#she flicked it away quickly and maybe she thought I didn’t see ?????

[feelfreetopleasemexo]

Begging for Bakugo x nerdy pierced reader. They've known each other for a while, but it's only recently when bakugo notices she's got pierced nipples, pierced tongue, pierced belly button and back dimples too. Maybe even sneak in a cute back tattoo. Anyway long story short, it's a big turn on for him, once he spots the belly piercing by accident and asks her about it, she starts name dropping all the other ones she's got too taking him by suprise. He has never taken her for a type of girl get piercings but gets curious and wants to see them all.

I love this!!!

“What the fuck was that?” Katsuki growled at you, arms folded snd eyes furrowed as he stares at your stomach.

“What’re you on about kats? Im just stretching….” You look down at your body, frantically patting at yourself insane there was some kind of bug on you or something. He walks over to you, stomping his feet loudly and standing barely an inch away from your body.

“This?!” He lifts your top up slightly to expose your belly button, staring at the baby pink little studded piercing now glinting as the gym lights hit it. His face was puzzled and a slight twinge of pink flushed his cheeks as he looked at your piercing more intensely.

“What? Is something wrong? Did I catch it or?” Your own confusion met his, you thought maybe it could’ve gotten caught and ripped slightly? Completely unaware that Katsuki had no idea you had your belly button pierced, let alone about all the others you had.

“This fuckin thing? Since when did you get that? I’ve known for you forever and I’ve never seem that before!” His voice seemed angry, pissed that not only had you gotten it pierced but that he wasnt the first person to know about it right away. You laughed and rolled your eyes, pulling you shirt from out of his and pushing it back down to cover your lower stomach.

“Kats, i swear you came with me to get it done last year didnt you? I couldn’t sworn you did….you called me an idiot didnt you?” You racked your brain for who actually came with you that day, you can remember it being a spur of the moment decision, but maybe he didn’t come with? Was it Mina? As you tried to recall the day, he stepped back slightly, arms now pressed firmly back across his chest, averting his gaze from you as if he was flustered.

“ I think I’d remember if I came with you to get that, dont you think dumbass? Dont tell me youve got more piercings you didn’t tell me about.” His eyes glanced back at you from the corner of his eyes, something in him praying that maybe you had some more intimate ones.

“Well….i mean, I didn’t think you’d particularly want to know about the ones on my chest or my tongue or anything…” your own cheeks now flushed at the idea of telling your childhood friend about your pierced nipples. His eyes now wider as he flicked his eyes momentarily at your chest then back up to your eyes.

“No fucking way. You dont get those piercings, you’re not into the hot girl shit are you?!” He didnt mean for it to come out so loudly, so nervously, and clocked your reaction at the infliction in his voice, and tried to put the stern face back on.

“Sorry, forgot I had to ask for permission to do whatever I want with my body. You’re going to lose your shit when you see this then.” You turned to face your back to him as you pulled your shirt up exposing the large dragon tattoo that filled out most of your upper back. You could almost feel his hot stare burning into your tattoo, you turned your head and looked at him over your shoulder as he open mouth stared at the design. He suddenly became increasingly more uncomfortable at the shift in his trousers as he tried to pull the fabric away from himself. His reaction made you look down and see the large lump forming in said fabric, it making you nervous and embarrassed. You quickly pulled your shirt back down and faced him again, averting your eyes from his stare.

“Since when did you get hot man wtf? I’ve known you since we were kids, I never in a million years would’ve thought youd of been into that stuff…”

“Don’t make me show you the one inbetween my legs Kats.” His embarrassment was incredibly amusing to you, not once since being friends had you seen him so flustered, it made something rise up inside of you. Seeing him look at you like this made you look at him in an entirely different light, was he actually mentally undressing you right now? Why did you suddenly absolutely love it, and why were you now wondering how his mouth felt against the metal bars i your nipples…

He grabbed your wrist and started leading you towards the dorms without a word.

“Erm…what’re you doing kats?” He didn’t even look back at you as he spoke.

“You’re showing me every single new thing you’ve got done, I won’t believe it until I see it.”

[corpish]

okay it’s been a day and a half…y’all a WILD thing happened on Friday

[gf2bellamy]

concerned — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you have to go undercover and spencer doesn't like it content warnings: mention of unsub and his victims a/n: i'm definitely back in my spencer era <3

You had been working tirelessly alongside the team for days, pouring over profiles and victimology. The unsub had a clear pattern, targeting young women in bars, women who exuded just the right mix of confidence and vulnerability.  Hotch stood at the front of the room, outlining the plan. As he reached the part about luring the unsub out, his gaze shifted to you.   

“You’ll be the target,” he said simply, like it was the most logical conclusion.   Your stomach did a small flip, but you nodded, pushing aside any hesitation. After analyzing the victims’ profiles, it made sense. You fit his type. But before you could fully process the plan, a voice broke the silence.

“Wait—what?”   

You turned, startled, to see Spencer, his wide eyes darting between you and Hotch. The entire team paused, their attention snapping to him.   

Hotch’s brow arched slightly. “Is there a problem, Reid?” he asked, his tone pointed.  Spencer froze, his face flushing a deep shade of red. He clearly hadn’t meant to speak out loud, and now he was trapped under the weight of everyone’s gaze.   

“Uh—uhm, I just… I thought maybe she could…” He stumbled over his words, gesturing vaguely toward the case files as if searching for an excuse. “...help me with… uh… something else? Or maybe—”   

He cut himself off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.   

Derek leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. His gaze flicked between you and Spencer, and you knew instantly that he had caught on to what was happening. Hotch didn’t look amused. His focus returned to you, dismissing Spencer’s flustered protest.

“Get ready,” he nodded at you, before returning to the briefing as if nothing had happened.  As the team dispersed to prepare for the operation, Emily sidled up beside you, her expression sly.   

“Looks like someone’s a little worried about you,” she said with a teasing smile, her voice low enough that only you could hear.   

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth rising in your cheeks betrayed you. “He’s just being... Spencer,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant.   

Emily chuckled as she patted your arm. “Sure. Whatever you say.”   

She walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart thudding a little harder than it should have.   

You glanced over at Spencer, who was still at the far end of the room, pretending to busy himself with paperwork. He wasn’t looking at you now, but the pink flush on his cheeks hadn’t faded.  You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. Maybe Emily wasn’t entirely wrong.   

Spencer was hunched over the file, his eyes darting across the page, but you could tell he wasn’t actually reading it. Every so often, his gaze flicked up toward you and then quickly back down, like he was trying to be subtle and failing miserably.   

“Spence,” you said softly as you walked over to him.   

He stiffened slightly but looked up, meeting your gaze for the briefest of moments. “Hmm?” he hummed, his voice nonchalant, though you could see the unease written all over his face.   

You stopped in front of him, offering a small smile. “I’ll be okay. You know that, right?”   

His hand went to the back of his neck, scratching it nervously as he avoided your eyes. “I know that,” he mumbled, though his tone wasn’t convincing.   

“Do you?” You tilted your head, trying to catch his gaze.   

Spencer finally looked up at you, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “He just seems dangerous,” he said, his words spilling out quickly. “And fast. And I’m concerned that we won’t be quick enough, that something could happen to you before—”   

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm to stop the ramble before he could spiral further. The touch was brief, mindful of how Spencer felt about physical contact, but it was enough to catch his attention.   

“Spence, stop,” you said softly, cutting through his anxious train of thought. His eyes met yours fully now, the worry in them clear as day.

“How about I ask Hotch if Derek can be in the bar too?” you suggested, your tone light, though you were serious. “As extra backup? Will that make you feel better?”   

He hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing the idea. Then, with a small exhale, he nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said, a faint, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips.   

“Good,” you said, grinning softly. “See? Problem solved.”   

Before you turned to leave, you gave his arm a light squeeze. “I’ll be fine, Spencer,” you said again.

He watched you walk away, his eyes following you as if to reassure himself. Though he didn’t say it aloud, the small, grateful smile on his face told you everything you needed to know. 

[sunshinesfreckless]

(Happy ?) Anniversary

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Idol!Felix x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, cursing, Felix says “fuck” like 7 times

Summary: Your busy boyfriend tends to forget important dates due to his schedule—but this time, it was the last straw for you.

A/N: Uhhh, very unrelated to the fic, but I want the fic requesters to know that I’m working on literally every fic you cuties requested. Please be patient—I hope you guys don’t have to wait too long. I’m doing my best hehe xx Ily all!

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

She had prepared the flowers hours ago. White roses, trimmed with trembling hands, arranged carefully in the vase he once said reminded him of his mother’s home. Everything had to look perfect. She fluffed the pillows on the couch twice. Then again. The candles on the table flickered gently, casting soft golden shadows across the walls — warm and delicate, like the evening she had imagined so many times.

She adjusted the straps of her silk dress once more and she’d worn her hair the way he liked, like she hadn’t tried too hard, though she had. God, she had.

From the kitchen came the scent of the food she had made. The stew simmered low, the rice was fluffy and warm, and the side dish was plated like she had watched in that cooking video over and over again. It was all ready. She just needed him.

She picked up her phone again, screen lighting up with her own reflection, expectant and bright.

Y/N: The food is almost done. I can’t wait to see you tonight.

She smiled to herself. There was a nervous flutter in her chest. Two years. They had made it through so much.

She sat down on the edge of the sofa, her hands folded neatly on her lap. Her eyes flicked to the door every few minutes. Then to the clock. Then to her phone again.

Still no read receipt.

She bit the inside of her cheek and typed again.

Y/N: Are you on your way?

A beat.

Then another.

She waited. The stew began to cool. The candles burned lower.

She waited.

Seconds melted into minutes, minutes into nearly an hour. She checked the app again. Still no reply. Still no sign of him reading anything. She opened his location once — just for a second — then quickly closed it. She hated doing that. She hated that she had to.

She stood and began to pace, heels softly clicking against the wooden floor. Maybe he was caught up in rehearsal. Maybe there was an emergency. Maybe the manager needed him. Maybe—

But she knew. Deep down, she always knew. He wasn’t coming.

She sat back down, slower this time. The candles had nearly burnt to the bottom. The flowers had begun to wilt at the edges — or maybe it was just her vision blurring. She wasn’t sure anymore.

The dress suddenly felt tight. Like a costume for a part she hadn’t been chosen for. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard again, but this time she couldn’t think of anything to write that didn’t sound like begging.

So she stayed still. Alone in the quiet room she had tried so hard to fill with love. The room smelled like food nobody would eat. Music still played low in the background, a playlist he had once made for her.

Two years.

And still, she had never felt more invisible.

Her thumb hovered over the call button, hesitation curling in her stomach like smoke. But she tapped it anyway.

Changbin picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Bunny,” he greeted cheerfully, completely unaware of the ache she was holding in her chest.

She forced a smile he couldn’t see. “Hi Binnie…” Her voice was soft, hesitant. “Is, um… is Felix with you?”

There was a brief pause on the other end as he pulled the phone away and called out to the others in the background. Muffled voices responded, then a rustle as he returned to the line.

“No, he’s not. I thought he was with you — didn’t we all clear out of the dorm just so you guys could celebrate tonight?”

Her cheeks flushed with shame, though there was no one in the room to see it. She glanced at the untouched food, the dying candles, the table she’d poured her heart into.

“Yeah… I thought so too,” she said quickly, trying to cover her disappointment. “Maybe he got caught in traffic or something.”

They said their goodbyes, and she hung up. The silence settled again like a heavy coat on her shoulders.

Just as she sat back down, trying to swallow the sting in her throat, the front door creaked open.

She heard a familiar sniff — the kind he always did when he came in from the cold. Then the soft sound of his boots on the wooden floor. He stepped into the apartment, cheeks flushed pink from the winter air, a black beanie pulled low over his blonde hair. His glasses slid a little down his nose as he looked up.

“Oh, hey,” he said casually, giving her a faint smile. “Smells good in here.”

Then he saw her eyes.

Swollen. Red. Quiet in a way that wasn’t like her.

His smile faltered instantly.

“Wait… are you okay, babe?” he asked, concern blooming on his face as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. His eyes darted around. “Where are the guys?”

Of course. He still didn’t realize.

She stood slowly, her hands clenched at her sides. Her voice came out so small it barely carried across the room.

“Do you know what day it is today?”

He blinked, confused. “Yeah, I had that fitting today. For Nicolas—”

She let out a short breath, almost a scoff. “No, Felix.” Her voice cracked a little. “I mean our day.”

It hit him then.

His gaze snapped to the table — the candles now half-burned, the cold food still untouched, the carefully arranged white roses she had picked just for tonight. His face paled.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, breath catching. He dropped his bag to the floor like it weighed a thousand pounds. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I… I completely—”

She stepped back when he moved toward her.

“Don’t, Felix.”

He stopped mid-step, heart in his throat. “Please, baby. I swear I didn’t mean to forget. Things got so hectic and—”

She shook her head, eyes shining again with unshed tears. And this time, she didn’t hide them.

She stood there, arms loosely wrapped around herself as if trying to hold something inside from spilling out. Her voice was low, almost hollow, when she said it.

“Yeah. Obviously… This isn’t the first time.”

Felix froze in front of her. His hand hovered mid-air, like he had meant to reach out and touch her, but her words stopped him cold. His face crumpled for a second — just a flicker — before he tried to pull himself together.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I know.” She gave a small laugh, sharp and tired. “You never mean to. That’s the thing, Lix. It’s never cruel. It’s never deliberate. But it still hurts the same.”

The air between them grew heavy, a silence so loud it pressed on both their chests.

He swallowed hard.

“I had the fitting, and then Chan called and we had to—”

“I’m not asking for excuses,” she cut him off, voice trembling. “I’m not even asking for much, Felix. Just to matter a little more than whatever the hell always comes first.”

He flinched at that.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered.

“Isn’t it?”

He looked at her then — really looked. And for a terrifying second, she saw it in his face: the anger, the frustration. Not at her, not really, but at the impossible reality of his life. The life she had once told him she understood. Did she really ?

“You knew what this was,” he finally said, voice low and raw. “You knew what it meant to be with me. The schedule. The travel. The pressure. I don’t get to forget fittings or rehearsals or appearances. If I let people down, I don’t just apologize and move on — I lose everything.”

She didn’t say anything. Just stared at him with wide, wet eyes, like he’d just broken something that had already been cracking for far too long.

“Yeah,” she whispered, “but what about me, Felix?”

He went still.

“What do I lose?” she asked. “I sit here waiting, I make the dinner, I light the candles, I put on a fucking dress I haven’t worn in a year, and you… you don’t even remember. You walk in like it’s Tuesday.”

He took a shaky breath. “Baby, please…”

She stepped back before he could reach for her. “Do you know how humiliating it is? Calling Changbin just to ask where you are? Hoping maybe you were in traffic — begging the universe for a traffic jam to cover for the fact that you just forgot me?”

Felix’s eyes were glassy now. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“You’re everything to me,” he said finally, quietly. “You know that, right?”

She looked at him — her voice so soft it nearly shattered him.

“Then why do I feel like nothing?”

“Don’t say shit like that,” Felix snapped, voice tight, eyes burning. “You know that’s not fair. That’s bullshit.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, glossed with unshed tears. But she didn’t flinch.

“Well your excuses are bullshit too,” she shot back, breath trembling. “You always have a reason, don’t you? Always something more important.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “What the fuck is your problem?” he growled. “It’s not an excuse—I’m sorry for being late, and I’m fucking sorry for forgetting our fucking anniversary, alright?”

She took a small step back. Not out of fear—but because the volume in his voice hurt more than she’d expected.

“We’ve talked about this!” he shouted, pacing now, his emotions spiraling faster than he could stop them. “So many goddamn times. You know how busy I am. We’re planning a whole comeback right now. I’ve barely slept in days, but I still came home. And now I’m the bad guy for being human? For slipping up once?”

She didn’t say anything. Her hands were starting to shake, but she curled them into fists to keep it hidden.

He scoffed bitterly, and when he looked at her again, something cruel slipped past the desperation.

“You are so fucking clingy, you know that?” he spat. “Always fucking needing something. Always fucking complaining when I can’t give you every second of my life. You should be grateful I even made it home tonight.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Her chest rose and fell unevenly, the sting of his words blooming into something sharp and cold in her lungs. He’d never yelled at her before. Not like this. Not with that look on his face, like she was just another burden.

She blinked fast, trying to keep her tears from falling, voice cracking as she whispered,

“…Well. I’m sorry, then.”

The front door creaked open.

The boys stepped inside, loud with laughter at first, but it died instantly when they saw her — standing still in the center of the room like she’d been hit by a truck. Her eyes were wet. Her shoulders drawn in tight, like she was trying to make herself small.

Felix grabbed his bag off the floor in one sharp movement.

Chan reached out instinctively. “Felix—”

But he shoved past him, jaw clenched, and stormed out without another word, the door slamming behind him.

Silence again.

Hyunjin stepped forward carefully. “What… happened?”

Chan looked at her with quiet alarm. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look up.

Just wiped her cheek roughly with the back of her hand, and with a voice small and tired beyond her years, she said,

“Suit yourselves. The food’s cold. You can heat it up.”

Then she turned and went upstairs, footsteps slow, dragging.

And when her door closed, she finally let herself break.

────୨ৎ────

Lee Know was halfway through a bowl of cereal, hoodie hood pulled halfway over his face, when the front door creaked open.

Felix stepped in, eyes tired, the beanie from last night still on his head.

“Morning,” his deep voice mumbled, scratchy from lack of sleep—or maybe from all the shouting.

Lee Know looked up from the kitchen counter.

“Where were you all night?”

Felix shrugged, trying to keep it casual. “Slept over at Wooyoung’s.”

A pause.

Lee Know set his spoon down slowly, expression unreadable.

“Well… your girlfriend’s gone.”

That made Felix freeze.

“What do you mean ‘gone’?”

Footsteps padded on the stairs behind him as Changbin came down, stretching.

“Good morning to you too,” he muttered sarcastically.

Chan came down next, already dressed and scrolling through his phone. He didn’t look up when he spoke.

“Where’s Y/N?” Felix asked, voice tight.

“Could ask you that,” Chan said flatly, opening the fridge and pulling out the orange juice.

There was no pity in their eyes. No sympathy for the wide-eyed confusion dawning on his face.

Felix dug into his pocket for his phone, unlocking it with fumbling fingers. He typed out a quick message.

Felix: Where did you go?

Felix: Baby please say something

Felix: I’m sorry.

Delivered. But no response.

His chest squeezed.

Last night had been a blur of anger and guilt, and he’d tried to bury both by disappearing into the safety of someone else’s couch and letting silence do the talking. But now that she was actually gone—really gone—it hit him like a truck.

He leaned on the kitchen counter, staring at his phone, jaw clenched.

“She left before sunrise,” Lee Know added, softer this time. “Didn’t even take breakfast.”

“Did you seriously not check on her before walking out?” Changbin’s voice held a quiet frustration now. “Not even a note? A text? After yelling at her like that?”

Felix didn’t answer.

Chan looked up finally, folding his arms. “You can’t just throw words like that at her and expect everything to be fine the next morning, Felix. You hurt her. Really hurt her.”

“She didn’t even cry when she said goodbye,” Lee Know added. “That’s how you know it was bad.”

Felix gripped the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles turned white.

“I know I fucked up,” he muttered.

“Then fix it,” Chan snapped, frustration bubbling over. “Unless you’re okay with losing her. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not,” Felix said, almost yelling. Then quieter, like he was trying to convince himself, “Of course not.”

He opened her chat again. Still no reply.

Then he tried calling her.

Straight to voicemail.

He stared at the screen, jaw clenching tighter, guilt curling in his stomach like poison. He couldn’t even blame her. The words he’d thrown at her—he could still hear them in his own voice. Clingy. Grateful I came home. As if she hadn’t waited hours, set a table, built a moment for them to celebrate them—only to be made to feel like a burden.

And now she was gone.

Really gone.

────୨ৎ────

Felix paced the living room like a storm trapped in a bottle.

“Guys, please just tell me where she is,” he begged for the fifth time, turning to Han, who sat cross-legged on the floor tuning a guitar but hadn’t strummed a single string.

“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” Han said without looking up. “She needs space, and you need to understand why.”

Felix ran a hand through his messy hair, breath shaky. His voice dropped into a quieter plea.

“I just want to say sorry. Really this time.”

Across the room, Lee Know was leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed, silent and brooding. His cereal was forgotten and soggy in the bowl beside him. He didn’t speak, just stared at the floor. He hadn’t touched his phone in a while either, and his usual apathy looked more like discomfort now.

Then, slowly, he pulled out his phone and unlocked it with a sigh.

Felix watched with wide eyes, frozen in place.

Lee Know didn’t meet his gaze. He just lifted the phone to his ear and waited.

It rang once. Twice.

And then—click.

“Hi, princess,” Lee Know said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching in a rare, gentle smile. “Where are you?”

Felix swallowed hard, heart hammering.

A pause.

“Mm… I see. With Ryujin?” He glanced up, eyes flickering to Felix.

Felix exhaled, slumping down onto the couch, his head falling into his hands, relief crashing through his chest like a wave. His voice cracked slightly:

“Thank God…”

Lee Know pressed the phone closer, lowering his voice. “You know he was worried about you, right? Wouldn’t sit down. Keeps asking for you like a lost puppy.”

There was a silence as she responded on the other end. Lee Know listened with a slight nod. Then, he murmured, “Yeah… he knows. He’s been beating himself up since sunrise.”

Felix lifted his head, searching Lee Know’s face for any hint of hope.

Another pause.

And then—click.

The call ended.

Lee Know let the phone fall to his side, then turned to Felix.

“She said she was gonna come by tonight. Just to pick up some clothes.”

Felix shot up straight. “She’s coming back?”

Lee Know gave him a warning look. “She thinks you’re not gonna be here.”

Felix stood up too quickly, pacing again. “This is my only chance, right?”

“It’s not a performance, Felix,” Lee Know said coolly. “Don’t do it because you’re panicking. Do it because you actually get it now.”

Chan walked in just then, arms crossed and gaze sharp.

“Did I hear that right?” he said. “She’s coming over?”

Felix nodded, eyes hopeful. “Tonight.”

Chan raised his brows and scoffed. “After what happened, I’m honestly surprised she even wants to walk into the same apartment again.”

“Hyung—”

“No. Shut up for a second.”

Chan’s tone dropped. Firm. Controlled. Not yelling—but somehow worse than that.

“Do you even understand why she left?” he said. “Do you know what it does to someone to make a space just for you—light candles, cook, set the table—just to be treated like she’s overreacting? Like she’s clingy for wanting one fucking evening with the person she loves?”

Felix lowered his head.

“You didn’t just forget the anniversary, Felix. You made her feel like she was a burden for caring. And that’s the shit that sticks. That’s what people remember when they think about whether they feel safe with someone or not.”

The room fell quiet.

Even Lee Know didn’t chime in.

Chan stared at him a beat longer before sighing and turning away.

“If she shows up tonight, don’t just say sorry. Show her you actually mean it.”

Felix stood there, chest rising and falling, the weight of Chan’s words heavy in his bones.

He looked at the couch where she used to curl up beside him, the kitchen where she’d probably stood hours decorating a table for a night he never showed up for.

His heart thudded like a warning.

Tonight would either make or break everything.

────୨ৎ────

She hadn’t even taken off her shoes.

The hallway felt too quiet when she stepped inside, her fingers still trembling around the key she’d almost dropped twice. It was dark, except for a faint amber light flickering from the living room. She’d told herself she’d just grab her things, maybe leave a note. Maybe cry in the car after. She didn’t expect him to be here.

But when she turned the corner, she froze.

There he was.

On the couch.

Waiting.

His hair was a mess, clothes wrinkled like he hadn’t changed in a day, and his eyes—God, his eyes looked ruined.

“Hi,” he whispered.

She stayed by the doorway, fingers tightening around the handle of the overnight bag she planned to fill. The room smelled like her favorite vanilla candle—he’d lit all of them. The table was set again, this time clumsy but clearly him. Two plates. A reheated attempt at the same meal she had made. A half-wilted flower placed carefully beside the napkin.

It was almost laughable.

But her chest ached too much to laugh.

“Minho said you weren’t home,” she said, quietly.

He stood up. Slowly. Like he was afraid she’d bolt if he moved too fast.

“I wasn’t supposed to be,” he said, voice hoarse. “But I… I couldn’t let you come back to silence.”

She looked away.

“Y/N,” he stepped closer, but didn’t reach out. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Her eyes flickered to him, glossy already. She didn’t want to cry again. She really didn’t.

“You yelled at me,” she said. Her voice shook, the words barely above a whisper. “You’ve never done that before.”

He inhaled sharply like her words had sliced him.

“I know.” His voice broke. “I know, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

She looked at him then—really looked. His eyes were red, like he hadn’t slept. His hands trembled at his sides, and his lips were parted like he was still trying to find the right words to make everything right.

But there weren’t any.

So she said the thing that had haunted her the most.

“You made me feel small. Like I was annoying for loving you too much.”

He pressed his hands against his face, dragging them down in frustration before stepping forward again.

“No—no, baby, please. I never meant that. I never meant any of it.” His voice cracked. “You love me in the most beautiful way. You make spaces warm. You make days matter. I was stressed, and tired, and stupid—but I should’ve never, ever taken it out on you.”

Silence.

Her throat burned.

“I don’t want to be scared of you, Lix,” she said, and this time her voice broke. “I was scared when you yelled. I—I didn’t know what to do. You’ve never made me feel like that before and it…” She couldn’t finish.

He rushed to her then, falling to his knees in front of her.

“I swear to you,” he whispered, clutching the hem of her coat. “That’ll never happen again. I swear on everything—I’ll spend every day making sure you never feel that way. Please… please don’t give up on me.”

His eyes were shimmering, his fingers trembling against the fabric. She could feel the heat of his skin even through the coat.

“I miss you,” he said, choking the words out. “I miss you like my lungs miss air.”

She stood there for a long moment, heart in her throat, the space between them thick with unsaid hurt and love and regret.

Then she knelt too.

And wrapped her arms around him.

He broke.

Right there in her arms, the boy who had always held her like she was breakable shattered like glass in her embrace. He clung to her, face buried in her shoulder, breath ragged with sobs he no longer tried to hide.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” he kept whispering.

She stroked his hair gently, tears finally falling.

“I know,” she whispered back. “Just… don’t ever let me feel alone like that again.”

His arms tightened around her.

“Never,” he swore. “Not even for a second.”

And in that fragile moment, on the floor of their shared apartment, they started to put the pieces back together.

He held her like the world would collapse if he let go. And maybe, for him, it would have.

Still kneeling on the floor with her curled into his chest, Felix pressed his lips to her temple, voice thick but steady now. “I’ll do better. I swear.”

She didn’t answer, but he could feel the way her hand tightened at the back of his hoodie.

“I never meant to make you feel like an afterthought. And missing our anniversary—God, that’s on me. All of it is. You planned everything so beautifully, and I just… I wasn’t there. And I should’ve been.”

Her cheek pressed into his collarbone. He kissed the top of her head.

“From now on,” he whispered, “you’re part of everything. Not just the parts I have time for. I’ll make time. You shouldn’t have to beg for it.”

His words sank into her slowly, like balm on a bruise. And for once, she could tell he wasn’t just saying it—he meant it. He meant every word.

────୨ৎ────

It started small.

The next morning, he took her hand and asked if she’d come with him to the studio. Not just to drop him off. Not just for a coffee run. But to stay. With him.

She curled up on the couch. Watched the way he got lost in the music. Smiled every time he threw her a wink or made a goofy face mid-recording just to make her laugh.

The boys didn’t question it. Not once.

In fact, they loved it.

“You here for emotional support or to make sure he doesn’t forget your birthday too?” Changbin teased, and she threw a pillow at him while Felix grinned like an idiot behind his laptop.

She helped Hyunjin organize props for their SKZ Talker behind-the-scenes vlog. Chan gave her the camera once and let her film a whole segment herself. Felix kept sneaking in frames to kiss her cheek, until Lee Know pushed him out of the way with a deadpan, “Let her work, she’s better than you at this.”

Felix took her to late-night practice, where she watched them run the same choreo until their shirts clung to their backs. She clapped louder than anyone.

“I don’t care how tired I am,” he whispered during water breaks, forehead resting against hers. “As long as you’re here.”

She sat beside him at brand meetings, picked out outfits with the stylists, got a backstage pass to his world—and not once did he make her feel like she was in the way.

He asked her opinion.

He held her hand.

He told every staff member who looked surprised to see her, “She’s staying. That’s my girl.”

And every night when they got home, he’d wrap his arms around her and murmur:

“Thank you for not giving up on me.”

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

@sapphirewaves @bemyaehiweloveskz @velvetmoonlght

[yuzujjn]

ʬʬ. ! I WISH I HATED YOU : PARK SUNGHOON ── 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗒, 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇

frat boy!sunghoon ੭୧ fem!reader ：（ 𝓯 ） 1OOOwc. ── partying, drinking, kissing, lots of bickering, slightly suggestive && ⠀ ｡｡ ARCHiVE ꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱

DANiELLE : happy sunghoon day ! also for my jenni bby (> <)

FRAT PARTIES WEREN'T YOUR THING. the sticky floors, the overwhelming smell of cheap cologne, stale beer, and bad decisions hanging in the air—none of it appealed to you. but chaewon had begged. your best friend had pleaded, promising it would be fun, and somehow, you’d caved.

what chaewon didn’t mention was that he would be here.

park sunghoon. resident frat golden boy, heartbreaker, and the bane of your existence.

you spotted him across the room almost immediately. he was impossible to miss, surrounded by a group of people laughing at whatever cocky thing he was saying. his dark hair fell perfectly into place, framing his annoyingly handsome face. he exuded that careless charm that made everyone fawn over him, and you hated how attractive he was.

as if sensing your glare, his gaze flicked to yours, and the smirk that tugged at his lips made your stomach twist in irritation.

you turned away quickly, pushing through the crowd to find the kitchen. maybe a drink would help.

but, of course, fate wasn’t on your side tonight.

“what are you doing here?”

the familiar, infuriating voice made you groan before you even turned around. there he was, leaning casually against the counter, holding a red solo cup like it was an accessory to his smirk.

“getting a drink,” you said flatly, reaching for the vodka. “is that a problem?”

“not at all.” he leaned closer, and his cologne—woodsy, expensive—clouded your senses. “just surprised you’re here. thought frat parties weren’t your scene.”

“they’re not.” you poured your drink and stepped away.

“then why come?”

“because chaewon begged me.”

he chuckled. “and here i thought you came to see me.”

you rolled your eyes, lifting your cup to your lips. “you really think everything’s about you, don’t you?”

“not everything.” he grinned, watching you with an irritatingly amused expression. “just most things.”

you opened your mouth to snap back, but chaewon appeared out of nowhere, grabbing your arm.

“there you are!” she beamed, blissfully ignoring sunghoon’s presence. “we’re playing seven minutes in heaven. come on!”

“no way.” you shook your head, already backing away.

“yes way!” she tugged on your arm. “it’ll be fun. stop being boring.”

before you could argue, chaewon dragged you toward the living room, where a circle had already formed around a bottle in the center.

“this is a bad idea,” you muttered, sitting reluctantly beside her.

chaewon grinned. “it’s just a game. what’s the worst that could happen?”

you didn’t have time to answer because sunghoon sauntered into the circle, taking a seat directly across from you. his smirk widened as his eyes met yours.

“great,” you muttered.

“you love having me around,” he teased.

“like a headache,” you shot back.

the bottle was spun. it clattered loudly against the hardwood floor, spinning so fast that the faces around it blurred. your heart pounded irrationally as it slowed—click, click, click—until it stopped.

pointing directly at you.

and sunghoon.

the room erupted into cheers and whistles.

“absolutely not,” you said, already standing.

“rules are rules!” chaewon said, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you back down.

before you could protest further, chaewon grinned devilishly and shoved you toward the nearest closet.

“chaewon, I swear—”

the door slammed shut behind you, cutting off your protest.

you turned around, and there he was, standing way too close for comfort in the dimly lit, cramped space.

“this is your fault,” you hissed, crossing your arms.

“mine?” sunghoon raised an eyebrow, amused. “you could’ve said no.”

“i did say no.”

he shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “well, we’re here now. might as well make the most of it.”

“you’re impossible.”

he stepped closer, and you backed up instinctively, your shoulders hitting the wall.

“relax,” he said, voice low, teasing. “what, you think I’m gonna try something?”

“you always try something.”

he smirked, taking another step forward. “only because it’s fun to watch you get all flustered.”

“i am not flustered,” you snapped, even though your heart was racing.

“sure you’re not.” his eyes flicked down to your lips, lingering just long enough to make your cheeks burn.

“don’t even think about it,” you warned.

“why not?” his voice was softer now, the teasing edge giving way to something heavier. “afraid you might like it?”

“you’re unbelievable.”

he chuckled, but his hands moved to the wall on either side of your head, caging you in. “say the word, and i’ll back off.”

your breath caught, heat prickling at the back of your neck.

you should tell him to back off. you should push him away. but instead, you grabbed his shirt, yanking him down to crash your lips against his.

the kiss was fiery, chaotic, and everything you hated to admit you’d wanted. his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

his fingers tightened slightly, thumb brushing the sliver of skin exposed by your top. it sent a shiver down your spine, and you hated how easily he unraveled you.

he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and his teeth grazed your bottom lip, making your knees weak.

you gasped softly, and he smirked against your mouth, the bastard.

“still hate me?” he murmured, voice low and breathless.

you shoved his chest—half to steady yourself, half because his smugness was unbearable. “yes. more than ever.”

he grinned, leaning down as if to kiss you again. “funny. didn’t feel like it.”

outside, the muffled sound of someone banging on the door broke the moment.

“time’s up!”

sunghoon groaned, his forehead pressing against yours for a beat before he pulled back, his hands lingering at your waist.

“guess we’ll have to finish this later,” he said, voice dripping with confidence.

you glared at him, cheeks burning, and shoved him again.

“dream on, park.”

but as you stepped out of the closet, chaewon’s knowing grin waiting for you, and the taste of his kiss still lingering on your lips, you couldn’t shake the sinking realization that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t hate him as much as you thought.

[josephandrewstarkey]

drew and reader have a toddler but they are broken up because reader thinks that drew and odessa are together. drew came to pick up the toddler and they start arguing over nothing because they miss each other so much.

ty for your request anon, i hope you like it!

second chances

warnings: slight angst

disclaimer: this is absolutely no shade/hate towards odessa, this is simply just for the plot <3

words: 1.036

❧ drew starkey x reader

The familiar sound of Drew’s car pulling up in the driveway sent a wave of tension through Y/N. She adjusted her grip on their toddler, Harper, who was happily babbling in her arms, blissfully unaware of the heavy silence that had settled between her parents for weeks.

It hadn’t been easy since the breakup. Y/N had thought she could handle it, but every time Drew came to pick up their daughter, the ache in her chest only grew deeper. It wasn’t just the end of their relationship that stung—it was the constant thought that he had moved on with Odessa. The rumors, the paparazzi photos, they all painted a picture that was too hard to ignore.

As Drew walked up the steps and knocked on the door, Y/N’s pulse quickened. She let out a slow breath and opened the door, greeted by the sight of him—his tousled hair, the familiar warmth in his eyes as he looked at Harper. For a moment, her heart faltered. Despite everything, seeing him still made her stomach flip.

“Hey,” Drew said softly, his eyes flicking to hers before focusing on Harper, who squealed with joy and reached out for him.

“Hi,” Y/N replied, handing their daughter over, careful to avoid letting their fingers touch. She couldn’t handle that right now.

Drew cradled Harper with ease, making her giggle as he kissed her cheek. For a moment, there was a pause, a heavy silence that neither of them knew how to fill.

“I’ve packed her bag,” Y/N said quickly, gesturing to the small backpack by the door. “Everything she’ll need for the weekend.”

Drew nodded, bouncing Harper slightly in his arms, though his gaze lingered on Y/N. “Thanks. I’ll have her back by Sunday night.”

Another stretch of silence filled the space between them, awkward and stifling. Y/N clenched her jaw, her mind swirling with all the things she wanted to say but couldn’t. She didn’t want to argue in front of Harper, but the frustration, the loneliness—it was all building inside her, begging to spill out.

And then it happened.

“So… how’s Odessa?” she asked, the words sharper than she intended, bitterness lacing her tone. She regretted it as soon as they left her lips, but the question hung in the air between them.

Drew’s brows furrowed, his hold on Harper tightening slightly. “What?”

Y/N crossed her arms defensively, her voice quieter now but still tense. “You two seem pretty close lately. The pictures... the rumors...”

Drew’s expression darkened, and he shifted Harper in his arms as she started to squirm. “Y/N, there’s nothing going on between me and Odessa. You know that.”

“Do I?” Y/N’s eyes flashed with hurt. “Because all I see is you spending more time with her than—”

“This again?” Drew interrupted, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re really going to bring this up every time I come here? You think I don’t miss you? Miss us?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the raw emotion in his voice catching her off guard. But she wasn’t ready to back down. “If you miss us so much, maybe you shouldn’t be cozying up to her in every photo.”

“I’m not cozying up to anyone,” Drew said, his voice rising slightly as he shifted Harper to his hip, trying to stay calm in front of their daughter. “I’m doing my job, Y/N. Odessa is a friend, and you know that. But you’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. “I made up my mind because you didn’t fight for us, Drew. You let us fall apart.”

Drew’s jaw clenched, his gaze softening as he saw the hurt written all over her face. “I didn’t want to lose you. I still don’t. But you keep pushing me away.”

“Because I can’t compete with her!” Y/N cried, her voice breaking. “I can’t compete with everything your world demands. It was always the two of us, and now... now it feels like I’m on the outside.”

Harper, sensing the tension, began to fuss, and Drew immediately began soothing her, rocking her gently. His eyes never left Y/N’s, though, filled with frustration, pain, and something else—something deeper.

“You’re not on the outside,” Drew said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re the one I love, Y/N. You’re the mother of my daughter, and you’re the only one I want. Odessa... she’s just a friend. That’s it.”

Y/N stared at him, her defenses crumbling as the weight of his words settled in. She wanted to believe him—God, she wanted to believe him so badly. But the pain of the last few months had built walls around her heart, and it wasn’t easy to just let them down.

“I miss you,” Drew whispered, his voice raw. “I miss us. This… this isn’t what I want. We’re a family, Y/N. I can’t keep doing this if we’re not going to at least try.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart aching as she looked at him, holding their daughter in his arms—their little family that felt so fractured. “I miss you too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know how to fix this, Drew. I don’t know how to trust that it’ll be different.”

Drew stepped closer, his free hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. She didn’t pull away. “We fix it by talking, by being honest. Not by pushing each other away. Please… let’s try. For Harper. For us.”

Tears slipped down Y/N’s cheeks as she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. She felt the weight of his words, the sincerity in them. Maybe they could try. Maybe they could find their way back to each other.

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, filled with hope and longing. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s try.”

Drew let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I love you, Y/N. That’s never changed.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, her heart finally beginning to mend.

And as Harper giggled between them, oblivious to the pain and healing happening around her, Y/N and Drew realized that maybe, just maybe, their family wasn’t broken after all.

[k1mbe3rly]

Haii I'm back with another request! Can you do sub!Thanos/Choi su bong (230)× f!dom!reader where she usually is the sub but when shes jealous shes a whole different person , maybe rough sex and not letting him cum?? Btw love the nam gyu post 👩‍🦲💕

hellooo and thank yewww😘🩷

Taking control

warnings; smut, rough sex, sub!thanos x f!dom reader, edging, slight slapping, slight mommy kink

You and thanos were LOWKEY secretly dating, he says it’s better for it to be private so people don’t come at you, which you pretty much didn’t mind, but the problem was he thought it was okay to go around flirting with girls but never taking anything further obviously, you’ve always gotten jealous about it but never did anything. you were both in the games since he got you both in debt, not sure how or what

During red light green light you noticed him going up to a girl, specifically Player 196. You couldn’t hear what he was saying so you got a bit closer, “i like..you!” he said pulling out a hand heart with a thumb and pointer finger and raising one eyebrow up and down, you rolled your eyes looking away.

After the game you noticed him walking with her (let’s pretend she didn’t die), you groaned and leaned back into the metal of the bunk beds “this fucking man whore..” you muttered as you watched them, you got up and walked to then quickly grabbing onto thanos, “Sorry..i have to talk to him really quick” you quickly dragged him asking the guards for the bathrooms.

you stormed into the bathrooms “woah what’s wrong baby girl-” he begin speaking “Ugh just shut the fuck up you slut!” you yelled out in frustration , “Do you take our relationship as a joke? do you even think of me as girlfriend?” you said to him “What? of course i do!” he said out, “i don’t even wanna hear you speak!” you said shoving him into a stall, locking the stall door and quickly taking off your jacket “Undress. Now!” you said harshly

He smirked and quickly begun taking off his sweats and boxers his cock already hard, “Fuck..you actual slut! do you do this on purpose? getting me jealous huh?” you said slipping off your sweats as well

“Well if your acting like this..than hell yea” he said looking at you up and down and sitting down on the closed toilet seat, you rolled your eyes a bit. “your so fucking annoying!” you said slapping him a bit, he let out a moan and bit his lip at you, which was annoying since he never took anything you did in sex serious

you placed your panties to the side and grind your pussy against his tip as he groaned a bit, “Fuckk yes..c’mon..sit on it baby, make me cum” he said grabbing your hips a bit, “What makes you think your able to cum after that huh? your so full yourself.” you said finally sinking down on his cock, he groaned out as his hands went to your ass, you quickly grabbed his hands “Don’t touch me. Who knows where your fucking hands been..” you said to him throwing his hands back to his side, thanos playfully rolled his eyes

you begin slowly riding him, he moaned out softly, “Fuck yes- you know maybe i should get you more jealous, i actually don’t mind this at all.” he said smirking, “Oh really? yea. We’ll see about that.” You said lifting your hips up, he looks at you in confusion “Get up” you said, as you stood up, he did as well as you shoved him on the ground to his knees, “I don’t think you deserve to be inside me. Maybe earn it?” you said gripping on his hair, He didn’t say anything at all as he quickly dived into your pussy, his tongue flicking and moving all around the right places as you moaned you, you shoved his face in deeper as he moaned into your cunt, eating you out, one hand gripping on your hip and the other going to his cock as he slowly begin jerking himself off

Soft slurping sounds and his groans filled the stall, you finally looked down as your orgasm was approaching, you shoved his head more into your pussy as he begin jerking off faster, you could tell he was about to cum “Stop. stop touching yourself” you said as he looks up, he slowly stopped but kept eating you out, his cock twitched in need to cum but it got denied, finally you cummed in his mouth as he quickly slurped and swallowed everything, he backed up panting “So..did i earn it?” he said. “Yea sure.” you replied back panting a bit as he quickly sat back on the toilet sit smirking, you could tell he was still full of himself which you were gonna change.

You hovered over his cock, and teased over him just grinding a bit, it didn’t take long for you to start sinking down and bouncing up and down, Thanos groans out as his eye rolled back at the sudden bounce, you bounced on him fast and hard, your ass grinding against his thighs as he bit his lip holding back moans, “fuck!” he yelled out already feeling his orgasm rising as his cocked twitched inside you, you kept going making sure you grinded down once you reached his thighs “O-oh fuckk~! im gonna cum!~” he moaned throwing his head back, you quickly lifted yourself up, denying orgasm, you reached over pinching his tip as he winced out a bit, “The hell? i was about to cum?” he said looking at you in a bit of annoyance, “It’s funny how you think your able to cum after what you just did” you said simply

He sighed and turned his around and side eyeing you a bit “I’m sorry okay? just let me cum, i’ve been needing this since we got into this hell hole.” he muttered out, you sticked out your bottom lip a bit “Aw..poor baby.. you need to cum?” you said in a bit of a baby voice, he quickly nodded “Yes! yes i need too mommy!” He said hoping the nickname would make you feel a bit better, you smirked a bit as you kissed his jawline down to his neck, “M’kay.. let’s see what we can do..”, you than sinked yourself back on his cock, with a quick moan and a small whine he had let out, your tits bounced in your shirt as Thanos eyes were stuck on them following every movement, you bounced harshly and fast his dick hitting your g-spot as i begin moaning as well, “fuckk mommy! so close to cumming!~” you moaned out throwing his head back again, sweat covered his face a bit, his purple hair sticking to his forehead, you felt your orgasm rising again, as you bounced as hard as you can, Thanos moved his hands to your tits softly gripping them, you immediately cummed on his cock as he felt your juices trickling down, his cock twitched “Fuck- fuck!~ i’m cumming!!~” he moaned our but before he was able to actually cum you got up removing your warm insides from his cock, he whined out “Mommy-! i was so close! baby fuck..” he groaned out

“Mm..sorry but bad boys don’t cum” you said giving him a kiss on the cheeks “Baby.. please? you can just do this!” he said, “If you need to cum so bad just do it yourself, you have a hand, see you out there?” you said getting up and pulling back your sweats up, you walked out the stall but before you left the bathroom you heard Thanos yell out “I said i was sorry mommy!” he said with a bit of hope you would come back but leaving him sitting there sexually fustrated, he huffed out already planning something to get back at you.

[thesecondhandwoman]

Going off of the injured Ambessa ask, could you do something where the reader is injured. But their a soldier so it’s really bad and their trying to play it off but Ambessa can tell it’s bad. (Maybe throw in a little hidden injury and “who did this to you?)

if your not up for it I completely understand

-🧚

HIDDEN INJURIES

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: You were one of Ambessa’s Noxian soldiers, and the favorite one of them all. However, when you got injured and struggled to hide it, you thought that might title change.

Request: Anon 🤍

The night air was thick with the scent of Noxus and its empire, the distant hum of a city brimming with life. Meanwhile, you did not feel the same life that the other people shared.

You leaned against the stone wall of the barracks, doing your best to steady yourself, breathe shallow, heart hammering beneath your ribs. Your fingers lingered over the bandage, already stained with the remnants of blood that had dried too quickly. The injury was deeper than you’d let on, an ugly gash that cut across your lower abdomen after a clash with a particularly vicious opponent. You’d tended to it as best as you could, but it wasn’t enough. It never was.

The last few days had been a blur of dull pain and the stubbornness that coursed through your veins, a soldier’s pride that insisted you didn’t need help. You knew what Ambessa expected of you, what she needed you to be: strong, steady, and reliable.

You were her pet, her favored soldier, and above all, you couldn’t let that slip away dimpling because she sees your weakness. Not now. Not ever.

But that was growing harder to do.

With a grimace, you pushed off the wall and staggered back into the fortress, your movements stiff and slow, each step a reminder of how much the injury had begun to rot beneath the surface. You’d tried to hide it, kept it covered up, but something had gone wrong. The infection was spreading now, a subtle ache in your bones, a fever that coursed through your veins, making your body feel like it was being consumed by fire.

You hadn’t been able to hide it from Ambessa for long.

She was waiting for you in her chambers, reclining on a plush chaise, the shadows of candlelight casting an amber glow over her striking features. Her eyes, those fierce golden orbs, flicked up when you entered, and for a brief moment, the sharpness softened.

“Come here,” she beckoned with a subtle wave of her hand, her voice like velvet. She knew something was off, something subtle in the way you moved, the way you tried to stand straighter than you could, the way you winced when your side brushed the doorframe.

You swallowed hard, but obediently stepped toward her.

Ambessa’s eyes narrowed slightly, always keen to the smallest detail. She was no stranger to seeing soldiers in various states of pain. You weren’t the first one she’d taken an interest in, though you were the only one who seemed to matter to her in such a way. Her gaze lingered on you with concern, but her lips curled into a smirk as if to mask the worry creeping in. She raised an eyebrow, studying you, her gaze unwavering.

“Are you sure you’re well?” she asked, the softness of her voice belying the tension that was steadily rising in the room.

You hesitated, your chest tightening at the thought of her disappointment. “I’m fine, truly. It’s just a scratch,” you lied, the words tasting sour on your tongue.

She didn’t believe you for a second. Her eyes softened as she stood up and walked toward you, her footsteps like whispers on the stone floor. As she approached, you could feel her presence like a tangible thing, comforting yet demanding, a force to be reckoned with.

Without warning, her hand came to rest gently on your shoulder. You tensed, a sharp breath catching in your throat. She could feel the heat radiating off of you, could sense the trembling beneath your skin.

“You’ve been hiding something from me,” she murmured, her voice a low, soothing hum. Her thumb stroked lightly over the muscle of your shoulder, sending a shiver through your body. “I could hear it in your voice. Practically feel it radiating off of you.”

You bit the inside of your lip, trying not to show the frustration and guilt that bubbled up. “It’s nothing,” you said, forcing the words to sound as normal as you could. “I’ll recover. No need to—”

“Let me see it,” she interrupted, her voice no longer a request but an order.

Your eyes darted down, and for a moment, you felt a surge of panic. You knew she could be patient, but when she wanted something, she didn’t let it go. Slowly, you reached for the sides of your tunic, fingers fumbling for the fabric that hid the injury.

Ambessa didn’t speak, only stood quietly, watching you with those steady, unwavering eyes as you pulled the fabric up. When you turned slightly to expose the injury on your side, she took in the sight of the angry, red, infected wound with a sharp intake of breath.

“Gods, how long has this been festering?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous now, the tenderness gone. Her fingers ghosted over the edge of the injury, and you flinched, unable to keep the hiss of pain from escaping.

You tried to hide it, tried to play it off as you always did. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be fine.”

Ambessa’s gaze turned hard, and for the first time in days, you saw the faint flicker of worry behind her gaze. Her hand was soft on your skin, but the concern in her eyes was sharp, like a blade waiting to cut through your excuses.

“Don’t lie to me,” she whispered, her fingers now tracing the ugly colored skin around the wound that was farther from the edges, careful but firm. “You should have come to me sooner. You’re not as invincible as you force yourself to be.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and for a moment, you let the facade slip. The pain, the fatigue, the overwhelming sense of failure—it all came crashing down. But Ambessa didn’t let you fall. She stepped closer, her presence grounding you, like she always did when you needed her most.

“You’ll need help, this wound is far too infected,” she said, her tone brokering no argument. “Meaning you will rest for some time and take a break from your duties for me, hm?”

You were too tired to argue. Too tired to fight against the kindness you didn’t deserve. Slowly, you nodded, letting her help you remove the rest of your tunic. She gently pressed you back onto the bed, her hands so soft, yet somehow so strong. You felt her steady gaze on you as she began to clean the wound, carefully, expertly, removing the infected tissue with practiced hands.

Her voice, as soft as a lullaby, hummed in your ear. “I don’t want to hear about you being ‘fine’ again. You’re mine now, and when you’re mine, I take care of what’s mine. Understood?”

Her fingers were gentle, the motions slow and deliberate, as if every action was designed to keep you grounded. Despite the pain of her tending to the injury, you felt your body relax into her touch, the feverish burn inside of you easing just a little.

“Yes, I understand,” you whispered, your voice a fragile thing.

“Good.” Her voice was low and approving as she finished cleaning the wound and began bandaging it with care. “Now, rest. I’ll stay with you until you’re better, little one.”

You closed your eyes, the weight of exhaustion pulling you down, but her presence kept you tethered, warm and solid. For the first time in days, you let yourself fall into that comfort, that fragile space between pain and safety.

As she finished tending to you, her fingers lingering on your skin with a soft caress, you could hear the faintest smile in her voice.

“Let me take care of you now,” Ambessa murmured, her voice a soft promise. “No more pretending. Not here.”

And for the first time in days, you let yourself believe that perhaps, just perhaps, you didn’t have to be the soldier anymore. Not in her presence. Not when you were with her.

A/N: Sorry that this is so short, I tried to expand it and it just turned into an absolute mess. So I shortened it down just to realize how much I shortened it. But either way, I hope that you liked it and it was okay (if not, I’ll definitely give it another shot)

[sapphicandgraphic]

Sick As A Dog—Chapter 2

Summary: You’re a dog walker. When your favorite clients notice you’re not feeling well, they insist on taking care of you.

Chapter: 2/? In which the healing properties of bubble baths and movie nights are intimately explored!

Warnings: Mostly still fluff and sick!fic hurt/comfort with a couple moments of explicit sexual tension and mutual longing thrown in. Also some allusions to parental loss, family drama, runaway experiences. Reader struggles with accepting help, relying on others.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting and getting in touch to request the next chapter! I worked really hard to turn this around ASAP, and I’m planning to continue this story since it’s striking a chord with people. If you want to show me some love, please subscribe to my Patreon channel — you can vote on what happens next, and get early access to future chapter updates!

Natasha placed her hand at the small of your back, guiding you into the bathroom. Immediately the bright, invigorating smell of eucalyptus and citrus filled your lungs. Tendrils of steam curled up from the hot bath she’d drawn, the humidity soothing your scratchy throat. Even your headache seemed to diminish slightly.

Natasha turned and busied herself at a linen drawer near the sink, retrieving a fresh wash cloth and towel. You eyed the massive freestanding tub longingly. The other woman had already added a generous amount of soap, and there was a thick layer of bubbles. You quickly shimmied out of your bra and boxers, then slipped into the water. The relief was instant, overwhelming.

“Fuck me,” you moaned, sinking down into the warmth.

Natasha dropped the washcloth she was holding, her mouth going dry at the raw, wrecked sound of your voice.

“Uh, I should call ‘Lena,” she stammered, backpedaling away from the sink with none of her usual catlike grace. “Let her know you’re here.”

“Kay,” you said, eyelids heavy. You didn’t notice the pink tint in her cheeks, the way she hurried out of the bathroom. The only thing you cared about was the awful chill in your bones retreating inch by inch, your tense muscles relaxing.

Natasha stepped out into the bedroom and ran a hand over her flushed face. Get it together, Romanoff.

She had just dialed Yelena when Wanda walked in. She was holding a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of ice water. Her dark eyes scanned the room instantly, looking for you.

“Where’s our little wolf?”

Nat pointed toward the bathroom.

“Is she behaving?” Wanda asked, kissing her wife on the cheek. Then she lowered her voice, threading a hand through Nat’s hair and tugging softly. “Are you?”

Natasha barely suppressed a groan just as the line stopped ringing. “H-Hey, it’s me! What? I don’t sound weird. You sound weird.”

Nat glared at Wanda, who just laughed and knocked softly on the bathroom door before stepping inside.

She expected to find you lounging in the tub, but you were nowhere to be seen. The surface of the bathwater was still, ominous. She called your name, moving quickly across the room. In an instant, her hands were outstretched, ready to plunge into the water. But then your head resurfaced. You flicked your hair out of your eyes, surprised to see Wanda standing so close.

“What?” You coughed.

A small crown of bubbles adorned your wet hair. Water trailed down your smooth skin in rivulets, gathering between your lips. Your pink tongue darted out, licking the beads away, and Wanda felt her heart flutter at the sight.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head slightly.

“You thought I drowned in a bathtub,” you accused, feeling a twinge of exasperation in your foggy brain.

Wanda twisted her mouth to one side, like she was trying not to laugh. “Maybe,” she admitted.

“Y’know,” you said, petulance creeping into your voice. “This ‘little wolf’ managed to survive for the past 24 years without anyone’s help.”

Your headstrong claim was slightly undermined by the mountain of suds around you. A rubber ducky wouldn’t have been out of place. But Wanda kept this particular observation to herself.

“So,” she said instead. “You heard that.”

“I’m delirious, not deaf.” You eyed her curiously. “Why little wolf?”

She knelt beside the tub, leaning against the ceramic edge. “First, take these,” she instructed, depositing a couple of pills into your hand. “They should reduce your fever and help with the ache in your muscles.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “How did you know…”

Wanda just smiled that mysterious smile of hers. You accepted the medicine gratefully and took a drink of cool water.

”I can’t remember how it started exactly,” Wanda murmured. “I suppose it’s because when we first met you…you seemed a bit of a loner.”

You ducked your head, considering this assessment. You tended to keep your guard up around new people. Not unfriendly…just careful.

“Wolves are actually pack animals, you know?” Wanda continued, reaching out to grip your chin, drawing your attention back to her. “They need each other to survive.”

She held your gaze for a long moment. You felt a funny ache in your chest that had nothing to do with your fever. Something warm and tender was rising up, something long dormant. The way Wanda was watching you—so patient, like your trust was something worth waiting for—made your heart flicker with hope, longing.

Before you could think of what to say, Natasha came back in the room. She waggled her cell phone. “Yelena wants to talk to you directly,” she said, perching on the edge of the tub beside her wife. “Claims she needs proof of life.”

Wanda stood up, drying her hands on a towel.

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” she announced, ghosting a hand over Natasha’s bicep. “You’re on lifeguard duty.”

Her wife winked at her, then handed you the phone.

“Hello?” You braced for Yelena’s usual tirade.

“So it’s true,” she said. “You’re shacking up with my sisters.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a blush. “They kidnapped me, alright?”

Yelena laughed. “That’s not what I heard.”

You glared as Yelena recited her sister’s version of events. “I didn’t faint,” you hissed, flicking water at Natasha. “Stop telling people that. I just…lost my balance or something.”

“You don’t remember, because you were unconscious, because you fainted.” Yelena’s flat voice rumbled through the phone speaker, sounding far too smug.

“Whatever,” you sighed. “The point is, I’m fine now. Just waiting for the storm to pass.”

“Do me a favor,” Yelena said, exasperated. “Just let them spoil you for a bit, okay? Enjoy the high thread count and the gourmet food. It’s one of the only real perks to being in this cuckoo crazy family.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, a silly smile worked its way across your face as you processed her words: being in this family. Something about that phrase felt so good, so right.

“This bubble bath is really nice,” you finally muttered, realizing the silence had stretched on a beat too long.

“Bubble bath?” Yelena repeated. “Are you in the big tub? Come on, Nat never lets me use the big tub!”

You winced, handing the phone back to Natasha. “I may have said too much.”

The older woman held the phone away from her head. “You’re breaking up, ‘Lena! We’ll call you later! Gotta go.”

Nat ended the call and sank down beside the tub, running her fingers through the warm water to check the temp. Then she reached out, playing with a strand of your hair, gently twirling it around her pointer finger.

“Want some help with this?” She asked.

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, slowly, brain catching up to her words.

“Sure,” you said.

Natasha leaned over, grabbing a shampoo bottle and lathering a dollop between her hands.

“Sit up,” she instructed.

You complied, giving her better access. Nat gathered your hair to one side and began massaging the base of your scalp. Your eyes slipped closed and you sighed as her fingers threaded through your hair. Nat swallowed. From this angle, she couldn’t help admiring your broad shoulders. Then she glanced lower, where the swell of your breasts was just visible above the bubbles.

The older woman cleared her throat. She cast around for a conversation starter.

“Where did you grow up?”

You didn’t open your eyes, and for a moment Natasha wondered if you had drifted off. Then finally you answered.

“Middle of nowhere.”

A non-answer. Natasha followed your lead and didn’t press. A few more seconds passed in silence before she tried a different approach.

“What brought you to New York?”

You laughed, a humorless hollow sound that made Natasha’s skin prickle with alarm. “I came here to disappear.”

She stilled, processing your quiet confession. Something about the statement rang piercingly true, and she got the immediate impression that you hadn’t meant to say it at all. Her suspicion was confirmed when your eyes snapped open a second later.

“Sorry,” you said. “Fevers make me talk too much.”

But it was more than that. Something about the warm bath water and Natasha’s patient expression made you feel safe enough to keep talking.

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

You gathered a few bubbles between your hands, playing idly with the suds.

“I watched a lot of movies when I was a kid,” you said. “All the characters were always running off to New York. The place where anything could happen. You could get a fresh start, reinvent yourself. So when I was sixteen I bought a bus ticket and never looked back.“

Natasha’s hand stilled.

“Sixteen? How did your parents feel about that?”

“No idea,” you sighed, eyes slipping shut again. “My mom died when I was born, and my dad...”

Blamed me. Hated me. Couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me. You swallowed, fighting not to be dragged back into memories you had worked so hard to forget. Natasha’s hand slipped down, gripping your shoulders and massaging you gently, like she could sense your turmoil. You groaned in appreciation as she kneaded the tender muscles carefully.

“He wasn’t around a lot,” you finished. Natasha could sense there was more to the story.

“That must have been hard,” she murmured.

“Nahhhhhh.” Your objection elongated into a moan of pleasure as she hit a sensitive spot. “I liked the freedom. No one to answer to.”

Natasha could just picture you at sixteen, arriving in Port Authority with nothing but a duffel bag and a desire to prove everyone wrong. Clearly you were street smart, resourceful. But the city could be a hard, unforgiving place for runaways. She felt a sudden irrational wave of panic for that young girl. Who would notice if she got hurt, got lost along the way?

Natasha shook her head, told herself she was being silly. After all, you were right here. Safe and sound. All grown up. Still, she wished she could somehow reach back in time and protect you.

Natasha rinsed your hair, careful to avoid getting soap in your eyes. Then she started massaging conditioner into your scalp. You leaned into her touch.

“Feels so good.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper. “Thanks, Nat.”

Natasha smiled, still focused on her task but hanging on your every word.

“You’re very welcome,” she said. “Little wolf.”

When your hair was finally clean and detangled, Natasha stood and brought you a towel, a white fluffy robe.

“Dry off,” she said. “I’ll find you some fresh clothes.”

She disappeared into the bedroom as you reluctantly climbed out of the tub. Your skin was soft and warm from the hot water. Almost immediately, you started shivering again. You toweled off quickly and pulled the robe on, luxuriating in the soft fabric.

The late afternoon sky had darkened with even more storm clouds, and the bedroom was bathed in soft amber lamp light when you joined Natasha. You looked around properly for the first time. A king-size mattress dominated the center of the room, but there was also a lounging sofa tucked beneath an enormous bay window on the far wall beside a book case.

It wasn’t until Natasha emerged from the walk-in closet carrying black cashmere joggers and a matching hoodie that it clicked. You weren’t standing in a guest room, as you had originally assumed, but in their bedroom. Where they slept. Where they…

An image suddenly flashed through your mind, of Natasha between Wanda’s legs, worshipping the other woman with her mouth, her fingers, her tongue. Wanda’s head thrown back, face slack with pleasure, auburn hair fanned out across the pillow. You tried to ignore the flare of heat in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” You blinked, realizing Natasha had just said something.

She gave you a worried look.

“I said, you’re a little taller than Wanda, but I think these should work.”

Natasha hung your towel and robe up in the bathroom while you got dressed. The clothes were a perfect fit, extremely soft against your tender skin. Plus, they smelled like Wanda’s perfume. Sandalwood and bergamot.

“Ready?”

Nat wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you downstairs. You would normally have shrugged her off, but as soon as you hit the landing, a wave of exhaustion jackknifed through your body. It was actually a little frightening to feel so weak, and you clung to her arm.

“We should take your temperature,” Nat said, feeling the unnatural heat of your fever still rolling off your back.

“Kay,” you said, leaning against her more heavily with every step. She deposited you carefully in a chair at the dining room table.

“I think there’s a thermometer in the medicine cabinet,” she said. “You’ll be ok for a second?”

You laughed despite the pain in your throat. But the look in her eyes was so sincere you couldn’t bring yourself to tease her. “Yeah, Nat,” you said. “I’ll be ok.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. She pointed a finger at you. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You leaned forward, closing your tired eyes. “I wound’t make it very far.”

Natasha ducked into the hallway.

“Wands?” She called, rummaging in a closet. “Where’s that thermometer?”

The other woman appeared a few moments later, insinuating herself into the search. “Let me,” she said. “You set the table and serve dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nat purred, smacking her wife on the ass as she walked away.

Wanda found the thermometer and made a beeline for the dining room. You were hunched on the table, head bowed slightly, eyes pinched together. She frowned, and immediately dimmed the overhead lights.

You blinked, looking up at her gratefully. “Thanks.”

Wanda didn’t say anything, just watched you with those owlish eyes—like she could peer into your soul. She pushed the damp hair off your forehead. You gravitated toward her feather light touch, feeling your stomach flip pleasantly at having her undivided attention.

“Open,” she said.

Your lips parted automatically and she placed the thermometer in your mouth.

“Good girl.”

For a second you stared up at her, dumbstruck by how beautiful she was. The kind of beauty that armies went to war for. The kind of beauty that heroes and gods braved the underworld for. And here she was, absently playing with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck, like she had nothing better to do.

Natasha appeared a few moments later, breaking your feverish reverie. Guilt and shame instantly gathered in your chest. They were married. You had no right to be pining like a puppy dog at their table, looking for scraps of affection.

“Dinner is served,” Nat said with a smile.

A wonderful aroma—salty, savory—drifted into the room with her. The large serving dish in her hands was steaming slightly. She set it down and began ladling the hearty stew into bowls. Then she carved a loaf of bread into slices.

The thermometer beeped and Wanda withdrew it from your mouth. “101.4,” she said with a frown.

Natasha sat down across the table. “I think we should call him.”

You picked up your spoon, stomach growling. “Call who?”

“Careful, sweetheart,” Wanda cautioned as she took the seat directly beside you. “It’s hot.”

You blew on the spoonful of stew dutifully, looking to Wanda for approval. She nodded and you took a bite.

The broth was rich and flavorful with a little undercurrent of spice. You tasted carrots, peas, celery, chicken, and some type of noodle. It instantly soothed your scratchy throat, spreading warmth through your chest.

“Strange?” Wanda asked, tucking into her own food.

Natasha nodded, tearing her bread into pieces and dunking one in her own bowl.

“What’s strange?” You asked in between bites.

Wanda chuckled. “Not a what, a who.”

You furrowed your brow. Sometimes it felt like these women spoke their own secret language.

“I’ll see if he has any availability tomorrow,” Natasha said, reaching for her phone. Before she could send the email, a weather alert illuminated the screen. “Whoa, flash flood warning for lower Manhattan.”

As if on cue, a clap of thunder rolled overhead. “Guess you’re staying here tonight.”

You felt your stomach tighten anxiously.

“No, I should go,” you said, reluctantly pushing back your unfinished bowl of food as your appetite failed. “I’ve taken up enough of your Friday night.”

Wanda leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of wine as she regarded you with a thoughtful gaze. For the first time, it occurred to her that maybe she and Nat had read this whole situation completely wrong. “Do we make you uncomfortable, little wolf?”

Her tone was quiet, curious.

“What?” You nearly choked on your water. “No, of course not! You’ve been so generous, made me feel so….”

Wanted. Loved. Safe. You clasped your hands in your lap, afraid you’d say something you might regret, and you missed the look that passed between Wanda and Nat.

“I just don’t want to overstay my welcome,” you said shakily, trying to reign in your emotions.

Wanda reached out, tracing a finger along your jawline until you raised your head and met her gaze. “That would be impossible,” she said firmly. “Do you understand?”

Her gray, piercing eyes seemed to pin you to the chair. You swallowed, wanting to believe her.

“I don’t understand,” you admitted quietly, because that was the truth. No one had ever offered to take care of you like this, unconditionally. “But I believe you.”

Nat’s lips quirked into a hopeful grin. “So you’ll stay?”

You nodded.

Wanda tucked your hair behind your ear, clearly pleased. “Good,” she said. “Now, do you think you can finish your dinner?“

You glanced at the half-eaten bowl uncertainly. Your hunger had vanished.

“Stomach kinda hurts,” you said. “Sorry.”

Wanda looked torn. On the one hand, she guessed (correctly) that you hadn’t been eating enough lately. But she also didn’t want to pressure you.

“Just a couple more bites,” she encouraged. “You need your strength, milaya.”

When you didn’t move, she picked up your spoon and scooted her chair closer to yours. “For me?”

You couldn’t deny her anything when she asked so sweetly. “You don’t play fair,” you groused.

Wanda laughed. “Is that a yes?”

You nodded, and she brought the first bite to your lips. Letting her feed you should have been humiliating. But pride required energy, and you had precious little of that.

Wanda smiled. Getting to baby someone who was usually so self-reliant was a special privilege, one she didn’t take lightly. Especially considering she didn’t know when you might indulge her like this again.

Natasha watched you both from across the table. There were dozens of things she loved about Wanda. But it was this—her ability to be firm and gentle in the same breath—that always left her speechless. It was like a superpower.

Wanda wiped the corner of your mouth with her finger. You scrunched up your face at Nat, trying to look threatening. “Not a word to Yelena,” you managed hoarsely.

Natasha grinned. “Our secret,” she said. “Scout’s honor.”

When Wanda was satisfied you’d eaten enough, she sat back and sipped the last of her wine. The sound of rain on the roof created a pleasant white noise. Your throat was a little less scratchy and your headache had receded. Maybe the meds had finally kicked in. The delirious fever feeling was still there, making your emotions spike and dip in unpredictable patterns. But with a full belly and a warm bed waiting upstairs, you felt a deep sense of calm and safety descend over you.

Natasha checked her watch.

“It’s still early. Why don’t you two go get comfy on the couch?” She stood up to clear the plates. “I’ll clean the kitchen and then we can…watch a movie?”

Wanda hummed noncommittally, looking at you. “I don’t know,” she hedged. “Someone looks pretty sleepy.”

“Not sleepy,” you insisted. “Wanna watch a movie.”

Natasha could tell you wouldn’t last long, but she wasn’t ready to let you out of her sight. She looked at Wanda. “Please?”

“Only if I get to pick the movie.” Wanda arched a playful eyebrow at her wife.

Natasha rocked back on her heels, considering. “Deal.”

The sofa was big and obscenely comfortable. You sank into the middle section, cushioned by several pillows. Wanda tucked a blanket around you, scolding Oscar when he leapt up and laid across your body protectively.

“He doesn’t know he’s not a lap dog,” she said, shooing him away.

“I don’t mind,” you laughed, scratching his ear.

“I know you don’t mind,” Wanda said. “But he’s not the only one who wants a cuddle.”

“Well in that case,“ you said, heart leaping at the chance to cuddle and be cuddled by Wanda Maximoff. “Get lost, Oscar.”

You gave the dog a gentle shove. He turned and licked your hand once, then moved to the far corner of the sofa and curled up in a ball.

Wanda sat down, pressing her body close against you. She fiddled with the remote, tracing her hand up and down your arm absently. The feeling of her fingertips gave you goosebumps.

“What do you like?” Her words hung in the air, open-ended. She could be talking about movies. Something told you she wasn’t.

“Whatever you like,” you replied instantly. The answer worked for either question.

Wanda’s gaze flickered to you, her smile shifting ever so slightly from fond to flirtatious. “Is that right?”

You nodded, not sure you could formulate words with the full force of her gaze leveled at you. Your faces were just inches apart, so close that you could feel her warm breath on your neck.

She looked away first. It felt like a pause, not an end, to your conversation. Wanda shifted, placing one hand on your upper thigh and giving you a gentle squeeze. You relaxed against her, letting your head fall onto her shoulder.

She scrolled through different movie titles until you saw Dirty Dancing and pointed. “Please? It’s one of my favorites.”

“Excellent choice,” Natasha said, entering the room balancing two mugs of tea and a big bowl of popcorn. “Nobody puts baby in a corner!”

Wanda wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Who is putting babies in corners?”

“Wait,” Nat said, grabbing a handful of popcorn and wedging herself in on the other side of you. Her warmth made you shiver pleasantly. “Have you never seen Dirty Dancing? How did I let this happen?”

Nat lifted the edge of the blanket, pulling it over her own legs as well. “I made you a special tonic, little wolf,” she murmured with a wink. “Honey, lemon, ginger, and a dash of cayenne pepper.”

You curled your fingers around the mug, taking a sip. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Course,” she said. “Now, are you comfortable? Need any extra pillows? Blankets?”

“No,” you laughed, burrowing against her side. “I’ve got the perfect pillow.”

Natasha smiled, settling her arm around your shoulders. She caught her wife’s eyes over your head, blew her a quick kiss. “Perfect Friday night right here.”

Wanda rolled her eyes at the other woman affectionately. “You’re such a softie,” she teased.

“Just press play, woman!” Natasha barked.

You could feel your eyelids drooping before the title credits even finished, but that didn’t bother you. You’d seen Dirty Dancing about a hundred times. The last thing you heard was the rumble of Natasha’s soft laugh as she explained the Borscht Belt to Wanda.

“Yeah, baby, like the soup,” she said.

You fell asleep with a smile still on your lips.

——————

Taglist: @lizziescutiepie @lizzieslover129 @tvseries-writings @natascharomanoff21 @boowhobabe (If you want to be added for future chapters, just leave a comment!)

[st7rnioioss]

could you maybe write a little fic about brothersbsf!matt looking in sweetheart!reader's diary and seeing what she wrote about him!!

(idk if i got the au name things right!)

❛❛DEAR DIARY❜❜

⋆ ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... sweetheart!reader x brothers bsf!matt

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... matt sneaks into sweetheart!readers room, expecting to find her, but to his surprise, she's not home. but something catches his eye immediately--her diary. part two here

warnings... most suggestive stuff is all fiction!!! (literally lol), mentions of fingering, mentions of unprotected sex, mentions of kissing, implied masturbation (m)

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ the door to your room twisted open, the faint and high pitched creaking filling the empty room. you weren’t in there, the room was pitch black, and almost cold from the absence of your presence.

confusion settled in matt’s chest. huh? he’d snook away from your brother, telling him he just really quickly had to use the bathroom, but you weren’t there. he stepped inside when the confusion was replaced with curiosity, flicking on your bedside lamp to see where he was walking.

your room was pretty, but eerie when you weren’t there. matt’s eyes trailed over your decoration—the small trinkets, your bedsheets, the few posters you had up. god, it just screamed you. he chuckled to himself, his gaze finally landing upon the pretty little diary you always kept close to yourself.

oh, he knew it was wrong, very wrong. he didn’t have any sisters, but a diary was like.. a girl thing. but he took seat on the edge of your bed, your diary playing flat in his lap.

matt thought about it for a second, awkwardly flicking some hair out of his eyes. frightened to be caught, he listened intently for your brothers footsteps, but none could be heard. so, he continued to slowly turn the front, due to the lack of lock, seemingly one that used to be there but fell off.

matt’s eyes skimmed the front page where you had neatly written your name, along with a few doodles, and sweet words. he smiled to himself, before curiously flipping through the pages. some were filled with sketches and drawings, others going on for page after page about school drama, which he carefully read through, even gasping because some of the hidden information.

but one page caught his eyes, rather a page with his name caught his eyes. there wasn’t a certain title or description, just straight up words you had blurted out onto the paper. his heart started racing when he read through the page, his ears turning read.

“dear diary, i think i have a crush on my brother's friend matt. i’m not sure, but i think he’s really, really sweet, and sometimes he even says hi to me. i think it’s mainly because he’s trying to be kind to me. after all, my older brother is his friend, but i really hope it’s more than that. he’s really cute too. he’s got blue eyes, and this dark hair i really wish to run my fingers through every time he looks at me. and his lips are always pink, and they look so soft.”

and that was it. his heart drummed in his ribcage, nervously fiddling through your diary to find more.

and oh boy, did he find more. it was like your diary had taken this sharp turn, going from girl gossip, and rants about your favorite movies, to all being about him. matt couldn’t believe his eyes, his heart nearly beating out of his chest when his eyes picked up on the naughty sentences.

“dear diary, today matt came into my room to say hi. or at least that’s what happened, but i think he wanted to do more. i was just showing him around, when he suddenly stood so close to me, i swore he could hear my heart, and just as he was about to kiss me, my dumb brother walked in!!! gosh, i just wish he could’ve kissed me without any interruptions. i wonder how he’d kiss. if he would be gentle, and soft, or he would be rough, and fill the kiss with desire. maybe he’d do both. i don’t know. i dream about his fingers running down my waist, hooking under my shirt to pull it off, how he would run them through my hair. would he yank my hair, or carefully twirl it?? or maybe he’d wrap his fingers around my neck while kissing, i don't know. i dream about his tongue licking over mine, tasting and claiming me. anyways i gotta go.”

matt’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, groaning when he felt his cock harden from just the ink on paper, that you had written in the silence of your own room. in shock he dropped the diary between his legs, quickly picking it up again. he couldn’t stop, he wanted to read more. he needed to.

matt quickly flicked through the pages upon pages, searching for his name like before, but suddenly all he could seem to find was gossip. but he found another one, this one much more recent, seemingly the last one your written just the night prior.

“dear diary, gosh i need matt. like really bad. i don’t even understand how i’m writing right now, but i had to, i can’t tell anyone else. it’s so stupid. i think about him all the time, when i’m in school, when i’m in the shower, eating dinner or breakfast, when i’m in bed. i wish i didn’t. every time i touch myself, it’s like an image of him pops up, and i can’t make it stop. it’s so wrong, but it feels so right and good when i imagine him doing the stuff i do to myself. i get so wet thinking about it. how i wish he would just sneak in here one night, kiss me, and then take off my clothes without us feeling guilty about it, and anyone finding out.i can almost feel it, how he would push his fingers inside me while kissi”

it looks like you stopped right there, and matt could only imagine what was going on behind the diary, behind the pen on paper, what you were doing. he let out a low growl, an obvious tent forming in his pants from how vividly he was imagining you laying in bed, grasping your pen while ignoring the ache between your legs, before you’d give up and tug your panties down your pretty legs, easing your smaller and slender fingers inside your slick walls.

matt frantically searched for a pen, his mind going wild as he let his thoughts roam freely. the diary laid open on your bed when matt finally found a ballpoint pen, brushing the pages to the last one you had written on, before writing;

“i would kiss you down your chest, admire your body while i touch you after your sweet noises to get it right, my fingers sticky. then i would let go of you and take off my own clothes, leaning over you to push my dick into you, listen to you gasp and moan. i would take my time with you, wait until you allowed me to start fucking you, doing it gentle and slowly. i’d hold your hands, kiss you down your beautiful face and body, eventually going faster and harder. you have no idea how bad i wanna sneak into your room every time i’m hanging out here. i’m not even here for your brother anymore.”

matt let go of the pen, his hand nearly cramping from how concentrated and neatly he’d been with the filthy note, his cock aching hard and throbbing in his pants from imagining just how well you’d take him, and how adorable you’d look. “goddamn it,” he groaned, leaving the diary on your bedside table before turning off the lights, immediately heading to the bathroom.

more sweetheart!reader x brothers bsf!matt here!

˚𝜗𝜚 notes... #need that

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❛❛ © 𝐒𝐓𝟕𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ❜❜

[hrts4-jay]

⑅☽⑊CONVENIENCE⑊☾⑅

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Reader (Nali)

cw: 1.6k ♡♡

A/N: here’s another Geum Seongje fic for u guys! This one is short :) I also want to thank y'all for the support from my first fic 🥹🫶

The fluorescent hum of the convenience store buzzed in Nali's ears, a stark contrast to the quiet grumbling in her stomach. Late-night cravings were her weakness, usually manifesting in a desperate need for ramen.

She scanned the shelves, the bright glow of the snack aisle momentarily distracting her. Then she saw him.

Geum Seongje.

He was leaning against the back wall, half-hidden behind stacks of discounted energy drinks. But even in the dim light, she couldn't miss it: Blood.

Blood painted his knuckles, splattered across his uniform, and dripped down his chin. Cuts and bruises blossomed across his face, A strange and dark expression appeared on his usually expressionless face, despite his glasses covering his beautiful eyes.

Nali's breath hitched. Seongje was known for his quiet strength, He’s powerful and influential at Eunjang High, especially after they took down the Union. He wasn't someone she expected to see crumpled and bleeding in a convenience store. But she wasn't scared at all.

She immediately took two packs of ramen.

He didn’t seem to notice her, lost in a grim contemplation of the tiled floor. He looked… broken—a mess.

He was zoning out.

Hesitantly, she slowly approached him. "S-Seongje? Are you… okay?"

He flinched, his head snapping up. Recognition flickered in his dark eyes, followed by a flash of something she couldn't quite decipher – maybe shame, maybe anger.

"Nali?" he mumbled, his voice rough. "Go away." He said.

He took a moment to pause, leaning against the cool surface of the wall as he gathered his thoughts. With a deep breath, he pushed himself away, the sound of his footsteps echoing softly as he stepped outside. Quickly pulling out a cig from his pocket, lighting it up with his silver lighter.

His words were sharp, but she could hear the tremor beneath them. He was trying to push her away, protect her from whatever mess had left him like this.

Ignoring him, she quickly gathered antiseptic wipes, bandages, gauze, and painkillers from the shelf. The cashier, a bored-looking teenager, didn't even glance up as she rang up the surprisingly large pile of medical supplies.

Running outside, she stood before him, holding out the bag. "Let me help you."

He stared at the bag, his eyes narrowed. "I don't need your help." He said, letting out a puff of smoke.

"Maybe not," Nali said, her voice unwavering. "But I'm offering it anyway."

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, The palpable tension simmering between the two almost suffocated her.

Finally, he sighed a sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. He knew he couldn't win against her quiet determination. He turned, flicking his cigarette.

"Fine," he grunted, taking the bag. "But I'm not going to your dorm."

"My place it is, then," Nali said, a small smile tugging at her lips. She lived in a small apartment off-campus. Letting Seongje in was a risk, a violation of her carefully set boundaries. His rough appearance and the vulnerability in his eyes drew her in.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

The apartment was small, and sparsely furnished, but clean and organized. Nali pointed him toward the bathroom. "Wash up. I'll get some towels."

While he was gone, she quickly tidied the living room, shoving textbooks and manga under the couch. The anxiety was starting to creep in, a nervous flutter in her stomach. Nali was alone with Seongje, the quiet, intimidating Seongje of Eunjang High, covered in blood and who knew what trauma.

Why did he look so good despite looking like a mess?

He emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, his face clean but still marked with bruises.

Nali gestured to the couch. "Sit. Let me see."

He hesitated, then sat carefully, as if afraid he might break the furniture. Nali knelt in front of him, her fingers light as she began to clean his wounds. She was surprisingly gentle, her touch careful and precise. She worked in silence, focusing on the task at hand, trying to ignore the way her heart was hammering in her chest. Trying to ignore the fact he’s staring hard at her.

Each cut told a story, each bruise a testament to the violence he'd endured. She imagined the fight, the brutal, unforgiving world he navigated, and a wave of protectiveness washed over her. She felt so bad for him.

"Who did this?" Nali asked softly, her voice barely a whisper.

He didn't answer, his jaw clenched tight.

"You don't have to tell me," she said, seeing the darkness gathering in his eyes. "But you don't have to do this alone either."

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and Nali felt a jolt, a sudden awareness of the space between them, the intimacy of the moment. His eyes were dark and intense, filled with a pain that resonated deep within her.

"Thank you," he said, his voice low and rough. It was barely audible, but Nali heard it.

As she finished bandaging his hand, she caught his gaze and held it. In that moment, the convenience store, the blood, the violence – all of it faded away. There was just Seongje, broken and vulnerable, and Nali, offering a haven in the storm.

She glanced at the clock: 11:48 PM

“You should stay for a night here. It’s dangerous to go out at a time like this; You might get hurt again.” Nali said, holding his bruised wrist, and looking up at him.

He pulled his wrist from her grasp. “No, it’s okay.” He mumbled.

“Please, I insist.” Nali smiled at him. “I have an extra mattress, don’t worry.”

She moved towards the corner of the room where she kept the rolled-up mattress. As she worked, she could feel his eyes on her, making her move awkwardly. She set the mattress in her room right beside her bed. Bedsheets, pillows, and blanket—all set up. She completely forgot about the ‘Enhypen’ posters sticking to her walls. “Shit.” She quickly covered the posters with bond paper. “That’s gonna be so embarrassing.”

Dusting her hands, she sighed. She can’t fathom the fact that Seongje is literally sleeping with her. She bit her bottom lip from the thoughts filling in her head. Changing into her pj’s, she decided to wear a cami lace top and pj pants. Simplicity is the best.

“Seongje, come inside, the AC is on!” She called out to him.

Seongje slowly walked into her room, the cold fresh air hitting him.

“Oh, I have my friend’s hoodie and pants, you can wear them. Here you go.” She smiled brightly handing it to him.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

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⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹

Gently cradling her head in her hands, she rested her forehead against the soft surface of the bed, focusing her gaze on Seongje. As her eyes locked with his, she noticed him lying back comfortably, his hands resting behind his head.

“Hm? Is there somethingon my face?” he murmured with a smirk, tilting his head slightly to the side, a curious glint in his eye.

She stared at him longer — deeper. A soft sigh escaped her lips. She found herself lost in the simple sight of him, the relaxed curve of his smile, the way the lamp light caught the edges of his dark hair.

"It's just..." she began, her voice barely a whisper, the words catching in her throat. She pushed hereelf up slightly, her hands now framing her face as she continued to gaze at him. "It's just... you.” She said, giving him a slight smile.

A warmth spread through hee chest, a tender feeling that pleasantly made her heartache. She yearned to reach out, to trace the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, but for now, simply looking felt enough. She wanted to touch him, feel him, so bad.

Seongje's gaze softened, the curiosity in his eyes melting into something warmer, something that mirrored the emotions swirling within her. He propped himself up and reached out his hand, his fingers gently brushing against her cheek. The simple touch sent a shiver down her spine.

"And what about me?" he murmured, a smirk played on his face. His voice a low rumble. His thumb traced a soft circle on her skin, his eyes never leaving hers.

She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as she savored the connection. When she opened them again, her gaze was filled with an unspoken affection.

"Everything," she breathed, the word hanging in the air between her. "Everything about you. I want to know you more.”

A soft smile touched Seongje's lips, a genuine, unguarded expression that made her heart skip a beat. He lowered his hand from her cheek, his fingers trailing down her neck, sending another wave of shivers through her.

"Then ask," he murmured, his eyes twinkling with an invitation. "Ask me anything."

A thousand questions bubbled to the surface of her mind, a torrent of curiosity about the man before her. What made him like this? What were his intentions with her? Why did he join the Union? What does he want from her?

But in that moment, under the soft glow of the evening light, with his hand warm in hers, she found herself drawn to something more immediate, more personal.

"Tell me," she began, her voice barely a whisper, her gaze locked with his, "what makes you... you?"

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⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹

[writeriguess]

Hey hun! Welcome back 😘

So, i have a kind of slow burn idea for a Bakugo x fem!reader fic. They both like each other and when she tries to ask him out or talk to him about it, he's kind of an ass 😅

He thinks she'll be in the way or a distraction to his goal, so he pushes her away. He can't get her out of his head though and their friends tell him he's being an idiot. Eventually, he cracks and tells her (in his very 'katsuki' way) that he does want to be with her.

Angst ending with lots of fluff, confessions, and a kiss please!

author's note: Thank you so much! <3 I just wanted to say that your idea was incredible, and I had such a great time writing it. It turned out to be much longer than I expected, but it was definitely worth it!

Heart of Dynamite

It started with stolen glances. You weren’t sure when you first noticed, but something about the way Bakugo Katsuki acted around you was different. He wasn’t nice, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something else buried beneath the rough edges and sharp remarks. A fleeting glance when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he always seemed to hover nearby during group exercises, subtly ensuring you didn’t get caught off guard.

You weren’t blind. You saw the way his crimson eyes would flick to you during lunch, only for him to look away just as quickly if you caught him. You noticed how his explosions during sparring would seem almost… controlled when directed your way—less destructive, more calculated. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder. Enough to make you hope.

The problem was, Bakugo being Bakugo, he’d never admit to something as human as feelings. If he did like you, he was keeping it buried under a mountain of anger, pride, and whatever complicated emotions made up Katsuki Bakugo.

But still, the moments added up. And with each passing day, your crush grew stronger. You hated the way your heart fluttered when he called you by name instead of his usual nicknames for everyone else. You hated how you’d secretly look forward to his biting remarks because, in some twisted way, it was his version of paying attention to you.

And most of all, you hated how much courage it took to even consider confessing to him.

After weeks of agonizing over it, you finally decided you couldn’t live with the "what if." No matter what, you needed to know.

The opportunity came on a rare quiet evening at the dorms. Everyone else had gone out for karaoke, leaving you and Bakugo alone. He was sprawled on the couch in the common area, his arms crossed, staring at some mindless action movie playing on the TV.

You hovered at the doorway, your heart racing. You almost turned back, but then his gruff voice interrupted your thoughts.

"What the hell are you standing there for? You look like a damn idiot."

You flinched, but quickly steeled yourself. "I just… needed to ask you something."

His gaze flicked to you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Then spit it out already. Don’t waste my time."

Your hands were clammy as you stepped closer, each word feeling heavier than the last. "Do you… want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

For a moment, Bakugo just stared at you. His usual scowl didn’t shift, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes—so quick you almost missed it. His jaw tensed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.

Then, he scoffed. Loudly.

"You serious?" he said, leaning back against the couch like your question was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. "Why the hell would I want to go out with you?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, and your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

"I mean, come on," he continued, his tone sharp and cutting. "What makes you think I’d waste my time on something dumb like that?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment—from the sting of his rejection. You struggled to keep your voice steady. "I just thought… maybe—"

"Well, you thought wrong," he cut you off, his voice cold and unrelenting. "So stop acting like some lovesick idiot and get over it."

The silence that followed was unbearable. You felt like the floor had been ripped out from under you, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to step back.

"Got it," you said finally, your voice small and strained. You turned on your heel before he could see the tears pooling in your eyes.

Bakugo didn’t move. He stayed on the couch, staring at the TV that he wasn’t really watching. His nails dug into his palms, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about you—or himself.

Hours passed, but Bakugo didn’t leave the couch. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: the look on your face, the way your voice had cracked when he tore you down.

He hated himself for it. Hated the way he’d lashed out, even though he knew it was because he was terrified. Of what? He didn’t know. Maybe of admitting to himself that he cared. Maybe of the fact that you could make him feel so out of control with just one stupid question.

But now it was too late. He’d pushed you away.

You, on the other hand, locked yourself in your room, curled up on your bed, and let the tears flow. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid, so naive. Of course Bakugo didn’t like you. Of course he didn’t care. You’d just been projecting your feelings onto him, imagining things that weren’t really there.

Still, the hurt lingered. You tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that you’d move on, but the ache in your chest said otherwise.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting downstairs, fists clenched, consumed by his own turmoil. Because for all his bluster, he’d never wanted to hurt you. He just didn’t know how to deal with the truth: that he did like you, more than he was willing to admit.

Bakugo tried to convince himself that what he’d said to you was necessary. He had goals—real, tangible goals—and nothing, no one, was going to distract him. Becoming the Number One Hero wasn’t just a dream for him; it was a mission, an obligation, a destiny he was determined to carve out with his own blood, sweat, and tears. He didn’t need complications. He didn’t need feelings. He didn’t need you. That’s what he told himself over and over as he sat alone in his dorm room, glaring at the wall like it had personally offended him. His fists were clenched tightly in his lap, the tendons in his hands straining from the pressure.

But no matter how hard he tried to justify it, he couldn’t shake the image of your face from his mind. The way your expression had crumbled when he snapped at you, the hurt in your eyes as you turned and walked away—it all replayed in his head on an endless, agonizing loop. He could still hear your voice trembling when you’d asked him out, soft and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to hearing from you. You weren’t the kind of person who let your guard down easily, and he’d taken that rare moment of courage and crushed it underfoot.

“Tch,” he growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair and gripping the strands in frustration. “Stupid.”

He thought that pushing you away would make things easier, but it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse. You were everywhere. Every time he walked into a room, his eyes automatically searched for you, even when he told himself they wouldn’t. When you laughed with your friends, the sound sent an irritating warmth through his chest, only to be followed by a sharp pang of regret when he remembered the look on your face that night. During training, he found himself tracking your every move without even meaning to, his instincts on high alert every time you dodged an attack or threw a punch. He hated it. Hated how you’d wormed your way into his head and refused to leave. Hated how much he wanted to be near you, even after he’d made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you.

It didn’t help that everyone else seemed to notice his turmoil. His friends had started giving him strange looks during meals, their eyes darting between him and you as if they were waiting for something to happen. Kirishima, in particular, had been annoyingly persistent, watching him with that infuriatingly knowing expression he always wore when he thought Bakugo was being an idiot. Bakugo did his best to ignore it, but the tension was impossible to escape.

One evening, when the others were hanging out in the common area, Kirishima finally confronted him. Bakugo had been sitting on the couch, staring at his phone without really looking at it, when Kirishima plopped down beside him with a heavy sigh. Mina and Kaminari weren’t far behind, hovering nearby like vultures waiting for a meal.

“Alright, spill it,” Kirishima said, his voice casual but firm. Bakugo barely spared him a glance.

“Spill what?” he snapped, his tone as sharp as ever.

“Don’t play dumb,” Mina chimed in, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. “You’ve been acting weird for days, and we all know why.”

“I’m not in the mood for this crap,” Bakugo growled, standing up to leave, but Kirishima quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Bakugo glared at him, his crimson eyes blazing. “Move.”

“Not until you admit what’s going on,” Kirishima said, his voice steady despite the obvious tension in the air. “You pushed her away, didn’t you?”

Bakugo froze, his scowl deepening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Kirishima said, his tone unusually serious. “Come on, man. It’s so obvious you like her. Everyone can see it.”

“I don’t—”

“Save it,” Mina interrupted, stepping closer with a look that could cut through steel. “We’ve seen the way you look at her. And don’t even get me started on the way you lose your mind whenever she partners up with someone else during training. You care about her, and instead of doing something about it, you’re being a total dumbass.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t have time for this crap,” he muttered, shoving past Kirishima and heading for the door. But before he could leave, Kirishima’s voice rang out behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

“You think pushing her away will make you stronger,” Kirishima said, his voice softer now, almost sad. “But all you’re doing is proving how scared you are.”

Bakugo’s shoulders tensed, his hand gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out,” Kirishima continued, his tone unwavering. “But running from it won’t make it go away.”

For a moment, Bakugo didn’t move. The room was silent, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, he yanked the door open and walked out, slamming it shut behind him without another word.

That night, Bakugo lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling with an intensity that could have set it on fire. Kirishima’s words echoed in his head, mingling with the memory of your voice and the image of your face. He hated how much it all got to him, how much he couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. He hated the way his chest ached every time he thought about the hurt in your eyes and the way you’d walked away from him, your shoulders slumped in defeat. But most of all, he hated how much he wanted to see you again, to fix things, to say something—anything—that could make up for what he’d done.

Meanwhile, you were doing your best to move on. You’d been avoiding Bakugo as much as possible, throwing yourself into training and schoolwork to keep your mind occupied. It wasn’t easy, though. Every time you saw him, whether it was in class or during meals, you felt a sharp pang of hurt that refused to go away. You hated how much he still affected you, even after he’d made it painfully clear that he didn’t feel the same way.

But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you’d be fine without him, the ache in your chest lingered. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong to hope, if you’d been foolish to believe that he might have cared about you even a little.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting in his room, wrestling with his own feelings and cursing himself for the way he’d handled things. Because for all his bravado and pride, the truth was unavoidable: he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more he tried to push you out of his mind, the more you consumed his every thought.

The days following your rejection from Bakugo had been a haze of hurt and confusion. You tried to keep yourself busy—extra training, study sessions, anything to keep your mind from replaying the harsh way he’d dismissed you. But no matter how much you told yourself to let it go, it lingered. You still felt the sting of his words, the way he’d looked at you like you were an obstacle instead of someone he cared about. That wound didn’t heal easily.

You avoided him as much as you could. You’d shift to a different group during training, sit at the far end of the cafeteria during meals, and leave the common area whenever he showed up. It wasn’t as subtle as you hoped; your friends noticed, and you were pretty sure Bakugo did too. Still, you couldn’t face him—not after everything he’d said.

What you didn’t know was that your absence weighed on him far more than he let on.

Bakugo was not a man who easily admitted to mistakes. Pride had been ingrained in him from an early age, and he carried it like armor. But lately, that armor felt suffocating, like it was pressing in on him from all sides. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop replaying the hurt in your eyes when he’d lashed out. Every time he saw you purposely turning away from him or laughing with someone else, he felt a sharp pang of regret that he didn’t know how to fix.

Kirishima’s words lingered too. “You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out. But running from it won’t make it go away.” As much as Bakugo wanted to punch him for saying it, he knew it was true. He’d been running from his feelings because they terrified him. You terrified him—not because you were weak, but because of how much power you had over him without even realizing it. And that was what scared him most of all.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. Watching you avoid him, knowing he’d been the one to hurt you—it was eating him alive. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to explode.

That’s what led him here, standing awkwardly a few feet away from where you sat on the bench outside. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on the notebook in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar. Was this�� nerves? He growled under his breath, frustrated with himself. He was Bakugo Katsuki, for crying out loud. He didn’t get nervous.

“Oi.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, and you jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence.

You looked up, your eyes widening for a split second before your expression hardened. “What do you want?”

Bakugo flinched at the coldness in your tone, though he tried to hide it. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” you asked, already sounding exasperated. “If this is about training or some stupid lecture—”

“It’s not about training,” he cut in, stepping closer. His jaw tightened as he tried to find the right words. He wasn’t good at this, but he had to try. “It’s about what I said to you before.”

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into your expression. “Why are you bringing that up now? You already made your feelings perfectly clear, Bakugo. I don’t need to hear it again.”

He winced at the way you said his name—so formal, so distant. You used to call him Katsuki, back when things were simpler. Back when he hadn’t ruined everything.

“Just shut up and listen for a second, will you?” he snapped, though there was no real heat in his voice. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I… I screwed up, alright? I said some shit I didn’t mean, and I hurt you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your expression softened slightly, but your arms remained crossed, a barrier he knew he’d have to break through. “Then why did you do it? Why push me away if you didn’t mean it?”

“Because I’m a goddamn idiot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. His gaze dropped to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “I thought… I thought if I let myself like you, I’d lose focus. That you’d get in the way of my goals.”

“And now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Now I know that’s total bullshit,” he said, finally looking up to meet your eyes. “You don’t make me weaker. You make me want to be better. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s driving me insane.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, but you still hesitated. “You really hurt me, Katsuki,” you said softly, the pain evident in your voice. “I don’t know if I can just forget that.”

He stepped closer, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’m not asking you to forget it. I’m asking for a chance to fix it. I was a dumbass, and I don’t deserve it, but… I want to try. With you.”

The vulnerability in his voice was so raw, so uncharacteristic, that it left you speechless. You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret and determination.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

“Look, I know I’m not good at this,” he interrupted, his hands twitching at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “I’m not some smooth-talking idiot like Kaminari, and I’m probably gonna screw up a hundred more times. But I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not gonna hurt you again.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words sank in. This was Bakugo Katsuki—the same boy who never admitted when he was wrong, who bulldozed his way through life without looking back. And here he was, laying his pride at your feet, just for a chance to make things right.

“You’re really bad at this, you know,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

He huffed, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my strong suit.”

You laughed softly, the sound making his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. For the first time in weeks, you felt the tension between you start to dissolve.

“So, what now?” you asked, taking a tentative step closer.

“Now I do this,” he said, his voice low as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in. His crimson eyes searched yours for a moment, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance and kissed you.

The kiss was tentative at first, almost shy, but it quickly deepened as you responded, your hands reaching up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He kissed you like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d wasted, pouring all the unspoken feelings he couldn’t put into words into that one act.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting together, you were both breathless. He smirked, his usual cocky confidence creeping back in. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You’ve got a long way to go, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed the gruffness of his tone. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around and prove it.”

And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right.

Feel free to request <3

[siilent-wanderer]

The Things You Do To Me

Summary: A bold change leaves Jimin glowing in confidence and Y/N hopelessly distracted. Between playful teasing and quiet moments, it’s clear some things are impossible to resist.

Genre: contains suggestive themes, lowkey fluff

Word Count: 2.3k words

Yu Jimin (Karina) x aespa 5th member! reader

A/N: song recos while reading telepatía & earned it

Y/N was lying on the couch, aimlessly scrolling through her phone when her screen lit up with an incoming call from Jimin. She sat up quickly, smiling at the sight of her girlfriend’s name.

“Hey, unnie,” Y/N greeted, already imagining the sweet, soft tone she always associated with Jimin.

“Hi, baby,” Jimin replied, her voice warm and slightly playful. “So, don’t be mad…”

Y/N furrowed her brows. “Why would I be mad? What did you do?”

There was a pause, and Y/N could almost hear Jimin’s sheepish smile through the phone. “I’m getting a haircut.”

“A haircut?” Y/N repeated, her tone dropping slightly. She loved Jimin’s long, silky hair. It was one of the first things she noticed about her when they met — how it fell perfectly down her back and framed her face so delicately.

“Yeah,” Jimin said cautiously. “I thought it was time for a change.”

Y/N huffed, flopping back against the couch. “You’re cutting it without me? I would’ve gone with you!”

“I know, I know,” Jimin said, laughing softly. “But I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Y/N’s pout deepened. “What kind of haircut?”

“You’ll see when I get home,” Jimin replied, clearly enjoying Y/N’s sulking.

“Fine,” Y/N mumbled, trying to hide her disappointment. “But it better not be too short.”

Jimin chuckled. “Just wait. You might like it more than you think.”

An hour later, Y/N heard the sound of the front door opening. She quickly sat up, half-expecting Jimin to walk in with her long hair still intact, perhaps just trimmed at the ends. But when Jimin appeared, Y/N froze.

Her girlfriend’s long, flowing hair was gone, replaced by an edgy, layered wolf cut that framed her face perfectly. The soft, natural waves added texture, and the shorter pieces at the front highlighted Jimin’s sharp jawline and high cheekbones.

Jimin ran a hand through her hair, her lips curling into a slight smirk when she saw Y/N’s stunned expression. “So? What do you think?”

Y/N blinked, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to find the words. “You… look…” She trailed off, her cheeks heating up.

“Is that a good speechless or a bad speechless?” Jimin teased, stepping closer.

“It’s…” Y/N swallowed, her heart racing as she took in the sight of her girlfriend. “It’s unfair. You look too good, babe.”

Jimin laughed, tilting her head. “Too good?”

Y/N stood up, her hands instinctively reaching for Jimin’s hair. She ran her fingers through the soft layers, marveling at how effortlessly the new style suited her. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d look this… hot?”

Jimin’s smirk widened. “You were sulking about me cutting it. I didn’t think you’d notice anything else.”

“I’m still sulking,” Y/N muttered, her hands dropping to her sides. “But you look so good I can’t even be mad.”

Jimin stepped closer, her voice dropping slightly. “Oh? Not mad, but you’re blushing.”

“I am not,” Y/N protested, though the pink tint on her cheeks betrayed her.

Jimin leaned in, her face inches away, her smirk growing as her eyes flicked between Y/N’s flustered expression and the way her lips parted, ready to counter with another excuse. “You sure about that?” she asked, her voice soft but undeniably teasing.

Y/N tried to glare at her, but Jimin’s proximity made it impossible to think straight. “Stop teasing me, unnie. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Do I?” Jimin murmured, her hand brushing lightly against Y/N’s arm before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers lingered, grazing Y/N’s cheek as her smirk deepened. “Maybe I do,” she admitted softly, her tone playful yet sincere. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, “Or maybe I just like seeing you like this. All shy and cute. What are you going to do about it?”

Y/N took a step back instinctively, trying to create space, but her back hit the wall. Jimin followed without hesitation, closing the distance and resting one hand on the wall beside Y/N’s head. Trapped between her girlfriend and the solid surface, Y/N’s breath hitched, and she felt her knees go weak under Jimin’s piercing gaze.

“You’re impossible,” Y/N muttered, her voice shaky but soft, her hands lifting as if to push her girlfriend away but instead finding their way to the hem of her shirt.

Jimin chuckled, leaning even closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “And yet, here you are,” she whispered, her voice low and teasing.

Before Y/N could respond, Jimin took full advantage of their proximity, closing the gap and capturing Y/N’s lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. The softness of the kiss contrasted the intensity of the moment, and Y/N melted into it, her hands tugging lightly on her girlfriend’s shirt as her resolve crumbled entirely. Jimin’s hands slid to Y/N’s hips, pulling her closer, their bodies pressed together as the kiss grew more heated.

When Jimin finally pulled back, her forehead rested lightly against Y/N’s, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. “Still think I’m impossible?”

Y/N laughed breathlessly, her cheeks flushed as she whispered, “Completely impossible.” Her fingers moved up, combing through the layers of Jimin’s hair. “Seriously, babe. This haircut should come with a warning label.”

Jimin grinned, her thumb brushing over Y/N’s jaw. “You’re the only one it’s meant to distract, so I guess it’s working.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in Jimin’s shoulder to hide her flushed cheeks. “You’re so unfair.”

Jimin tilted Y/N’s chin up, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Unfair?” she echoed, her smirk turning playful. “You’re the one who started playing with my hair.”

Y/N opened her mouth to retort, but Jimin silenced her with another kiss — this one slower, more deliberate, leaving no room for argument.

When they finally broke apart, Jimin’s smile was soft but mischievous. “You can sulk all you want, but you’re stuck with me. And this haircut.”

“Thank God,” Y/N muttered, pulling her back in for another kiss.

Later that night, as Y/N lay on the couch with Jimin curled up against her, her fingers lazily running through Jimin’s hair, she sighed softly. “You really do look too good, you know.”

Jimin chuckled, her voice sleepy but affectionate. “And you really need to stop looking at me like that unless you want round two.”

Y/N blushed furiously but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face. “Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you love me,” Jimin teased, nuzzling closer.

Y/N pressed a kiss to her girlfriend’s temple, her voice soft. “I really do.”

Jimin tilted her head up to look at Y/N, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Uh… baby?”

“Hm?” Y/N murmured, still lost in the feel of Jimin’s hair between her fingers.

Jimin’s smile grew as she lightly traced her thumb along Y/N’s neck. “You might want to, uh, check this out in the mirror later.”

Y/N froze for a moment before realizing what Jimin meant. Her hand flew to her neck, her cheeks burning as she stammered, “You didn’t…”

Jimin laughed softly, burying her face against Y/N’s shoulder to muffle the sound. “Sorry, but… you didn’t exactly stop me.”

Y/N groaned, tilting her head back against the couch. “Unnie, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Jimin peeked up at her, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “At least you’ll have an excuse to use the turtleneck sweater we bought the other day,” she teased, her voice light and playful.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at her, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Oh, you’re so smug right now.”

Jimin grinned, resting her chin on Y/N’s shoulder as her arms tightened around her. “Because I know you’ll forgive me.”

Y/N let out a dramatic sigh, but her fingers gently resumed combing through Jimin’s hair. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Jimin replied smugly, her voice laced with affection.

As the room fell quiet again, Y/N tightened her hold around Jimin, her lips brushing against the top of her girlfriend’s head. “You’re still apologizing for this tomorrow,” she muttered.

Jimin just grinned, her eyes fluttering shut. “We’ll see, baby.”

The next morning, the dorm was unusually quiet. Y/N was still half-asleep when she shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Jimin was already there, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in hand, looking impossibly gorgeous with her freshly styled wolf cut.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, blinking at the sight before letting out a soft groan. “You’re seriously starting the day like this?”

Jimin smirked over the rim of her mug. “Good morning to you, too, baby.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, grabbing a mug of her own. “You’re going to make it really hard to focus at practice, you know that?”

“Not my fault you’re easily distracted,” Jimin teased, walking over to plant a kiss on Y/N’s temple.

By the time they arrived at the practice room, the rest of aespa was already stretching and warming up. As soon as Jimin stepped through the door, all heads turned in her direction.

“Oh my God, unnie!” Yizhuo exclaimed, practically dropping her water bottle. “When did you get a haircut? You look like a model!”

Minjeong’s jaw dropped as she hurried over for a closer look. “Wait, when did this happen? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Aeri grinned, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re really rocking that wolf cut. Definitely girl crush material.”

Jimin chuckled, clearly amused by their reactions. “I figured it was time for a change,” she said simply, running a hand through her hair.

Y/N stood slightly off to the side, her arms crossed and lips pressed into a tight line. She watched as the other girls crowded around Jimin, showering her with compliments and admiration.

“Unnie, you look so cool,” Yizhuo gushed, tugging at Jimin’s sleeve. “You’re going to drive the fans crazy with this look.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t let us come with you,” Minjeong added, mock-pouting. “We could’ve helped you pick it out!”

Aeri smirked knowingly, her sharp eyes catching Y/N’s sulky expression. “What do you think, Y/N? Isn’t Jimin’s haircut amazing?”

Y/N forced a smile, though her tone came out more curt than intended. “It’s fine.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, turning to look at her girlfriend. “Just fine?”

Y/N shrugged, trying to keep her composure. “You already know what I think, unnie.”

Minjeong and Ningning exchanged a glance, clearly intrigued by Y/N’s uncharacteristic tone.

Aeri, ever the instigator, leaned closer to Jimin. “Don’t worry, Jimin. If Y/N doesn’t appreciate how amazing you look, the rest of us definitely will.”

That was the final straw. Y/N uncrossed her arms and stepped forward, slipping an arm around Jimin’s waist. “Alright, that’s enough,” she said, her voice firm but not unfriendly.

Jimin blinked in surprise but didn’t pull away, a small smile tugging at her lips as she glanced at her girlfriend.

Yizhuo stifled a giggle. “Ohhh, someone’s feeling possessive.”

Y/N shot her a glare, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I’m just saying, we’ve got a lot of work to do today. Let’s focus on practice.”

“Right,” Minjeong said, smirking as she nudged the maknae. “Totally about practice.”

Aeri grinned but didn’t push further, knowing when to let up.

As the group moved into position, the music started, and they began running through the choreography for their upcoming performance. But it didn’t take long for Y/N’s focus to slip.

In the middle of their second run-through, Y/N completely blanked on her next move, her feet halting awkwardly as the others continued. She quickly recovered, but not before Yizhuo caught it.

“Oh, are you okay?” Yizhuo asked, her grin all too knowing.

“I’m fine!” Y/N replied quickly, avoiding Jimin’s amused gaze.

But it happened again during their vocal rehearsal. Y/N was supposed to sing her part of the harmony, but she was so distracted by the way Jimin absentmindedly pushed her hair back that she completely missed her cue.

“Y/N!” Aeri called out, stifling a laugh. “Where’d you go just now?”

“I—I zoned out for a second,” Y/N muttered, her cheeks burning as the girls burst into laughter.

“Zoned out?” Minjeong teased. “Or were you too busy staring at a certain someone?”

“I wasn’t staring!” Y/N protested, though her voice cracked slightly, making Yizhuo laugh even harder.

Jimin, who had been watching the chaos unfold from the corner with a faint smirk, finally stepped forward. “Alright, that’s enough,” she said, her tone calm but firm.

The teasing immediately subsided, though Yizhuo still giggled softly behind her hand.

Jimin turned to Y/N, her expression softening as she placed a hand on her shoulder. “You okay, baby?” she asked quietly, her voice just for Y/N to hear.

Y/N nodded, her cheeks still pink. “I’m fine. Just… distracted.”

Jimin chuckled, leaning in to whisper, “By me, I hope?”

Y/N groaned, playfully swatting at her arm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mhmm,” Jimin teased, giving her shoulder a light squeeze before returning to her spot.

When practice wrapped up, the girls gathered their things, still chatting animatedly about Jimin’s haircut.

“You really do look like you stepped out of a magazine,” Minjeong said, giving Jimin a once-over.

“Maybe we should all get wolf cuts,” Yizhuo joked, tossing her hair dramatically.

“Please don’t,” Y/N muttered under her breath, earning a sly grin from Aeri.

As they left the practice room, Jimin lingered behind with Y/N, her hand slipping into hers. “You were cute today,” she said, her voice teasing but warm.

Y/N shot her a look. “I was a mess, and you know it.”

Jimin laughed softly, pulling her closer. “Maybe, but you’re my mess.”

Y/N’s pout melted into a smile as she leaned into Jimin’s side. “You’re lucky I love you, Yu Jimin.”

“I know,” Jimin replied, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “And I love you more.”

As they walked down the hallway together, hand in hand, Y/N couldn’t help but think that Jimin’s wolf cut wasn’t just distracting — it was absolutely worth it.

A/N: oops hehe this was def self-indulgent

[cherryshortycake]

Summary: Bakugou and you always had a secret thing no one knew, even between you two. Until at the reunion party.

A/N: This takes place after the Mha time skip, and my requests are open, I'm doing only Bakugou requests at this time thank you for reading!

"It’s been a long time since Class 1-A graduated" you thought to yourself. A reunion party for everyone. The room was alive with chatter, the clink of glasses, and the music playing just loud enough to set the mood without overwhelming the conversation.

All grown up, and they were spread out across the room, laughing and reminiscing about the old days. But you couldn’t focus on any of that. Not with him standing across the room, his back to the wall, arms crossed, scowling at everyone like he always did. Bakugou Katsuki, the one person who had occupied your thoughts for years, even when you tried your best to hide it.

You remember the first time you met him. High school felt like forever ago now, and those overwhelming, youthful crushes seemed almost ridiculous in hindsight, but not with him. Not with him.

The guy who had been impossible to get along with. The one who had a temper and was too damn proud to show any weakness. And yet, somehow, that pride had been… different with you. It had started out so small. The way he always snapped at you in class when you'd try to ask him about something—like that time when you tripped over your own feet and managed to knock over a pile of papers right in front of him. He didn’t offer a hand or a “you okay?” like anyone else would. Instead, he just shot you a glare and muttered a "dumbass," but there was something in his eyes that made your heart skip.

Maybe that was the first time you noticed—how he’d look at you differently than he did with anyone else. "Y/N," someone called from beside you, pulling you from your thoughts. It was Mina, grinning as she sipped from her drink. "You look like you’re miles away. Come on, let’s mingle! It’s a party!" You flashed her a smile and nodded, trying to shake off the fluttering in your chest.

But you didn’t move. Not right away. Your eyes landed on Bakugou again, and this time, his gaze flicked to yours for the briefest second. He didn’t scowl. He didn’t sneer. He didn’t even look annoyed. In fact, it was almost… gentle? No, not gentle—but soft....

Your heart thudded louder as the realization hit. Katsuki, the loud, brash, stubborn hero-in-training who’d never given you the time of day in high school, had grown up too. And somehow, without you realizing it, so had the way he looked at you.

"Hey." A voice interrupted your thoughts, and you turned to see Kirishima grinning at you, a glass in hand. "You good?"

"Yeah, just… thinking," you murmured, forcing a smile. "About him..?" Kirishima asked, giving you a knowing look. His eyes flickered over to Bakugou, who was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, but now his jaw was clenched.

You blinked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quickly, avoiding Kirishima’s gaze. “Right,” Kirishima teased. “Well, just so you know, Bakugou’s been a little… different lately. Around you, I mean..... or man, whenever your names brung up...”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he began, tapping his glass, “you know how Bakugou is. He’s not exactly the type to… open up, right?” You nodded, biting your lip. That was an understatement.

“Well, lately he’s been a little more patient with you. Not like with the rest of us,” he said, giving you a pointed look. “He gets all… quiet when you’re around, like he’s thinking about something. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he actually listens when you talk.” Your face heated, and you shook your head.

“Yeah right...” you said in disbelief with tad of sarcasm.

“I’m telling you. The guy might be a walking time bomb, but he’s got a soft spot for you. Don’t let that pass you by, alright, trust me.. the guy talks about you all the time to me.. like your haunting his mind..?” Kirishima’s words echoed in your mind as you stole another glance at Bakugou.

This time, he wasn’t looking at you—he was looking at the ground, a slight frown on his face. But something was different. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was as if he was waiting. Suddenly, Bakugou pushed off from the wall and started walking toward you. Your heart raced. Was he—?

"hey" he called out gruffly, his voice low but somehow more... familiar. "You gonna stand there all night or are you gonna get a drink?" You blinked, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

"Uh," you stammered, caught off guard. "I’m good. I’m just... talking." He grunted, stepping closer. “Tch. You're always overthinking shit. Let’s get something to drink, already.” There was a slight softness to his tone, one that only you would notice, and it made your stomach do flips.

As the two of you walked toward the kitchen, the room suddenly seemed quieter. It was just the two of you now, separated from the noise of the others. Bakugou was closer than you expected, his shoulder brushing yours as he walked.

His usual harshness seemed muted—he was always a little gentler with you. It wasn’t like he was being kind, but there was something in the way he looked at you now, something that held back all the sharp edges.

“You’ve been acting weird all night,” you said, trying to break the silence. “Shut up,” he muttered, but it was softer than usual. “I’m not the one acting all awkward.”

“I’m not awkward!” you protested. “Yeah, well… you look awkward,” he snapped back, but the way he avoided your gaze told you everything.

There was something in his eyes—something he wasn’t saying. “You’re not mad, are you?” you asked, suddenly unsure. Bakugou’s face twisted into his usual scowl.

“Why the hell would I be mad?” “I don’t know! You’re... different,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You’ve been acting different with me.” His eyes flicked to yours again, a flash of something unreadable passing through them.

Then, without warning, he sighed, looking away. “I’m not acting different, dumbass. I just… don’t wanna deal with your stupid questions tonight.” But you could hear the hesitation in his voice. The slight crack in his usual confidence.

You didn’t say anything more, letting the silence settle between you two, but somehow, in this moment, it felt… easy. Comfortable, even. And maybe, just maybe, Bakugou wasn’t hiding as much as he thought... But y'all didn't know, it's just the beginning......

[kiwriteswords]

not a smut fic! (unless you want, but i was thinking more emphasis on the emotional rather than the physical) but maybe like

request for hotch x reader who has had past bad sex experiences in relationships? like maybe it hurt or her previous partner didn't care about her pleasure/comfort? so when she finally has her first time with hotch, she's out of her depth because she's used to being the 'giving' partner but getting nothing in return whereas now she's being treated well and she feels almost guilty because she feels like he's focusing too much on her (even if thats not true).

Untangling the Past

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader||Word Count: 3k

Tags/Warnings: intimate scenes, fade-to-black smut, sexual themes, reader with past intimacy issues, soft!Hotch

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner never imagined how deeply you would reshape his world, how your quiet strength and guarded heart would challenge his understanding of love. As he unravels the layers of your past, mending the wounds left by neglect, he offers you the safety of his steady care. Together, you navigate a delicate dance of trust and tenderness, building something unbreakable, one vulnerable moment at a time.

Aaron Hotchner had never considered himself particularly adept at navigating the intricacies of new relationships. He was a man of structure and logic—a sharp mind honed to profile criminals and anticipate the unpredictable. But when it came to you, his structured world softened.

The first time he realized you were different wasn’t in the heat of a high-stakes case or during one of the late-night debriefs that bled into the early morning. It was in the quiet moments—a shared coffee break, an unguarded laugh. It was in the way you looked at him, equal parts guarded and curious.

When you started seeing each other, Aaron approached it with a mix of careful deliberation and unshakable determination. He knew the risks of two people in the BAU becoming involved, but he also knew that what he felt for you wasn’t something he could easily set aside. You, with your quick wit and quiet strength, had carved a space in his life that he hadn’t realized he needed filled.

The first time you were intimate, Aaron noticed your hesitation immediately. He wasn’t profiling you, not consciously, but years of observation had made him attuned to subtle shifts in body language and tone. You were nervous, but it was more than that. When he kissed you, your hands clung to him as if you were afraid to ask for more. When he touched you, there was a tension in your body that told him this wasn’t just first-time nerves.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His hand rested lightly on your hip, his thumb brushing small, soothing circles against your skin.

You nodded quickly, your voice a little too bright as you said, "Yeah, I’m fine."

He didn’t press, not yet. Instead, he kissed you again, slower this time, giving you space to respond. Aaron was a patient man. He’d waited years to let himself feel this way again, and he could wait as long as you needed.

But as the night went on, he couldn’t ignore the way you seemed, almost uncertain about the attention he gave you. You’d shiver under his touch, your breath catching in ways that sent heat pooling in his chest, but there was also a restraint, as though you didn’t quite know what to do with the care he offered so freely.

When he finally asked again, his voice was steady and low. "Talk to me. If something doesn’t feel right, I need to know."

You hesitated, your gaze flicking away before finding him again. "It’s not that. It’s just… I’m not used to this."

"This?" he prompted gently.

"Being treated like… like I’m the one who matters," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "My past relationships weren’t… great. Sex wasn’t always…great. Scary even."

Aaron felt a flash of anger at the thought of anyone treating you with anything less than the respect and care you deserved, but he quickly pushed it aside. This moment wasn’t about them; it was about you. "I’m sorry you went through that," he said, his thumb brushing along your jaw. "But this is about us. And I want you to feel safe and comfortable. If that means taking things slower or stopping altogether, just say the word."

You shook your head. "It’s not that I don’t want this. I do. It’s just… hard to wrap my head around."

"Then let me help you," Aaron said, his voice unwavering. "You’re allowed to want this, to enjoy this. You don’t have to earn it or prove anything to me."

Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Aaron’s heart ached at the vulnerability you were showing him. He kissed your forehead, letting the moment stretch until you exhaled a shaky breath.

"Okay," you murmured. "But you’ll have to be patient with me."

Aaron smiled softly. "Patience is something I’m good at."

As the days turned into weeks, Aaron made it his quiet mission to help you unlearn the harmful lessons your past relationships had taught you. He paid attention, learning the ways your body responded to his touch, the subtle shifts in your breathing that signaled when you were truly at ease. He noticed the way you hesitated to ask for what you wanted, so he started asking instead, his voice always steady and unassuming.

"Does this feel good?" he’d ask, his lips brushing against your ear.

When you nodded, he’d press further, "Tell me what you need."

At first, you were hesitant; your answers were clipped and uncertain. But over time, you began to trust that his questions weren’t loaded, that he truly wanted to know. And when you finally started voicing your desires, the shy, breathy way you asked made Aaron’s chest swell with a mixture of pride and tenderness.

One night, as you lay tangled together, your head resting on his chest, you spoke up unexpectedly. "You make it hard not to feel guilty."

Aaron’s brow furrowed, his fingers pausing their gentle strokes along your back. "Guilty?"

"For taking so much," you said quietly. "I’m not used to someone… caring this much."

He shifted, tilting your chin so you’d look at him. "You’re not taking anything, and you have nothing to feel guilty about. You give more than you realize."

When you didn’t look convinced, he added, "I’m not just here to give to you; I’m here because I want to share something with you. And that means letting me take care of you when you need it."

Your eyes searched his, and Aaron held your gaze, hoping you could see the sincerity in his words. After a moment, you nodded, your expression softening. "I’ll try to remember that."

Aaron kissed you then, slow and deliberate, a silent promise that he’d be here for as long as you needed him. In that moment, he realized that intimacy wasn’t just about physical closeness; it was about building something stronger, something that could withstand the weight of past hurts and insecurities. And with you, he was ready to build it—one step, one moment, one breath at a time.

Over the next few weeks, Aaron continued to watch and learn, careful not to push but always ready to meet you where you were. One night, after an especially long day at work, you’d curled into his side on the couch. His hand rested on your knee, tracing lazy circles over the fabric of your leggings. You were quiet, your fingers absently playing with the edge of his shirt.

“You’re always so… thoughtful,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the soft hum of the television.

Aaron glanced down at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Shouldn’t I be?”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you avoided his gaze. “It’s just… new for me. I don’t know how to… reciprocate.”

He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “You don’t have to do anything differently. Pleasing you, making you feel cared for—that’s what makes me happy. Seeing you relax, knowing you feel safe with me, that’s everything I could want.”

Your eyes darted to his, a flicker of disbelief mingling with the gratitude he saw there. “But it feels like I’m taking too much. Like I’m being selfish.”

Aaron shook his head gently. “You’re not being selfish. You’re learning to accept what you’ve always deserved. And if it makes you feel better, you’ve already given me more than you know.”

You tilted your head slightly, a small frown tugging at your lips. “How?”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before speaking. “By letting me in. By trusting me. That’s more than enough.”

The way your expression softened told Aaron you were starting to believe him, even if it would take time for you to fully embrace it. He’d wait as long as you needed because seeing you begin to let go of the walls you’d built was a privilege he didn’t take lightly.

“I’ll try,” you said finally, your voice steady but quiet. “But it’s going to take time.”

Aaron smiled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

The next time you were together, Aaron could tell something was on your mind. He noticed it in the way your hands lingered on his chest, the way your gaze flickered to his before darting away. You wanted something, but you wouldn’t ask for it. The realization hit him with a pang of sadness—whatever your past had been; it had taught you that your wants didn’t matter, or worse, that they would be met with rejection.

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek to catch your attention. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady and calming. “You’re holding something back. What is it?”

Your lips parted, but no words came at first. You looked down, your hands fidgeting, and then let out a small, shaky breath. “It’s stupid,” you murmured. “I don’t even know how to bring it up.”

“It’s not stupid,” Aaron said firmly, his thumb now tracing slow, reassuring circles on the back of your hand. “Whatever it is, I want to hear it. You don’t have to filter anything with me.”

You hesitated, biting your bottom lip. “I’m… scared you won’t like it,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or that you’ll think it’s… weird. Or judge me for asking.”

The vulnerability in your voice hit Aaron like a punch to the gut. He let the words sink in, his chest tightening at the thought of anyone making you feel ashamed for voicing your needs. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to your forehead before speaking, his voice low and sincere. “There are very few things I can think of that I wouldn’t want to do—if it’s with you.”

You looked up at him, your eyes widening slightly, and Aaron saw the flicker of disbelief in your expression. He smiled softly, his gaze steady and unwavering. “I mean that. Whatever you’re worried about, whatever you want to try, I’ll listen. You can trust me to meet you there, no matter what it is.”

Your lips quirked into the faintest smile, though uncertainty still lingered in your eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is,” he said gently. “Because I care about you. Making you happy, seeing you comfortable—that’s what matters to me. Not some arbitrary line or rule. Just us.”

Your voice wavered when you finally replied. “I’ve never had that before. Someone who just… wants me to feel good.”

Aaron’s hand slid to cup your cheek, tilting your face so you couldn’t look away. “Then let me be that for you,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “There’s no rush, no pressure. If you’re not ready to share, that’s okay. But when you are, I’ll be here. And I promise, there’s nothing you could say that would make me think less of you.”

The raw sincerity in his voice seemed to ease the tension in your shoulders. You took a shaky breath and nodded, your fingers squeezing his hand. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try.”

Aaron kissed you softly, his touch lingering as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “That’s all I ask,” he said. “We’ll take this one step at a time.”

____________

Aaron wasn’t sure what he expected, but the way you seemed to glow after sharing and having it met was enough to make him forget any preconceptions. The two of you were still tangled in each other, the room quiet except for your soft breathing. You looked peaceful, content, your head resting on his chest as his fingers drew idle patterns along your back. He’d seen you like this only a handful of times—truly at ease—and it struck him how rare and precious these moments were.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. His voice was calm, but there was an undertone of something deeper. “You seemed… happy.”

You laughed quietly against his chest, your breath warm against his skin. “I am,” you admitted, your tone carrying a note of surprise, as if even you weren’t used to the idea. “I’m glad I said something.”

Aaron smiled faintly, his hand pausing for a moment before resuming its gentle movements. “I’m glad you did too,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “I’m always trying to figure you out, but sometimes, you’re an enigma.”

You shifted slightly, looking up at him with an expression caught somewhere between curiosity and caution. “An enigma?”

“Not in a bad way,” he clarified quickly. “You’re just… hard to read sometimes. I usually pride myself on understanding people, but with you, I feel like I’m always learning.”

You were quiet for a moment, your fingers tracing a faint line along his ribs. “That’s not a bad thing, is it?” you asked, your voice soft but steady.

“Not at all,” Aaron said, his tone resolute. “I like learning about you. But I want to understand why you hold back so much. Not just with this, but in general.”

You stiffened slightly, and Aaron immediately regretted pushing. He shifted, tilting your chin up so he could meet your eyes. “I don’t mean to pry,” he said gently. “If you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s okay.”

“No, it’s not that,” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

Aaron waited patiently, his gaze steady and unjudging. He could see the wheels turning in your head, the way your fingers gripped the edge of the sheet as if grounding yourself. Finally, you exhaled, a long and shaky breath.

“My past relationships weren’t exactly… kind,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “Sex was always about them. What they wanted, what they liked. It didn’t matter if it hurt or if I wasn’t comfortable. It was just… something to get through.”

Aaron’s chest tightened as he listened, a mix of anger and sadness washing over him. He didn’t interrupt, letting you speak at your own pace.

“I think I just stopped expecting it to be anything else,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. “And when it wasn’t… good, I blamed myself. Like maybe I wasn’t good enough, or I wasn’t doing something right. It just… made me feel so exposed, and not in a good way.”

Aaron’s hand stilled on your back, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you closer. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You shrugged lightly, your gaze fixed on the pattern of the sheets. “I guess I just got used to it.”

He tilted your chin up again, his dark eyes boring into yours. “That’s not something you should have to get used to,” he said firmly. “You deserve to be cared for, to feel safe. And if there’s anything I can do to help you feel that way, you just have to tell me.”

You nodded slowly, your lips pressing into a faint, shaky smile. “You already are,” you whispered. “I wouldn’t have shared anything if I didn’t feel safe with you.”

Aaron’s heart swelled at your words, but he could still see the weight of your past lingering in your expression. “You don’t have to carry all of that by yourself anymore,” he said softly. “I’m here, for all of it. For you.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling into his chest as you rested your head back against him. “It’s just going to take time,” you murmured.

“I have all the time in the world,” he replied, his voice steady and reassuring. “And as long as you let me, I’ll keep showing you that it doesn’t have to be like it was before.”

You didn’t say anything, but the way you clung to him spoke volumes. Aaron held you close, his hand resuming its gentle path along your back, silently vowing to keep learning, to keep showing you that intimacy could be a place of comfort and joy, not pain and fear. And in that quiet moment, he felt something shift—a sense of trust growing between you, fragile but unbreakable.

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[mcrdvcks]

— warm

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

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

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

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

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

“Matt?” You cut in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled gently. "Be safe, okay?"

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

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

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

You shook your head and pressed call anyway.

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

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

He sighed. “Angela.”

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

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

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

“Y/N—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

It hadn’t come off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mayor Fisk?” you asked skeptically.

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

You narrowed your eyes. “Meaning?”

He hesitated. “Blood.”

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

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

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

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

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

Matt was no help to you.

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

Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

“Since when do I cause trouble?”

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

“Following a lead.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Unofficially?”

He sighed. “Yeah. It’s blood.”

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

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

You snorted bitterly. “That’s comforting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matt’s not involved.”

Mahoney looked skeptical. “If you say so.”

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sound shifted somewhere ahead. You froze instantly.

Silence.

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

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

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

A low, rustling noise answered from somewhere ahead.

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

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

You took another careful step forward.

Then everything happened fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go to hell,” you spat fiercely.

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

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

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

Matt.

---

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

“Hello?” Matt answered.

“Mr. Murdock? It’s Angela.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck it.” He muttered.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I scared myself,” you admitted quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoffed softly. “Would you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it again,” he breathed softly.

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise,” you said softly.

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

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

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