wc: 3.2k ✤ tags: fem!reader, marriage talks, fake relationship, teenage crush, excited-puppy-in-love!Max ✤ note I'm a goddamn idiot who deleted it, so here's the repost.

[march 2025 – australian grand prix]

The media is having a field day with your suddenly revealed relationship with Max, who seems to enjoy this show a little too much. I’m bored, it’s fun, and it’s absolutely no big deal, he said.

And he clearly means it, because he doesn’t let go of your hand when you’re walking down the paddock together for the first time on Saturday, and he always makes sure he has a hand on your body, or places a kiss on your cheek whenever there are cameras around.

The inevitable happens shortly before qualifying, when the first article about the two of you is published on a well-known gossip site. And then comes another. And another. Followed by social media posts and video edits by fans. The fans are obsessed with this turn of events.

Some immediately catch on, stating that there is no way this relationship is real, that it’s nothing more but a decoy. They’re right, of course, but lucky for you, there are many more fans who believe the lie. Some even uncovered a few photos from the boys’ karting days, ones where you and Max can be seen together talking, laughing, and even hugging.

Charles has been apologizing non-stop, telling you he feels guilty since the press got the conversation from his account, and he even believes he shouldn’t have joked about it at all.

Now Max is attending an emergency meeting to discuss how to handle the situation, while you’re hiding in his driver room, talking to Charles who has already returned from his own emergency meeting.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Charles tells you during your video call, although you can see the doubt in his green eyes.

With a groan, you lean back on the bed, but you can’t calm down, you can’t think clearly, not when your brain is in overdrive by the fact the whole room—and especially the pillow—smells like Max. You’re not used to being surrounded by this scent, and it feels like you’re invading his personal space.

And the decorations keep reminding you that you’re not at Ferrari anymore, that this is uncharted territory, something you know nothing about yet. Sure, you will have to get familiar with things here, but you are still feeling out of place.

“I know it’s not the end of the world,” you finally speak up, “but now we dragged Max into this, and—”

“Hey, no, no, no, he volunteered. We didn’t hold him at gunpoint.”

You roll your eyes, then give him a look that immediately silences him, and his lips are pressed into a thin line as he forces himself not to go on. You’ve known Charles literally your whole life, you know each other like you weren’t just best friends, but siblings who are stuck together.

“I’m just worried he’ll get into trouble because of me. You should have seen the faces when I showed up in Red Bull territory this morning,” you note with a grimace.

The most shocking moment was running into Christian, who watched you with narrowed eyes, as if he was thinking about what ulterior motive you had. If he only knew the truth…

On the other side of the line, Charles lets out a heartfelt laugh. “You as a corporate spy… Nah, you would suck at that,” he points out, then takes a deep breath. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Here you go again, he’s apologizing once more, and probably not for the last time. You wish you could go over to him and give him a big hug, then play video games until you both fall asleep. Like in the good old days.

After shaking your head, you sit up and lean your back against the wall behind you. “Charles, it’s not your fault. And I could never be mad at you, you know that.”

You want to go on, just to make sure he understands that there’s no reason to blame himself, but you’re interrupted all of a sudden.

“Honey, I’m home,” you hear Max’s familiar, cheerful voice from the door when he enters the room. “Oh, I didn’t know you were talking to someone,” he says when he comes to a halt in the middle of the room.

You flash a smile at him and shake your head. “It’s just Charles.”

“Just Charles?” the Monegasque asks with a roll of his eyes.

Before you know it, Max kneels on the edge of the bed, and leans down to press kisses all over your face, a move that brings a stupid giggle out of you. “She’ll call you back, now she’s all mine,” Max announces when he looks at the camera for a second.

It’s hard to miss the expression on your best friend’s face, the way his nose scrunches and he acts like he was about to throw up. “Disgusting,” he notes.

Next to you, Max doesn’t seem bothered by that, if anything, it just makes him more smug than he usually is in your company. “Screw you. I can shower my girlfriend with kisses anytime I want.”

“Since when?”

You let out a tired sigh as you push the man on your side away before he can give you another kiss on the cheek. “He’s been like that all day, he thinks he’s funny,” you tell Charles with a shake of your head.

“I’m hilarious,” Max corrects you as he lies down on the small space on your side. “And since we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, it’s only natural to act like this, no?”

“Only in public.”

“If you touch her in an inappropriate way, I’ll push you off the track tomorrow,” Charles warns him.

Instead of being scared, Max only lets out a carefree laugh. “You’ll have to get close to me first.”

When you turn back to the phone, you can see that little shit kind of grin on your friend’s face. “Your car sucks this year,” he notes happily. “Anyway, I have to go. Talk to you later.”

You wave him goodbye, then end the call with a sigh.

“So does yours,” Max mutters under his breath, even though Charles isn’t there anymore.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, then blow it out slowly to calm yourself. Soon this will pass, soon you’ll be free again. Until then, you’re stuck here with the Dutchman, who happens to act like the perfect boyfriend.

When you look over at Max, you notice that he’s staring right back, as if he’s been watching you all this time. But what if he has truly been watching you? There’s something in those blue eyes you can’t quite place yet. It’s something you’ve never seen before, an emotion that’s completely unfamiliar, and maybe even a little unsettling.

Before you could say anything, though, he grins at you then rolls off the bed, heading to the mini fridge in the corner to get a Red Bull out for himself. He asks you if you'd like one, but your heart is already racing, an energy drink is the last thing you need.

Just two or three more races. The storm will end, and you can all go back to your everyday lives.

[may 2025 – monaco grand prix]

Over two months later you’re still pretending.

And now it’s time for the most important race of the season: the Monaco Grand Prix. Charles’s home race. The one you want to watch from the Ferrari garage along with his family you’re so close to.

But first, it’s time for dinner with Charles, his mom, and Alex, to which Pascale invited Max too. If Charles brings his girlfriend, you should bring your boyfriend too, she said. And who are you to say no to your second mother?

Later in the afternoon you’re trying on dresses in your family’s penthouse, happy that they are away with their friends until Saturday since Max decided to jump in and pick you up. He arrived early–like, two hours early—so now he’s the one rating your outfits.

“The color is nice, it suits you, but the shape is terrible,” he comments as he holds up the makeshift rating card, a smaller whiteboard he writes his points on.

Six points. Okay, this goes back to the walk-in closet, but you only leave after sticking out your tongue at him, because you love this dress so much that hearing it doesn’t look good on you physically hurts.

Three more outfits later he lets out a groan and jumps up after tossing the whiteboard to the other end of the couch. “I have an idea,” he begins as he follows you to the bedroom for whatever reason.

“I’m not gonna wear jeans with a Red Bull Racing shirt, forget it,” you point out without looking back at him.

“What? No, I’d rather you wear that when you’re with Ferrari this weekend.”

You spin on your heels to look at him, and sure enough, there’s that cheeky, boyish grin you were expecting. But how does he know about your plan to spend the weekend on Charles’s side of the paddock? You never mentioned that.

To your surprise, he knows perfectly well what’s going on inside your head. “What? You thought I wouldn’t know that this weekend is special? I discussed this with Charles a while ago, everything’s ready for you,” he tells you casually.

“Thank you. So, what do you have in mind, then?” you wonder as you walk closer to him.

Max lets out a thoughtful hum as his eyes sweep over your body, as if he was making this up on the spot. “Well, I would suggest jeans and a Simply lovely shirt, but no, I have a better idea. I have a surprise for you in my backpack, give me a sec.”

You watch him rush out of the room with a frown on your face, wondering what the hell is happening here. Max being nice and thoughtful is nothing new, but today it just feels different, like something has shifted in your fake relationship.

To be honest, you may have been thinking about him more than you probably should, even when he’s not around. You find yourself opening the messaging app you usually use, typing some words before changing your mind and deleting them. Or other times your finger hovers over the screen as you wonder if you should call him or not.

You’re kind of afraid of whatever that means. Is this more than just pretending?

At this point, you can’t help but wonder if it’s time to put an end to this. By now the press moved on, focusing on other drivers’ relationships instead of yours. It’s yesterday’s news, and everybody knows Charles and Alex are back together, and that they’re happier than ever. So what’s the point of this? Nothing.

Yet…

“Before you ask, I cheated and asked Charles to somehow get me what size you wear. Apparently Alex straight-up asked you, so,” he begins with a sheepish smile as he holds up a dress.

It’s a beautiful dark blue cocktail dress, which somehow didn’t have any wrinkles on it despite spending God knows how much time in that backpack. You don’t even know what to say, mostly because this gesture only proves what you’ve been suspecting about this certain shift you’ve noticed.

“You don’t like it.”

Your eyes move from the dress to your fake boyfriend, and you don’t hesitate to shake your head. “No, it’s beautiful. I just… Never mind. Thank you.”

Max lets out a sigh as he places the dress on the back of a chair. “Listen, I can see something’s bothering you. What is it?”

What are you supposed to say to this? That your brain is wandering to places you don’t want to explore?

“I’ll try on the dress, so could you wait outside?”

Nodding, Max gives you one last look, then leaves the room without a word. That’s the last time you speak until you meet the others, and even then, you keep an unusual distance. For him, it’s about being cautious. For you, it’s about making sure you make a fool out of yourself.

Charles, of course, notices the change in the atmosphere right away, and he even pulls you aside to start questioning you. But, even though he has known you since you were born, meaning he could probably give you some advice, you decide to lie and act like it’s nothing.

But it’s not nothing.

Your eyes keep finding Max throughout the evening, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head. Does he have the same thoughts? Or is he desperately waiting to be free of you? It’s hard to tell.

Just as you planned, you spend the weekend with Charles, arriving at the paddock with his family, staying in Ferrari territory just to be safe. Safe from Max. Safe from your thoughts. Safe from the media.

But there’s an itch in the back of your brain, one you can’t scratch. And the itch even has a voice, repeating his name over, and over, and over again. It’s getting louder with each passing second, with each moment you see him on the screens on the wall, when your phone buzzes to notify you of a new message from him.

Alex gives you worried looks every now and then, but it takes her a while to open up and tell you what it’s about. And when she finally tells you what’s going on, you feel like the whole world has turned against you. First, everyone was freaking out because they thought you and Charles were getting married. Then it was you and Max. Now? Now the fans are mad because you chose your best friend over your boyfriend.

You close your eyes for a moment, but then you take a deep breath and leave the garage, trying to move in a way that doesn’t scream how terrible and pathetic you feel right now. Some fans are screaming bloody murder because Max is starting the race from P10 after a mechanical issue in Q3, which only happened because his lucky charm–you–wasn’t there with him on Saturday.

To be honest, you haven’t talked since the dinner. You’ve been avoiding him, ignoring him, and you hate yourself for not answering him.

“Wait,” you hear a familiar voice calling after you.

Fuck.

Max ran all the way here, ready to jump into the car based on the suit he already wears, but despite this, here he is, looking for you. There are people already turning in your direction, you can’t just leave him there, so you come to a halt and force a smile on your face.

“Hey, I–”

Before you could say anything, he gently but firmly puts a hand around your neck to pull you into a kiss. It’s rushed, passionate, and messy, yet it feels perfect. This is the first time the two of you kissed, until now you carefully avoided that situation, but God, what did you miss?

It’s only when he lets go for a moment that you notice the cameras around you, but it doesn’t seem to bother him, in fact, it just draws a smug smirk on his face. “Well, if you want to jump ship, Red Bull’s always waiting for you. I love you,” he adds quietly.

This short-circuits your brain. This didn’t sound fake, you have a feeling he meant it. But if he meant it, then… Okay, you need to stop, you can’t overthink, you can’t let him put ideas in your head.

You want to say something, anything, really, but nothing comes to your mind.

He flashes a big smile at you before pressing a rushed kiss on your cheek. “Come over tonight. The cats miss you.” And with that, he waves goodbye and leaves.

What the hell just happened?

Luckily, you have enough brain capacity left to send him a quick good luck message.

“I was hoping you would jump in, but don’t worry, I’m glad you’re here now” Max says when he opens the door of his apartment.

Yeah, right. The invitation. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t go there, not now. Not when you had these confusing feelings and thoughts. Did he mean it when he said those words? Did he catch feelings just like you did?

Because you did. You caught feelings in the past two months, and it wouldn’t be fair to deny. Just how long can you play pretend knowing damn well you want more from him?

Letting out a sigh, you go straight to his living room without saying a word–something that confuses him based on the questioning hum he lets out as you walk past him. Once he catches up, you gulp and prepare to speak up, breaking the awkward silence. This has never been the problem, not once. You could always chat and laugh, but now it feels different.

“Maybe it’s time to end this fake relationship,” you announce, even though the thought breaks your heart.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats stubbornly as he sits on the couch and picks up his youngest furry kid. “Aren’t we having fun? Why can’t this become something real? Come on, you enjoyed that kiss this afternoon, didn’t you?”

Oh, that confident smile of his is driving you crazy. You just want to slap him.

You want to slap that handsome face.

DAMN IT! FOCUS!

“Max, people have moved on, there’s no reason to keep going,” you try, although your voice lacks conviction.

And he knows. He always knows if there’s something you’re not telling him. This time he starts with a doubtful look, which is followed by a wide, Cheshire Cat grin. The thing is, Max always gets what he wants, and this time you have a feeling you’re what he wants.

Before you know it, he puts the cat to the side–who gives him a mean look in return–and reaches out to take your hands to pull you into his lap. Your brain melts when you feel his hands on your waist, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. Why does it feel so good? You don’t want to like it as much as you do.

Taking a deep breath, you try to pry his hands off yourself to break the spell, but his grip only tightens as he launches himself forward to capture your lips in a kiss. Another mind blowing kiss that knocks every coherent thought out of your brain.

The fact you like it is pathetic.

But still oh so good.

Maybe giving him a chance is what you should do now. Maybe he’s right, maybe you would be good together. So, without thinking more, you let yourself get lost in the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck. But he suddenly leans back to build a little distance.

“I have an idea,” he begins with a smile, his lips red and swollen. “I have napkins in the kitchen, let’s write a contract. Seems to work for you.”

“God, you’re so silly,” you tell him with a grin, then kiss him again.

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc

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gojover · 1 day ago

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the subtleties of being in love

summary: kuroo tetsurou is the spider-man. he’s also your best friend. he’s also hopelessly in love with you. between fighting crime and juggling college, kuroo barely has the time to confess his feelings to you. lucky for him, you’ve got him covered. or, five times kuroo tetsurou tries to ask you out, and one time you ask him out instead.

⇢ pairing: spider-man!kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, mild angst, best friends to lovers au, spider-man au, college au, debatable attempts at comedy, idiots to idiots in love, 5+1 things, profanity, mentions of violence but nothing graphic—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 5.0k

ONE — THE SUBTLE ART OF SWINGING INTO A WALL

Kuroo Tetsurou swears he isn’t trying to be stupid.

It’s just that when he sees you, his mouth dries up, the words he want to say get stuck on the tip of his tongue and he can’t force them out no matter what, he feels his brain turn to mush and his legs turn to jelly, and—

You’re laughing. At him.

All because he swung face-first into a goddamn brick wall.

You don’t even know it’s him—he has a mask made out of spandex covering his face, thankfully—but he saw you on the street, talking to the old lady who sells churros next to the sandwich place both of you love. He may have lost all directional sense after that, because one minute he’s watching you gesture animatedly while you converse with the shopkeeper, and the next he slams solidly into the brick-red compound of the building he was supposed to swing over.

At least his webbing is still intact.

Kuroo’s pride, on the other hand? Completely, utterly shattered.

For a minute, there’s silence—a sort of muffled, hazy silence that blankets everyone, the kind that’s impossibly rare to come by in a city which never sleeps—and then every single person whips out their phones and takes pictures, giggling to themselves throughout. It’s not every day Spider-Man accidentally swings into a wall, after all.

Kuroo can already picture the headlines: City’s Masked Superhero Can Fight Aliens But Is Apparently Blind When Confronted By A Gigantic Barricade. Or worse. He can hear J. Jonah Jameson’s voice in his head, bellowing into the cameras, “Breaking news everyone, this just in: Spidey has been caught lackin’! Is he truly good at his job or is he just a farce? We may never know.”

He peels his head off hard brick, contorting his neck to relieve all the cricks, and that’s when he makes direct eye contact with you.

He swears his heart stops beating—but it starts again in less than a second, starts rabbiting around like it always does when he sees you, before settling back down into its regular rhythm. It’s only then that he remembers his feet and fingers are still glued to the wall.

He pries them off, wincing at the hoots and hollers from the crowd, and glances at you again.

You have a few churros in your hand, wrapped neatly in butter paper—no doubt a gift from the old lady—and you have your phone in your hand. He watches your fingers fly rapidly over the screen, notices the slight tilt to your head, the way your tongue pokes out of your lips slightly, the amusement at his mishap still running through your veins.

He hears the ping of the notification through his mask before you even put your phone down.

The letters swim in front of his eyes, on the screen in front of him.

(11:36) You: KUROO!!!! u wont BELIEVE what i just saw!!!! I SAW SPIDERMAN CRASH INTO A WALL LMFAOOOO

Kuroo winces. He should probably tell you that there’s a hyphen separating the words ‘spider’ and ‘man’, but he doesn’t want to burst your obvious elation at the city’s most prominent superhero’s accident. (Despite the fact that you’re the cause for him losing all common sense, in the first place.)

He doesn’t get the chance to form another coherent thought before a yell from below gets his attention. Specifically because it’s your voice.

“Hey!” You have your hands placed on your waist, your bundle of churros tucked into the corner of your arm as you squint up at him. “Need some help getting down?”

Unlike the jeers of the onlookers with their phones still out, you don’t sound malicious at all. You sound genuinely concerned, as though he isn’t Spider-Man, who’s fought off a hundred different villains and rescued the earth from alien infestations. You talk to him like he’s just a regular guy who accidentally swung onto a building and now finds himself in this precarious position.

His chest warms at the thought. “No thanks!” he hollers back. “I’m good.”

He lets his feet loosen up, feels his muscles relax and then he pushes himself off the wall, letting the momentum pull him through a graceful somersault before he lands softly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” You ignore the passersby.

“I’m fine,” Kuroo replies. “Are you okay?”

You look at him strangely, and Kuroo can feel his cheeks heat up. “I’m not the one who almost broke my nose because I wasn’t looking at where I was going.”

Kuroo shifts from one foot to the other, chewing on the inside of his cheek. You have a point, he supposes. He clears his throat. “Right, um. Thanks for offering to help me out.”

“No problem,” you reply easily, the corners of your lips rising upwards. “I’m glad you’re okay. Can’t have our city’s best line of defence get obliterated because of a wall.”

Kuroo’s not sure whether he’s supposed to feel happy about the fact that you’re worried about him despite not knowing who he is or if he’s supposed to be embarrassed at you pointing out his lapse of attention.

“Listen,” he begins, feeling a rush of adrenaline surge through his veins, run its course throughout his body, and settle at his heart, “do you… maybe want to get some coffee with me? As a thank you. For offering to help.”

You raise an eyebrow sceptically. “I’m not sure that warrants a coffee date.”

“It’s not,” Kuroo hurriedly says, heart thumping erratically, “I swear. I just want to thank you.”

You purse your lips, drawing out a sigh that’s in between contemplation and refusal. Kuroo’s heart sinks—he knows that expression of yours all too well. “I’m sorry, Spider-Man. You’re a great superhero and I’m sure you’re a really nice person behind the mask, but… I’m actually running late for a meet-up with my best friend. I’m sorry.” You shrug apologetically. “Maybe next time.”

“Okay, uh—” Kuroo licks his lips— “n-no worries. I’ll see you around.”

“Break a leg, Spider-Man.” You salute him with two fingers. “Not literally, but you know what I mean.”

He manages a smile, then realises you can’t see it through his mask—and then realises that the friend who’s meet-up you’re running late to is with him, so he’s going to see you again, anyway. The thought makes him smile again, this time wider, and he can feel his cheeks crinkle at the corners.

He stretches an arm out, presses his web shooter and swings onto the top of the building. Maybe he’ll have to deal with you retelling the story of how he crashed into a wall with extreme detail and lots of exaggeration, and Kuroo should probably feel extremely embarrassed about it. Instead, he finds himself looking forward to it.

Maybe he should crash into walls more often.

TWO — THE SUBTLE ART OF ACCIDENTALLY ASKING YOUR PROFESSOR OUT

Kuroo Tetsurou is decidedly fucked.

He’s late—unbearably so—but what else is he supposed to do if a platoon of aliens show up in the middle of his Introduction to Organic Chemistry class and he has to stop them from blowing up the president’s summer retreat? Once the situation is wrapped up and the foreign visitors agree to sign a peace treaty with earth, he’s effectively missed three classes, skipped lunch, and is currently running late to a study session you planned out after classes.

He supposes he can make up for it—he’s not sure how, but… something is better than nothing, right? He swings down in front of a flower shop, hurriedly asks for a bouquet and a box of chocolates, places a wad of money bills on the counter and swings away. The whole interaction takes place in less than fifteen minutes, but Kuroo is in a hurry. He has a slew of texts from you, all detailing the same thing: That if he doesn’t magically appear in the next ten minutes, you’re leaving, and you better make it up to him somehow.

Kuroo touches down on the rooftop of your university’s library and quickly removes his Spider-Man suit, stuffing it into his backpack and shouldering it. He heads down the fire escape, taking two steps at a time, and comes to a standstill in front of the Biology section of the library. It’s the least crowded part of the library, which is why you and Kuroo have chosen it as your designated spot.

He sees you immediately and braces himself for the telltale quickening of his heart. You smile at him as soon as you spot him, raising a hand in greeting. Books and sheets of paper are scattered around the table in front of you, and your hair is messy, swept up hastily. You’re wearing your favourite sweater with the coffee stain down the front, because even though it’s not something you would wear in public, it’s still the most comfortable piece of clothing you own.

Kuroo’s lips curl upwards on their own accord. The words form on the tip of his tongue, as they always do. He wants to tell you—he’s been in love with you since he first laid eyes on you—and it would be so easy to confess right then and there. He walks towards you.

Fate is never kind to him, it seems.

Kuroo keeps his eyes fixed on you, which is why he doesn’t notice his Organic Chemistry professor walk right across him.

In his defence, Professor Suzuki is short, with a head full of bountiful grey curls and a pink flower-patterned umbrella always tucked underneath her arm. She barely comes up to Kuroo’s shoulders, so she’s never in Kuroo’s line of vision unless he’s sitting down.

It’s no wonder he collides into her.

Professor Suzuki lets out a startled “Ooh!”, the stack of papers in her hand flying out of her grip and falling around him and his teacher like snowflakes on a winter morning. She twists her lips at him, mouth downturned like she just sucked a lemon raw, and tuts disapprovingly at him.

Kuroo feels his cheeks blaze as he bends down and gathers all the loose sheets of paper and stacks them. He doesn’t need to look at you to know you’re gleefully watching the whole encounter. He tucks the bouquet and chocolates into the crook of his arm and hands the stack of papers to Professor Suzuki, mumbling an apology.

“Well, you better be sorry,” she says, looking up and down at him—except she has to crane her neck at him to meet his eyes, and the sight is so hilarious, Kuroo needs to stifle his laughter. Then her eyes narrow in recognition, and Kuroo stiffens, dread pooling in his stomach.

She pauses for a minute. “Aren’t you the young man who ran out halfway through my class? Is your stomach feeling better now?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you snort and then cover it up as a cough.

Kuroo wants to melt into the floor, pretend like he’s one of the tiles on the ground. “Yes ma’am,” he answers politely instead, hoping his voice doesn’t betray him.

“Hmm.” She scrutinises him carefully, reaching out with her free hand and pinching his stomach. “Indigestion is a serious issue, young man. Make sure you have enough ginger in your diet—it helps with your toilet problems.”

“I will, ma’am.”

“Now, how do you plan to make up for your lost lesson?”

Kuroo licks his lips. “I’m… not sure. I could come over for a remedial class—”

“Oh, please. You insult me.” Professor Suzuki lets out a giggle. “Remedial classes are such mediaeval methods. These days teachers will let anything go for a small price. Young, handsome men like you especially…”

Kuroo nearly chokes on his own spit. “I—”

“Just some flowers and chocolates will be fine,” his teacher waves him off good-naturedly, as though this is a conversation she has all the time. Her eyes land pointedly on the flowers and the chocolate box still tucked safely in his arms.

“Oh. Um.” Kuroo curses his luck. He’s Spider-Man, after all—shouldn’t he get some slack? All he wants is to ask you out, and if not that, at least spend some time with you without getting caught up in outworldly situations all the time.

Professor Suzuki’s expression turns serious upon noticing his hesitation. “Of course, not every teacher is as lenient as I’m being. Some would—and I’m really just throwing it out here—assign compensatory essays, or—”

He hurriedly shoves the bouquet and the chocolates into Professor Suzuki’s waiting arms.

“No, ma’am. Thank you very much for being so kind to me.”

“Not a bother, not a bother,” she waves him off again, smiling thinly at him. “Anything for my students.”

Kuroo bows and waits patiently for her to skitter away from him, finally letting out a loose breath that has his shoulders slumping forward and his head hanging dejectedly. He drags himself to your table, places his bag on the desk, and buries his head into his arms in such a way that half his upper body is spread-eagled across the wooden desk. A tired, muffled groan escapes his lips.

“Rough day?” Your voice is soft, and you tentatively reach out and gently run a hand through his hair.

Kuroo lets out another groan in response, closing his eyes when he feels your touch. He lifts up his head and props his chin on the desk, glancing at you. You have a soft smile playing on your lips, eyes twinkling.

“You recorded all of that, didn’t you?” It’s more a statement than a question; Kuroo has all your tendencies mapped out in his head, and you would never pass up on an opportunity to record his humiliation.

“Yup.” You grin at him, patting your pocket where your phone is stowed away. “I won’t show it to anyone, don’t worry.”

It’s a small consolation. He decides to let it slide. “By the way, the flowers and the chocolates were for you. To apologise for being late.”

“Oh.” To Kuroo’s surprise, you sound… bashful, almost. His heart skitters at the revelation. “That’s alright. I’m not a big fan of flowers anyway. Are you hungry? You skipped lunch, too, didn’t you? We could go get some ramen.”

“That sounds good.” Kuroo smiles wearily at you. He just hopes there isn’t another national emergency to divert his attention from you and the time he gets to spend with you.

THREE — THE SUBTLE ART OF ALMOST DATING YOUR HOMIE

If Kuroo Tetsurou has been Tokyo’s one and only Spider-Man for the past two years, then Bokuto Koutarou, his roommate, is his designated Guy-in-the-Chair.

He’s the only one who knows about Kuroo’s secret identity, and Kuroo relies on him to make up some believable reason for his often and sudden disappearances. The last time, when he had to escape in the middle of his Organic Chemistry class and that whole debacle with Professor Suzuki took place, Bokuto had said Kuroo had indigestion. He assumes his roommate has fun coming up with excuses. As long as his secret remains safe, Kuroo’s not too concerned.

Despite all the help Bokuto has provided him with, he wants nothing more than to toss him over their shared apartment’s balcony.

For the past half an hour, he’s been consistently badgering him. Specifically about you.

“Have you told her you like her yet?”

The question drags a tired sigh out of Kuroo’s lips. He’s hunched over his Physics textbook, scribbling down notes, and he could really appreciate some peace—but that’s not something he should expect when he lives with the human equivalent of a hamster on a wheel.

“No, Bokuto,” he reiterates, “I haven’t had the time.”

Bokuto flops dramatically across the couch. “Dude. You need serious help.”

“Do I?” Kuroo murmurs absent-mindedly, wondering how to calculate the coefficient of friction with the variables he’s been given.

“Yes.” When he notices his roommate not paying attention to him, Bokuto rolls his eyes. “Stop doing homework, you have more important matters to attend to.”

Kuroo finally tears his tired gaze away from the numericals printed out on the page. He locks eyes with Bokuto, barely aware of the tic in his left eye. “Like what?”

His roommate throws his hands up in the air exasperatedly. “Like your best friend! And the fact that you’re in love with her!”

“Okay.”

“This isn’t going to work. C’mere.” He gestures to Kuroo to come sit next to him on the couch. Once he makes his way to the couch and sits next to him, Bokuto takes both his hands in his. “Consider this an intervention.”

Kuroo leans back and lets his head fall against the couch cushions. This is going to be good.

“Okay, so,” Bokuto begins, “she doesn’t know you’re Spider-Man—no one knows that except me—but you love her, don’t you? Just walk up to her, tell her you can show her something she’s never seen before, swing her up to a rooftop somewhere, and watch the sunset with her. Tell her you love her and that you can’t live without her, and your heart beats only for her—trust me, girls love romantic stuff like that—and then tell her you’re also Spider-Man. Easy.”

All Kuroo can do is laugh. There’s no way Bokuto is serious about this.

“I’m being serious,” Bokuto says. “How long are you going to keep hiding this from her? She’s your best friend, don’t you think you should tell her that you’re basically in mortal peril every other day?”

“That’s exactly why I’m not telling her,” Kuroo says. “What if some villain finds out she’s special to me and does something to her to get back at me?”

His friend looks dubious. “You really think that could happen?”

“Yes.” Kuroo turns his head to look at Bokuto. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you either.”

Bokuto chews his lip thoughtfully. “I kind of see what you mean. But…” He squeezes Kuroo’s hand once, gently. “I think she would want to know.”

Kuroo considers it—for a brief half-minute, he actually thinks about it—and then shakes his head. “It’s better to keep her safe.”

You have the worst possible timing. (Perhaps it’s Kuroo’s fault for having given you a spare key to his apartment.)

The door swings open and you walk into the living room, two bags of takeaway in your hand. “Guess who’s got food!”

Then you pause, survey the situation in front of you, and your jaw drops.

Kuroo and Bokuto, both on the couch, sitting so close to each other, their knees are brushing. Kuroo’s hands are still being held by Bokuto, the latter rubbing circles on his palm. Belatedly, Kuroo realises what this must look like to you.

He shoots up to his feet. “It’s not what you think—”

“Oh my God.” You raise your arms. “Am I interrupting something? I’m so sorry, I had no idea! I’ll just—”

“No, wait! Bokuto and I, we’re not—”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Your repeated reassurances don’t do anything to assure him. “You guys look good together! Congratulations on graduating from cherry boy university, Kuroo!”

Kuroo lowers his head, crimson creeping up his cheeks. He turns around and faces Bokuto, who’s busy snickering on the couch. “This is all your fault.”

You look between them curiously. “Are you both dating?”

“No,” Kuroo says at the same time Bokuto says, “Possibly.”

He glares at his friend. “No, we are not together. Bokuto knows I like someone else.”

“You like someone else?”

There’s the barest hint of hurt in your tone, a slight hitch in your voice that Kuroo picks up on easily. “I—yes.”

“You never told me.”

Your voice is carefully calm and you fiddle with the handle of the takeaway bags. Kuroo winces; he takes a step forward and grabs your elbow, gently forcing you to look up at him. “I was going to tell you. I just… forgot.”

It's the worst possible excuse he could come up with. Your eyes harden. Thankfully, Bokuto swoops in. “He’ll tell you soon. He just never has good timing.”

You poke your tongue in the inside of your cheek. “It… doesn’t matter. I brought Chinese,” you say, lips pursed into a threadbare smile, “so all that’s left is to pick the movie.”

You move into the living room and playfully poke Bokuto’s legs to make space. Kuroo closes the door behind you, a heavy feeling in his gut.

He’s fucked up. Big time. No matter what, he can’t get the look of dejectedness on your face out of his mind.

Kuroo decides he’s going to tell you. Somehow. Even if you don’t return his feelings, at least he’ll be free of the burden of keeping them hidden.

With new conviction in his head, he strides over to where you are.

FOUR — THE SUBTLE ART OF GETTING HIT ON

Kuroo loves you—he really does—but despite his obvious affection towards you, he still thinks you’re acting slightly (read: extremely) delusional.

“A… Spider-Man love blog?” he asks weakly, sitting opposite you.

“Yeah!” You nod your head vigorously, obviously excited. “J. Jonah Jameson started a Spider-Man conspiracy theory blog, so I figured I need to start a blog to support Spider-Man and all his endeavours. Too much hate is a bad thing, and… well, he is kind of hot. Objectively speaking.”

Kuroo doesn’t know whether to grimace at the fact that J. Jonah Jameson started a page on conspiracy theories about him, laugh at the fact that you want to start a blog to support him, or melt like an ice cream on a hot summer afternoon at the fact that you just called him objectively hot.

He tries to do a mixture of all three. You glance at him, concerned. “Did you just have a stroke or something?”

Kuroo purses his lips together. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” you say dismissively. “Well, what do you think of the blog idea?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Kuroo agrees. “It’s like a little Spider-Man support group.”

“Exactly!” you agree, perking up even more. “That’s actually a really cool slogan, thanks Kuroo.”

“No problem.” Kuroo feels his mouth dry, but before he can second guess himself, he says, “Hey, you said Spider-Man is hot?”

“Hm? Yeah, what about it?”

“You know who else is hot?”

“Tom Holland?” Your eyes widen excitedly. “Oh, I know! Andrew Garfield!”

“No—I mean, yes but—” Kuroo heaves out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t talking about them.”

You cock your head to the side. “Who do you mean, then?”

He takes in a deep breath, forcing his heart to calm down. “I was talking about—”

He’s about to say you when the fire alarm rings. You stand up, eyes widening—not with excitement, but with panic flaring up inside you. Kuroo stands up too; how did he not notice something was off? The hair at the back of his neck tingles. He needs to get you out of here—now.

“Hey,” he says hurriedly, “you need to leave. Go out the fire escape.” He shoves you none too gently towards the fire escape, but you stumble forward and then stop.

“Kuroo,” you say, and he can hear the mounting fear in your voice, “what about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he assures. A series of bangs follows his statement, and he narrows his eyes at the direction of the sound. “But you need to leave. Now.”

You open your mouth to say something, but when you hear a loud clang echo down the stairwell, you close your mouth and run towards the staircase. Kuroo waits for you to disappear from his sight, before turning on his heel and grabbing his suit from his bag.

God, supervillains really have the worst timing. All Kuroo wanted to do was tell you he thought you were hot, too, but that he found you more beautiful than anything else.

FIVE — THE SUBTLE ART OF EXPOSING YOUR CRUSH

Kuroo is so, so tired.

He lands in front of a small, quiet lake in a park you used to come to with him. The ambience is perfect for when you want to spend time alone, in solitude. A family of ducks paddles gently over the water; it’s peaceful and serene—completely unlike the destruction he just had to deal with, and the turbulence currently running through his mind.

He pulls his mask off his head and runs a tired hand through his hair. Wearily, he sinks down onto the grass, feeling the cool breeze caress his skin and the rustle of the leaves of the giant tree under whose shade he’s sitting.

He blinks once, slowly, and then again, and when a duck lets out a quack, he opens his mouth and lets everything spill out, like sand pouring through an overturned hourglass.

(He’s aware he’s talking to ducks. He doesn’t care.)

“Screw this shit. I never wanted to be a hero, you hear me? I never wanted to be bitten by a stupid spider, I didn’t ask for all this—I didn’t ask for all this! God, what does a guy need to do to have some time to tell his best friend he’s in love with her?!”

His rant falls on silent ears—but then, he hears the crunch of dried leaves, and he whips around.

Your head pokes out from behind the tree trunk. “Kuroo?”

“Oh,” he breathes out, scrambling to his feet. “What are you—”

“You said you’d be right behind me!” Despite the false bravado in your voice, he can hear how wobbly you actually sound.

“I-I was. Technically.” He takes a tentative step towards you, one arm stretched out placatingly.

“You never told me you were Spider-Man!” Your voice increases in pitch steadily with each word.

“I didn’t tell you to protect you—”

“Oh my God, you were in mortal peril every day and I didn’t even know!”

“Bokuto said the same thing, but—”

“Bokuto knew all along, of course he did!”

“I only told him because—”

“And—and now you’re telling me you’re in love with me!”

“Okay, I wasn’t telling you, I was telling the ducks, but—”

“Kuroo!” You throw your hands up in the air wildly, gaze roaming rapidly across his face. “You’re in love with me!”

He sucks in a breath sharply. “I feel like that’s not the most important thing here.”

Of all the ways he thought he would confess to you, this is decidedly not something that crossed his mind even once. He’d always pictured flowers, holding your hand, maybe even a romantic stroll down this very park. He’d certainly never imagined you’d find out about both his secrets on the same day—all while he was busy ranting about his hero complex to a bunch of birds who didn’t pay him any attention.

“Please,” he tries again, “please let me explain.”

You shake your head. “No. There’s nothing there to explain.”

With that, you turn away and walk past him. Kuroo’s heart sinks. He crumples the material of the mask in his hand, feeling the cloth twist underneath his fingertips just like his heart twists into knots with every step you take away from him.

PLUS ONE — THE SUBTLE ART OF KISSING YOUR BEST FRIEND

You have Kuroo cornered, your arms crossed across your chest and your expression stern. “You need to listen to me.”

Kuroo gulps. It’s been a week since he accidentally let both his secrets slip, and this is the first time he’s talking to you in person since then. You’d sent him a text with a simple message. Library, first thing after lunch. Kuroo had complied, and here he is now.

“So. Bokuto explained everything to me,” you say.

“He—he did?”

You glance at him shortly. “Yeah, he did. I… I understand why you didn’t tell me about—about your condition, Kuroo. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself.”

“It’s okay,” he replies immediately. “If I found out my best friend was a secret vigilante risking his life every day, I think I’d react the same way.”

You smile at him then, and his heart jumps inside his chest. He smiles back. “But that’s not the main reason I called you here,” you continue. “What I really called you here for was…”

You trail off, looking down, and Kuroo is hit with a sudden sense of nostalgia. Why are you being so bashful around him all of a sudden? “Was…” he gently prompts.

You swallow, lifting up your chin and looking him in the eye. “I wanted to tell you that I’m in love with you too.”

Kuroo Tetsurou swears time stops, and the whole world comes to a standstill. The words ring in his ears, echoing inside his head. His lips part, and he stares at you, flabbergasted.

“I— Say that again.” His voice is barely more than a whisper.

He sees the flicker in your eyes, notices how you’re ready to compete with him for this. “I love you, Kuroo Tetsurou. I don’t care about the fact that you’re Spider-Man.”

Kuroo takes a step towards you, holding your shoulders gently, like you’re made of glass. “I love you too.”

You grin at him, your own arms encircling his waist and coming to rest on his back. “I know that.”

And then you tip your head forward and capture his lips with your own. He gasps at first, before kissing you back with equal force, one hand tugging you closer to him and the other curving around your torso.

You giggle into the kiss, and Kuroo’s lips twitch upwards. He’s giddy, weightless, floating through the air like a feather being carried by the wind. The feeling he gets when he’s swooping through the rooftops of the city is nothing compared to the feeling of your lips slotted against his and his arms wrapped around you.

Kuroo Tetsurou swears he doesn’t try to act stupid normally. But if it makes you smile, he’s willing to do anything.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #kuroo x reader #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou fluff #hq x reader #hq fluff #kuroo #kuroo tetsurou

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slapintoaslimjim · 2 days ago

Note

heyy! i’m new here and this is my first request! could you write about reader being oblivious to the way katsuki feels abt her (but reader feels the same way) like an intense friends to lovers??

this would mean so much to me! please and thank u <3

a/n: ahhhh requited love story! i need this after the gut wrenching story i just made- because unrequited love ruins me every single timeee. so i gotchu baby!

From the start.

now playing: Freudian by Daniel Caesar

warnings: none, just a fluff story with some tension but nothing angsty or miscommunication. fem reader :3

katsuki and you had a rocky start; but to be fair katsuki did with everyone in class 1-A. well, everyone in UA, even the staff, to be exact.

he was brash, loud, and arrogant his first semester in UA. pushing people away and solely focusing on himself and wanting to be japan’s future number one hero. he didn’t care how he got there, who he gained and lost, he just knew what he wanted.

but all of that quickly switched around fast; being in a class- school even, filled with students of different quirks, strengths, weaknesses, and abilities that actually challenged katsuki left him absolutely humbled. he quickly realized that he has met his matches, challenges, people who actually were up for competition. one of those people being you.

despite your personality being a cute goofy dork, your quirk was unmatched. strong, battling, and fierce. and when you were on the battlefield training, your combat skills were remarkable; precise. and despite being so strong on the grounds, you were still.. you. your authentic self. and something about that dragged katsuki to you like a moth to a flame.

but, gradually over time, katsuki became more open to the idea of friends with his classmates, even showing how much he cares for his friends and classmates through battles and little actions he does. which eventually opened up the door for you to sneak in and become his friend.

you were persistent with it at first, but never pushed any boundaries. acknowledging that maybe he’s just here for becoming a hero and never wanting to get attached to anyone. maybe fear of after graduation he would never see much of his current classmates again- but either way you figured it dug a little deeper.

but when katsuki did finally let his guard down and made friends, much to your surprise, the two of you clicked really well. he had a brash way of showing affection- like calling people he cared about “dumbass” or “idiots” but after being around him for so long, you knew not to take it to heart. you thought of it similar how you and mina would greet each other with a “oh my gosh hey bitch wassup?!”. friendly and affectionate.

but what katsuki didn’t prepare himself for- or more or less kinda forgot; was that he was still a human being with thoughts, feelings, and emotions no matter how hard he wanted to ignore those natural human things. why? because of you.

you.

as the friendship blossomed in between the two of you, katsuki became softer around you without realizing it. things like making sure you’re pushing yourself to your limit durning training- but without harming yourself. packing an extra water bottle specifically for you in case if you forgot your water bottle in your dorm. making sure you actually eat a balanced meal with carbs and protein before training so you were actually making progress other than thriving off of the third dr pepper of the day you’ve been drinking.

it was subtle; and he did similar things for his other friends like kirishima and even midoryia. but gradually over time, without even noticing, the subtle things turned into more direct actions. like his heart was speaking for his head.

reaching for your hand in busy or crowded rooms, covered up with “don’t need you getting lost in here” to him even getting more protective over you. mineta says something to you and suddenly he’s looming behind you scowling at mineta; daring him to say something else without even saying anything verbally to the short boy.

but then over time it got even less subtle. and before he knew it. that lingering feeling in his chest was more and more prominent.

especially with the nickname you called him- only your nickname for him. suki.

it’s was just something about the way it rolled off your tongue when you called to him with that beautiful smile of yours. your voice sounding like an angel calling down to him-

no no no no

and then he realized, the privileges he gave you that no one else was aloud to take; invading his personal space, coming into his dorm like the two of you were roommates, the nickname. to smaller subtle things like stolen glances or being able to make each other laugh so easily. this boy was in love.

and katsuki tried to drop more hints to you. cooking you meals- your favorite food to be exact like it was no big deal. dropping compliments randomly that caught you off guard, the list was endless of what he thought wasn’t subtly telling you he loved you.

but it all backfired because unfortunately, you, ever the vibrant star you are, smart cookie you, were incredibly oblivious.

here you sit, in the common room with the girls of 1-A as you all gossip and talk for the girls night all of you usually have on certain saturday nights when all of you were free.

the conversation shifted into crushes, romantic talk, and Mina immediately shifted the attention onto you without even directly doing it.

“oh my gosh, that reminds me, has anyone else realized how… soft bakugou has been around y/n the past month?” mina’s voice immediately beams in, her tone curious and awestruck more than anything.

“wait, so it wasn’t just my imagination?” uraraka cuts in immediately, seeming as she’s also noticed the change in katsuki’s behavior around you.

“uh i don’t think it’s like that” you counter with a small slow head shake and nervous giggle.

all the girls turn to look at you with a collective eyebrow raise that reeks of ‘girl.. are you for real?’ followed by a collective silence.

“what? he’s just being softer around everyone, yall act like im getting special treatment or something-“ you tried to defend yourself before tsuyu cuts you off.

“sure he’s been softer as of recently but he does give you special treatment” the frog quirked girl says as she eyes the choice of clothing your wearing.

you give them all puzzled looks, looking around the group of six girls seated around that are looking at you. and the gag; choice of clothing?

katsuki’s hoodie.

but you’re so used to wearing them so often that you didn’t even think about what you’re wearing or the fact that tsu and half of the girls are eyeing the hoodie.

days passed since that night, and you let it breeze past your mind. sure it lingered in the back of your mind, but you had mostly brushed it off. you were high school girls, of course crushes and relationships are going to be brought up and everyone will collectively psychoanalyze everything.

yet, here you were, once again, in katsuki’s dorm, wearing his hoodie, at his desk with him while the two of you studied together, with snacks that he bought specifically for you.

“eight would factor into the eight and sixteen, making it one half. we gotta simplify that before we factor the actual equation” katsuki explains the algebra problem with you, his voice surprisingly calm and patient, as you two work on the homework together; seeming as math has been a problem subject for you since you were younger.

your head rests on his shoulder as he explains and shows how to work the problem, and normally he would tense up when people touched him. but with you, his body actually calms, and doesn’t resist the touch or pull away. it feels natural, it feels right.

and things kept going like this for awhile, katsuki dropping hints that were less and less subtle by the day, you wearing his hoodies, invading his space, him even fully holding your hand. until one day he just had enough and cracked.

the two of you were out and about together, something he arranged himself to take you out for the evening. and for some reason; you still could not get the hint even after he bought you the necklace you were eyeing in a store like it was a common normal thing for him.

“you’re such a good friend ‘suki. it’s nice seeing how UA has made you grow as a person” you say with a bright smile after he even clasped the necklace around your neck for you.

something in him snapped. you had to be fucking with him at this point.

he scowled at you, personally offended underneath the night street lamp the laminated the both of you in the shopping strip you two were at.

“you’re fuckin with me, right?” he said with a dry humorless chuckle, unable to cross his arms cause for the love of all things holy he was even holding your bags.

you look at him confused, tilting your head slightly. “suki what are you talking about-“

“you think i do all of this as a friend?” katsuki interrupted you before he could stop himself. his tone wasn’t mad, slightly just slightly irritated yes because goddamn he’s been trying his hardest to prove to you that none of this is just ‘friendly acts’.

katsuki sighed through his nose, using his free hand to run through his messy blonde hair. “look, i know- fuck.” he cut himself off with a slightly frustrated sigh to himself at not knowing how to say the words that were literally stuck in his throat and begging for release.

that’s when it hit you. this did in fact run deeper than just a friendship.

but before you could speak, katsuki spoke again.

“i’m not the best with my words” katsuki admits, uncharacteristically soft. looking down at his feet as he gently swings the bags in his hand. “but im not doing this simply because we’re friends.” he spoke.

“do you see me being patient with other friends when studying with them? or cooking food specifically to their liking? letting them touch me whenever or for the love of fuck wear my clothes?” he spoke again, his voice a little rough but it’s not aggressive or angry, all while giving you a puzzled look.

the weight of his words left you speechless for a moment, and before you could say another word he continued.

“you’re one of the smartest people in our class but you’re kinda dumb ya know?” katsuki spoke with more of an affectionate tone rather than insulting, with a soft quiet chuckle before taking your hand in his.

“y/n.” he said firmly and softly, his eyes finding yours in a way that made it seem like he believed you hung the stars and moon the sky and painted the milky way itself.

“suki..” you replied softly, your eyes meeting his, and his look making your heart melt at the utter vulnerability in it.

“i love you.” he said so softly, barely above a whisper, but his eyes never left yours.

for just a short split second you hesitated at the words, the weight of them, before wrapping your arms around him in a tight warm hug and a soft smile on your face.

“i love you too, suki” you finally returned back softly.

katsuki’s arms wrap around you immediately, his hand dropping the bags so he can fully hold you against him. nothing could stop the adorably soft smile that crept up on his face at the sound of those words leaving your lips.

he held you close to him for a moment, basking in the warmth, security, and love of the embrace. something that felt right, like home; something he’s wanted from the start.

#katsuki bakugou #katsuki x reader #mha #bakugo x reader #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou #katsuki fluff #bnha bakugou #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugou fluff

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godjustkys · 2 days ago

Note

Hello!! I love your works. I was just wondering if I could request Dean Winchester x Top M!reader?

Maybe something along the lines of Dean had been grumpy & filled with attitude the whole day. I’m talking like snarky, sarcastic comments/reply’s to people if they were to ask him a simple question. So, reader goes to check up on him once it’s just them and turns out Dean’s been acting like that for a stupid jealously reason. And one thing leads to another and they fuck?

Could you maybe throw some overstimulation in too? Thank you!

THEME: fucking dean to reassure that you only want him! <3

CHARACTER: top!male reader x dean winchester

NOTE: ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP. but, just imagine dean throwing a hissy fit because you were studying lore with sam..

p.s. i cannot write for shit rn, forgive me please what the fuck.

WARNING: overstimulation (dean cums a lot),, PRAISE,, cocky reader,, dirty talk,, multiple handjobs,, light dacryphilia,, light pet name use,, cum used as lube,, pathetic dean,, brief fingering,, unprotected sex,, creampie,,

“dean, did you get the book?” sam asked his older brother, not looking up from the papers he had scattered around the table. “yea, totally did. Not.” dean responded in a mocking tone, emphasizing the 'not', sitting comfortably on the couch, arms folded over his chest and a gruff expression on his face. sam blinked his confusion away as he looked up at dean, eyebrows furrowed. “dude? why not?” the younger inquired, clearly baffled. “get it yourself, you lazy dunce.” dean quipped, rolling his eyes and tilting his head to the side.

you looked up from the papers as well, raising an eyebrow at dean's tone. you see, dean woke up, ready to get some care from you, some cuddles, kisses, whatever, but when he opened his eyes, you weren't there. you were already up, studying with sam. missing his morning kisses made him grumpy, and to see that he missed out on it because you chose to help sam - it made him jealous.

for the entirety of the day dean was snarky, giving you and sam judgemental glances and scowls. he purposefully did things to annoy you; left trash somewhere in the bunker, left his plate on the table, didn't fold the laundry, whatever he could possibly think of to piss you off. you cleaned up after him when you took a break, like you would after a small child. the entire day, dean didn't get any attention from you and it frustrated him even more. night eventually rolled around.

dean was in your shared room, a frown on his face as he changed his clothes, his back facing the bed. through the years of hunting, you had learnt to walk silently, without a single sound. so basically, you sneaked up behind dean and heard him grumbling something along the lines of 'stupid motherfuckers' and a rough whisper of your name. you couldn't make it out fully, but that didn't matter right now. wrapping your arms around dean's waist, you pressed your nose to his hair. dean jumped slightly as he had just left you alone with sam. “what-” he mumbled, his hands landing on your forearms and gripping them. “off.” he said roughly, trying to get out of your grip. “what's the matter with you today?” you asked softly, moving your head to the side, your lips ghosting against the shell of dean's ear. he let out a bitter scoff, his grip on your arms tightening. “fuck off, go back to study lore with that stupid idiot, you nerd.” dean managed harshly, his face a scowl. ah, that was it.

you sighed against his skin, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of his neck. “grumpy, aren't we?” you mumbled, a hand moving down to dean's lower abdomen. dean's muscles contracted a bit at the contact. “i ain't grumpy—” he started but did not finish his sentence once your hand slipped past the fabric of his boxers. dean looked down, his mouth agape as he breathed through it. your fingers wrapped around his cock, lazily stroking him and getting him hard. dean just watched, not saying a singular word as soft pants left his lips.

“nice, ain't it?” you mumbled, your other hand resting on the side of his waist. “see, this type of treatment is reserved only for you, baby,” you cooed softly, your tone bordering on mocking which dean did not approve of. he grumbled out, shifting on the balls of his feet slightly, leaning back into you for some support. “do you ever just- shut up..” dean breathed out, the bitterness in his voice very distinguishable. “i do, but I'll make sure you won't.” you responded flatly in a quiet voice, thumb sliding over his tip to spread the already leaking precum. the threat, or you could say a promise, sent a shot of heat straight to his cock, making it twitch lightly. “enjoy this, dean. your first orgasm for tonight, certainly not the fucking last.”

dean groaned softly, his hips canting forwards, pushing into your hand. his eyes were still watching your hand jerk him off beneath the fabric. mind you, his hands were still on your forearms. his grip tightened momentarily, gathering himself. “mhh, shit..” his voice was a soft moan, slightly higher pitched. adorable, really. the longer you continued to stroke him at this pace, the closer he was getting. fast forward a couple moments later and he cummed, his stomach tensing as he let out a drawn out groan, his hands sliding down from your forearms to your wrists, his grip almost desperate. dean's cum was mostly on your hand, so you just slowed your pace to stimulate him properly again, his cock getting slick with his own precum and cum, too. “y— wh- again?” dean managed, his skin getting coated with a very thin layer of sweat. “told you, didn't I? so, c'mon lovely, be a good boy and stand still.” you answered him flatly, your own hard-on pressing against dean's ass.

his legs tensed as he did his best to stay still, no matter how much he wanted to walk away from this just to spite you. he couldn't. he just.. loved the way you approached him; so abrupt and nonchalant. it dizzied his mind. his cock twitched more, whining out your name in a low voice, indicating he was overstimulated. that was what you wanted though, so you didn't pay any mind to it. despite the overwhelming feeling, dean rutted into your hand unsteadily with absolutely no rhythm, soundless gasps leaving his throat as his eyes fluttered shut. he came a second time after a little while, this time with a louder groan. his shoulders hunched forward and his chest heaved. your hand was dirtied with his cum - yet again. you pulled dean aside and pushed him onto the bed. he fell down with a grunt, his body tingling with need even though your hands just left his body.

it was a matter of time until you were atop of dean, his legs spread wide for you. you took off his boxers with his assistance, discarding them to the floor. your dirty hand went under and the tip of your finger prodded at his entrance. dean raised his hips a bit, almost instinctively, moving his own hand to press to your chest. he was propping himself up by his elbows. pushing your finger all the way in, dean's eyes shut once again, eyebrows furrowing. “so pretty, gonna fuck you stupid,” you breathed out, your eyes locked onto his face and facial expressions. you pushed the digit in and out for a short while, before adding another one. dean's hole clenched slightly at the feeling, his face twitching once or twice. “you're fucking slow.” dean rapsed out, his head pressing back into the mattress as he laid down fully. as you processed his words, you pushed a third digit in, stretching him out properly. it was rather normal, until you curled your fingers. dean's back arched slightly off of the bed, his other hand moving to grasp your bicep. “ah.. god, fuck you.” he said as he turned his head to the side. dean's legs bent at the knee, his feet on the bed itself. his thighs trembled and threatened to close; but couldn't. you were in-between them. “oh, what a pretty little slut.. you make such gorgeous sounds, sweetheart, keep 'em comin’..”

you resumed pushing your fingers in and out of dean, curling them at prodding ever so slightly at his prostate. at first he held in his sounds, just out of pure spite, but it was getting harder to do so. his breathing was more laboured than before and he had a difficult time keeping his eyes open. not that it mattered. luckily, your hand was still rather slick with dean's cum, so once you pulled out your cock, you lubed it up with it. it wasn't much but it would have to do. your hand held the inner side of dean's thigh, the other - adjusting your tip to his hole. you pushed in just barely, before pulling back and doing it again. just prodding at his entrance. dean whined as he realized what you were doing, squirming slightly. he opened his mouth to speak but a loud, whore-ish moan was punched out of him as you bottomed out with zero warning. “g—ghh..od fucking damn it!” dean whisper-yelled, clenching his jaw, his lower body taut. “ugh, yeah, yeah baby, lemme hear you,” you groaned out, your voice strained as you started thrusting at a steady pace. the man under you let out a shaky breath, his hole clenching around you almost desperately. “so so good,” you enunciated your point with a harsh thrust, not only making dean's cock throb, but also making his legs tremble. in a very pathetic attempt to keep you close, dean wrapped his legs around your waist.

dean moaned your name, his hand on your chest fisting the fabric of your shirt. your pace quickened, thrusts only getting deeper and harder. you adored the sight in front of you; seriously, who wouldn't love themselves a pathetic, needy dean? speaking of which, the soft, barely audible groans that left dean every time you thrusted in were agonizingly adorable. eventually, when you shifted and switched the angle, you started abusing dean's prostate. he was a fucking mess. “oh— ah- ah-huh, there, there, fuck, fuck fuck fuck, yes, keep- keep going,” dean rambled, despite pulling his hips back as you hit his prostate each time. his face was scrunched up, but you could tell it was in pleasure. you regulated your breathing as you kept up the harsh pace, moving your hand to dean's cock once again, starting to jerk him off unsteadily. it was then that dean started babbling absolute nonsense, half of it not even coherent. he was thrashing around slightly, squirming and writhing, his body overwhelmed.

a very good pounding later, dean was spent. he came at least four times, two times just from your hand, two other times from your cock. it was an intense session, you were relentless. pressing a soft kiss to dean's forehead, you slowly pulled out, cum dripping from dean's entrance. “you're amazing.” you muttered softly, moving to press a chaste kiss to his lips. dean blinked his tears from overstimulation away, groaning in annoyance. “you're a bitch.” he muttered, his shaky hand moving up to wipe the drool off of the corners of his mouth. “a stupid one.” he finished begrudgingly, his legs falling limp.

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yutarot · 22 hours ago

Text

ride or die. l.jn smau

023 — honesty. wc: 0.8k

prev: chap 22

YN POV

you have no idea what you’re doing.

all jaemin had told you was that jeno was leaving tonight.

so here you are, running between bodies and suitcases as you rush to his gate. you have to catch him, you have to tell him everything, even though you’re still unsure. but a maybe is stronger than a no, so you’ll take your chances.

you hear his gate number called out on the airport intercom.

‘the 6:25pm flight to melbourne, australia is now boarding. please make your way to gate 26.’

your head is pounding, blood rushing around your body in a circuit of fear.

this is your only chance. you can’t let him leave like this.

after what feels like hours, you finally make it to his gate, floods of people mixing all around you.

but just as you reach the gate numbered 26, your heart sinks at the sight ahead of you.

the chairs, empty. the door, closed.

you want to give in, let your legs collapse from below you.

you’ve missed it: your only chance to make it all right between you, to tell him why you kissed him that night.

the air around you stills, a current electrifying through you that you’ve never felt before, but just as you turn to leave, to go home in defeat, you understand why.

stood meters before you, panting in exhaustion, hair messy and a suitcase dragging behind him, is jeno.

he studies you, really looks at you, before finally blinking.

every word that you had prepared flies out of your mind, replacing it with an emptiness in which you know he also feels. he wasn’t expecting you here, he wasn’t expecting you to care at all, yet here you are, defeat on your features as you stand before him.

“yn?..” he manages to mumble.

“hi.” you let out a small smile, and he laughs back with you, disbelief flooding his features.

you continue, “your plane.. it’s already left.” you say, and he laughs in response. you tilt your head to the side in question.

he notices your confusion. “jaemin’s fault.” he rolls his eyes, “he told me the wrong airport, so i had to-”

“what?”

he’s taken aback by your sudden interruption.

“jaemin booked my flight, he got the airport wron-”

“no.. he didn’t?”

with confusion etched into his features, jeno furrows his brows.

you continue. “jaemin told me to come here.”

there’s a moment of silence as you both piece together what this means.

your heart is spinning, whirling in your chest like a loose guitar string.

jaemin had told you both to go to different airports, he had made sure jeno would miss his flight, but why?

‘he needs this.’

thats what jaemin had told you last night, that's the reason he gave you for being here right now.

needs what?

jeno sighs, looking down at his shoes.

he knows exactly what this is about. jaemin had set you both up, to force him to tell you everything.

everything.

“i haven’t been honest with you, yn.”

time around you stops. “what do you mean?”

he puts down his suitcase, looking up at you to look in your eyes, his pupils searching yours for a flicker of doubt.

“the night my identity got leaked, the night i came to your apartment, i didn’t come to accuse you of leaking my identity.”

you see him tense up, fists clenching.

you stand still, breathless as he keeps talking.

“but when i saw chenle’s hoodie, i felt foolish, that everything i had done, that ruining my whole, entire life had been for nothing.”

mind soaring above you, you repeat his words in your mind, trying to make sense of what he's saying, but you can't.

“jeno? what are you talking abou-”

“it wasn’t jaemin who leaked my identity.”

you expect him to be joking, to let out a laugh, but when he doesn’t, anxiety courses through you. none of this, any of it, makes any sense.

“what? but-”

jeno interrupts you, as if no matter what reaction you give, he is intent on telling you anyways, a burden weighing down his shoulders that he is dying to rid of.

“he was an idiot, hopelessly in love with someone he couldn’t have, hoping for a chance that you would be able to love him for him, for everything he was, everyone he was.”

you shake your head. jaemin didn’t love you, not like that, not with emotion, or depth or..

“i'm not talking about jaemin, yn.”

your breath stills as your eyes find his.

“im talking about me.”

you can’t move.

“its me that leaked my identity.”

you can’t breathe.

“it’s me that’s in love with you.”

previous : mlist : next

notes; i’m back hehe. also i have a written fic in the works as an apology <333 but hope u like this chap!! there’s 2 left 😖

taglist — open! @jenohyun @jirsungs @do-you-remember-summer-127 @ddolbyong @stqrgr7 @thatsatricky1 @sunghoonsgfreal @nattan127 @ssweetreveries @flamingi @chenlesfavorite @peterm4rker @snoopyjimin @akunoeyebrows @junviadinho @slayhaechan @f6llsun @multifandomania @cookiehaos @catecita @mrsjohnnysuh @luv4jeno @hyuckies18 @dreamiestay @tangerinelovelees @jjaegyeom @https-yeonjun @nanaxwi @yukisroom97 @nosungluv @mrkleelvr @neocrashed @jaedgemental @apolloxxivmin @kyubing @catdonut657 @dudekiss3r @juyeonshour @hamjwis @antifrggile @mmjhh1998 @thegracerammy @jenocity23 @honeynanamin @bluedbliss @lampcults @yyangj3lly

#nct #nct smau #nct fanfic #nct college au #nct dream #nct dream smau #f1 jeno #jeno nct #jeno smau #jeno x you #jeno fluff #jeno x reader #nct jeno #jeno imagines #lee jeno #jeno

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darlingstarkey · 3 days ago

Text

think later - pt 25

series masterlist

summary - y/n, formerly a pogue princess, finally had her big breakthrough and got signed to a record label in LA. little did she, her boyfriend rafe cameron and the rest of her friends know how things would really change as soon as she becomes famous.

anything in dark mode is rafe's phone!

authors note: one more part after this! enjoy :)

warnings: swearing, escalation to an argument, third person pov

the joint fizzled between rafe's large fingers as he sat on the dock with his feet dangling off of the edge. a sixer half empty with cans sitting around him as he drunkenly thought of you. 'what is she doing right now?' 'is she sleeping? is she on the next plane to sweden?' 'what if she already forgot about me? moved on to the next gu-'

rafe's thoughts were suddenly halted as his head snapped to see a familiar figure behind him.

jj.

"the fuck you doing here, pogue?" rafe said deeply as he finished the last swig of his beer and took a hit of the joint.

"doing you a favor. sarah told me you'd be here." jj explained as he sat down next to rafe, daringly plucking the joint from his fingers and taking a drag himself. "as much as i fucking hate your guts, i love y/n. sarah told me that your dad needed business done overseas for the summer. in perfect alignment with her schedule, in the same cities. if that isn't fuckin' fate man.. i don't know what is.. but what i do know is that you going to europe with her will make her the happiest person in the world." jj went on.

rafe chuckled and shook his head. "nah man, you don't get it. she's way better off without me. she's living her life. it doesn't matter what my dad wants me to do out there, i just can't get in her way of her living her dreams. we broke up for a reason." rafe sighed as he cracked open another can. he passed jj the last beer that he had, a signage of appreciation for his words, but rafe wouldn't let down.

with the crack of the tab, beer splattered across jj's calloused fingers. "yeah, and that reason is because you were a fucking idiot and nothing more." jj shook his head and took a large swig. "you are the luckiest man in the world, because no matter what you do, she will always be in love with you." he said looking out into the water.

"although you may be lucky, you're also a dumbass. you don't realize that she has a million people screaming her name, but she will only respond if you're the one calling her." jj looked over at rafe and made intense eye contact with him.

rafe was statued, dumbfounded by jj's words. "i-" rafe stuttered.

"don't, dude. there's nothing to rebuttal with. just go. i promise you, it will be worth it. meet her in london, she'll be there in a month. gives you more than enough time to get your shit figured out and get her back. and do not fucking let her go." jj said, plucking the butt joint into the water in front of him and standing up. he dusted off the ash from his pants and turned to walk away.

"don't fuck this up cameron." jj said as he left rafe speechless.

one. last. part. after. this.

taglist: @madkohi, @yesshewrites1, @grapejuice32, @leotapes , @givemylovetoall, @inlovewrafe, @bee-43, @larvalerius, @masongetinmybed, @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not, @mystargirl-interlude, @eddxemxnson, @sqfewrd, @pogueprincesa, @frankoceanluvr11, @raeven-marie43, @marleymarleymarleymarley, @mindfulmesses, @akobx, @spenceatiny18, @fluoxetinys, @lolxdswag123, @st8rkey, @ethanthequeefqueen, @drewrry, @jjmaybankmylovee, @disaster-rose, @sunshinedaisy21, @chillgal135, @amterasuu, @wtfisastiles, @sassyvillaintrophy, @bananaminn, @barnesboo1967, @pi4st81, @stvrkeysgal, @yktayy9669, @yesterdaysproblemm, @rafesbuzzcutseason, @dylsdaily, @jjasmiineee, @imjustagirl713, @voidangxls, @cokewithcameron, @mymadokamagica, @icaqttt, @countryclubwhore

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oaksgrove · 10 hours ago

Note

please hear me out- do you see the vision of laswelll scolding price because he's too dumb to let go of one of the rare good things in his life? i just need a man like john price to fight for me (for his love) back 😩

Don’t Be an Idiot, John.

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Synopsis: After pushing you away, convinced you deserved better, he finds himself on the receiving end of a well-earned lecture from Kate Laswell. And for once, he listens. Because if there’s one fight he can’t afford to lose—it’s the one for you.

Warnings: Angst, emotional conflict, second chances, Price being stubborn, but ultimately a soft, devoted idiot.

Laswell had seen John Price survive war zones, outmaneuver enemies, and command respect from the deadliest soldiers on the planet.

But right now?

Right now, he was just a complete idiot.

She sat across from him in a dimly lit café, arms crossed, staring him down like a disappointed mother. The silence between them was sharp, cutting through the hum of quiet conversation and clinking mugs. Price, on the other hand, sat there looking like a man being read his last rites—tired, grim, and entirely too stubborn for his own good.

“So, let me get this straight,” Laswell started, voice dangerously calm. “You had someone—a good someone—who cared about you, made your life better, and for some inexplicable reason, you let them go?”

Price exhaled slowly, rubbing his fingers along the rim of his coffee cup. “Wasn’t that simple, Kate.”

“No, John. It was that simple,” she snapped. “And you made it complicated.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Not when he was already haunted by the sound of your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the way you had looked at him like he wasn’t just a soldier, but a man worth loving.

Laswell leaned forward, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “You can sit there and tell me all the bullshit reasons you convinced yourself it wouldn’t work, but let me remind you of something—people like us don’t get a lot of second chances, John. And when we do, we don’t waste them.”

Price let out a slow sigh, pressing his fingers against his forehead. “She deserves better,” he muttered, like the words hurt to say out loud. “I’m not exactly… an easy man to be with.”

Laswell rolled her eyes so hard Price thought she might strain something. “For fuck’s sake, John. She chose you. Despite the missions, despite the scars, despite the fact that you probably smell like cigars and gun oil half the time.” She jabbed a finger at him. “And instead of fighting for it, for her, you pushed her away. Because what? You were scared?”

Price didn’t answer. Because maybe—just maybe—that was the truth of it.

Laswell exhaled, shaking her head. “I’ve seen good men lose everything to this job, John. I’ve seen them come home to empty houses, to regrets they can never fix.” Her voice softened, just a fraction. “Don’t be one of them.”

Price looked down at his hands, his mind a battlefield of memories.

The way you had always welcomed him home with that tired, knowing smile.

The way your fingers traced over his scars without fear, without pity.

The way you had kissed him—really kissed him—like he was something more than just a soldier, something worth coming home to.

And then he remembered the hurt in your eyes when he had let you go.

Laswell’s voice cut through his thoughts one last time.

“If you love her, fix it. Because if you don’t, John…” She leaned back, shaking her head. “You’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Price sat there for a long moment, staring at his coffee like it might have the answers.

Then, without another word, he stood up, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.

Because fuck being an idiot.

He wasn’t about to lose you—not without a fight.

The city hummed around him—cars passing, distant voices in the night—but none of it mattered.

Not when the only thing he cared about was you.

He hesitated for half a second before knocking, hard enough to make sure you heard, but not so much that you’d think it was an emergency. Though, in a way, maybe it was.

Seconds passed.

Then—soft footsteps. A pause. And finally, the door cracked open.

And there you were.

Hair a little messy from sleep, wearing one of those oversized sweaters he always liked seeing on you. Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him, surprised—hesitant.

“John?” your voice was cautious, uncertain. “What are you doing here?”

Price exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

“I fucked up.” The words were gruff, unpolished. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly, like you weren’t sure if you had heard him right.

He ran a hand down his face, trying to steady himself. “Kate gave me a proper bollocking,” he admitted, almost like a grumble, and you couldn’t help the tiny twitch of your lips at that. “Told me I was an idiot. She was right.”

You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest. “John… you ended things. You made that choice.”

“I did.” His voice was firm, resolute. “And I was wrong.”

Silence stretched between you. You wanted to be angry. You had been angry. But standing here, with him looking at you like you were the only thing in the damn world that mattered…

It made it hard.

“You deserve better,” he continued, quieter this time. “I thought walking away was the right thing to do. Thought I was saving you from a life of waiting, worrying—” He let out a sharp exhale. “But I was just a coward.”

Your heart clenched at that. Because damn him, you knew how much it took for John Price to admit fear.

“I don’t need saving, John,” you said, voice steady. “I just needed you.”

His jaw flexed, and for a second, you saw it—the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes flickered with something raw.

“I love you,” he said, simple, honest. “And if you’ll let me… I want to fix this.”

Your breath hitched. “And if I don’t?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, like the thought alone was unbearable. “Then I’ll leave you alone.” A pause. “But I won’t stop loving you.”

Damn him.

You looked at him, at the man who had fought wars and won battles—but was standing in front of you now, waiting, hoping. Fighting for you.

You took a slow step forward, then another. Until you were close enough to feel the warmth of him, to see the slight tension in his posture as he waited for your answer.

Then, softly, you murmured, “You’re an idiot, John Price.”

A beat.

Then his hand lifted, warm and familiar against your cheek. “I know.”

And when you leaned in, pressing your lips to his—when he let out a shaky breath, pulling you closer, like he wasn’t about to let go again—

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap

#call of duty fanfic #cod modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod 141 #task force 141 #captain price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader

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berryispunk · 1 day ago

Text

Everything But Us

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: we suffer first we love later, idiots in love, friends to lovers, dual POV, slow burn (but boy! worth it), once again talking is difficult, the boys have an appearance, best friend! Frankie, soft! Frankie, longing, mutual pining, ANGST, love confessions, tiny mention of past addiction, emotional turmoil, SMUT (🌶️🌶️🌶️), kissing, swearing, wrap it up in real life please, no further physical description of reader apart from wearing a dress and having hair

summary: You danced around your feelings for each other, always toeing the line but never daring to cross it—until one fateful night in October, when hesitation gave way to something undeniable, changing everything forever.

notes: Did I write this in one manic sitting today? Absolutely. Any mistakes you find are mine. Happy Frankie Friday !

word count: 7,3 k

also readable on ao3

How was he supposed to tell you that his whole world revolved around you? That one night back in October had changed everything for him. You were both drunk, out of your minds, laughing afterward.

“Sorry,” you hiccuped, your fingers tracing the one patch on his cheek where his beard never fully grew. You looked at it like it was something special, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be this close to him. Painfully unaware of how even the simplest touch from you set his skin on fire. Your fingers trailed along his jaw, up to his ear, and finally tangled in the tousled locks peeking out from under his cap—the one he was hardly ever without. Your eyes were glazed, unfocused from too many tequila shots. You were absolutely adorable when you were tipsy. Carefree. Relaxed. And, by God, it made him want you even more.

His head fell back against the taxi seat, eyes closing as he prayed to whatever cosmic force was listening that you were too drunk to notice how hard it was for him to hold back. But you were right there, purring next to his ear, your head resting against the seat beside him.

“You’re always so damn sweet, Frankie,” you murmured. “So attentive and kind. Why the hell are you still single?”

The words hit him where it hurt the most— his heart. Up until tonight, he had kept his respectful distance. Admiring you from afar, letting himself be what you allowed him to be: a friend. He even picked you up from all the failed dates, letting you ramble about whatever loser you thought was worthy of your time. He held you when you cried over another broken heart, never once overstepping, even when he wanted to. Even when your head rested on his shoulder, your breathing finally even after a sob-filled night, and he turned his head just slightly—just enough that he could have kissed your forehead. When, in reality, he wanted to kiss your lips. His hand would draw soothing circles up and down your arm, steadying you, grounding you. He stayed longer than necessary, making sure you were okay before he left. Placing water and painkillers on your nightstand because he knew you’d need them in the morning. And you did.

“You’re my lifesaver, Morales🩷”

That was the text you sent the next day, and he had smiled like an idiot at his phone before reality came crashing back. Because even if you meant it, it never meant the same thing to you.

Then came tonight.

The two of you had split off from the rest of your friends, waiting for a taxi on the curb. And out of nowhere, you stepped closer. Wrapped your arms around his neck. Played with the hair at the nape of it like you belonged there.

“You’re so damn cute, you know that?” His cheeks burned instantly.

“You’re drunk and out of your mind, hermosa,” he said, his hands settling at your waist. The warmth of your skin seeped through the thin fabric of your dress—one that you probably shouldn’t have been wearing in the October chill, but you had insisted ‘dress season was all year long’. And, damn, were you right. The way you paired it with tights and Doc Martens was a sight he knew would haunt his dreams. His thumbs traced slow circles over your hips as he held you, watching you carefully, preparing for whatever you’d throw at him next. With you, it could be anything—an insult or the sweetest compliment. There was no in-between when you were like this.

And then something shifted. You looked at him for a fraction too long. Your eyes flickered to his lips before finding his gaze again. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, and his grip tightened instinctively. You made this so damn hard for him.

“You cold?” he asked, desperate to break the tension simmering between you.

You shook your head, smirking. “I have my own personal heater. I’m fine.”

Then you closed the distance completely, pressing yourself against him. Softness against hardness, in all the right and wrong places, and his head spun. The alcohol in his system didn’t help. He hugged you back, letting your body heat mingle with his. Letting himself close his eyes and pretend—for just a moment—that this was real.

And now, here you were, in the taxi. So close. Too close. Something in him snapped.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. You leaned into his touch with a small, tired smile, and his stomach twisted painfully. Such a simple gesture, yet so intimate it stole the air from his lungs. He leaned in, just a little, close enough to share the same breath, still giving you space to pull away. But you didn’t. You trusted him. And he would never take advantage of that, so he inhaled sharply, forcing himself to pull back with the last restraint left. But before he could, you reached for him. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, and then your lips crashed onto his. It was electrifying. Addictive.

For a split second, he thought he was dreaming. But then your hand tugged at his hair, and he knew he wasn’t. This was real. And it was better than he had ever imagined. He melted into the kiss, letting you take the lead. Too afraid that if he kissed you the way he wanted to, he might ruin everything. Might scare you off. Your lips were soft but purposeful, tasting like tequila and the faintest trace of strawberry—the lip gloss you had put on before leaving the bar. You tasted like a promise of something he had never dared to dream about.

And then—just as suddenly as it had started—it ended. Your forehead rested against his, your breath slightly shallow. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, something new flickered in your gaze. A depth that wasn’t there before. Then it was gone.

“Are you okay?” he asked cautiously, picking up on the way your expression had shifted. His stomach clenched with dread. Your face paled. Next thing he knew, you were throwing open the window and vomiting onto the street. His eyes widened in horror.

Had he kissed that badly?

Panic surged through him as he scooted closer, rubbing a hand over your back, shouting to the driver to pull over. This was not how he had imagined this moment going. Not at all.

The taxi came to a screeching halt at the curb, and Frankie barely had time to reach into his wallet to pay before he was helping you out of the car. You groaned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “God, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, swaying slightly on your feet.

He steadied you with a firm hand on your waist. “Nothing to apologize for, hermosa,” he said softly. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

You nodded, pressing your forehead briefly to his shoulder like you were gathering the strength to move. Then, with a deep breath, you straightened and started walking. Your place wasn’t far, just a few blocks, but it felt longer with the way you stumbled every few steps. Frankie kept his arm wrapped securely around you, guiding you through the quiet streets. The cool night air bit at his skin, but it did little to cool the heat still lingering in his blood from the kiss.

That damn kiss.

He kept replaying it in his head, trying to convince himself it hadn’t meant anything. That it had been nothing more than a drunken mistake. But the way your lips had moved against his, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair—it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like everything.

By the time they reached your apartment, you were half-asleep against him. He fished your keys from your purse and guided you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, leading you down the hallway to your room.

You collapsed onto the mattress with a content sigh, stretching out like a cat before rolling onto your side to look at him. He bent down, pulling your boots off and setting them neatly beside the bed. Then he reached for the blanket, ready to tuck you in and leave before he did something stupid. But then you spoke.

“Frankie?”

His movements stilled. “Yeah?”

Your voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “Did you ever think about sleeping with me?”

His throat went dry. You were looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, your expression unreadable. And suddenly, the air in the room felt suffocating. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to tell the truth. To admit that he had thought about it more times than he could count. That he had dreamed about you, fantasized about what it would be like to have you beneath him, to feel your nails digging into his skin, to hear his name fall from your lips like it was the only thing that mattered. But he couldn’t tell you that. Because you were drunk. And he was supposed to be your friend.

So he forced a chuckle, shaking his head. “No,” he lied, the word tasting like poison on his tongue. “Never crossed my mind.”

Something flickered in your expression—something like disappointment—but it was gone before he could be sure. You hummed softly, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling.

“Liar,” you murmured, but there was no bite to it. Just quiet acceptance.

Frankie swallowed hard.

“Get some sleep,” he said, pulling the blanket over you and stepping back before he did something reckless. He turned off the light, lingering in the doorway for just a second longer than he should have. And then he left. Because if he stayed any longer, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep lying.

Winter had come and gone, and with it, any mention of that night in October. You never brought it up. And Frankie never dared to. Not the kiss. Not the question you had asked him in the dim light of your bedroom. Not the way your voice had curled around the word liar like you already knew the truth. So he buried it. Shoved it deep into the same corner of his mind where he kept every other impossible feeling he had for you.

Now, the air smelled like spring—fresh rain on warm pavement, flowers blooming.The chill had faded, replaced with sun-kissed skin and longer days. And with it, you were glowing too. Frankie was trying not to notice, but it was to no avail. You sat across from him at the bar, wedged between two of your friends, laughing as you stirred your drink with a cocktail straw. You were in another one of those damn sundresses, bare legs crossed as you leaned forward excitedly.

“She’s talking about him again,” Benny muttered under his breath, taking a swig of his beer. Frankie clenched his jaw. He knew exactly who him was. Some guy you had met at a coffee shop a few weeks ago. Apparently, he’d bumped into you in line, spilled a bit of his overpriced espresso on your sleeve, and instead of being pissed, you had laughed about it. Frankie hated him instantly.

“He’s just—ugh, I don’t know,” you gushed, shaking your head with a dreamy sigh. “There’s something about him.” Frankie rolled his beer bottle between his palms, staring at the table instead of you. Something about him.

Frankie had been something about you for years.

“I mean, it’s still early, obviously,” you continued, oblivious to the way his grip tightened around his drink. “But I don’t know, it just feels easy. Like we just clicked.” He forced a smirk, lifting his bottle to his lips. “Sounds perfect.” Drowning all the bad feelings bubbling up in alcohol. If you picked up on the flatness in his tone, you didn’t say anything. You just shrugged, swirling the ice in your glass before taking another sip. “It’s nice to be excited about someone, you know?”

Frankie hummed in response, taking another long sip of his beer and glancing down at the nearly empty bottle, as if the answers to all his unasked questions were waiting at the bottom. Excited, right.

Of course, he wanted you to be happy. That’s what he told himself every time you brought up some new guy, every time you smiled at a text that wasn’t from him, every time you looked across the bar for someone else. But tonight, something about the way you were talking about this one was different. Frankie could feel it, tightening in his chest like a warning.

And he knew, deep down, that if he kept lying to himself, if he kept pretending he was fine watching you fall for someone else—

One day, he might actually believe it.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Frankie had always been the quieter one in your group, measured and steady. A man of few words but with an unwavering presence. But lately, something had shifted. It was in the way he reacted when you talked about the guy you were seeing. The way his usual teasing remarks had dulled, his responses clipped and distant. The way he smiled, but it never quite reached his eyes anymore. You noticed, of course you did. But you didn’t ask. Maybe because you weren't sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Because if you look too closely, you might have to admit what had always been there—what you had spent years trying to ignore. Frankie had never just been a friend to you. Not really. There had been a time, long before that night in October, when you had wondered. Let your mind drift to the thought of what it would be like to be his.

To be the reason behind his softest smiles, the one he reached for without hesitation.

You had wanted that once. Wanted him, but you buried it. Swallowed it down and forced yourself to forget. Because Frankie was good. Too good. The kind of man who stayed. The kind of man who meant what he said and never made promises he couldn’t keep. And you, you were a wreck. A walking contradiction of bad choices and broken hearts. You loved too easily. Trusted too quickly. And time and time again, it left you standing in the ruins of something you should have never believed in to begin with. You couldn’t do that to him.

So you convinced yourself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough. Because losing him? That was the one thing you knew you wouldn’t survive. But then came the kiss.

And now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t bury it. Couldn’t forget the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he let you kiss him but didn’t pull you closer, didn’t give in the way you thought he would. Like he had wanted to but also didn’t. Like he had been holding back. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was nothing. That it was just the alcohol, just the moment, just a mistake. And for a while, you almost believed it.

Then you met him, Luke. Someone new. Someone who checked every box, said all the right things, wanted you without hesitation. It should have been easy, you should have felt relieved, happy even.

But every time you looked at Frankie, you could feel it—the weight of something unspoken pressing down on you. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. The way he laughed at all the right times but never really looked at you the way he used to. You told yourself you were imagining it,that you were reading into things that weren’t there. But late at night, when you were lying next to Luke, it wasn’t him you thought about.

It was Frankie. And no matter how much you tried to deny it—that changed everything.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived at Will’s house, your fingers laced with your boyfriend’s as you stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of beer, grilled food, and whatever cologne Benny, Will’s brother, had drowned himself in. Laughter and music spilled from the open back doors where most of your friends had gathered, voices overlapping, drinks in hand, the kind of effortless camaraderie that had always made you feel at home.

But something felt off tonight. Or maybe it was just you.

Because for the first time in years, Frankie wasn’t there to greet you with that familiar, easy smile. He wasn’t hovering nearby, teasing you about being late or making sure you had a drink in hand. No, Frankie was across the room, deep in conversation with Will and Santi, nursing a beer like it was the only thing anchoring him in place. And he hadn’t looked at you once, even though you were sure he knew you had arrived—if not by seeing you, then by Benny’s over-the-top greeting

You tried not to notice, tried to focus on introducing your boyfriend to everyone, on smiling and laughing in all the right places. But no matter where you were, some part of you was always aware of him, lingering just at the edge of your orbit. How he kept his distance, how he barely spoke to you. How, for the first time since you’d met him, it felt like he was avoiding you. And the worst part? It hurt. You weren’t supposed to care this much. You had a boyfriend now. A good guy. A guy who wanted you, who didn’t hesitate, who didn’t hold back.

Then why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers? Like you were losing Frankie—losing something you never dared to name, but had always felt, just beneath the surface?

It wasn’t until later, when the party had thinned out and the night had settled into something softer, that you finally found him alone. Outside and smoking, something you always did together. But tonight, he hadn’t waited for you. didn’t even ask. Tonight, it was just him, leaning against the railing of Will’s back porch, staring out at nothing, cigarette glowing between his fingers. And for the first time in weeks, you asked the question that had been gnawing at you since this whole thing started.

“What’s going on with you?”

Frankie didn’t look at you right away. He took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cool night air before finally shifting his gaze toward you. His eyes, usually so warm, were unreadable.

"Nothing," he said, voice low and gruff. You frowned, stepping closer. "Bullshit." That almost got a reaction—almost. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk, but it never quite made it there. Instead, he flicked the ash from his cigarette, shaking his head. "You should get back inside," he muttered. "Your boyfriend’s probably looking for you." The words landed like a slap. Of course he was right, but throwing this at you in this moment felt purposefully hurtful. Your arms crossed over your chest, not from the cold but from the sudden, unfamiliar distance between you. "What the hell is your problem?"

Frankie let out a slow breath, shaking his head again, but this time, it wasn’t dismissive. It was like he was trying to hold something back, something threatening to spill over.

"You’ve been acting weird all night," you pressed, stepping even closer. "Hell, for weeks now. And don’t tell me it’s nothing because I know you, Frankie. I know when something’s wrong." His jaw tensed, and for a second, you thought he might actually tell you. That maybe, finally, he’d say whatever had been weighing on him. But then he just chuckled, low and humorless. "Nothing’s wrong, hermosa. I’m fine."

You know he was lying. You could see it, the way his shoulders stayed tight, the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes for too long. And suddenly, the space between you felt impossible to conquer.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. "You don’t get to do this."

Frankie quirked an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Shut me out," you snapped. "Act like I don’t exist all night and then pretend like I’m the one imagining things." His lips pressed into a thin line, his grip tightening around the cigarette between his fingers. "You have a boyfriend now," he said after a beat, voice quieter. "Things are just… different."

The words stung in a way you didn’t expect.

"Different?" You repeated, barely above a whisper. "You made them different, Frankie. Not me." For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint music drifting from inside, laughter from the party carrying on without you.

And then, softer, almost hesitant, you asked, "Did I do something?" Your brows furrowed, the hurt evident in your voice, written all over your face. His eyes snapped to yours at that, something unreadable flashing through them. "No," he said quickly—almost too quickly. "You didn’t do anything."

Then why did it feel like you had? Why did it feel like something had changed between you, like a line had been drawn and you hadn’t even realized you crossed it?

Frankie sighed, running a hand over his face before stubbing out his cigarette on the railing. "You should go back inside."

But before you could respond, the door creaked open behind you. A rush of warm air, laughter, and music spilled onto the porch. You turned just in time to see Luke stepping outside, his gaze flickering between you and Frankie. His expression didn’t change much, no obvious anger, no accusation, but something in his eyes told you he’d seen enough. Enough to notice the way you stood too close. Enough to feel the tension crackling between you and Frankie like a live wire.

"Hey," he said, his voice even, unreadable. "Everything okay out here?" You swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yeah. Just getting some air."

Frankie had already taken a step back. He nodded once at Luke, then flicked his cigarette into the yard, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I was just heading inside." And just like that, the moment was gone. You watched as Frankie disappeared through the door, slipping seamlessly back into the party, into the noise, into the version of himself that had nothing to hide. But you knew better now. Because whatever this was, whatever had been simmering between you for longer than you wanted to admit, wasn't one-sided. And now, someone else had seen it too.

As you sat in Luke’s car later, the air was thick with something unspoken. The only sound was the hum of the engine, not even music to fill the silence. You felt his eyes flicker toward you more than once, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. You pretended not to notice, kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the city lights blur past. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope—beautiful, distorted, and just a little unreal.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Is there something going on with you and Frankie?” Your breath caught. It was the question you had been waiting for, the one you had feared. You turned your head, but he kept his eyes on the road, fingers tightening around the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.

“Luke—”

“Just tell me the truth,” he interrupted, his voice steady, but laced with something raw underneath. “I’m not stupid. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. And the way you looked at him.”

Your stomach twisted. You could lie, smooth it over, tell him he was imagining things, that Frankie was just a friend. But the weight in your chest was suffocating, and you were so damn tired of pretending.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “You don’t know.”

“I—” Your voice cracked. “I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He finally looked at you then, and it was worse than if he had been angry. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes told you everything—he already knew. He had known for longer than he let on. Maybe he could even feel it, that you were never quite there, even though he treated you the way you had always wanted to be treated. And you hated it. Hated yourself for feeling this way, for not being able to be happy with what was right in front of you.

“So you love him.” Not a question—a statement. It crashed down on you, effortless and undeniable, giving a name to the feeling you had denied yourself for so long before you were even ready to do it yourself. Tears burned in your eyes as you shook your head, grasping for words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I don’t.. I-It’s not that simple.”

“But it is, isn’t it?” His voice was quiet, but the weight of it settled deep in your bones.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I wanted this to work, Luke. I really did.” A heavy silence stretched between you. Neither of you had anything left to say. Slowly, he pulled the car over to the curb in front of your apartment. The click of the gear shift the only sound between you. You didn’t ask why. You already knew. With shaking hands, you unclipped your seatbelt, wiping at your cheeks as you reached for the door handle.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered one last time but Luke didn’t respond.

And as you stepped out into the cold night air, you knew this was the end of this chapter and the beginning of a new one you weren’t quite sure you were ready for.

Frankie was barely holding it together. Every day felt like a fight against something clawing at his chest, something desperate and ugly that whispered you lost her, you fucking lost her. He tried to drown it out by keeping himself busy, working longer hours and spending more nights drinking just to feel something other than the ache. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.

And then, one night, the thought crept in—familiar, insidious. Just one line. Just to take the edge off. He hadn’t really thought about it in years, hadn’t let himself even consider it, but tonight, with his hands shaking and his heart racing like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest, it was right there. Too easy. The voice getting louder by the second.

He might’ve done it, too. Might’ve given in if Santi hadn’t knocked on his door like he knew. Like he always knew. Frankie barely got the door open before Santi was pushing inside, eyes sharp, taking one look at him and shaking his head. “Jesus, Fish,” he muttered, slamming the door behind him. “You look like shit.”

Frankie let out a humorless laugh, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, fingers digging into the tense muscles. “Yeah, well. Feels about right.” Santi didn’t push, didn’t pry, just walked to the kitchen, grabbed two beers from the fridge, and tossed one his way. “Sit your ass down,” he ordered, voice softer than his words hit. “And start talking.”

And somehow, for the first time in weeks, Frankie did.

He let out a shaky breath, fingers still rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the beer in his hand. He hadn’t meant to say anything. Hadn’t meant to let it slip. But once he started talking, it all came out—how he thought he was doing the right thing, how he tried to be happy for you, tried to step back and let you have what you deserved.

How it was fucking killing him.

He told Santi about the party, about the way you looked at him like you knew something had changed but couldn’t figure out what. How he avoided you because being close to you and not having you felt worse than anything he’d ever gone through. Worse than any withdrawal, any loss, any mistake he’d ever made. And then Santi said it. Just threw it out there like it wasn’t about to flip Frankie’s entire world upside down.

“You know she broke up with him, right?”

Frankie’s head snapped up so fast it almost hurt. “What?”

Santi sighed, giving him a look like he couldn’t believe he had to be the one spelling this out. “Luke. She ended it.” He took a sip of his beer, eyes flicking to Frankie’s. “She didn’t tell you?”

Frankie could only shake his head, something tight and desperate clawing its way up his throat. Because suddenly, all those nights of shoving his feelings down, of convincing himself that you were happy, that you were better off didn’t mean anything. Because if it wasn’t Luke anymore, if you chose to leave, then maybe… maybe it wasn’t just him feeling like something between you was never really gone.

But still, he hesitated, because doubt was a stubborn thing. He spent so long convincing himself that he wasn’t what you wanted, what you deserved. “That doesn’t mean—”

“Fish.” Santi’s voice cut through his thoughts, steady and sure. “You love her. She sure as hell loves you. And if you don’t do something about it now, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

Frankie swallowed hard, the small flicker of hope battling against the fear still weighing heavy on his chest.

Maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late.

It happened after weeks of avoiding each other. After Luke, after everything, you pulled away, trying to get space, trying to breathe. But Frankie noticed. Of course, he noticed. He always did.

So when he showed up at your apartment in the middle of the night, you weren’t even surprised. You hesitated before opening the door, but when you did, the sight of him nearly took the air from your lungs. He looked like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, like he had been running his hands through it in frustration for hours. His jacket hung loose off his shoulders, and there was something wrecked about him—something that made your stomach twist.

"You gonna let me in?" His voice was rough, just a quiet rumble in the stillness of the night.

You should have said no. Should have told him this wasn’t a good idea. But instead, you stepped aside.

He walked in like he didn’t even know what to do with himself, pacing a little before finally stopping in the middle of your living room, hands on his hips. The air was thick, suffocating, before he exhaled sharply and turned to face you.

"Are you leaving me too?"

The words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"Frankie–"

"Because I feel like I’m chasing something that doesn’t even want to be caught," he cut in, his voice tight. "Like I’m standing here, waiting for you to just—just fucking look at me, and you won’t." His jaw clenched. "And I don’t know if it’s because you don’t want to, or because you’re too damn scared to."

Your arms wrapped around yourself, like that would somehow hold you together. "I just… I needed time. To think."

Frankie scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. "Right. And did you figure it out?"

You hated the bitterness in his voice. Hated that you put it there.

"I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Frankie took a step closer, and just like that, the air shifted.

"Then tell me what you want." Your throat tightened. "I can’t."

"Why not?" He was closer now, his voice raw, edged with something desperate. "Because if you say it, it becomes real?"

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head, stepping back like he needed the distance, like if he stayed too close, he’d do something neither of you could take back. "You know, it’s funny," he said, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "I spent so fucking long convincing myself that I didn’t have a chance. That you’d never see me like that." His jaw tensed. "And then you kissed me. And for one second—for one fucking second—I let myself think I was wrong."

Your breath caught again. "Frankie—"

"But I wasn’t, was I?" His voice was quiet, the hurt in it deafening. "You didn’t want me. You never did."

That broke something in you and you snapped.

"I never let myself want you!" The moment the words were out in the open, you couldn’t take them back.

Frankie froze.

Your hands were shaking, but you pushed forward, because if you stopped now, you’d never say it. "You were safe. You were the one person I could always count on. And I knew if I let myself want more, I’d ruin it, like I ruined everything else. Because that’s just what I’m good at. Being a mess." Your voice cracked, but you didn’t stop. "So I buried it. Every time I looked at you and felt—" You sucked in a breath, blinking back tears. "I convinced myself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough."

Frankie’s breathing was uneven now, his dark eyes locked onto yours, searching, waiting.

"And now?" he asked, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because you didn’t know how to say it. But then Frankie moved. Closed the space between you in two long strides, until he was so close you could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint mix of cologne and a cigarette he probably had before he came here.

"Tell me to leave," he murmured, his voice low and unsteady. "If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me—tell me to leave."

Your heart pounded so hard it was unignorable. You didn’t answer, you didn’t need to. The way he looked at you, his beautiful brown eyes you had grown to admire so much, looked right through you. Into your soul, seeing what you didn’t even have the words for. Because you didn’t want him to leave. Not now. Not ever. In fact, for the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be—with him. His hand lifted, hesitated—then cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone like he was memorizing the feel of you. In the quiet of your apartment, the energy altered. Heavy. Electric. Inevitable.

His head dipped, and then his lips crashed onto yours with such force it stole the breath from your lungs, made you stumble back a step. Your hands found his face, holding him close as you melted into the kiss. But this time, it was different. He didn’t hold back like he had all those months ago. His fingers dug into your waist as he coaxed your mouth open, his tongue sliding against yours, deep and consuming. He walked you back with purpose, step after step, until your back met the hallway wall with a soft thud. The impact knocked over a few picture frames from the drawer beside you, but neither of you noticed. Because right then, there was only this. Only him.

The moment your back hit the wall, Frankie was on you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, fisting your shirt like he wanted to tear it off but couldn’t decide if he should. His mouth was hot, insistent, his tongue pushing past your lips as he pressed his body against yours, a low groan rumbling from his chest, deep and dangerous in its intensity.

You whimpered into the kiss, fingers threading through his curls, tugging just enough to make him hiss. It only spurred him on. His hands moved lower, gripping your thighs, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, locking him to you as he carried you down the hallway, lips never leaving yours, knocking into the walls like neither of you could think straight enough to care. But when he reached your bedroom, he paused.

Breathing hard, he set you down gently, hands still gripping your hips as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Are you sure?” His voice was hoarse, uneven. “Tell me now if you’re not, because I swear, I won’t—”

You cut him off, brushing your lips against his, softer this time, your fingers tracing along his jaw. “I’m sure, Frankie.”

His eyes searched yours, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. Like he didn’t trust that this wasn’t some cruel trick his mind was playing on him.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmured.

Your heart clenched. You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over the furrow between his brows. “I want this. I want you.”

Something in him unraveled at your words, tension melting from his shoulders. He exhaled sharply, nodding once before his lips crashed onto yours again, this time with more certainty, more purpose. You gasped when he finally dropped you onto your bed, following you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His hands pushed beneath your shirt, sliding up your stomach, your ribs, your breasts—palming you, squeezing just enough to make your back arch. He cursed under his breath, yanking the fabric over your head, barely giving you time to breathe before his mouth was on you again, kissing, biting, sucking a path down your throat.

“F-Frankie,” you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails dragging down his back as he sucked a bruise into your collarbone. His hands made quick work of your clothes, tugging them off as he peppered kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, down your stomach. Every touch, every glance was heavy with something deeper, something unspoken. He took his time, learning every inch of you with his lips, his tongue, his hands, until you were trembling beneath him, breathless and aching.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your skin, his breath hot. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you cupped his face, pulling him back up to you, crashing your lips into his.

You barely registered him kicking off his own jeans before his hands were on your thighs, spreading you open, gently tracing along the soft skin of your thighs despite the deep-seated need that was mirrored in his dark pupils. His fingers finally found your heat, sliding through the wetness pooling there.

“Fuck. You’re soaked, hermosa.”

You whimpered in response, hips bucking into his touch. “Frankie, please—”

That was all it took. He groaned, deep and low, as he pushed into you, sinking in inch by inch, stretching you, filling you completely. It was almost too much and at the same time not enough. His jaw clenched, his grip on your hips tightening like he was holding on for dear life.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath ragged. “You feel—” He shook his head, like he couldn’t even find the words.

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Move, Frankie. Please.”

And then it was desperate. Frankie thrust into you, slow at first, deep and deliberate, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when all he saw was pleasure, when all he heard was the way you gasped his name like it was the only thing keeping you tethered, his restraint snapped.

He picked up the pace, fucking you harder now, rougher, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew there’d be bruises, but you didn’t care—you wanted them, needed them. A visible reminder of this finally happening.

His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, over and over, breathless, broken. He cupped your face, forcing you to look at him, his own expression wrecked and raw.

“Look at me,” he panted, rocking into you, the friction sending sparks through your veins. “I need—I need to see you when you come.”

It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Your breath caught. The coil in your stomach tightened, tightened, until finally, it snapped. Your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking as you cried out his name.

Frankie groaned, his hips stuttering before he thrust deep one last time, burying himself inside you as he came with a ragged moan, his whole body trembling against yours. You felt it—the warmth of him spilling deep, the way his cock twitched inside you as he pulsed through the aftershocks. A shiver ran down your spine, the intimacy of it all-consuming, overwhelming in the best way.

His breath came hot and uneven against your neck as he pressed soft, lazy kisses to your skin, grounding himself in you, like he never wanted to leave. His hands, still gripping your hips moments ago, softened, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over your skin. The only sound between you was the heavy rhythm of your breathing, the pounding of your hearts against sweat-dampened skin. Neither of you moved. He didn’t pull away. He just stayed there, forehead resting against yours, hands cradling your face as if you might disappear.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as your fingers trailed gentle patterns up and down his back. After a moment, he brushed a few damp strands of hair from your face, his eyes tired but his smile warm, almost glowing.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, searching.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, still tracing lazy circles on his back. "You’re asking me that now?"

Frankie grinned, breathless, his nose brushing against yours. "Just making sure you haven’t changed your mind."

Rolling your eyes, you let your fingers glide over his shoulder. "If I had, you’d be the first to know."

His hands drifted down your sides, slow and reverent, as if still memorizing every inch of you. "Good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

Something tight in your chest loosened, and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. "Yeah?"

Frankie leaned back just enough to meet your gaze, his fingers playing with your hair, his expression softer than you had ever seen. "Yeah," he said, like a promise, like an unshakable truth. "Not now. Not ever."

A shaky breath escaped you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pulled him down into another kiss—slower this time, deeper. Less desperate, but just as intense. Eventually, he sighed, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke.

"So, what now?"

You grinned, threading your fingers through his tousled locks. "Well, I’d say we could clean up the mess we made, but that would require moving, and I’m not sure I’m capable of that yet."

He chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours, warm and solid. "I think I broke a picture frame."

"You did."

"Guess I’ll have to replace it."

Tilting your head, you smirked. "You’re planning on sticking around long enough to redecorate?"

Frankie’s eyes darkened, filled with something you recognized now—something you were no longer afraid to name. His hands tightened around your waist, anchoring you to him. "You gonna let me?" You pretended to consider, but he saw right through you. He always had.

"I guess I can make room for you," you teased, running a fingertip over the patch in his beard, which, from up close almost looked like a heart.

Frankie smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Good. Because I wasn’t asking."

And just like that, the weight of every missed moment, every hesitation, every doubt that had once stood between you disappeared. Because this—him, you, together—was exactly where you were always meant to be.

thanks so much for reading, maybe show some love if you enjoyed it <3

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cod-bin · 3 days ago

Text

when the walls crumble down

simon riley x reader

genre: angst to fluff

a/n: reqs are open! no smut yet but im bored so pls put in one if you want 💋

The door slammed shut behind Simon, rattling the picture frames on the wall. You flinched at the sound, your heart already fragile from the weight of his words. The fight had been coming for days—bubbling under the surface like a storm just waiting to break.

And now it had.

“You don’t get it,” Simon growled, pacing the room like a man caged in his own mind. His voice was rough, raw, laced with something dangerously close to desperation. His hands trembled at his sides, clenched into fists as if trying to contain something inside himself. “You sit here, safe, while I’m out there, watchin’ mates drop left and right, wonderin’ if I’ll be next. And I come back, and it’s like—it’s like you don’t even realize what could happen!”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. “I realize, Simon,” you shot back, voice shaking. “Every time you leave, I don’t sleep. I don’t breathe right until I hear from you. You think I don’t know what could happen?”

His eyes were wild, dark with something deeper than anger—fear. “Then why do you stay?” His voice cracked on the last word. “Why do you put yourself through this?”

You stared at him, chest tight, nails digging into your palms. “Because I love you, you idiot.”

Silence.

For the first time, Simon was still. His breath came in ragged pulls, shoulders rising and falling like he’d just taken a hit. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, eyes darting away like he couldn’t bear to look at you.

“Love me,” he scoffed, voice hollow. “You love a ghost, then. ’Cause that’s all that’s left.”

Your throat tightened. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, innit?” His voice was barely above a whisper now, something broken clawing its way out. “You don’t know what I’ve done. The blood on my hands. If you did, you wouldn’t—” He stopped, sucking in a sharp breath. “Shouldn’t love me.”

The air between you was thick, suffocating. You took a step forward, but he flinched—like you might burn him if you got too close.

“Simon,” you whispered, heart aching. “Look at me.”

He didn’t. His jaw was locked tight, fists still shaking at his sides. The man before you—this wasn’t Ghost, the hardened soldier, the unshakable force. This was Simon. A man so used to losing people that he’d rather push you away than watch you be another name etched into the gravestones of his past.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, fingers brushing against his wrist. He tensed—but didn’t pull away.

“I know who you are,” you said, voice steady now, because if he couldn’t believe in himself, then you’d do it for him. “And I know you think you don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve me. But you do.”

His breath hitched.

“You are not just what you’ve done, Simon,” you continued, stepping closer. “You’re the man who makes me coffee even though you hate the smell. You’re the man who tugs me closer in his sleep, even when he doesn’t realize it. You’re the man who comes back to me, every time, no matter how much it hurts.”

A sharp inhale. His fingers twitched beneath yours.

“You think you’re a ghost?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper now. “Then why can I feel you?”

Simon finally—finally—looked at you. And for the first time, the walls cracked.

His face crumpled, and before you could say another word, he broke. His body folded into yours, arms coming around you like a man gripping onto his last tether to life. His breaths were shaky, uneven, his forehead pressed to your shoulder as if he was trying to hide.

You held him, fingers threading through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances into his skin. “I’ve got you,” you whispered. “I’ve always got you.”

And in that moment, Simon Riley—Ghost, the legend, the soldier who never faltered—let himself be held. Let himself believe, just for a second, that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t lost.

That maybe he was finally home.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley angst #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod x you

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wendichester · 2 days ago

Note

Hello, hello, my dearest~! I hope this finds you well, and you’ve got good things going on in your life! I love all of your writings and drabbles and works, and your notifications during my day always make me smile! 💜

May I request a Dean X reader x Sam (no wincest, obvs) piece where they’re each trying to push the reader to be with the other brother because they don’t think they can make the reader happy, but the reader is like, “you guys are idiots if you can’t see how happy BOTH of you make me.” Can you tell that I struggle to ever fully decide and just pick one of them? lol appreciate you💜 please keep being amazing!

༘ ⋆｡˚three's a charm,

summary. dean wants you to be with sam. sam wants you to be with dean. you want both.

pairing. dean winchester x reader x sam winchester

wordcount. 715

notes. thank you so so much for requesting lovely! you're the best 🩷

It starts as a subtle thing—sideways glances, hesitations that weren’t there before, moments where one of them will open his mouth to say something and then stop, like he’s biting back words.

And it’s driving you insane.

Dean and Sam Winchester are some of the smartest, most capable people you’ve ever met, but God, are they both complete idiots when it comes to this.

You know they love you. You know because it’s in the way Sam always makes sure you eat something halfway decent, even in the middle of a hunt, and how Dean always insists on checking the locks twice before bed when you’re around. You know because of the way they touch you—Sam’s careful reverence, Dean’s protective warmth—because of the way they look at you when they think you’re not watching.

But lately? Lately, they’ve been acting weird.

It starts with Dean.

“You know,” he says one night, sprawled out on the motel bed next to you, staring at the ceiling like it holds all the answers to the universe. “Sam’s a good guy.”

You blink at him. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Dean huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I mean, like… real good. Smart, responsible, tall.” He cuts his eyes toward you. “You like tall, right?”

Your brows knit. “I mean, I guess—”

“You should, uh… you should think about him. Y’know. That way.”

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Dean.”

“What?”

“You do realize I’m sleeping with both of you, right?”

Dean shrugs, like he’s suddenly very interested in the loose thread on his sleeve. “Yeah, well. Maybe you should—” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Maybe you should pick the guy who can actually give you what you deserve.”

You stare at him. “Dean.”

He won’t look at you. “I’m just saying.”

You’re about to rip him a new one, but before you can, the motel door opens and in walks Sam, looking fresh out of the shower, towel slung around his neck.

And that’s when it happens again.

“I was thinking,” Sam starts, running the towel through his damp hair, “Dean’s really good for you.”

You blink. “Are you kidding me?”

Dean snorts. “Right back atcha, Sammy.”

Sam frowns. “I’m serious. He… he makes you laugh. Keeps things light. I know I can be a lot sometimes.” His voice dips, eyes dropping like he’s afraid of what he’s saying. “I don’t want to weigh you down.”

Dean scoffs. “Oh, come on, man.”

“What?” Sam shrugs. “It’s true.”

You look between them—these two idiots—and let out a loud, exasperated groan.

“Oh my God,” you say, flopping onto your back dramatically. “You’re both so stupid.”

Dean lifts a brow. “Excuse me?”

You sit up, crossing your arms. “Do you seriously think I want to be with just one of you?”

Sam hesitates. “Well, I mean—”

“No,” you cut in. “You don’t mean. Because if you did, you’d realize how insanely happy I am with both of you.” You look between them, making sure they get it. “Not just Dean. Not just Sam. Both. Of. You.”

Silence.

Dean scratches the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “You sure? ‘Cause—”

“I love you,” you say firmly, looking at him. Then you turn to Sam. “And you. Equally. Differently, but equally. You both make me happy. You both make me feel safe. I don’t want just one of you—I want this. Us.”

The tension in the room shifts. Dean glances at Sam. Sam glances at Dean. And then—

“Well, shit,” Dean breathes, rubbing a hand over his face. “Guess we are a couple of morons.”

Sam exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he admits. “I think we are.”

You sigh, shaking your head at them. “Took you long enough.”

Dean smirks. “So, uh… does that mean we can stop all the awkward pushing-you-away crap?”

“Yes,” you deadpan.

Sam chuckles, moving toward the bed, placing a hand on your knee. “And you’re really, really happy?”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it. “Yeah, Sammy. I really, really am.”

Dean hums, shifting closer too, his palm settling against the small of your back. “Well, in that case,” he says, grinning, “I say we make up for lost time.”

And who are you to argue with that?

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ( continues in the comments )

#dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader x sam winchester #dean winchester x you x sam winchester #dean winchester fluff #sam winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #sam winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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goshikisbaee · 2 days ago

Text

Haikyuu Characters Taking Care Of You When You’re Sick ♡

Contents: Fluff

———

Hinata - Panics at first, but quickly gets into “caretaker mode.” He insists on bringing you anything you need and will sit by your side, even if it means he catches your cold too. When he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll whisper, “Get better soon, okay? I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Kageyama - He’s awkward but deeply concerned. Kageyama follows instructions to the letter—if the medicine says “every four hours,” he’s setting an alarm. He quietly watches over you, his usual scowl replaced by an intense look of worry. If you thank him, he’ll grumble, “Just don’t get sick again.”

Asahi - Is so worried he almost calls an ambulance when he sees you feverish. He overcompensates by bringing every possible remedy—tea, soup, medicine, and warm blankets. He’s extra gentle when talking to you, his voice softer than usual. “I just want you to feel better,” he says, brushing hair from your forehead.

Daichi - Captain mode activated. Daichi ensures you eat well, take medicine, and get enough rest. He has a very dad-like approach, staying calm and collected but fussing over you constantly. “Rest up. I’ll take care of everything,” he says, tucking you in.

Sugawara - The ultimate caretaker, always knowing exactly what you need. He’s the type to play soft music and tell you funny stories to distract you from feeling miserable. He makes warm tea with honey, insisting, “This always works for me, so it’ll work for you too!” He also sneaks in extra cuddles.

Nishinoya - He’s super dramatic about it, acting like you’re on your deathbed. “Noooooo! My love is perishing!” But beneath the theatrics, he genuinely takes care of you, bringing you warm blankets and hand-feeding you snacks. He makes it his personal mission to make you laugh at least once while you’re sick.

Tanaka - He tries to act chill but is totally panicking inside. “You’re sick?! Do we need to go to the hospital?!” Once you convince him that it’s just a cold, he does everything he can to make you feel better—including binging your favorite show with you, even if he secretly hates it.

Tsukishima - Pretends not to care, but he’s constantly checking on you when he thinks you’re not looking. He quietly places a water bottle by your bed and makes sure you have medicine. If you whine about feeling miserable, he’ll sigh and say, “Yeah, yeah, just rest,” but you catch him sitting by your bed, watching over you.

Yamaguchi - He’s so sweet and attentive, making sure you’re comfortable at all times. He writes reminders for your medicine schedule and brings warm soup. “I read that drinking honey tea helps!” he says excitedly, offering you a mug. He gets really flustered if you thank him too much.

Oikawa - Takes such good care of you, constantly checking your temperature and making you tea. He dramatically complains about how worried he is. “If you don’t get better soon, I might collapse from stress!” But really, he’s sitting by your side, rubbing your back and whispering, “Please feel better soon, okay?”

Iwaizumi - A bit gruff but takes care of you in the most reliable way. He makes you food, makes sure you’re hydrated, and physically forces you to rest. If you try to get out of bed, he crosses his arms and says, “Lie back down. Now.” But he’s also incredibly gentle when wiping your forehead.

Kindaichi - He’s nervous but really wants to help. He brings you a ton of blankets and even awkwardly pats your head, saying, “Uh… just rest, okay?” He googles every symptom and freaks out when he finds the worst-case scenario.

Kunimi - Acts indifferent but won’t leave your side. He casually hands you medicine and lets you sleep on his shoulder while playing games. If you say, “Thank you,” he’ll mutter, “Don’t mention it,” but his ears are red.

Kyoutani (Mad Dog) - At first, he gets frustrated because he doesn’t know what to do. But once he figures it out, he’s surprisingly gentle. “Tch… just take your medicine, idiot,” he mutters, tucking you in with surprising care. He gets really quiet and serious whenever he sees you struggling.

Kita - Calm and practical. He brings you nutritious food, fresh tea, and keeps your space clean. “Take your medicine and sleep,” he says, pressing a warm towel to your forehead. He stays until you doze off.

Osamu - He makes you homemade comfort food and insists it’ll make you better. “Eat up, sweetheart,” he says, setting a tray on your lap. He doesn’t hover, but he’s always within reach if you need anything.

Atsumu - He whines about you being sick but takes care of you anyway. “Babe, why’d ya have to get sick now?!” He stays up late watching over you, though, even if it means he sacrifices sleep.

Suna - Doesn’t say much but is surprisingly attentive. He hands you medicine, tucks you in, and plays your favorite show. When you fall asleep, he stays close, just in case you need anything.

Tendou - He acts goofy to keep you entertained but is also super doting. “Sick little gremlin, I shall nurse you back to health!” He plays dramatic music while feeding you soup.

Ushijima - Treats it like an athletic injury—he makes sure you rest, hydrate, and eat well. “Your body needs proper care,” he states seriously. He sits beside you in comfortable silence, occasionally checking your temperature.

Shirabu - He lectures you for getting sick but takes excellent care of you. “You should’ve been more careful,” he says, handing you tea. He secretly watches over you all night.

Bokuto - Bokuto is so worried but does his best to help. “BABE, YOU’RE BURNING UP!!” He gets extra cuddly (even if you protest that he’ll get sick too).

Akaashi - Calm and efficient. He makes sure you rest and brings you comfort items without being overbearing. “Just relax, I’ll handle everything,” he assures you.

Kuroo - Flirts with you even when you’re sick. “You still look cute, even when you’re dying.” But he also takes care of you, making sure you’re warm and comfortable.

Kenma - He lets you rest on him while he plays games. He doesn’t say much, but he makes sure you have water and medicine. “Don’t move too much,” he murmurs softly.

Sakusa - He’s the most careful, wearing a mask and disinfecting everything. “I told you to be careful,” he sighs, but still holds your hand when you need comfort.

———

💋 💋 💋

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #hq fluff #fluff #akaashi x reader #iwaizumi x reader #kuroo x reader #oikawa x reader #karasuno #aoba johsai #inarizaki #nekoma #shiratorizawa #fukurodani #nishinoya yuu

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tonycries · 2 days ago

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Yakuza!Sukuna is terrifying—unholy, untouchable, an apex predator in designer suits and ancient ink.

People hear his name and flinch. His enemies fold before he touches them. His men follow orders without a word.

He doesn’t bow.

He doesn’t bend.

And he doesn’t love.

Until you.

And suddenly, he’s obsessed. Feral. Whipped in the most dangerous fucking way imaginable.

⸻

You walked into his world like a pretty little accident waiting to happen, all soft smiles and polite charm, too good for the seedy bar you’d been dragged to, dressed like temptation with just enough ink showing to get under his skin.

He watched you from his booth in the back—red eyes narrowed, rings clicking against his glass, the glint of his gold tooth catching the light as he grinned.

He should’ve looked away.

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

Then your date touched you—too high, too fast—and said something that made your smile freeze.

Sukuna sat up, ready to intervene.

But you didn’t need help.

You punched him. Hard.

One hit, clean, brutal.

Blood everywhere.

Sukuna’s drink hit the table untouched.

His jaw was clenched.

And his cock? Already fucking hard.

⸻

He was on you in seconds—inked, towering, dangerous, all heat and muscle and that devil’s grin that usually made people piss themselves.

But not you.

You just blinked up at him, unimpressed, bored even.

“You hit like a pro, sweetheart. I’m impressed.”

You smirked. “And you’re nosy. What’s it to you?”

“Everything.”

You scoffed. “Bold. You always hit on women after they break noses?”

“Just the ones I’m gonna marry.”

⸻

Three days later, you’re in his bed, straddling him, his hands bruising your hips, both of you breathless and high on lust and pride.

“Mine,” he growled, biting your jaw, cock buried deep, eyes wild and hungry.

You didn’t flinch. You smiled, leaned in slow, licked into his mouth, and whispered,

“No, you’re mine.”

He froze.

Laughed.

Then snapped.

Flipped you fast, hands everywhere, teeth on your throat, voice wrecked and hoarse.

“Yours? Fuck yeah, angel. Yours. Now say it. Say you’re mine.”

You didn’t. Not at first.

You made him earn it.

Made him work for it, cocky and smug, teasing him with that sweet little mouth and that filthy attitude he was addicted to.

Until you broke—clawed at his shoulders, gasped it, “Yours, Kuna.”

Kuna.

He fucking snapped.

Body shaking, breath gone, head buried in your neck as he lost it inside you, moaning like you’d just ended his entire bloodstained existence.

“Say it again,” he demanded, desperate, ruined.

You smirked.

“Yo-”

“You know that’s not what I mean. Say it again brat, fuckin please”

“Kuna - ‘s all f’ you Kuna” You’d slur in the throes of pleasure. Barely able to think straight as he slams into that sweet spot over and over again.

That’s when he swore he’d kill anyone who dared breathe wrong in your direction.

You were his. Forever.

⸻

He never stopped touching you.

Hand on your ass in public. Arm around your waist. Mouth on your neck. Always.

He didn’t care who watched.

Didn’t care who stared.

“Wear whatever you want, baby. I can fight.”

And he did.

⸻

You, sweet and polite with everyone else, terrified rival bosses with your smile.

Once, some idiot flirted with him in front of you.

You didn’t yell. Didn’t curse.

Just smiled.

“Touch him again and I’ll break your wrist. He’s mine.”

Sukuna? Hard. Immediately.

Dragged you out and proved it against his car, voice low, wrecked, “Yours, angel. But don’t forget—you’re mine too.”

You never forgot.

You just loved making him say it again. And again. And again.

🔖

Knee-deep in the passenger seat and you're writing about yakuza!Sukuna, is it casual now? 😼

OH?? MY?? GOD??? COME BACK N GIVE ME A BIG SMOOCH AND THEN KEEP WRITING ABOUT THIS NEOWWWW 😈 Why can I perfectly imagine him as a big bad yakuza though - like the stereotypical ones from anime ahahah.

#🔖#ouuu this is giving me an idea...#tonytalks

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amoressb · 22 hours ago

Text

───── TOO LATE 西村力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ you thought you and him were meant to be, but he chose someone else…until he realized his mistake too late ｡｡ bsf!riki x reader .

ANGST? TO FLUFF & wc. 1300 + / kissing, skinship ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

make sure to read part 1 !!

days pass, then weeks. you avoid him, not out of bitterness, but out of self preservation. because being near him, seeing him with sohee, feels like ripping open a wound you’ve barely managed to stitch shut.

and riki?

at first, he let you slip away without a fight. but lately, he’s been reaching out more. texts you don’t answer. calls you let ring. moments where he hovers near you in the hallways, eyes pleading for something you’re too exhausted to give.

but he never says it. never outright asks for you back. never tells you he’s sorry. so, you keep your distance.

until one evening, you’re walking home in silence except for the sound of your own footsteps and the wind is sharp against your cheeks. you tug your jacket tighter around yourself but nothing compares to the hollow ache in your chest. that is until you hear hurried footsteps behind you. a voice calling your name.

“wait,” he calls, breathless. “please, just—just wait.”

you close your eyes. you know that voice. but you keep walking.

“please,” he breathes, and this time, there’s something different in his tone. desperation. regret. and against your better judgment, you slow down.

he jogs to catch up, slightly breathless, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. “can we talk?” he asks, his voice softer now.

you stare ahead, refusing to meet his gaze. “what’s there to talk about, riki?” he swallows, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “us.”

that word makes your breath hitch.

“there is no us,” you whisper. “not anymore.”

rikis expression twists, his brows furrowing as if the thought alone is unbearable. “that’s not true,” he argues, voice shaking.

you let out a humorless laugh. “really? because it sure felt true when you let me go without a second thought.”

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, “i didn’t mean to—”

you whip your head toward him, your emotions finally spilling over. “but you did, riki! you did.” your voice wavers, but you push through. “you were my best friend and then one day, you just… stopped looking for me. like i never mattered to you.”

riki flinches, guilt flickering across his face. he looks down, his hands clenching into fists before he releases them with a shaky breath. “i didn’t stop looking for you.” his voice is hoarse, “i just—i didn’t realize i was losing you.”

you shake your head, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “that’s the worst part, riki. you never knew. you never even noticed me slipping away.”

the silence between you is deafening.

his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. “i was an idiot,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought i was just missing my best friend, but—” he swallows hard, his hands clenching at his sides. “it wasn’t just that. it was never just that.”

riki steps closer, his voice thick with emotion. “i looked for you first in every room. i always wanted to be near you. every sign, every moment, every ittle thing you thought you imagined? it was real.” his eyes are pleading now, dark and full of something you don’t want to name. “i was just too stupid to realize it.”

your heart clenches painfully, but you force yourself to stay firm. “then why did you choose her?”

riki squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “because i thought what i felt for you was normal. that it was just how best friends are supposed to feel about each other.” he looks at you then, really looks at you, and there’s something so vulnerable in his expression that it makes your chest ache. “i didn’t know how much i loved you until you were gone. i was scared.”

you freeze. “scared?”

his gaze meets yours again, raw and filled with something you’ve never seen before. “scared of ruining what we had. scared that if i admitted how i felt, you wouldn’t feel the same way.” his voice breaks slightly. “so i convinced myself that what i felt for you was normal. that best friends are supposed to look at each other the way i looked at you.”

“she was…easy.” his voice is laced with regret. “i liked her, but i didn’t love her. i think i was trying to distract myself from the fact that i already loved someone else.”

the words hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs.

loved.

not liked. not crushed on.

loved.

riki exhales shakily, his fingers brushing against yours, hesitant—like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “i don’t want to lose you,” he confesses, his voice trembling.

you squeeze your eyes shut. “you already did.”

“no,” he whispers. “i didn’t. because you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t still love me, too.” your heart lurches.

riki has never been the type to be this direct, this raw. but here he is baring everything, no longer hiding behind jokes or obliviousness.

you stare at his hand, barely touching yours. you could still walk away. could still pretend none of this ever happened.

but then you remember all the times he reached for you without thinking. the way he always made sure you were warm, even if it meant freezing himself. the way he looked at you before he even realized what it meant. the way his hands shake slightly. the way his eyes beg for another chance.

the riki in front of you is not the same riki who let you go without a fight, but…

you swallow hard. “you hurt me, riki.” his expression shatters, “i know.”

“you made me feel like i was nothing to you,” you continue, voice unsteady. “like i was just a backup plan.”

his hands clench at his sides, his eyes glassy, “you were never a backup plan. you were always my first choice. i was just too stupid to realize it.”

you want to be angry. you want to push him away, to tell him that he’s too late.

but when you look at him—when you see the desperation in his eyes, the way his breath trembles in the cold air—you realize something.

you still love him. you always have.

your fingers twitch at your sides before you reach for his hand. his breath catches when you intertwine your fingers with his, like he wasn’t expecting you to touch him at all. his grip tightens instantly, holding onto you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“i hate you for making me wait,” you murmur. “i hate myself for making you wait,” he whispers back.

you stare at each other for a long moment, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. and suddenly, all the pain, all the waiting, all the heartbreak—it all feels worth it.

so, this time, you do what you should’ve done all those years ago…you take his hand.

riki inhales sharply, like he can’t believe it, his grip tightening around yours. his eyes search yours, hesitation flickering across his face. “can i—”

you don’t let him finish. instead, you tilt your head up, closing the distance between you.

the moment your lips touch, everything else fades.

his lips are soft, hesitant at first, but when you don’t pull away, he deepens the kiss, pouring every unsaid word, every regret, every lingering feeling into it.

his hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid to let go…and maybe he is.

when you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. his forehead rests against yours, his hands still gripping your waist like you might disappear if he lets go.

“i love you,” he murmurs, his voice shaking. “i should’ve said it sooner.”

you let out a shaky laugh. “yeah, you should have.”

he smiles, just slightly, his fingers brushing against yours again. “let me make it up to you.”

you exhale, still feeling the ghost of his lips on yours. “you better.”

his grin widens, and for the first time in months, the ache in your chest disappears.

because this time, he isn’t letting you go.

⋆｡°✩ @cheruphic @liwinly @chrrific @hyukabean @ijustwannareadstuff20 @jellyluv4eva @aishigrey

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