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shield-secrets · 20 hours ago

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Bad Day - Dr Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch

I guess this counts as coming out of semi-retirement? anyway my heart will always belong to strong, silent, slightly emotionally unavailable men. Enjoy two idiots simping over each other. And please be kind. I'm a little rusty. Pairing: Dr Michael 'Robby Robinavitch x younger!nurse!reader Word Count: ~2.5k Warnings: none. does centre around babies so if that's not your vibe I get it

It had taken almost 2 extra hours but finally all the charts were complete. Every patient was handed over to the incoming paediatric nurses and you were finally cleared to go home.

There wasn’t anything exciting waiting for you, no social plans to speak of but after the day you’d had that wasn’t such a bad thing. Some shifts left you buzzing with anxiety (or, very rarely, joy) that needed to be directed outwards but this one had left you drained down to your bones.

They happened less frequently now that you’d left the Pitt but dealing with tiny, innocent little humans in such critical condition was a different kind of hell from the casualties that tumbled into the ED in a never ending stream.

Robby had warned you about it when you’d announced that you were accepting a new position upstairs in the paediatric wing but you’d mostly chalked it up to his disappointment that one of his favourite day shift nurses was leaving his department.

The ED had never been your true calling, just a stop along the way to the babies that needed your help the most but that hadn’t made the decision to leave any easier. All the members of the Pitt had become your pseudo-family after 2 years working side by side. Samira had even planned your last birthday party when you’d said that you ‘couldn’t be bothered celebrating’. But in spite of those wonderful relationships there had been one in particular tethering you to the teeming mass of chaos that was The Pitt.

Michael Robinavitch, MD. Known publicly as the Senior Attending Physician for Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. Known to his staff as Dr Robby and to you as….something else.

More than a boss but not quite a friend. Someone who refused to share his personal life had somehow weaselled his way under your skin. Just from a slight change in his posture or the inflection of his tone you’d instantly know how he was feeling, often turning up at his side with a granola bar or a coffee cool enough that he could down it in between patients.

Over time he started to do the same for you - even though technically as a nurse you didn’t fall under his line of reporting. You’d be sitting at the hub, inputting patient data only to look up and find one of his favourite choc chip peanut butter power bars balanced delicately on the top of the monitor. Neither of you ever discussed it, just quietly kept each other motoring along despite the hurricane threatening to engulf the ED.

“Alright. Get out of here” Angela, the senior paeds charge nurse, demanded as you handed over your keys to the prescriptions cabinet. “Before something goes wrong and we have to drag you back”

“More than happy to comply” you laughed, brushing away the strands of hair that had escaped the bun you’d secured at the nape of your neck 10 hours ago. “See you on Monday”

“Ah to be young” the older woman sighed wistfully, lifting her glasses to rest in her cloud of grey curls. “I hope you’re getting yourself out there. Not wasting your youth doomscrolling on that infernal phone”

With a gentle shake of your head you reached under the desk to retrieve your bag. If Angela knew that your plans for the next 48 hours involved rotting on the couch and maybe scrolling through Hinge for the forty thousandth time she’d go on an hour long rant about how time was wasted on ‘pretty things like you’ and that you'd regret not getting out there when you was old and grey like her.

Maybe there was a shred of truth to that but how could you dedicate yourself to finding a boyfriend when you couldn’t get a certain moody doctor out of your head. There had been other guys over the years but no matter how hard you tried they just couldn’t compare to the emotionally unavailable attending that haunted your dreams.

Pulling your ‘infernal phone’ out of your bag you frowned to see a message from Dana waiting for you. It had only been there for ten minutes but the content had your insides lurching.

Any chance you’re still here?

Frowning down at the screen you shouldered your bag, typing out a quick response.

Just about to bail. Everything okay?

As soon as you sent your message a reply popped up underneath.

Bad day. Could you come down?

She didn’t need to elaborate for you to know exactly who she was talking about and instead of taking the north exit towards the parking structure you were turning left, straight for the lift down to the Pitt.

Dana barely managed a smile when the silver doors slid open. She just gestured with her pen to the dark windows of the staff room where you could barely make out a familiar silhouette.

“So. The Pitt was sucking extra hard today?” you asked as you slid the door shut behind you.

Letting loose a sigh that could rattle bones Robby slowly turned and the pure devastation on his face had your heart squeezing.

“Yeah,” he admitted after a pause. “You could say that”

Irritation twisted under your pale pink scrubs.

There was always more to it. Prying feelings out of Robby was like pulling blood from a stone. Even if you spent all night trying he wouldn’t part with anything but the bare minimum - the smallest amount of vulnerability that would get you off his case.

And as much as you wanted all of it, to take all of the pain and darkness off his overburdened shoulders, you wouldn’t force his hand. He deserved soft and gentle and kind.

“Any plans after work?”

“Does sleeping for 16 years count?” he chuckled, rubbing a hand along his salt and pepper chin.

“You got 16 years off? Wow. Maybe I should have been a doctor”

He huffed a laugh at the joke but the accompanying smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Dana had been right. A bad day indeed. “Do you have a minute? I think I know something that might help”

He let you take him without complaint, leading him back through the buzzing ED and over to the elevators. As if sensing it was futile he didn’t even ask where you were going. Whether that was a sign of his trust or exhaustion you couldn’t tell, but his hand was warm in yours as the two of ventured up to the maternity ward.

“You have to promise to keep this a secret” you said as you came to a stop outside a set of white double doors. “Technically we’re not meant to do this but I have an…arrangement”

A dark brow arched in question but you ignored it, pushing the doors open slowly to reveal a sea of newborn babies resting in perspex cradles. Just the sight of the tiny newborns wrapped in pale yellow blankets set your heart fluttering.

Babies weren’t everyone’s thing, that had become abundantly clear in your 8 months in paeds, but in your perfectly correct opinion there was nothing quite as soothing as holding a warm bundle in your arms after a hard shift.

“You come in here often?” Robby asked, his voice low as to not disturb the sleeping patients.

“From time to time” you admitted before grabbing two yellow paper gowns from the dispenser on the wall. “Angela turned me onto it after we lost a set of premature twins. Nothing helps sooth the sting of death like brand new little lives”

“Or just an excuse to cuddle babies” Robby teased, a twinkle of amusement in his brown eyes.

“Well it’s a better coping mechanism than standing on a ledge” you shot back.

“Next time I see Jack up there I’ll suggest it to him”

A snort of laughter echoed through the silent room.

“Come on. I’ve got the perfect one”

“What, you evaluate the babies for cuddle-potential?” Robby asked as the two of you slowly weaved your way through the rows on cradles.

“No. I ask my spies which ones are the calmest so I know who won’t cry if I pick them up”

“You have spies?”

“All the best nurses have spies. You don’t think Dana has her own little network?”

“Oh I know she does” he agreed. The ED would be engulfed in flames without his favourite charge nurse. Never mind that she was his most trusted source about his favourite topic. You.

Right at the end of the middle row a tiny little baby waited for your eager hands. With well practiced movements you scooped baby Purcell out of her bed, cradling her delicate body to yours for a minute before turning to the man next to you. He took a half-step back but you were too fast, lifting the package up and into his impressive arms.

For a split second fear flashed across his sculpted face before melting into an expression of pure contentment.

A crease formed between the baby’s brows and your heart lurched with fear that she’d wake up and out your very much against hospital policy activities. But thankfully after a small wiggle she settled down into Robby’s arms (and honestly who could blame her).

You could have picked up your own little bundle of joy, your favourite L&D nurse had texted you a list of 5 babies who would love to be held, but putting even an inch of space between you and your former attending sent an ache through you. So instead you stepped closer, heart skipping as you leant your cheek against the massive expanse of his bicep. Even through the thick fabric of his navy hoodie and the yellow gown his heat pulsed against your skin sending sparks of electricity down your spine.

How you’d ever managed to get any work done around this man was one of the universe’s best kept secrets. With his sad puppy eyes and streaks of grey colouring the hair at his temples he was utterly hypnotic. The whole point of this trip was a quick hit of dopamine but it was quickly devolving into a completely different monster. How foolish you’d been to think you could go from not seeing him for weeks to standing side by side in a nursery and not get sucked into the vortex that was Robby.

The two of you could have been standing there for five minutes or five hours it was impossible to tell. A different kind of quiet had settled over the room, wrapped you both in a bubble of calm.

“I used to think I might have this someday”

Robby’s confession rumbled through him, vibrating the thick muscle pressing against your cheek.

“You still could”

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you tried to speak around the ache in your throat.

“I’m too old. Too broken. Wouldn’t want anyone wasting their time on me” he muttered, not taking his eyes off the baby snoring softly in his arms.

You couldn’t help but blink in surprise.

“Robby. You’re a very intelligent man but that might be the dumbest thing anyone’s ever said”

He frowned, accidentally jostling baby Purcell in his arms who let out a dainty squeak of protest but he didn't take his eyes off you. You were staring up at him, eyelashes framing your sparkling eyes with a playful smile pulling at the corner of your lips and for a split second he forgot how to breathe.

“What do you mean?’

He was almost afraid to ask. That you might be laughing at the notion of him ever wanting a family when his career consumed every waking moment of his day and often his nights. That there was clearly something wrong with him if he'd hit fifty and not found someone willing to start a family with him.

“Robby. Any woman would be lucky to have you”

A bolt of lightning shot through his chest.

If only you knew.

If only you knew that from your first shift in the ED he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. That each time his hand brushed yours during a procedure it took every shred of his self-control to stay upright. That even the scent of your shampoo sent him in to a tail spin and he’d been equal parts ruined and relieved when you’d gone up to the fourth floor, hoping that some distance might free him from this crippling crush. Except that it had only worsened it - leaving him in a constant state of anxiety and relying on Dana for any scrap of information she had about your wellbeing.

Clearing his throat with a soft cough he turned his eyes back to the little girl and the gentle slope of her button nose, willing himself not to ask the question that was burning a hole in his sternum. But surrounded by fragile human lives with the lavender scent of your shampoo flooding his senses he had no hope.

“Do you want this someday?”

To anyone outside it might have sounded like an innocent question but you knew Robby too well. Knew the intricacies of his tone. Something lingered at the edges of it, something deeper that had a jolt of nerves sweeping through your stomach.

“As many as I can have” you replied, subconsciously leaning further into his arm and his heart lurched against his ribs.

Of course. You worked in paeds. Naturally you were pro-children but he hadn’t quite put two and two together and the thought of you holding your own child had his stomach tumbling so violently his heart skipped a beat.

Would he walk into the ED one to have Dana report that you’d met someone? Would he spend every day guiltily wishing that he’d receive a report of your breakup and still sit on the sidelines, too afraid of not being enough for you that it happened again and again until one day the breakup never came and he lost his chance forever?

How was he meant to live in a world where someone else had the honour of being your man when he was just realising that it was the only job he’d ever want.

Putting himself first didn't come naturally to Robby. It was his fatal flaw that had been pointed out by his loved ones on more than one occasion but for a single heartbeat he managed to silence the voice screaming in the back of his mind that he didn't deserve happiness long enough to speak the words burning at the tip of his tongue.

“Have dinner with me”

It was barely more than a whisper but in the silent nursery it was practically a shout. Smiling into the paper gown your eyes slid up to his face to find Robby staring resolutely at the little girl but the scarlet blush growing on his cheeks betrayed his nerves.

Because even though it was ridiculous - if you said it out loud you’d sound insane - it wasn’t just dinner.

It was an invitation to a whole different future.

Michael Robinavitch was a lot of things; brilliant, moody, funny, withdrawn, older.

And also unequivocally yours.

And you were his.

This tension between the two of you wasn’t something awkward or strained.

It was a question that had waited 2 years to be asked.

And standing there in the dark nursery with his guarded heart finally cracked open there was only one answer.

“I thought you’d never ask”

#dr michael robinavitch x reader #robby robinavitch x reader #dr michael robinavitch #the pitt #the pitt x reader #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader

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sidsinning · 20 hours ago

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Thank you for your input! I can definitely see this kind of interpretation being justified. I don't think Till's feelings for Ivan were as far as romantic, but I don't particularly believe his feelings for Ivan can be boxed into simple "platonic" terms either. They're messy like that which I love lmao 😂🤌

Long ass response at 2 am:

I don't see Till reciprocating Ivan's feelings on much of a subconscious level tbh, based off what I've seen in both the PVs and comics. There is just too much vague proof given as to why he had "hidden" love for Ivan, at least the same kind Ivan had for him, which is what these shippers are trying to claim. I do think he had love for Ivan he didn't think much about before it was too late, but more in a way where you don't really appreciate or think about something that's always been there by your side until it's gone.

I understand a kiss is a vaguely taught concept to humans, but every time a kiss is brought up between Ivan and Till, Till is not interested. It's a physical intimacy he does not want from Ivan.

When he is kissed twice, he doesn't want it either time. When Ivan suggests they try it out, he is comedically, but undeniably absolutely disgusted by the idea. When Ivan is implied to be attempting to get physically intimate with Till in their cover of My Clematis, also comedically, Till is screaming at Ivan to go away. 😭

There is just no way to ignore how he rejects any advances from Ivan at every turn to claim he had hidden feelings for him. Vivimeng and us as the audience know what a kiss is, so to me they are clearly trying to convey Till doesn't love Ivan romantically.

He realized just how important Ivan was to him after his sacrifice. Which I think is why Ivan has the hidden heart around his neck. He believed Till never really cared for him, but Till very much did, even if he didn't show it. Ivan is the only character Till is completely himself around, which says a lot.

I also agree that Till's feelings for Mizi were idolization, but to make my stance on this more clear, I just think it's kinda weird how a lot of Ivantill shippers will completely dismiss them without thought when Mizi is who he has on his mind for literally all his songs. Like it wasn't "real" love.

I consider his feelings extremely intense and real- he thinks about her in his darkest moments, and loses his will to live nearly without her presence. Crushes aren't only valid if you know them on a super personal level like Mizisua to one another- innocent puppy love is still love.

I don't think Till would deny this himself; he isn't telling himself it is deep love he feels for Mizi. He really does treat her like an idol, even if he isn't objectifying her like that one turd who hit her in the recent comic. He doesn't think about gross things like male/female mating at all, just wanting to be noticed by her while she is committed to Sua, not holding any malicious, jealous thoughts on their close relationship in any way.

I guess that's the issue I have with how Ivantilltwt treats such a huge part of Till's character to fulfill this "Ivan was the only one actually important to Till, Mizi was an illusion, a distraction" mindset. I think it's kind of cool how Till is the only one out of the whole cast to explore different kinds of love like this, and it's a shame it's ignored for a ship agenda. You don't have to deny Mizi's huge place in his heart to enjoy Ivantill fully (though I know may shippers don't too! Bless you comrades).

For the "to love" and "to be loved" parallel in Karma, I also saw this being debated. I personally believe "to love" was saying Mizi freely loved Sua because she was loved in return, while "to be loved" was saying what we've always known- that Till was being loved by Ivan and he only knew in that heartbreaking moment on stage, when Ivan laid himself completely bare to Till as he held his face desperately one last time. Till finally realized he was being loved when it was staring him dead in the eye in that moment.

It's also such a short blink of a scene to reveal a bombshell piece of info like Till loving Ivan in return; it'd be a strange decision to make from a creative standpoint imo

As for the new human clones, I took Till smiling at the Mizi/Ivan kid as him appreciating the 2 most important people in his life that shaped the person he became today. Not a reveal that he was in love with both of them, especially because he seemed to be a lot more mature when he looked up at Mizi's image in the end before calmly moving on, which showed he was over his childhood idolization. That's his friend. Ivan's his friend. He loved both in different ways.

In summary yeah they're messy and I think in a better world my disaster bisexual son Till could've loved Ivan in return. In a world where both knew how to express their love healthily. I agree Ivan just acted so on and off with Till that it would always throw him off, not knowing where he stood with Ivan until the very end. "Thank you for beating my ass up then sitting with me while I write music and draw after- did you just lick my blood off your fingers???" 😭✌️

Sidenote, I don't believe there is a single ship in Alien Stage that could be considered healthy, and I love it!! 😔✌️💕 What does "healthy" love even look like to a species treated as pets and bred like livestock for entertainment?

Bros I CANNOT with Ivantilltwt, a lot of fans will see both the forced kisses and go "Till isn't rejecting Ivan, he is just caught off guard bc Ivan didn't warn him, it's just miscommunication- see in this split second frame here he looks like he's ok with his touch" like no??? He doesn't like it, period!!! Watch the whole interaction, it's animated for a reason!! He actively tries to push Ivan away while his expression is confused, distressed, and closed off!!! His friend is trying to shove a surprise kiss onto him, I think anyone would react the same.

Brother Ivan is literally trying to shove his love down Till's throat

Idk man a lot of fans on twt keep trying to force this "Till was secretly hiding some feelings for Ivan and his SHALLOW feelings for Mizi were just hiding them" agenda

Like omg its unrequited but their bond is still so deep and that's what makes them so compelling can we not do this (I love Ivan's toxic but pure devotion to Till ok, and I fully understand the boy is miscommunicator1000)

I personally think the most reasonable "mutual" Ivantill take is how they COULD have been mutual- if a better world let their feelings blossom healthily, if Till had the time to start seeing Ivan that way instead of immediately dying (unless...) only hours after Ivan died for his sake. If his survivor's guilt wasn't crushing his heart to the point where thoughts of loving Ivan back were impossible to even consider in his mental state. If he had the time to love and lose his crush on Mizi and move onto something more personal and deep with Ivan.

I love Ivantill but damn!! The "always been mutual" agenda is crazy strong rn

#ivantill #alien stage #alnst

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sharkbitten-sailor · 3 days ago

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can we have some platonic forsaken and teen reader with ptsd headcanons plsss? (i need some comfort in my life god-) - TED talk anon -

[forsaken] forsaken survivors & teen!reader who has ptsd headcanons .ᐟ

a/n; welcome TED Talk anon! i’m really sorry for what you’ve been through , you deserve every ounce of comfort and support. just know , i’m here whenever you need someone to talk to. you are never alone , alr?

noob - they don’t get everything you’re going through , but they get enough to sit quietly by your side and just... listen. sometimes quiet company hits different. - they’ll slide you a boxy cola when they notice you’re overwhelmed. no words needed. - “y-you’re holding up better than i-i would… seriously. you’re kinda... my hero.”

elliot - highkey panics at first. you’re a kid , a survivor , and already carrying this much? it breaks his heart. - adopts you as his lil sibling figure , no questions asked. treats you like you’re made of glass but the kind worth protecting , not pitying. - saves you the last slice of pizza , always. and gently teaches you how to speak your mind , only when you’re ready. - “deep breaths , alright? in… and out. you don’t have to face everything at once. we’ll take it slow , together.”

shedletsky - freezes. not built for deep talks , so his support comes through actions. - offers to teach you sword stuff (if you’re cool with it) or just shares his chicken. - clumsily avoids any mention of possible triggers. you see him fumble , but it’s endearing. he cares. - “hey kid… i’m not great with words , but… i got your back. always.”

007n7 - gets protective real fast. like , instant dad mode. - asks if you're okay when you're alone , never in front of others. (reason is obv.,..) - sure , he asks all the time: how you’re doing , if you’re okay. but it’s always genuinely. - lets you fidget with his clones to calm down. they remind him of his son , and somehow , that softens something in him too. - “you’re not weak. feeling it doesn’t make you any less strong.”

guest 1337 - you’re the only one he lets in like this. shared pain , shared understanding. - shadows you in every round. no killer gets near. not on his watch. - unless they wanna see a locked in guest. rip - if violence erupts , he’ll lure the chaos away. not because he’s scared , but because he doesn’t want you to see it. - “you made it this far… and that’s no small thing. you’re stronger than anyone gives you credit for. including yourself.”

two time - i’m sorry, but they straight up don’t get it. don’t try to either. - might throw you a glance , maybe even pity. but connection?... don’t expect warmth here. - and if they do show a little warmth , trust me. it’s bait. just a way to drag you into their cult.

chance - disaster with emotions. absolute mess. - might accidentally say the wrong thing , realizes it , and hands you his lucky coin as apology. - invites you to endless rounds of monopoly n poker. terrible at comforting , but his goofy jokes will crack the tension , even if just a little. - “shoot… sorry. that was dumb. here- good luck token. it always works for me.”

dusekkar - treats you like fragile glass , always on the edge. - offers to teach you some healing magic. soft , strange stuff that somehow works. both physically & mentally(?) - you’re the only one he lets mess with his deer horns. he says it’s annoying , but never stops you. - “storm passed. still you breathe. still you stand. still you’re here.” (can you tell im this bad at writing rymth stuff ,,,)

taph - same boat as elliot , panic when he saw you at first. why is a minor here , at this hell of all places?? - he’s completely mute , so he starts drawing little comics to talk to you. ends up teaching you sign language too. - offers to teach you tripwire tricks for self-defense. - he’s proud of you no matter what !! no self-loathing allowed !! - constantly reminds you how amazing you are. - 💪🌟🫵 ~ “you’re goated. no arguing.”

builderman - holds real hatred for the entity aka the spectre. it’s really heartless , isn’t it. - protective , but urges you to stay close to other sentinels unless it’s just the two of you. he trusts them more in a fight. - can tell right away when you’re overwhelmed. doesn’t always say much , but he knows. - starts rambling about random stuff like blueprints , upgrades , the best kind of bricks , just to ground you. - sometimes lets you wear his hard hat. says it’s too big , but it’s really endearing to him.

jane doe (added her here cuz i feel like it-) - absolute shock,. mother-insect mode activated. you can’t convince me otherwise/hj - instantly becomes your main caretaker. basically adopts you as her kid. she always wanted one , after all. - shares the best of what she has , from rations to rare supplies. you get first pick. - drops whatever she’s doing if you want to talk. no hesitation. no delay. - “speak. whatever it is , i’m listening.” - “they were cruel to send you here. i won’t be.”

a/n; here ya go !! my first time writing all the forsaken survivors ,,, turns out it’s way easier than handling the lil ones with long hcs ,,,, he ,,

WAIT THE TAGS- SAVE ME-

#dockside-journal #PLATONIC #purely platonic #forsaken roblox x reader #forsaken x reader #roblox forsaken x reader #x reader #forsaken noob x reader #forsaken 007n7 x reader #forsaken elliot x reader #forsaken chance x reader #forsaken guest 1337 x reader #forsaken shedletsky x reader #forsaken two time x reader #<- ?#forsaken dusekkar x reader #forsaken taph x reader #forsaken builderman x reader #forsaken jane doe x reader

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moonstruckme · 2 days ago

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Im obsessed with how u write Remus and james! This is a weird request but can you write smt smutty but maybe the reader has an insecurity about her butt/legs 😭 so sorry but I feel like I always see some about smaller chest but what about the girls with smaller butts mannnnn

Thank you for requesting angel!

cw: not very smutty but mdni please, reader is insecure of her butt/thighs being smaller, some d/s dynamics sorry I'm uncurable

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Things escalate quickly once you get into Remus’ room. You’re supposed to be…well, you know Remus’ invitation to come inside so he could lend you his book was in earnest. You were earnest, too, when you kissed him sweetly in the sitting room. It’s just that after that, you’d both found out at the same time that his flatmate wasn’t home, which has never happened when the two of you were at his before, and so perhaps it was a collaboration of mood and timing and coincidence that’s led to your current circumstances.

Your trousers and Remus’ shirt discarded on his floor. Tea left to cool in the sitting room. Heavy breaths and unquieted sounds in an empty apartment. Those circumstances.

“Come here,” Remus rasps, his hand splayed over the small of your back. Remus has large hands, with long fingers, and the span of them makes you feel safe. He kisses you urgently. “Come here.”

You laugh, breathless. “I’m here.”

The throaty, dissasifed sound which emanates from him makes you laugh more. You feel airy with it, fizzy, bubbling over. Remus moves his hand from your back to hook it under your knee, pulling your leg further across his hip. You’re lying facing each other on pillows that smell like him. It takes you a second to figure out what he wants.

When you do figure it out, rolling on top of him, you’re rewarded with a kiss so deep you half wonder what Remus is trying to draw out. If he’d only tell you, you’re sure you’d let him have it. You’d give him anything.

“You’re amazing,” he breathes. His fingers curl around the back of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw as he kisses up at you.

You feel amazing. You’ve never felt so beautiful, so desirable and cared for, as when Remus talks to you this way. You run a hand up his chest, feeling scars and muscle under your fingertips. You roll your hips over him.

Remus groans low and deep in his throat. His grip on your knee slips upward, pulling you closer. Short fingernails dig into your buttcheek.

You take in a stilted breath. Remus notices the difference.

He pulls away, his hand on your backside turning gentle. “Sorry,” he pants. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You shake your head, hard enough to dislodge something, hopefully. Your eyes close. “No, sorry.”

“You can tell me if I’m being too rough.” Remus rubs up and down the back of your thigh, slow, comforting. Something in your stomach knots tight.

You wish he would stop touching you there. It doesn’t feel like a fair thought to have when he’s being so kind. It’s not that you don’t like when Remus touches you, even, just that you wish he wouldn’t perceive that part of your body at all. Knowing he’s feeling it under his hand, you can’t help but narrow all your focus to that one area. It feels like the first time you’d brushed shoulders accidentally; sparks, except this time not in a nice way.

“I’m sorry.” Remus looks worried now. He can tell something’s the matter, just not what it is. “I should have asked.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m sorry.” You kiss him once in consolation before dropping your forehead to his shoulder with a sigh. “It’s not you.”

Remus is silent for a few moments, though his hand covers the back of your head. He pets your hair. “It’s alright if it’s me,” he murmurs eventually.

“No, it’s not you. It’s my bum.”

You feel ridiculous saying it aloud, and so you laugh, quiet and half nervously. Remus laughs with you, also quiet and entirely confused. “Pardon?”

“It feels weird to have you touch my bum, because it’s…well, I don’t have much of one, do I?”

“What? Yes, you do.”

“Remus, I’ve seen it.”

“So have I.” He keeps petting your head. His other hand, thankfully, has drifted up to rest on the small of your back. Even in disagreement, Remus cares to see you comfortable. “Lovely, I feel like there’s something I’m missing here. Is it the size of it that bothers you?”

You nod abashedly.

“How would you want it to look?”

“I don’t know. Different.”

Remus hums pensively. “You know that I don’t share that opinion, don’t you?”

“Yeah—I mean, I guess. It’s not like you’ve had a lot of time to form an opin—”

“No. Look at me,” he interrupts you, in a no-nonsense tone you’ve not heard from him before. It stills you. “Y/n, look at me.”

You do. Remus’ eyes are stern. “I think you are perfect,” he says.

You stare at him.

“Are you listening to me? You’re perfect. Every bit of you.”

“Okay,” you say after a moment, your mouth dry. “Sorry.”

Remus cups your face. His long thumb sweeps across your cheek. “I don’t want you to be sorry, sweetheart,” he tells you. “I want you to understand me. You can believe whatever you want about yourself; I can’t change that, even if I don’t like it. But I won’t have you believing that I think you’re anything other than beautiful.” He pauses, looking you in your eyes. “Do you understand?”

You nod.

“Use your words, please.”

“I understand.”

“Perfect.” He kisses the space between your brows. You shut your eyes into it, heart pulsing at the base of your throat. “Thank you.”

Slowly, giving you a chance to stop it, Remus’ hand slips over the curve of your spine again. His hand is large enough to engulf your buttcheek when he splays his fingers, and it doesn’t make you feel as self-conscious as you might have expected. You feel safe. It’s not sparks; it’s easy, it’s slipping into a warm bath, it’s being desirable and cared for. Remus holds your gaze, and you feel amazing.

“Is this alright?” he asks softly.

You nod. “Yeah.”

Remus doesn’t look smug, or self-congratulatory, but his eyes warm with a sort of pride as he pulls you down to meet his lips again. You think it’s for you.

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overdramaticbaddie · 1 day ago

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okokok hear me out this is a biiiiiiiiiiiiit of a reach but I find it interesting anyway (yes it's abt kerdly)

so as we know, when kris picks up noelle's phone after susie throws it; and berdly unknowingly invites kris to go with him, there are two options you can pick: go with him, or just prank him.

What i think is interesting is how he RESPONDS to each option.

Go with Berdly: "K- KRIS!? You... you... the phone, you...!?" "..." "Kris, I have to say. Heh. I am. Flattered." "But if you want my hand... you'll have to fight for it." "On the day of the festival... You, Noelle, Susie..." "The lover who impresses me the most... Will be my date." "Kris, may the best suitor... Epic win." "Good luck."

Wrong number song: "KRIS!? You... you scoundrel!!" "Eavesdropping on my sweet, cartiligienous inner thoughts..." "Hmph. Go ahead and taunt, Kris." "I'M the one Susie and Noelle are falling like dominoes for." "And you know what dominoes means, Kris?" "You're next."

For the wrong number song, he attempts to be smooth and flirts with Kris, saying that they're next in line to fall in love with him. This is similar to an interaction you can have with him in chapter 2, where he basically goes "don't be disappointed kris, but I'm into susie" or some shit; like he thinks kris is flirting with him. This makes sense for his character, since he seems to have a problem distinguishing people being nice from romantic advances.

But what I find REALLY interesting is how that contrasts with when we straight up accept his invitation.

He actually gets kind of flustered, stuttering a little, which i guess is kinda normal for the situation; but the main thing is how he acts like he WASN'T EXPECTING THAT KIND OF THING FROM THEM.

This is strange to me. Like, how do those responses go together? One seems to imply that Berdly thinks that Kris wanting to date him is inevitable, but he acts SUPRISED that Kris wanted to go with him. Like, yeah, he wasn't expecting them to pick up the phone, but he fucking PAUSES and goes "Kris, I have to say. Heh. I am. Flattered." like bro is like trynna process it.

Idk man it's almost like Berdly subconsciously WANTS Kris to like him and while he keeps his ego fueled by thinking everyone is obsessed with him including them he has a biiiit of yearning deep down and it surfaces in an uncomfy way when kris says they'll go with him and he quickly patches it up with "OHO you must FIGHT for my HAND", (also why weren't you considering that when you thought it was just susie and noelle??? Does someone want to feel wanted by a certain human???? hmm????)

Also both dialogues end with a very...... SPECIFIC kind of flirtatiousness he ONLY shows Kris.

With Susie and Noelle, It's pretty much a verbose variation of "You think I'm super hot. Ur cool too ig. I will now grace you with my presence." Which is just an offshooting of how he acts in general, just acting like he thinks everyone can't get enough of him and he's doing everyone a favor by existing.

But with KRIS it's direct. It's an invitation, a challenge, almost.

He's ALWAYS trying to get Kris to engage with him. EVERY TIME he opens his mouth around them it's basically just him trying to get Kris to admit they want him in ANY way. Like You want to join MY side right kris? You WISH you had MY grades and MY gaming skills and just admit you think im cool just tell me im the coolest and smartest and most attractive monster you've ever met because you soooo think that right? RIGHT? TELL ME IM PRETTY!

Like it's crazy how badly he seems to want approval from THEM SPECIFICALLY. How in the beginning of chapter 2 he's jealous of SUSIE. JEALOUS OF SUSIE. FOR BEING KRIS'S FRIEND.

And he's NEVER jealous of Noelle for being friends with Kris.

NEVER jealous of Kris being friends with Susie.

He can't even see that Noelle and Susie are OBVIOUSLY down HORRENDOUSLY for each other much less be JEALOUS of them.

But somebody new is hanging around kris and he gets jealous.

Aaaaannnd then he acts like he has a crush on said friend and rubs that in Kris's face and suggests they're jealous of HER.

BRO.

HOW TF HAS HE NOT FIGURED THIS OUT YET.

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seitmai · 11 hours ago

Text

Many thoughts

She pretends that she doesn’t see the numbers on the sides of the weights, and pretends also that she doesn’t give a little bit of her imagination to the way that tattoo must move when he lifts them.

Fair

He passes by pretty quickly, concealed behind the kitchen island in just a few steps. Still, she saw him. Illuminated only by the light of the television, wearing a tight pair of black boxer briefs and dog tags around a silver chain. Long, muscled legs and tapered hips. Sure, he was good looking before, and clearly fit — but she wasn’t expecting what had been under those slightly loose t-shirts.

A lot more interesting to look at than the TV 🤭👀

“Sometimes,” He cranes his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “That’s not weird.” Her lips almost quirk, and she gives him a confirming shake of her head. “I didn’t say it was. Do you have green tea?”

This convo was just so odd and off, I love it 🤭

She sets her gaze steadily on the television, her hands in her lap, wondering if he’s this brash with all of his house guests. With a swallow, she shrugs her shoulders. “Oh, it’s just this TV show about a columnist in New York in the nine—“ “Are you explaining Sex and the City to me?” Bradley sounds bewildered, his face stark as he stares at her across the couch. Avery’s lips tug at a smile, and she almost forget the nerves she’d been feeling.

Bradley is cultured 😌

Bradley seems like a nice guy. He slept in a bed clearly meant for a child all night last night, and he let her take the first shower this morning, he chased her across the parking lot and offered to fix all of her problems in one fell swoop.

That's some real nice guy shit if you ask me

Maybe that’s because of some kind of debt he thinks he owes to Pete, and maybe it’s just because that’s the kind of man he is.

Maybe both🤷🏻‍♀️

He looks away before she’s even out of view, but it doesn’t change what he had been thinking. She’s Pete’s kid, for gods’ sakes. Not much of a kid anymore, but still, it wouldn’t be right.

He makes it more weird than it has to be lol

Man, Maverick would hate it, too. Bradley wishes, silently, that he was here to scold him. Pete would square his shoulders and get that rare and serious look on his face, warning Bradley to keep his hands to himself. And Bradley would smile and taunt him, saying, “Don’t worry, Mav, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

Well when he is the perfect gentleman why would Mav hate that? Like better a nice, little older gentleman that cares than an asshole imo lol

Shit. Bradley shakes his head and his voice pitches up a fraction. “Oh, she and Mav were just good friends for a long time.”

Suuuure

A product of one of Maverick’s ‘good friendships’ herself, Avery doesn’t need Bradley to explain to her what that means. It makes her a little less excited to get to wherever he’s taking her.

Lmao so true, she nows better than anyone about Mav's ✨️friendships ✨️ lol

“What? — What’s that look?” He prompts, looking across at her with an amused smile toying at his lips. “She’s like a long time ago ex, right? She wasn’t dating Pete recently?” Bradley thinks on his answer for a moment. He isn’t surprised that she figured out there was something between Mav and Penny, he would have figured it out too.

Not sure if that lie will hold up 😬🙈

He guesses that Mav kept that kind of thing from her.

No shit Sherlock

“Alright, okay — yeah, this’ll be good,” Avery sounds more like she’s giving herself a pep talk than like she’s replying to him. He shoots her a smile and a nod anyway. “Thanks, again, by the way. You’re cool for setting this all up.” Cool. Not the kind of compliment he’s usually searching for from a pretty girl, but he’ll take it.

Take what you can get!

“Mav’s kid?” In the short time Bradley has known her, he knows that’s not the kind of response she would have wanted to get.

And she has every right to that, especially as there were seemingly not to close and then only being referred to being his kid

Swinging his arm out and throwing the heavy limb around her shoulders, Payback watches Rooster drag the stunned girl out from behind him and present her at his side. “It’d pay you to learn your new bartender’s name, Fitch.”

Great retort!

He’s looking Avery right in the eye, and he already can see that Bradley’s going to have to be reminded that not everyone likes the heavy handed approach to affection he can have.

Fair

Penny Benjamin is tall and striking, standing behind the bar with her eyes already on the new bartender. There’s a recognition and affection in the blue of her gaze that tells Avery she was lied to just a moment ago. That’s a woman who cared deeply for Pete Mitchell.

Well, there goes the lie 🫣

It puts a bad taste in her mouth, a pit in her stomach, a sudden coldness about the possibility of this job. Even if just for a short time, for however long she’s here, she’s just going to be an extension of the man she had always felt so far from.

Understandable

It’s Natasha that he can trust to catch his eye first, giving him that kind of look cautious parents give their kids when coaching them on a bike. She worries a lot for someone who swears that she doesn’t care about the meatheads she hangs out with.

She truly is an angel putting up with them

Bradley just shrugs. This isn’t the place to unpack whatever went down between Mav and Avery. He doesn’t know enough, even if he wanted to talk about it.

I really like how he knows and recognizes his place in this

“How’s she doing?” Bob asks, his blue eyes deep and sincere as he searches Bradley’s face, knowing better than to ask the same question.

Bob🥹🫶🏻

Penny knows Bradley well enough to know that. He’s always been a very affectionate guy. Still, the look that she gives him is one that certainly, and silently, tells him to keep his hands to himself.

Pursing her lips, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and Bradley’s mouth almost falls open. There’s no way she thinks that he’s hitting on Avery. He’s just being friendly.

Of course, not even a little chance huh? 👀

Penny is such a mom, no matter who and I think that's admirable

Ashes, Ashes | Two | Bradley Bradshaw

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Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell. age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Bradley rents a bungalow about twenty minutes from base, towards the south of the San Diego bay. He explains, on the drive there, while she is hugging an overnight bag of her things, that he’s been renting it from this sweet old lady for the past four years — but he’s only been living in it for about three quarters of that time, with deployments.

He talks a lot. Shooting halfway amused looks across at him every now and again as he talks over his music, explaining his entire rental history, Avery just lets him go on and on.

Maybe he’s worried that the silence will give her room to start tearing up again, but she knows that won’t happen — it was already a rare occurrence, just the once.

She lets him talk. He doesn’t seem to mind how much attention she’s paying either. Anything other than silence is fine, even if he’s the only one filling it.

The respite comes when he parks in the driveway, hops out, and proudly displays the home to her. It’s white all over and covered in plants, all up the driveway and over the porch. There’s a surfboard sitting on the porch, waxed up and looking ready to go.

Inside is masculine and simple, and spotless. It looks more lived in than Maverick’s place, but in an exceptionally organised way.

Just past the front door, he has an organised entryway with a closet and one of those shoe racks that looks like an end table.

Beyond that, his living area is all open plan. His kitchen is to the left right as you walk in, and the living room is the clear focus. He’s got a big grey sectional pointed at a big tv with a stack of video games beside it.

He doesn’t ask her to take her shoes off by the door, but she copies politely when he kicks his off.

That leaves her, blue and white tube socks, toeing against the chewed up corner of the area rug while he busies himself with fixing the few things he deems to be out of place.

Itching to keep moving, she prods at the fabric, examining the teeth marks, wondering where the dog must be.

“Oh— that was my ex-girlfriend’s dog. I’ve been meaning to buy a new rug.” He explains, furrowing his brows at the spot as he tosses a throw pillow down onto his soft looking grey couch. “Um — so, I do have a guest room, but it’s kind of a gym right now. You can just make yourself at home, and I’ll go get everything out of your way.”

“I can take the couch.”

“No, no, you deserve some privacy at least. I’ll just be a sec — I have sodas and beers in the fridge, glasses are in the cabinet to the right. Help yourself.” He’s a good host, and a better one than she had been yesterday, considering that Maverick’s place is now technically her own.

As he heads for the long, stretching hallway, she shoots a look back down at the mauled rug. With how spotless the rest of this place is, he must have really liked that girl to let her bring her dog here, and to let it chew up his stuff.

She wonders, aimlessly, if he was mad about it. If they argued. If they broke up long ago.

Avery hasn’t had too many relationships of her own. Some mediocre sex and a couple of couch-based movie dates here and there, nothing to write home about.

She sits cautiously, sinking into the pillowy cushion of the couch, taking the time finally to really look around her. The space is bright, with big windows all around and a view of the bay. There’s a sun catcher dancing from the curtain rod, casting rainbows across his wooden floors.

Maybe his ex had bought that, too.

The bungalow is small, but it fits all of his belongings with an abundance of space left. Avery thinks back to her father’s place, always cluttered and spilling over with junk, treasure from his years of travels.

Maybe Bradley is a little bit less sentimental about keeping things.

He rattles around in the room at the end of the hall for a while, huffing occasionally. While waiting on the couch, she considers getting up and offering to help a few times, but ultimately convinces herself against it.

“Alright! Fresh sheets and some space to move, there’s still a bunch of stuff in there but I tried to get it out of your way.” He comes strolling back down the hallway and drops down onto the couch at her side, letting out a heavy sigh.

She screws her mouth up a little, looking across at him while he rests his eyes, long, dark eyelashes brushing his warm cheeks. His long legs, covered by worn denim, stretch out far enough that he has to bend them around his coffee table.

When one hand comes up to card through his mussed curls, she catches sight of the tattoo inked across the expanse of his bicep. LXXXVI. ‘86. She starts to think on it, letting him enjoy his moment of peace, when he shifts and startles her enough to drag her eyes away from his flexing arm.

“Thanks, for everything,” Avery manages to still sound a little cautious in her tone, even when she’s rushing to speak. “Staying last night, driving me around today, letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it.”

He smiles without opening his eyes, reaching out and letting his hand pat skim across the seam of her jeans, patting at her knee platonically.

“Any time.” He breezes, cool.

The first night is uneventful. Avery sleeps restlessly on the futon in Bradley’s spare bedroom, turned home gym.

When she wakes up, Bradley is gone and there is a note on the kitchen counter explaining that he went for a run. He was gone for two hours, trying to run far enough that the sick, hot, thudding feeling in his chest would stop.

Back at the house, Natasha stops by and spends the afternoon. She lets herself into the place with her key, which sits on her own keychain like she’s had it for a while. Watching a sitcom from the armchair while they sit beside each other on the couch, Avery notices that the two of them are very close.

She wonders if Natasha happens to have a dog.

Sleep doesn’t come any easier for either one of them the second night. When he finally catches sight of the red, flashing declaration on his alarm clock that it is now 2:01am, Bradley gives up.

He tries to be quiet as he’s getting up, careful not to wake Avery. They’re in much closer quarters in his place than they had been back at Maverick’s house, her door is right opposite his across the narrow hallway.

He pads down the hallway, rubbing at his eyes, tossing up whether he’s going to try to drink something warm and go back to bed, or if he’s just going to stay up. He can’t keep not sleeping.

He almost heads straight for the kitchen, freezing in his tracks as he finally takes note of the blue light coming from his living room, and the sound of women’s voices. It takes him a second, even though he’d been being so considerate on her behalf, to remember that he has a guest over.

“Ave?” He mumbles.

The TV immediately falls silent. She winces from her spot on the couch, craning her neck to try to see him at the edge of the hallway.

“Just me. I’m sorry! Did I wake you?” She sounds worried. He’s still half asleep.

He shakes his head as he steps out from the shadows and heads for his kitchen. “No, I just wasn’t expecting you to be up. I couldn’t sleep.”

Sure, he was good looking before, and clearly fit — but she wasn’t expecting what had been under those slightly loose t-shirts.

Her mouth is dry as she mumbles out a soft, “Me either.”

“D’you want a tea?” He stands with her back to her now, reaching around in the darkness of his kitchen. She stares, unblinking, at his back.

“You drink tea?”

“Sometimes,” He cranes his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “That’s not weird.”

Her lips almost quirk, and she gives him a confirming shake of her head. “I didn’t say it was. Do you have green tea?”

He scoffs without looking. “Of course I have green tea.”

This whole lack of sleep thing isn’t new to him. It comes with the grief, but it’s there even when he feels like he isn’t grieving anymore. Since he was a kid, Bradley has had thoughts that keep him up at night, thoughts bad enough to stir him from peaceful, pleasant dreams.

He’s tried every tea in the catalog.

He carries the two mugs across the living room without once noticing the way he’s been stared at. He sets hers down on a cute little wicker coaster on his coffee table, walking past and dropping down onto the corner of the sectional.

His legs stretch out and he shifts and twists until he finds himself comfortable. “What’s this?”

“Are you explaining Sex and the City to me?” Bradley sounds bewildered, his face stark as he stares at her across the couch. Avery’s lips tug at a smile, and she almost forget the nerves she’d been feeling.

Until, the light from the television catches on the silver of his dogtags. Her gaze drops, like a flicker, to his bare, toned chest — and she swiftly looks back to the television.

“You’ve seen it?” She asks softly.

He’s beyond good looking. He’d always been okay looking, he’d had a nice smile in all of those pictures she had seen. But now, the roundness of his cheeks is gone and he has grown into his nose, his lips are a shade of pink that would be a bestseller in cosmetics.

Avery curses herself; she had been pretty successfully pretending not to notice that he had gotten good looking. Then, he comes strolling down that hallway and making her tea from his apparently extensive collection, having the nerve to sprawl across his own couch looking like that.

Across from a girl who hasn’t seen any action in the better part of a year too.

She almost scowls.

“Every episode,” He answers gleefully. At first, she thinks of Natasha or that mysterious girlfriend with the badly behaved dog. Then, he adds, “This was my mom’s favourite TV show, ever.”

And suddenly, she feels a little guilty for acting like those muscles make him some kind of ladies’ man. Just because the rest of them have been, she guesses.

Maybe that’s because of some kind of debt he thinks he owes to Pete, and maybe it’s just because that’s the kind of man he is.

She glances across, watching him chuckle at a classic Samantha one-liner and take a sip of a raspberry herbal tea. Wrinkling her nose, she settles back down into the spot she had been relaxing in, and lets herself zone out again.

They watch a couple of episodes. Unlike earlier, Bradley doesn’t feel the need to talk. He likes the quiet, mixed with their frequent chuckles. It’s an okay thing, to not have to fill that silent void.

Avery is the first to excuse herself to go back to bed, and she hasn’t once mentioned his little Calvin Kleins or the way they make his thighs look.

As she walks away, Bradley catches himself. He hadn’t much thought about what she might wear to bed, or what she’d been wearing when he first sat down with her. Her hips wiggle in her stride, her fitted pyjama shorts hugging her ass as she heads for the guest room.

The material of her loose t-shirt is tucked in at the back. Those cotton shorts hug her hips and show off just the tiniest glimpse of her round ass, from where they have ridden up a little.

Man, Maverick would hate it, too.

Bradley wishes, silently, that he was here to scold him. Pete would square his shoulders and get that rare and serious look on his face, warning Bradley to keep his hands to himself. And Bradley would smile and taunt him, saying, “Don’t worry, Mav, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

With her dad gone, it just makes it worse.

These next few weeks are going to be hard, and the least he could do is think with his head to keep things simple between the two of them. He heads back to bed late enough for it to almost not be worth it.

He wakes to the sound of chaos over the comms, that same last conversation, those snowy peaks behind his eyelids.

Mouth dry, heart thudding, his eyes are still shut when he stumbles out into the hall and twists the bathroom door handle. It jams, and he remembers. The sounds of water coming from behind the door stops abruptly.

Peeking her head around the shower curtain, already wincing, Avery calls back out to him. “Sorry! I’ll just be a second!”

“No — sorry, take as long as you want.” He calls back, shaking his head and heading for the kitchen. Restless and anxious, he splashes cold water across his face and thinks about Pete.

He saw Mav do this insurmountable times. He remembers all of the mornings that Mav would wake up gasping, shaking, and he would head straight for the bathroom, bolting the door. He’d come back out okay again. He wonders if Mav still did it, even all these years later.

If he still heard Goose’s voice through the comms, calling him out of his dreams.

The thought makes him shudder. The bathroom door unlocking makes him flinch, looking up sharply.

Avery steps out of the bathroom, her hair still dry and tied back, droplets of water still beading along the skin and flowing under the plush blue towel she had taken from the linen closet. He had told her to help herself, but he’s staring at her now and she’s second guessing herself.

He stands at his kitchen sink, his hands braced against the countertop, his knuckles white. She barely even notices his little Calvin Kleins. Her brows knit together as she takes a step toward him, barely visible around the corner.

“Hey… are you okay?” Her face creases with concern, lingering in the hallway so that he can see her just enough.

He remembers to let go of the countertop.

“Yeah,” He breathes out, unconvincingly, reaching up and shaking a hand through his tangled curls. He takes a second, trying to gather his thoughts enough to keep the conversation moving. “Were you still thinking you’re gonna need a job while you’re here?”

She blinks, her scrunched up face relaxing as she takes another step closer, cocking her head at him.

“Um, yeah. I think so.”

He nods. “Get dressed. We’ll go see my friend in a bit, can see if it’s something you might be interested in. Maybe, then we’ll take your car to a mechanic this afternoon.”

Out of the house, he feels like he can breathe again. It’s just sleeping, that’s all. When he’s really awake, he can control it all a little better, it doesn’t get to him as much.

He drives the same way he had yesterday. Three fingers around the bottom of the wheel, seventies music playing. Today, the windows are down. Avery makes a pretty good passenger — she doesn’t ask him to change his music and she doesn’t put her head in the way when he’s trying to check his mirrors.

Mainly because she isn’t once watching the road, but that’s okay.

She looks around the city like she’s seeing it for the first time. Mav lived her for longer than she’s been alive — and the entire place seems foreign to her.

Bradley knows both of his parents’ hometowns like the back of his hand, and he still hasn’t ever lived in either one of them.

“Did your dad ever tell you about Penny?” He asks so calmly, drumming his fingers along the wheel, Ray-Ban caravans sitting across the bridge of his nose.

The look that Avery shoots him gives him more than enough of an answer. She sets her phone down in her lap and studies him, frowning slightly.

“Who’s Penny?”

Shit. Bradley shakes his head and his voice pitches up a fraction. “Oh, she and Mav were just good friends for a long time.”

With one quick glance across, he catches the little frown settling across her lips.

“She owns that bar on Breakers Beach. We drove past it yesterday when we saw Admiral Simpson?” Bradley prompts her, glancing across at the passenger seat. She nods along. “I texted her yesterday and she really wanted to meet you, said you can have some shifts there if you want them.”

Avery wrinkles her nose, trying not to frown across at him when he’s doing his best to just be helpful.

“What? — What’s that look?” He prompts, looking across at her with an amused smile toying at his lips.

“She’s like a long time ago ex, right? She wasn’t dating Pete recently?”

Bradley thinks on his answer for a moment. He isn’t surprised that she figured out there was something between Mav and Penny, he would have figured it out too.

But, he had heard of Mav’s experience with Penny Benjamin a long time before he had actually gotten to meet Penny Benjamin. Really, he’s surprised to find that Avery has never heard of her, she and Mav were really on and off for quite a while.

He guesses that Mav kept that kind of thing from her.

Which means that he would want Bradley to keep the fact that he had seen Mav and Penny leave the bar together three times in the weeks leading the mission to himself too.

“Yeah. Like a long time ago.” He confirms.

Cool. Not the kind of compliment he’s usually searching for from a pretty girl, but he’ll take it.

Reaching across the centre console, he gives her knee a quick squeeze. “Not so bad yourself, Mitchell.”

Briefly, his palm lingers there. It’s just because he’s focusing on turning into the parking lot, but it’s still his large palm hugging the curve of her knee for a minute longer than it should have.

Completely over the thick protection of her jeans, but she stares at the touch anyways. Then, she dares to look back up at him. Totally relaxed as he pulls into a spot up front like it’s his own personal one.

One more squeeze, and he takes his hand back and swings open the door. The parking lot is surprisingly busy for the middle of the week at noon.

Avery follows him out of the vehicle, gingerly matching his pace as he heads inside. It’s once he’s spotted that she falters.

“Rooster!” Someone even taller than he is comes marching up right away and throws his arms around Bradley. Bradley hugs him loosely, greeting him with an aloof but firm pat of the back.

“Payback.” He greets quietly.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you. How are you holding up?” His warm eyes bore into Bradley, his head bowed slightly and his voice sincere. He hasn’t spotted her yet.

“I’m alright,” Bradley sounds convincing enough, but this Payback guy hadn’t seen how rattled Bradley had looked this morning. “This is Avery.”

Finally, Payback’s gaze flickers to the girl standing behind Rooster. Halfway tucked behind his shoulder, staring at him through her lashes, looking totally lost and sheepish.

“Mav’s kid?”

In the short time Bradley has known her, he knows that’s not the kind of response she would have wanted to get.

He’s looking Avery right in the eye, and he already can see that Bradley’s going to have to be reminded that not everyone likes the heavy handed approach to affection he can have.

Still, he smiles at her like he means it and nods his head respectfully.

“Already got it, it’ll be good to have you around, Avery.”

A small smile works its way across her lips, grateful if not anything else.

“Nice to meet you.” She answers him quietly, stiff against Bradley’s side. He pats her back and urges her forwards.

“Here, this is Penny. Penny, meet your new bartender.”

That’s a woman who cared deeply for Pete Mitchell.

Penny cocks her head to the side, just a bit. Sure, she can see semblances of Pete in the girl across from her, but it’s the rigid, flighty look in her eyes that catches Penny’s attention.

Across from her is someone with something to prove, and a character they’ve been playing for a long time now. That’s what feels most familiar.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Avery says stiffly, trying to sound like she means it.

Penny nods, smiling. She glances towards Bradley, then back to the girl still tucked under his arm.

“You too. Let’s talk.”

As Jimmy takes over the bar duties, Bradley’s left with the prospect of facing his friends when Penny and Avery disappear toward the back deck.

He scratches at the back of his neck, shooting one last look at the two of them over his shoulder, and wondering what he’s supposed to say to all of those guys.

One by one, he could manage… but all in a group like that? — He hasn’t seen most of them since it happened.

He heads for her as coolly as he can manage, hoping that the other guys know not to give him a hard time today. They don’t, they never would.

His therapist says it’s a defensive thing, the way he waits for people to say the wrong thing. When he’s hurt, he expects it, almost. He’s trying to get out of it.

They can all give him credit for that.

Even so, it doesn’t take long for conversation to fade from small talk to the newest, most exciting subject.

“So, she’s staying at your place?” Natasha’s the first one to bring up the missing party, picking up on a comment about the two of them arriving together.

Bradley shakes his head and fiddles with his root beer bottle. “No, she’ll be over at Mav’s place once we get her car fixed up. It’s a real piece of shit, I don’t even know what they’d do to make it run any better.”

“Mav loves cars — and he lets her drive a shitbox like that?” It’s Javy who scoffs that out, the only one still talking about the Captain who had taken a shine to him in present tense.

Bradley just shrugs. This isn’t the place to unpack whatever went down between Mav and Avery. He doesn’t know enough, even if he wanted to talk about it.

“She came all the way down here by herself?” Callie asks. She doesn’t say it, but she’s referring to the fact that her mother came all the way out to Lemoore to try to move her into the barracks like it was college when she was that age.

Bradley shrugs again. He hasn’t heard much about Avery’s mom in the past twenty years, he isn’t even sure that he ever met her — certainly wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a crowd. All he knows is the gossip he’d gotten from his mom when it was all going down.

“How’s she doing?” Bob asks, his blue eyes deep and sincere as he searches Bradley’s face, knowing better than to ask the same question.

“Okay, I think.” Bradley muses, thinking of how quickly Avery had questioned the recovery efforts yesterday. “I dunno how close they were, but it’s always gotta be hard. Just… trying to make it a little easier on her, I guess.”

They all nod, slowly.

And then Avery comes marching back inside, her chin high and her hair a little wind-swept, making a beeline right for the closest thing she’s got to a friend in this town.

“Hey.” Bradley offers her a smile, and reaches out for her. His hand grazes the back of her bicep, and she smiles more genuinely than she has in the past two days.

“Hi.”

He catches sight of himself being watched, and takes a look back over Avery’s shoulder to find Penny looking. Her blue eyes flicker down to his hand on Avery’s arm.

Pursing her lips, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and Bradley’s mouth almost falls open. There’s no way she thinks that he’s hitting on Avery. He’s just being friendly.

He blinks, and finds his friends looking back at him expectantly.

“So, you’re taking the job?” He checks, shaking off Penny’s watchful eyes and settling back into what he knows. Avery nods her head at him.

“Starting tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. That’s way soon. He’s going to have to make sure he doesn’t keep her up until four in the morning watching the misadventures of Carrie Bradshaw tonight.

“Well, guys, say hi to your new bartender.”

He brings the bottle of rootbeer back up to his lips and shoots a quick glance back over Avery’s shoulder. Penny stares back, unfazed, as he narrows his eyes back at her.

What does she know about anything, anyways?

…

238 notes · View notes

arabellasfvv · 16 hours ago

Text

MDNI 18+ switch!Kyle also kinda angst, friends to lovers a little, but they dont actually say it? Im on the verge of losing it, so you will have to take this mess and focus on the good in it, thank you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"You ever sub?" The questions is followed by you clearing your throat immediately, realising how raspy your voice had gotten over the past hours. Kyle hands you a cool water bottle, condensation running down the plastic that slicks your palm a little, before anything else.

He's as curious about the question as he is confused. He'd never shown signs of submissions with you... had he? "No," he hums confidently, "Don't think I could." His eyes stay on you. Watching the way your throat bobbed when you swallowedm the way your lips wrapped around the bottles opening— bringing back just the right memories.

A sound of protest leaves you once you pull away from the bottle and place it aside. "Everyone could," you argue. Eyes now flicking from the playing cartoon to your best friend. "Might not be your thing, sure. But don't knock it 'till you try it, right?"

He shakes his head. "Love, I'm a lot. But I'm not submissive."

"You're a soldier." Both his eyebrows shoot up at that. His expression twisting as he tried to understand your point. You shrug once you caught the hint to elaborate. "You listen to orders all day, no? Getting told what to do and when, 'n stuff."

"First off," his voice holds way too much sass for a man his size, "I'm a sergeant—"

"There are ranks above you, still." "Sure, yeah. But I ain't some grunt who just gets told what to do the all the time," he ignores the skeptical expression on your face. "Even if, there's a difference between submitting to hierarchy on a job that, y'know, pays me, and submitting in a sexual setting."

You stare at him in that way he despises. The way that makes him feel all exposed, like you're sitting right on his brain and digging around, as if his sould is bared to you. He knows you can't actually read people that well, unfortunately that doesnt make your stare any less unsettling.

Kyle tries to change the subject, starting to blabber about God and the world. But you're not listening. Too focused on your imagination, how he'd look splayed out, panting and dripping with sweat, brain melting out of his ears.

There was nothing that could convince you he wouldn't look absolutely beautiful out off control for once. Just a desperate mess under your command.

You understood his hesitance. You rarely fully submitted to anyone either, not unless they had fucked you absolutely dumb. And his past girlfriends... well, what to say about them? It may have been personal bias, some underlying feeling that gnawed at you, but you never felt they were right for Kyle. He never seemed truly lovestruck with any of them. So of course, the kind of trusted needed for him to submit was never built.

But you weren't them. You were his best friend. His best friend he fucked, too often almost. You two had seen eachother in all kinds of vulnerable in the many years you'd been friends. Submission wasn't outlandish that to think about, was it?

"Why not try?" You interrupted, head tilting to empathise the question. "Scared you'll like it too much?" Your lips tugged up into a little smile, knowing that if you'd get too serious with your questions, force him to be vulnerable, he'd just shut down.

He huffs, deflecting. As if he could ever like submitting. But before he can protest you speak again.

"You just wanna be good, no? Keep your hands clean while fighting to keep the world clean, too?" Nevermind sparing his feelings. You knew you hit, hell dropkicked onto, a button when his face pinches together. His tongue wetting his lips, dragging along his lips that, he's contemplating, you know.

"This would be so much easier. You'd just have to let me make you feel good to be a good boy. No responsibility."

You adore how you can get to him, how his Adams apple bobs when your words echo in his mind. No responsibility. He hates to admit it, but its what he needed. Some deep, neglected part of him just needed to give himself away. He wasnt sure if he could allow himself that though. With everything he'd done, did he really deserve to relax?

Did he deserve to lie atop soft sheets bed while bodies lay in the cold earth because of him?

Did he deserve to let go of the guilt while leaving rotting corpes wherever he went?

Did he deserve peace when his actions buried families beneath rubble, when he was at fault for turning loving homes into places of mourning?

Did he deserve to feel the security of knowing while children sat on their front steps staring into the distance with wide and eager eyes hoping to see their daddy again?

Did he deserve someone loving him after hearing the screams of lovers as he ripped their partners away from them, after he'd walked away from their mourning with no apologies?

He was snapped out of his train of thought by a familiar weight settling on his lap. A soft palm resting against his stubbly jaw, turning his head upwards to meet eyes that held no pain. That held no anger against the things he'd done.

And by that voice that haunted his gentler dreams. "You're doing it again, Kyle. Getting lost up in that pretty head of yours."

"That's my line," he whispered, trying to pull away from the guilt that was trying to pull him into a dark abyss.

He melts a little, the smile you give being a reassurance of its own. You were a good person, you had morals. Fuck, you were like an angel walking on earth, born to look past the evil and make the best of things. The fact you weren't disgusted by him was like forgiveness.

Not enough to truly be at ease— that was a dream he'd given up on long ago, true peace would never wander into his life— but enough to make him feel something other than pure disgust at himself. This shell of the boy he once was.

"Let me make you feel good. You can say no, I'll stop whenever you need me to. But give me a chance?" You weren't sure where this enegry came from. You'd finished round six, maybe seven, with him barely half an hour ago. But seeing him withdraw into his mind, into those thoughts that only got spoken out loud when he was intoxicated, those thoughts that left his body tight and tense, his eyes casted anywhere but your own, made you want to pull him out so desperately.

He nods, and in that same breath your lips press against his own. Your free hand comes down to rest against his chest, feeling how his heart was drumming against his ribcage like a little humming bird. His own hands don't find their place.

He's usually so confident, every touch almost methodical, planned to guarantee to make you fall apart beneath him. Now that you weren't the focus he was confused, a fish out of water. His lips just reciprocating, not taking.

You allow him to breathe once you realise how choked up his breaths were coming out. Though, you barely pull away, lingering with your nose bumping against his own. Your lips parted just a hair away from his own, neither of you is really getting oxygen with close you are, just panting into eachothers mouth without actually touching.

"You're okay," you promise, you swear.

"I'm okay," he repeats, not entirely convinced. But he wants to be, needs to believe.

"You're in control." He's not, not really. He has to power to shut it all down, to escape. But nothing more.

"I'm in control." He knows he's not. Especially not with how he shudders when your lips start to place kisses against his jaw line. It feels silly when his finger hooks into the waistband of your panties, like he's trying to keep you from escaping. But you don't comment on it, just smile against his skin in silent amusement.

"I'm not going anywhere." Your promises are overwhelming. No, you won't go anywhere, that has always been a silent acknowledgement between the two of you. But hearing it out loud was different. It was so simple, and somehow it made his mind go hazy. Your lips wander against his neck, and he doesn't take more than a second to tilt his neck to give you more access.

But he isnt satisfied by that for long. Your lips on him are heavenly, making his body twitch and grow impossibly hotter. The little nips and licks you add in between make him dizzy, and kyle prays to whatever God is out there that you're biting hard enough to leave marks on his skin. But needs your taste again, needs his lips to have purpose. So he's tugging at your neck, not wanting to say the words, but still needing you to understand.

And you do, somehow. Coming back up to connect your lips. You swallow down your own desperation, that need to just do anything. This was about being in control, to allow Kyle to come undone. So when your hand palmed his growing bulge, giving it a squeeze and his lips part in a suprised groan your tongue pushed past them and into his mouth.

So this is how it feels for you, huh? Normally he's the one with his tongue in your mouth, and he tries to turn it around for a moment. To get that usual feeling of your tongue pushing against his. But you dont let him.

You taste both yourself and him on his tongue. Hints of your slick and his spunk from when when he'd eaten you out with fervour earlier making you moan into his mouth. The familiarity of it the most delicious thing you've had in a while.

His hips are bucking up, trying to find you, grind the growing ache inside his boxers away.

You've never seen him so sloppy and uncoordinated, drool slipping past the corners of his mouth, hands just fumbling and tugging around your body. "Please," he needs more, so clearly, and the fact you still seem composed is infuriating.

You pull away far enough to see him, breaking the string of spit connecting the both of you. It's just like you imagined, needy as usual. Pupils blown and unfocused, lips reddened and inviting. But he's looking up at you now. Waiting for direction.

He grips your body tighlty the moment you try to get off his lap. You can't leave. Where do you wanna go anyway? He's right here and he needs you, "Stay."

"I told you I'm not going anywhere," you assure again, gently prying his fingers off you until they were loose enough for you to slip out of his grasp. Kneeling down infront of the couch, waiting for him to shift so you could sit between his legs.

The impulse to tease him was there, to just lap at his cock until he couldn't take it anymore. Watch the exact moment he'd lose it. But that impulse was overridden by the desire to make him feel good. You'd make him fall apart, and while your first plan was doing it through far too much teasing, now you just wanted him to feel good. Tugging down his boxers, humming a "Good boy," when he automatically lifted his hips to help you out, you threw them somewhere to his side.

He was already rock hard (again), light drips of pre-cum gathering at his flushed tip. Your tongue extended to lick them up, inching closer until your pretty lips could wrap around the head.

Taking the rest of his aching cock into your hand, not really stroking it. Just letting your fingers trace along the bulging veins. When his hand comes to rest on the back of your head and he tries to thrust into your mouth, you pull off. Leaving him whining and pouting. "None o' that, sweetheart. I'll give ya what you need. You don't take it, yeah?" He has to take a few deep breaths to process your words. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

You nod, happy he's listening. You take him back into your mouth, this time taking every inch you can. You gag when your nose hits his pubes, but the sound he lets out is worth it. You let your tongue follow the veins around the length when you pull back. But when he tries to push your head back, you hold back against the touch. And all you have to do is look up, let your eyes meet his, and the pressure on your head is released. "I'm sorry, fuck— I'm sorry, love. You just... please. Please, your mouth is so good."

Good enough. You let him rest in your mouth for a moment, tongue doing its best to swirl around the girth and lap up whatever his dripping tip had to give. Slowly you start to push your head back onto him, moving it back and forth while hollowing out your cheeks.

And Kyle could come just from that sight, the goddamn vision you were. Swollen lips stretching around his cock, the way your hand rests on his thigh, thumb stroking calming circles around the muscles, your throat bulging to accommodate him. He tenses when your other hand sneaks up his thigh, nail polish contrasting against his skin, because he knows what youre about to do.

It's not fair, he's still sensitive, and the way you're forcing his mind to be a mess is torture. And now your hand was fondling his balls, lightly tugging at them every now and then. His head falls back against the couch, eyes screwing shut. He can't look at you without coming too quick.

Unfortunately for him, with his vision gone everything else gets worse.

Suddenly he can smell your perfume lingering in the air of his apartment, the fading smell of sex that the open window can't fully get rid off. The wet sounds of your mouth slobbering up his cock, the little sounds you let when he gets too deep and you gag, he swears he can hear every tiny shift of your body. And all he can taste is you, that goddamn kiss.

His thighs start trembling underneath your palm, his dick starts to twitch in your mouth, and when you look up you see how tense he is, how hard he is trying to hold back. You pull off, wrapping your hand around him and stroke— you didn't want to take him away from the edge after all. "Let go, darling. This is for you." You encourage before taking him back into your mouth.

It was embarrassing, what your voice did to him. It always sounded right, settling over him like a cozy blanket. And underneath the comfort of it, the echo drilled into the deepest corners of his mind, scratching itches he didn’t even know were there.

It was familiar. It was safe. The voice he wished for every time he was with someone else. Because no one had ever made him feel quite like you did. No one ever would.

Once his whimpers turned into choked up moans, and his balls started to tighten and twitch underneath your palm you took him deeper. Sliding the length across your tongue until it hit the back of your throat, cheeks hallowed again, tongue lapping as best as it could in the confines of your own mouth.

The moan came from the both of you when his warm, salty spunk started spurting down your throat. It was over quick, since most his spunk had ended up in your cunt a earlier, but it was just as good.

You pull off with a pop once his dick stops throbbing. Smirking at the way he squirm away when you clean him up with your tongue.

You want more, so much more. Want him sinking deeper into the couch, his voice raspy and barely comprehensible. Needed to see him go dumb, and pliable under your control.

Once he managed to lift his head again, eyes blinking open, you stand up. And you're so fucking ready for round two nine, that ache between your legs stronger than ever.

But he's not ready. You can the sense of post nut clarity that hit him. The way he sits up wasn't fatigue from his orgasm, it was something that sat deeper within him. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling your standing form closer so he could rest his head against your chest.

This went far from what you had in mind, the opposite of how you wanted him. But hell, he was your best friend, and you'd rather die than not comfort him. There was always time to try again.

One hand went to rest against his shoulder, a firm touch keeping him, or attempting to keep him in this reality, in the current here and now. The other cradling his head, holding him close to you, letting him hear your rapid heartbeat.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't start that. You ain't done nothing wrong, pretty boy." Pretty boy, he hated that name. It made him feel like some soft thing instead of the trained killer he was.

You stay like this for a while, letting him try and come down from whatever feeling had gripped him so fiercely. Your fingers massage along his scalp, a habit at this point. And he wishes this could go on forever. That he could just carry your touch with him, carry it in a case like he does his cigarettes. Something gentle to soothe his sould. Instead of the poison that takes over his body, and makes your nose crinkle in disapproval when he mentions it.

But alas, your body was worn from the night. Standing too long was starting to have effect on your legs, so you grip his head a little firmer to pull him away. Making him look up at you like a kitten scruffed against its will. "How 'bout we take a shower? God knows we both need one." Kyle's lips already parted to protest, to argue about staying this way just a little longer.

Until the words hit. We take a shower. WE.

That's not something you'd done before. You two had fucked, cuddled, went out together, and gotten into all kinds of trouble. But showering and bathing together always seemed a step too far, a step too intimate.

Which is exactly why he wasn't gonna turn it down, jumping up hitting his head right against your chin. Making you wince. "Shite, fuck, im sorry, love." His calloused palm quickly cradled your face, looking you over. Fuck, your chin was already growing red, and you'd probably bitten your tongue too. He's such an idiot! And he feels so so so bad. "Didn't mean to do that."

You just laugh him off. Yes, that hurt like shit cause that man has a head that is definitely harder than normal. But you'd been through much worse. Placing a quick peck against the corner of his mouth you start to tug him along into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower starting fills the small bathroom, you're tripping your clothes, well, your panties and socks off. And Kyle is just staring. He'd seen you naked so often, could tell his mates about the exact placement of every mole and scar on your body just from memory. But this wasn't nudity out of lust... it was out of intimacy?

Thats what he was convincing himself off. Maybe you just saw this casual, maybe you'd done this with plenty of men and just stopped caring. But he didn't want this to be the case,he wanted to be one you could be that vulnerable with him. Gulping down his own saliva was like choking down a rock once he saw you step under the steaming water—

Bloody steaming? There's no way you actually showered that hot. Fuckin' hell. He's careful when he steps in after you, his hand dipping beneath the hot stream and he immediately pulls away with a hiss. "No, way. No ma'am. Nuh uh."

Your eyes crack open at his protests, "Can't handle a bit of heat, sergeant?" You tease, your voice so light it floats right to his head. "I can handle bloody heat. I can't handle water that's trying to boil me alive!"

You chuckle at the dramatics, but turn down the heat nonetheless.

And that fills him with guilt all over again.

You’re so perfect. So pretty. So nice. You move around his needs without complaint, without hesitation, like it’s easy. And he knows he’s done nothing to deserve it.

He’s gruff. Scars littering his body and sould. Blood on his hands. He felt like a walking bad omen. He had no right to pull you into this life, no right to keep anyone close, not when everything he touches either breaks or leaves. There’s a reason he's alone more these days. A reason he’s single, a reason every woman before you eventually walked away. His only friends are his teammates. And you. Fucking you.

You��ve been there so long, it almost terrifies him. Sometimes he really wonders if God sent you down just for him. Why else would you stay? If you had a choice, you should’ve left a long time ago. So maybe you didn’t. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe you were tied to him, sent onto this earth for him, by some kind of divine being that knew he'd need saving before he ever did.

He's once again snapped out off his thoughts by you. By who else? Being tugged under the, now tolerable, water. Brown eyes landing on your wet body, it had to be divine intervention. Theres no way a human could look this... lovely under shitty bathroom lightning with the steam curling around them, skin glowing.

He suddenly grabbed you. The fear of you being unreal taking over, he just had to feel for himself.

He wanted to cry. He wouldn't, no he'd choke that down until it was physically impossible. Your skin was so supple, so soft underneath him. It was so right. So— "Too tight, kyle." His eyes snapped to yours, and everything crashes down again. He's on a wild rollercoaster of emotions right now, its enough to make nauseous. The way he keep snapping from one to another.

You don't allow him to apologise, or pull his hand away like you knew he wanted to. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, making sure it stayed on your body. His touch didn't automatically meant harm, he'd gripped a bit too tight, not ripped your damn bones straight out, it was okay. And he needed to know that.

And maybe he doesnt know, he probably can't actually believe it. But he accepts it, because you make the laws. If you allow him to feel, he will feel, and if you stay his touch is allowed, ten he can touch. But he remains careful when he pulls you close, cradling the back of your head to let it rest against his shoulder while his other arm firmly rests around your waist.

You took a second to adjust your head so you wouldn't feel like drowning under the water stream with him, before hugging him back. Arms wrapped around his torso, letting one hand rub up and down the length of his wet back.

"Your water bill is gonna be high if we stay like this yanno.." "Shut up, love." You smile against his skin but does as he says.

"Let me make you feel good?"

The words come so out of the blue it throws you off. The man was on the verge of crying a minute go and now he wants sex again? Man, oh man. "Kyle," you sigh, ready to protest. You'd rather have him open up about his emotions than deflect his way.

To him it wasnt a way of deflection. It wasn't to distract him, but to deal with the inadequacy he felt torward you. Higher beings had the right to be to worshipped, to feel good at all times. Instead of dealing with big ol' messes like himself. "Please."

Goddamn those big, brown eyes. You could say no if you really wanted to. But you'd be lying if there wasn't still a small ache between your legs, and if he was just short of begging.. why deny yourself? "One round."

"Thank you." And God knows he's truly grateful when the hand on your head let's go and slips between your bodies. "You're so beautiful, love..."

He relishes the way your body arches against him when a calloused palm cups your breast, squeezing the malleable tissue to watch it spill out between his fingers. His firm grip switched from the left to the right, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

Until youre squirming under his appreciation. The arm holding you close won't let you pull doesn't allow you a moment of respite. Forcing you to just feel as he forces your nipples to grow hard and sensitive. He's pressing a kiss against your head when you start to whine, his silent way of praising you for enduring it. As if you had any choice.

Kyle's hand doesn't once leave your body as it starts to wander down, knowing the moment he wasnt holding on his hand would start to tremble and itch to have you back, to have your skin be a grounding presence again.

"You're so good fo' me, baby. You're so damn good." He whispers against your hair. The fact his fingers had slipped between your slicked up folds, gathering your dripping arousal so he can coat your clit in it, doesnt match the tone of his voice. It's broken, like he's on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

"Kyle..." you know he won't pull away, he can't. Your hips jerk when his fingers apply just the right pressure, find the perfect rhythm against your clit, and the rest of your sentence falls flat. You shift as much as possible so you could press your lips against his shoulders and neck, blanketing the bare area in your unspoken love. Love you'd never come to terms with and yet expressed so freely.

His fingers curl tighter around your waist once you do. Part of him wanting to beg for more, beg for your lips all over his skin, cover every inch in your adoration. And the other wants to plea for you to stop, wants to tell you how much he doesn't deserve it. How you don't deserve to be ruined by his rotten self.

He did neither, opting to bite his lips and shut his eyes instead. Ignore the thoughts and focus on the feeling. Especially the feeling when his fingers slipped lower again, searching for your sticky entrance that was as eager as ever to take his fingers. Two of them slipping right in without issue, causing you to pause for just a second. Automatically you try to grind down on them, make them hit the spot.

Suddenly you're pressed against the still cold tiles of the shower, making you let out an undignified squeak in suprise. And Kyle's body is no easier to get past than a wall, so youre left with no choice but to rest against the tile whilst his fingers start intently curling inside of you.

"What's this earth done to deserve you? What have I done to deserve you? Huh?"

"God, wh— a-ahhh fuck.. what's up with.. nghh— with you tonight, man?"

It's starting to be confusing, but you're not looking for an answer. Not really. Not when you think about whatever heavy thing is running through his mind. He's seen things. Done things. The kind you could barely process when they were brought up, and then would go on to haunt your dreams. You're not sure you're ready to hear what it is about.

You’re not sure you could handle it if it were you.

If he had fallen for you. If he did think about you when he was with other women. If you really did haunt his dreams, the way he’s been haunting yours for far too long. But that… that just couldn't happen. So you stay quiet, only letting the moans slip past your lips while digging your fingers into his broad shoulders, and hope. Hope he won't give you an answer.

He wants to tell you. Needs to tell you its you. Its always been you.

Always will be.

But you were right, it just wasn't something that could happen. So he only responded with a, totally unrelated, kiss. Forcing his lips onto yours with pure desperation, swallowing up every moan you let out when his fingertips brushed against that gummy spot inside of you again and again. Pushing his tongue into the heat of your mouth as his other hand came down to play with your clit.

This was better, familiar. That sense of control was back, and he realised once again how good it felt to take care of you. How much better he felt when you were receiving the pleasure instead of him.

Spit was starting to pool in both your mouths, so he took that opportunity to pull back, just for him to shower you with praise. "Good girl. You're so bloody perfect, love. Shit, loot at that... so gorgeous." But the breathy whispers only sate him for so long before he has to claim your lips again. Going on until you're breathless again.

"Too good for this world, I swear," he mutters as he watches the string of saliva break when your head falls back against the wall. You're glad the words don't fully register in your mind, too focused on all the different touches he's laying on you.

You still grab his neck to pull his lips back to yours when he stays away for too long. And he's eager to comply, closing his eyes so your taste and sounds could take over his mind.

There was no reward quite like when your lips would fall open, not even trying to kiss back anymore too focused on his fingers findind the perfect rhythm together, but youre not pulling away.

Your brain stops for a moment when your orgasm crawls up on you, unable to do anything but pant against him needy whines slipping past, while your hips grind down, trying to get there faster. Chasing the inevitable.

Your hand slams against the fogged up shower door, fingers curling, dragging down letting your trembly hand leave an imprint. The shower's steam clings to your skin, mixing with the heat already flooding your body. You're burning from the inside out, sweat and condensation sliding down your neck, dripping down between yoir breast, and it only makes everything worse. Maybe better. You're not sure anymore.

You're close, right where you need to be.

The heat low in your belly coils tighter pulsing with need. The pressure builds but you stay right there, on that damn edge. You're trying to push yourself over it, try to make that knot rip that's sending goosebumps all over your body. But you can't.

Cause you're thinking about it. Kyle knows. Of course he does. He starts to pull away to focus his lip on your jawline instead, kissing and nibbling on the skin, listening as your whines grow more desperate. You just needed to come so bad, huh? Sweet thing, he'll make sure you will.

He licks into your ear in a way you can't tell if its supposed to be teasing or intimate, either way it makes your hips jerk. "Kyle— Kyle— ah aah.. please. C'mon, please."

"I know, I know, love. Stop thinking, dont focus on that pretty head while you're feeling this good." Damn his voice— because it works.

Your mind stops thinking about wanting that orgasm, instead focusing on the heat of his breath against your ear. The way it shifts to the crook of your neck when he nuzzles his face against it. You focus on how full his fingers alone have you, how his thumb is so perfectly applying pressure where you need it the most.

And how nice his presence is. Despite everything he's always been a safe place. A quiet place. Where no judgment, and no expectations loomed. Just you two being you. Yes, the darkness clings to him, lingers in the air. But he never allows it to come close enough to burn. Never strong enough to swallow you both.

And you think that does it, that sense of security. Or maybe not. It didn’t matter. All that matter was that rushing feeling in your body, sending every tingly feeling to your core. Your body is presses tighter against the wall, because Kyle wouldn't want your trembling legs to be the cause of you falling.

He spills out some praise, but it goes in one ear and out the other. Everything is muffled, thank God because the sound of pleasure you let out could not have been dignified. He's groaning at the feeling of your pussy, hot and slick, clenching around his fingers. And he swears he can feel that little pulse your clit gains, and its fucking delicious. Biting into your neck hard enough to leave his teeth imprinted before decorating it with a purple hickey as his hands slow down. Making sure to match your movements and let you down gently from the orgasm.

"Just like tha'... shhh, you did so good, love, so good." You slump against him when he finally pulls his fingers off, face burying itself into his shoulder. You don't see, but you hear his fingers coming up to his mouth, tongue flicking out to lick up the milky substance that was starting to coat your inner thighs as well.

"Thank you..." "Not for that."

He pats your back gently while contemplating. He knows you said one round. But it doesnt feel enough, a woman like you could have enough pleasure in his mind. You deserved so much more. So the moment your legs start to be steady again he's on his knees. Soft brown eyes looking up at you for permission, firm hands already working on spreading your thighs a little wider for him.

"No, please," you whimper, tensing a little because you'd gone at it so often today. There had to be a limit.

But fuck. You know how good he is with his mouth, and really, you never did get enough of him. The way he's looking at you, flicking his eyes torward the wetness between your legs like its life's fucking essence... yeah, you're not sure if you're no really is a no.

This was supposed to be way longer. But I cannot anymore.

#let me remind y'all im not a writer #im learning #TRUST #cod x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #gaz x reader #fem reader #gaz x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod smut #cod angst #kyle garrick x reader #gaz garrick #gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick the man that you are #kyle garrick x you #brain spunk

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chaoticdreamersthings · 3 days ago

Text

Out of the blue

!!!!!!WARNING!! EXPLICIT RPF BELOW!!!!!!!

MDNI

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Joost

Description: You, your friends and Joost went on a trip to Japan together - your friends constantly make jokes about you two being in love, so you start considering whether you actually like him.

Content: EXPLICIT RPF, smut, fingering, oral f!receiving, unprotected PiV, public place, creampie, friends to lovers, mutual pining, BLUE hair JOOST!!

Author's note: it's here!! Initially the couple of friends were Apson and Alanis but it weirded me out so i changed them to some random names.

Word count: 9.2 k

EXPLICIT RPF BELOW

The friends’ vacation almost never makes it past the group chat. You plan, decide on the best place for everyone, share all the things you would love to do, all the places you would want to visit. But then work gets in the way, someone doesn’t have money, someone else hates the chosen spot — and then it just doesn’t happen.

But not with this group of friends. You started planning it — what — two months ago? And now here you are, all of you, standing in front of one of the huge billboards on a busy street in Tokyo.

You had a lot of things planned, but you made sure to leave space for the best kind of spontaneity — late nights out, drinks, and just walking the crowded streets. You loved that part. Especially with these people.

Time slipped through your fingers. Two weeks ago you were packing your bags, full of excitement, and now you only have a few days left to make this trip unforgettable. It kind of already is — but you know you have to make the most of these last days.

The weather was surprisingly warm for May, almost like summer, but after the long, gray winter back in the Netherlands, you were happy to feel the heat again.

You adjust your hat, squinting up at the sky, then look over at your friends.

You’re waiting for a taxi to take you to the hotel — after hours of walking, your legs feel like lead, and the sun has took every last bit of energy out of you. You desperately need a good shower. The moment you slide into the back seat of the cab, you’re hit with a rush of crisp, cool air. You sigh, grateful. It’s the kind of relief that feels perfect after a long day.

“Where’s Joost?” You ask, raising your brow as the car begins to move. You hadn’t noticed when he left the group.

“He had some appointment or something. I don’t know — he didn’t share the details. Why? Do you miss him already?” Bryan replies, wiggling his eyebrows in that exaggerated, teasing way.

Somehow, over the course of this trip, you and Joost have become a favorite target. You’re not sure if it’s because of something one of you said or did, or if your friends just needed a new “victim” to tease.

You liked him, obviously. How could you not? He was a great friend. Funny, thoughtful, tall, blonde and honestly handsome in that effortlessly cool, artsy kind of way. He didn’t chase after the typical masculine style, didn’t need to. He treated women with respect, held conversations that actually meant something, and he seemed genuinely in touch with his emotions. Technically, he had everything you liked.

But it had always been just friendship. Long-standing and uncomplicated. There’d never been a spark, or at least not one you allowed yourself to notice. You assumed he felt the same. Maybe you both did. Maybe that’s what made it work so well all these years. Or maybe you just never stopped to question it until now.

Somehow, during this trip, your friends decided the two of you were secretly in love — and made you the punchline of every joke. It seemed insane at first, but over time, you started wondering if it really did look like that. You started pulling back, creating space. Not because Joost had done anything, but because the constant jokes made you hyper-aware of every shared glance, every casual interaction. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable — or worse, embarrass yourself.

Each night, back at the hotel, you found yourself trying to figure out where it all came from, running the same questions through your head. Do I like him? Could this be something? Should we even go there… or would that ruin everything?

The idea seemed absolutely ridiculous — you’d never sensed a single sign from him that he might be interested in being anything more than friends. And you? You were never interested in anything beyond friendship either.

Unless…

No, stop. Unless nothing. You don’t want to lose a solid, easy friendship. You don’t want to risk it for a one-night stand you’d both regret or some other stupid mistake. It’s good the way it is, and they are just messing with your head. You won’t let it get to you.

“Are we going for karaoke tonight?” Julia’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts about Joost. You blush a little, realizing how lost you’d been in your head — you almost worry they might’ve somehow heard your thoughts.

“Oh, yes. I have to take a shower first, though.” You reply, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, obviously. I can make a reservation for us. 8 pm?” She looks around, checking for nods and approval from the rest.

You nod your head.

You get to the hotel — luckily, there was a mix-up and you ended up with a big room all to yourself. For a while, you scroll through photos from the day, adjusting lighting, adding filters, laughing quietly at the candid shots your friends. Then scrolling through TikToks. Who doesn’t love a little bed-rotting after a busy day?

You love sightseeing, but you have to admit — you love the comfort of a soft bed after a full day on your feet just as much, if not more.

Time passes and eventually you pull yourself up and head to the shower. The warm water soothes your skin, the scent of the shower gel calming your senses. Just as you step out, wrapped in a soft towel, there’s a knock on the door.

You raise your brows. It’s probably Julia, or someone else from the group, so you don’t bother changing. With your hair still wet, and the towel knotted at your chest, you open the door slightly — just enough to see who it is.

“Oh… Joost,” you say, a little surprised by his presence. You were sure he had something going on, that you wouldn’t see him until karaoke.

He stands there, slightly awkward, his gaze going up and down just once before he quickly refocuses on your face.

“Hey… sorry, am I interrupting?” He asks, looking a bit confused as his eyes take in your current “outfit”. And suddenly, the towel feels a little too thin.

“No, no… sorry, I just got out of the shower” you say, looking at him apologetically. You suddenly feel a little stupid — after all, the only thing between you and being completely naked is a fluffy hotel towel. “You can come in.” You say, opening the door wider. Not because you particularly want him to, but because standing in the hallway like this feels worse. You really don’t want anyone catching sight of the two of you talking while you’re barely dressed. They’re already making assumptions over nothing — you can’t imagine the comments if they saw this.

He steps inside, and you close the door behind him.

“Wait a minute… did you dye your hair?” You ask, watching him step deeper into the room. You get a better look at him in the light coming through the window.

His hair, once bleached nearly white, now fades into a blue ombre — from white at the roots, bright blue to deep navy at the tips. You’re not sure how you feel about it. It’s bold and unexpected, the mullet cut paired with this intense color— but if anyone could pull it off, it was him.

“Do you like it?” He asks with a smile. You get the feeling he was waiting for you to notice.

You take a longer look. You liked his light blonde hair, but this felt more like him—matching his personality, and his unique music and art style. And it made his piercing blue eyes stand out even more.

“I do.” You say, smiling. “For some reason it’s so you.” You keep the distance, sitting on the bed, making sure that the towel covers everything it should.

He chuckles.

“Maybe.” He replies.

You both stay silent for a few minutes, until he seems to remember why he came in the first place.

“Oh — can you send me the pictures you took today? I would like to post something on my story.”

Something about that feels off — like the pictures are just a convenient excuse. Maybe he really just wanted to show you his new hair.

“Oh… yeah, sure.” You grab your phone from the bed and scroll through to find his photos.

He settles beside you on the bed, shoulder brushing close as you both scroll through the photos. He leans in a little more to get a better look at the screen, and his cologne hits your nose - warm and a little intoxicating.

He’s so close - and you’re still just in that goddamn towel. It feels dangerous, somehow.

You sense a shift in the air, your cheeks warming. Quickly, you drop your gaze back to the screen.

What is it? Is it the fact that his arm is so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body? Is it the smell of his cologne — warm, woodsy, him? Is it the fact that you’re wearing almost nothing?

Do you actually like him?

“So, these are the ones?” You ask, selecting the pictures to airdrop. You hope your voice sounds natural, trying to ignore whatever is happening inside of you.

“Yeah, those. And thank you” his voice seems lower than usual, and he’s so close to your ear, that a shiver runs down your spine.

You lift your head, slowly, to meet his eyes. His arm lightly brushes yours, and you lick your lips — suddenly, the air in the room feels hotter than the water in your shower earlier.

You wonder what he’s thinking. His eyes are darker now, pupils wide, lips slightly parted like he was just about to say something — or maybe not. Maybe he’s just feeling something.

What is this?

You both stare at each other for a moment longer. For a second too long. You catch his gaze flick to your lips the moment you lick them. Then he’s back, looking into your eyes again.

The intensity of his gaze makes you uncomfortable, so you get up. You think that if you stay there, you might end up kissing him — and that wouldn’t be very smart, right? Especially given what you’re wearing.

“Erm… I’ll get ready. Let’s meet at the karaoke?” You say. You don’t want to sound like you’re throwing him out, but it kind of comes off that way.

Maybe that’s exactly what needs to happen

And anyway, it’s true — you do need to get ready.

Shibuya, in person looks exactly as big and colorful as in the videos and pictures. Hundreds of neon signs, colorful billboards and screens, thousands of people crossing the street. Many of them dressed in completely eccentric styles.

And you — right in the middle of it all. You try to look everywhere at once, to take it all in, the sound, the motion, the energy. You want to somehow store this view in your memory — because who knows if you’ll ever be back?

You got to the place early, so you decide to get a couple of beers at a nearby bar. You’re not complaining — you’re not the best singer, and karaoke always feels like a gamble between fun and mild humiliation. You’re already running through a mental list of easy songs — the ones that won’t make you sound like a dying cat in front of your friends. Or maybe something ridiculous enough that no one even cares how it sounds.

You’ve never been to a karaoke like this before. The only ones you’ve experienced were the drunken karaoke nights in bars — where tipsy students shouted lyrics more than sang them, and the whole bar joined in for the chaos. But you were always a part of the crowd. Public performances? Being on stage? No way.

Still, you don’t want to be the party pooper tonight, so you’ve decided — you’re going to take part.

Your friends couldn’t be more different. Well — not all of them. But the guys? They live for this kind of things. Screaming into microphones, picking the most ridiculous songs, arguing dramatically about whose turn it is next.

You’ve known them long enough to know what kind of absolute circus is about to unfold. But honestly? As much as you’d never admit it to them, you kind of love it.

The moment you walk in, they’re already digging through the costumes, trying on the wildest hats and wigs. You and Julia shake your heads in disbelief — it really does feel like traveling with a group of overgrown kids sometimes.

“Did you choose already?” Bryan grins, adjusting the pirate hat on his head like it’s the peak of fashion.

“Yeah, no way I’m wearing that” she says, shaking her head.

“I am though” you say, surprising even yourself.

Maybe it’s the beer. Maybe it’s the guys’ infectious excitement. Either way you find yourself looking through the costumes too. You don’t feel like changing clothes, so you settle on a blue wig with ponytails and a matching tie. You’re not sure if it’s a character from a manga or anime — and honestly, you don’t really care.

All that matters Is that it looks cute, and it’ll make for some fun photos.

Julia finally gives in and picks out a hat — nothing too wild, just enough to say fine, I’m playing too. The guys are still in full chaos mode, layering on more accessories like it’s a competition— Joost is already wearing a hat, oversized glasses and a giant fake dollar-sign necklace.

“It’s like kids in a candy store” you comment, chuckling.

You finally enter the room — it’s already filled with snacks. A girl from the bar comes in to explain how everything works: how to choose songs, how to start and stop them, how to order drinks if you need more.

You’re not sure about the others, but the first thing you do is ordering a drink — you know you’ll need more than one before you’re brave enough to sing.

“Let’s get started” one of your friends says, scrolling through the “Last Played” song list.

“I like the hair” you don’t even notice Joost coming closer until he’s suddenly standing next to you, his arm slightly brushing yours. Damn — it’s the second time today, and again it stirs that strange feeling in your stomach.

“Oh, thanks” you smile. You try to sound casual, but you’re not sure how well you’re pulling it off.

“It matches mine” he smiles. You look at him, and for a second, you catch something in his expression — as if he’s genuinely happy you chose this color. His color. Well, almost his color — his blue hair tips are way darker, but still, both are shades of blue.

“You think?” You ask, fingers lightly brushing over the silky strands of the wig.

He looks at you, as if he wanted to ask you something. There’s a question in his eyes, something unreadable but intense. Has he always looked at you like this? And you’re only noticing now because your friends planted the idea?

Or… did something actually change during this trip?

But as quickly as the moment builds, he lets it go. He turns away and calls across the room:

“It’s your turn, Bryan! Come on, show us what you got.”

He as Bryan selects YMCA. This might get interesting.

The rest of the evening goes perfectly — everyone’s singing, drinking, and having fun. You give a strong performance of I need a hero which makes you regret that there wasn’t a Fairy Godmother costume from Shrek. Later you belt out Spice Girls with all the guys —arms around each other, voices blending into one. Performing turns out to be a lot better than you expected — especially with the guys cheering you on, no matter how off-key you might be.

The night goes a little too well, Bryan ends up passed out on the table, completely drunk — you didn’t even notice when he got that far gone.

“I have to take him home.” Julia says, sighing. "I knew that last drink would be too much for him.” She rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed that he didn’t listen.

“I can help you.” You offer, glancing at Bryan — his face slumped on the table, lips slightly parted.

“No, the guys already offered help. We’ll take him back and you and Joost can stay — there’s like half an hour left, so sing something fun!” She says quickly, already grabbing Bryan’s things.

“Come on, Julia. I’ll help you — I want to make sure he’s okay” you say, frowning. You feel slightly excluded, but more than that, something about it feels… planned.

She glances at her phone and then back at you.

“Actually, the taxi’s already here. Thank you, baby” she smiles.

You watch Julia and the other guys lift Bryan up. He’s completely wasted — or at least it seems that way. His head slumps forward, resting awkwardly on his chest, and his eyes remain closed — completely unbothered by the events around him.

“Are you sure? Maybe we should go with you. There’s still room in the taxi.” You offer, concern in your voice.

“No, really — there’s no need. Just enjoy the karaoke” she replies quickly, already halfway out the door as they shuffle with nearly-unconscious Bryan between them. Before you can say anything else, the door closes behind them, leaving you and Joost alone in the room.

You stand there awkwardly, looking at Joost, while the music to an Abba song plays softly in the background, but there’s no one singing it.

You can’t shake off the feeling that they planned this all along. Now you’re alone with Joost, practically forced into a one-on-one conversation. After all the comments they made earlier it feels more than a little suspicious. Not that you’re complaining… but still, the coincidence is hard to ignore. You’re alone with Joost.

“What do you think about them constantly trying to set us up?” He chuckles. “They’re not even trying to be subtle anymore.”

“I know.” You sigh “Well… sometimes those comments make me a little uncomfortable. It’s like… I don’t know why they’re pushing so hard. If we wanted to do something, we would.” You shrug, avoiding his gaze. Even though you’ve known each other for a long time, it doesn’t make this conversation any easier. Or maybe it even makes it even harder.

“So you don’t?” He asks, his voice quieter now.

“Don’t… what?” You frown, surprised by his question. You really don’t like the way this conversation is going, and you wish you could just skip it — the questions from your friends were enough of a torture.

“You don’t think we want to do something with this?” He adds.

“Erm… i don’t?” You say, but you’re not convinced and it comes off more as a question than an answer. “Do you?”

He looks at you with an unreadable expression. You can’t tell what he’s thinking - and he doesn’t even answer your question. Instead, he hands you the microphone.

“Come on. It’s your last chance.” He says, encouraging you.

You scroll through the song list, but the words on the screen blur together. Your mind is somewhere else entirely, looping back to what he just said — or more accurately, what he didn’t say.

Does he want to do something with that? If so, what does he want? Just to sleep with you? Ask you out? Or maybe… nothing at all?

“I think you need help.” He comes over, takes away the microphone and picks a song. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling as you join in. He couldn’t look more stupid than singing “Oops I did it again”, but you can’t deny he’s a performer. Even here, in a small room, with only you as an audience.

You’re having fun with him, you can’t lie. You like the way he smiles, the way he jumps around like a kid while singing, and the childish jokes he throws in now and then.

But the idea that he might be into you? That never crossed your mind. You always saw him as someone out of your league — not because of his looks, but because of his fame, social status and the fact that he was always surrounded by well-known people. You assumed he had so many women around that he would never be interested in you.

And it’s not that you had low self esteem, or thought you weren’t good enough or cool enough. You just figured he would prefer someone who lived the same lifestyle — not a regular girl with a regular job.

You also had always thought he was too busy with his career, his art, and his own projects. He never really talked much about love or relationships. He never shared much about that part of his life — a private side, you assumed. But maybe it wasn’t privacy at all. Maybe there just wasn’t much happening there. Now that you think about it, it seems obvious that he just didn’t go out with girls very often.

Damn, for someone who “never considered it” you sure have thought about it A LOT. Maybe you really are to stupid to notice if you like him and needed your friends’ help to take the next step. You glance at him, and he’s looking at you, smiling.

You wonder if he knows he planted that seed in your mind, and if he’s thinking about it right now.

You look at him again — his hair catching the vibrant glow of the karaoke lights, his eyes lighting up as he sigs, the little dimple appearing every time he smiles, or laughs. Your arm brushes his, and you feel the moment. Just a few words from him have already changed everything between you. The atmosphere has shifted and there’s no going back now — only deeper into this new, unknown territory.

His hand slides gently reaching to your waist, tentative, yet confident, and you don’t resist. You don’t encourage it either, but you want to see what happens, to see what he does next. The next song is already playing, but you barely notice because with one, quick movement he pulls you closer, your chest touches his.

Your eyes meet as his hand finds the small of your back, pushing you gently against him. You freeze, unsure if you want this, if this is how you want it, or if it should even happen. But you don’t stop it — you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before.

But none of this matters now, because without asking for permission, he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

Your body stops, eyes searching his, caught between surprise and uncertainty — should you lean in or step back?

“What are you doing?” Your voice is barely a whisper.

His expression shifts — a flush of shame coloring his cheeks as he looks away. The vulnerability in his eyes betrays the surprise of your reaction.

“I thought you…” he mumbles.

“Hey” you say, lifting his chin so he looks into your eyes again.

He meets your gaze, though with less confidence this time. You smile softly and press a small, delicate kiss to his lips.

He takes it as a permission. His hand trails lightly over the fabric of your t-shirt, warm and tentative. You place one hand on his arm, and let him draw closer for another kiss. His lips meet yours again — hungry, urgent — like he’s been wanting this for years. His nose touches yours, and his blonde mustache tickles your skin. The anticipation stirs a new hunger inside you.

His tongue enters your mouth, and you close your eyes, letting your own tongue join the dance. You stay in that moment longer than you expected, unaware that you’re slowly guiding him toward the sofa behind the snack table as your tongues brush together.

You pause briefly and he sinks onto the sofa, gazing up at you with a soft smile.

“You look amazing.” he says, looking up at you. “that blue wig suits you perfectly.”

“I love your hair.” You whisper, a soft smile curving your lips as your fingers weave gently through the ombre strands.

There isn’t much room left, so you shift to settle on one of his thighs. He brushes aside some strands of the synthetic wig, his gaze lingering on your face like he wants to memorize every detail.

Without warning, he pulls you back into a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue parting your lips, demanding entrance. His hands go to your hips, steadying you, while your fingers lose themselves in the tangled mess of his hair. The heat between you grows with every second — your hips pressed to his thigh, every heartbeat stretching the tension tighter, daring to cross the line.

“We should move this somewhere else” he breathes inside your lips.

“Mhm…” you mumble, barely hearing him. You’re too caught in the heat of it all — in the press of his body, in the way your pulse stumbles every time his hands tighten at your hips. Your body begins to move on its own, rocking gently against his thigh. You silently thank your past self for choosing a skirt tonight. The only barrier between you and him is barely-there lace — and the rough texture of his jeans beneath you is impossible to ignore. Your eyes flutter closed. In this moment, you surrender completely — not to him, but to the gravity that seems to pull you toward something inevitable.

“What are you doing?” He whispers inside your ear, while you feel pulsing desire between your legs. You desperately need more of him, the thin fabric of your panties is digging into your pussy. How did you get so horny so quickly? You feel your cheeks growing hot. You arch your back, pushing your crotch against his thigh. Every move makes you lose yourself more in desire, but you still want more.

At this point you can feel your panties are all wet, you know you shouldn’t do it here, but you lost all self control. His hands move carefully under your skirt. He puts them both on your buttocks, squeezing them in his hands. It only adds to the overwhelming craving you’re already feeling for him. You lean forward, your forehead brushing against his as your fingers grip the back of his neck, steadying yourself. You feel the urgency building, his touch only fueling the fire inside you.

“You don’t like it?” You tease, faking a pout, your eyes wide with passion. You already know the answer — but hearing it from him is what fuels you even more.

“Oh, i don’t just like it… I love it.” He breaths into your ear, one hand tightening around your hip as he helps you guide your rhythm.

You sigh, feeling a familiar sensation building between your legs. You’re willing to risk it all, do anything with him here. You don’t care that it’s a public place. In fact, it only adds to your desire. You’re about to reach for the belt on his pants, but a knock on the door sobers you up.

You jump off Joost’s lap, completely pulled out of the intimate moment between the two of you. The girl from the bar steps inside, and lets you know that your time is up, but you can purchase more if you’d like.

You feel your cheeks flush, your lips still shiny from the kiss. You look at him — his hair is a mess, his pupils still blown wide. You’re pretty sure she knows what just happened here — maybe that’s even why she came in.

Maybe they have cameras — no, of course there are cameras. The thought crashes into your mind like a cold splash, something you hadn’t considered before giving in to the moment. Had they been watching? Had someone seen the way you kissed him like you were starving? Just the thought of it makes you bite your cheek.

But then you think — you would love to watch it too. You imagine a black-and-white, low-quality footage of you grinding hungrily on his thigh, his hands on your hips, your mouths locked in a desperate kiss. The memory alone makes the pulse between your legs throb again, a cruel reminded of what you were just pulled away from. Instinctively, you press your thighs together for a relieve, and you catch Joost watching, his eyes flickering with want before quickly looking away.

You step out the room, the blue wig still crooked on your head, your eyes never leaving Joost. You could have stayed inside, but moving it somewhere else was definitely the safer option.

What should you do now? Continue what you started? Go to the hotel and have sex? Go to the hotel and never speak of what just happened? Go for a walk instead?

You have no idea how to proceed. You stand there, with wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and a head full of thoughts you don’t want to share with anyone.

He stands so close beside you that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You steal a glance at him, wondering if his thoughts are the same — the awkward hesitation, the uncertainty of what comes next. And most of all: does he want there to be a next?

“I have to give this back” you finally say, pointing to the wig. But when you look around, you don’t see any of the staff.

“What if you don’t? I like the way it looks” he says quietly, though you’re the only ones there.

“Are you telling me to steal it?” You ask, rising your eyebrows.

“Umm… i guess? If we start running now, who will know you took it?” He smiles — and in that moment, he looks like the boy you met years ago.

You share a quick glance, and with some unspoken understanding, you both start running — bursting out of the karaoke place and into the Tokyo night. You don’t stop there; you keep running down the street, hands locked together, weaving through the crowd, stealing glances at each other to silently agree on which way to turn. You bump into a few people, but there’s no time to apologize.

You finally stop in a quiet side street, your heart pounding in your chest. You bend over slightly, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath.

“Oh my god” you say, between gasps. “This is the first time I’ve ever stolen something” you chuckle. “And you made me do it!”

“Really?” He asks, genuinely surprised. “Not even a candy bar from a supermarket?”

You shake your head as a “no”. He steps closer to you, finally catching his breath, and adjusts the blue wig on your head.

“It was worth it though. It matches your outfit. I’m sorry I led you down the criminal path.” He chuckles, his face now inches closer, the glow of neon lights dancing in his eyes. He looks so beautiful — had he always looked like that? Or did Japan, and your little moment in the karaoke room, somehow made him more attractive?

“You’d look perfect in anything though.” He adds. “I liked that towel on you today, too. I think even more than the wig.” He flashes you a cheeky smile.

You feel a blush creeping into your cheeks — you hadn’t expected those kinds of words from him. Yes, you kissed — well, almost fucked — but now what? Are you heading in the direction of being a couple? What is going on? You thought it would lean more toward a friends-with-benefits situation, but what if he actually likes you?

“What now?” You breath out right into his lips. “Do you want to go back to the hotel?” You ask.

“Well…” he murmurs, his lips brushing your neck, leaving behind a few warm, wet kisses. “Yes. I want to continue what we started.”

His words ignite something inside you, but you try to keep your cool — no need to ruin the moment.

He orders an Uber, and since the hotel is close to the center, it doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes to get there.

“We should be quiet. I can’t stand the thought of them winning and being right about us.” You chuckle.

Joost smiles, and offers you his hand, his fingers locking with yours as he leads you to the elevator. The wig on your head slips slightly to the side, but you don’t bother to fix it. As soon as the elevator doors close, he’s all over you. His kisses trail from your jaw to your neck, and his hands slide from your hips to your tummy, then down to your ass grabbing it with hunger that makes your knees weak.

In front of you, the elevator mirror captures everything: the way his body presses into yours, the tilt of your head as you give in, the heat building in your face. You watch it all in the reflection and somehow it only turns you on more.

“Damn boy” you whisper into his ear, as his kisses move to your collarbones. “We're just a few seconds from the room — wait a little.” you say, as his finger is sliding up your thigh, getting dangerously close to the edge of your panties.

“Yeah?” He replies with a smirk, his voice full of confidence “You weren’t particularly patient today back in the karaoke room.” He clearly enjoys the thought — and the image of you being all over him.

You smile just at a memory — he’s absolutely right. You weren’t. And you sure as hell are not going to be patient now either. The tip of his finger slowly climbs up your thigh, tickling your skin that is already burning with desire. He presses his fingers against your clit through the soft fabric of your underwear.

“Oh…” he says, a confident smirk on his face, when he feels how wet he already got you. “So ready for what’s about to come…”

You look at him, ready to give back a teasing response — but the elevator doors slide open. You’re lucky that it’s late and the hallway is empty, but you’re almost certain the noise the two of you are making — your laughter, your rushed footsteps — is enough to wake at least a few sleeping hotel guests behind closed doors.

The way to the room’s door is interrupted by gentle touches and fleeting kisses. You clumsily reach for the key card, but before you can open the door ad slide inside he pushes you against the wall next. His gentle kisses slowly move from your ear to your lips. One hand rests on the back of your neck, the other gently moves along your arm. Even the most delicate touch makes your breath quicken. His fingers slowly hook into the strap of your top, sliding it down your forearm and his wet kisses go down your neck, to stop at your breasts.

You barely hold the key card in your fingers, while his hand reaches under your skirt, fingers sliding up and down the thin material of your panties. Finally his fingertips softly tickle your sensitive skin, curling his fingers under the hem of your underwear to pull it to the side and run the finger through your folds. You feel your whole body coil from both desire and a fear of getting caught — by the hotel workers, or even worse — by your friends.

“So…so ready…” he whispers directly into your ear, pushing back the blue strands . His warm, wet lips brushing against your ear. “didn’t you say you don’t want anything?”

You want to say something but your mind seems to be completely clouded with his fingers still moving along your slick folds. He leaves a soft kiss in the crook between your neck and shoulder, and before you can even form a sentence, he kneels before you.

Damn, you’re still in the hallway. You can’t make the same mistake twice. There are DEFINITELY cameras here.

But it doesn’t matter anymore — or at least it doesn’t matter enough for you to be able to find the sense to stop it. But you’re not — you are too far gone now.

His teeth lightly nip at your skin then catch the hem of your panties, tugging at them with deliberate slowness. He pulls them down your thighs, helping himself with his fingers on the other side of your hips.

Can it get any better?

You’re about to find out, when distant voices and the creak of an opening door snap you out of the moment. You quickly pull your skirt lower and with your panties just above your knees open the room door with the key pass you were still (barely) holding in your hand.

You step into the room, the door still hanging open behind you, as you drag him along — still on his knees — across the threshold. From the hallway, it would probably look pretty ridiculous.

You can’t help but laugh at the situation, but he cuts it off with another kiss, standing up and guiding you toward the bed.

“What if they saw us?” You ask, breaking the kiss to look at him, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

“It doesn’t matter.” He shrugs “We would give them a show”

He takes off your top, still guiding you toward the bed. You sit down, the blue wig slightly askew. You reach your hand to take it off, but his hand catches yours before you can.

“No, keep it on.”

You raise your eyebrow. Does that turn him on? Or maybe it is the fact that it’s similar to his and he likes to think that’s why you wore it?

You move to the centre of the bed, legs parting just enough to let him settle between them. He unzips his pants, leaving only his underwear. You reach for his t-shirt, and tug it over his head, your lips trail slowly from his neck, to his shoulders, planting a line of warm kisses that linger on his skin.

Joost takes off your skirt, sliding it down along with your panties in one swift motion. You’re completely naked now, sitting there on the bed. The bright blue wig is a striking contrast to the warmth in your cheeks. Your eyes, slightly glassy from emotion and anticipation, look up at him — hungry and vulnerable.

His hand goes to your crotch, and he teases your folds with his soft fingers. You are already so turned on by what he did earlier that the slightest movement and the slightest touch makes you sigh and quiver on the bed. You move your hips forward, hungry for his touch.

“I will take care of you” he finally whispers into your ear, he reaches for your back to unclip your bra and take it off. His finger is teasing your entrance, threatening to slip in, while his lips touch the skin around your nipples. They’re are soft and a little cold, in contrast to your heated skin. He sticks out his tongue to flick your nipple, to then suck on it.

A thrill runs through you as you look at him, the view only making you more aroused. Oh, this is going to be good. Your breath quickens and your skin tingles with anticipation.

He slips one finger in, you lie down completely on the bed, the blue hair from the wig blend messily with your own hair across the pillow. At some point, your natural hair must have slipped free from the clip. But right now, tangled hair is the furthest thing from your thoughts.

His kisses move from your breasts, to your lower belly and you already know what he’s about to do. A shiver — equal parts anticipation and pleasure - runs through your body. His fingers press into your inner thigh with possessive pressure, the index finger of the other hand still curling inside you. You take shaky breaths, your chest rising and falling as you bite down gently on your lower lip.

“Joost…” you whisper, as your fingertips trace the curve of his cheek.

“Sh…” he quiets you, his head still dangerously close to your pussy, his breath warm against your skin. “i’ll make you feel so, so good, I promise” his voice low and quiet.

“You don’t have to…” your voice fragile.

“I want to” he breathes out, looking at you for a moment.

You smile, as his lips finally reach the spot just above your slit. You can’t help it but let out a small moan, an expression of both pleasure and anticipation that took over your entire body. He hasn’t even started yet, and you’re already moaning. Before another groan leaves your mouth, his lips reach the folds between your legs. He doesn’t pull his finger out, he keeps moving it in and out, as his soft lips touch your clit.

You close your eyes, trying to give yourself into the pleasure, as he takes out his tongue, and slowly tickles your clit. You put your hand in his already messy hair, a quiet moan slips from your lips before you can hold it back. The touch of his warm, wet tongue sends shivers down your spine, the pleasure coils in your stomach and your free hand clenches on the sheet beneath you.

As you make yourself comfortable, he uses his other hand to open your pussy lips with his cold fingers. His tongue goes up and down your slit, to then suck on it, while you squirm on the bed in pleasure. Your eyes are closed, your mouth open, gasping for air between louder and louder moans, that you can’t hold back anymore. He abuses your sweet spot with his tongue, his soft hair tickles your underbelly. Oh he wasn’t lying when he said he will make you feel so good.

You instinctively try to close your legs as the moans seem to reach an obscene level, but he pulls his finger out of you and puts his hand on your thigh, his finger warm and wet from where it just was. He forces your thighs to remain open, as he is far from done. You spread them open, giving him all the access.

He moves the finger back to where it was, and adds another, while the tip of his tongue touches all the most sensitive parts. You feel the orgasm getting closer and you’re selfishly trying to delay it, as the sensation of his tongue on your skin is way to good to end so quickly. You want to enjoy it longer and longer, all night if that’s possible.

He spreads your thighs more, putting your feet on his back, he’s adding the third finger, curling it and stretching you out. Your moans reach the highest registers, but you don’t care, there are no thoughts in your mind, only pleasure taking over each corner of your brain.

His fingers are moving at a crazy pace now, as you reach the peak of the pleasure, crying out his name in absolute chaos of emotions you’re in now. He doesn’t stop — he lets you ride your high, making use of his fingers and mouth, giving you all that he can. You don’t even notice when he stops pumping his fingers in and out of you, tears are running down your cheeks, your hands reach for the bed frame, gripping it so tightly that they turned white, the wig you were wearing lies completely tangled at the edge of the bed.

You finally open your eyes and try to calm your breath a little, wiping sweat from your forehead.

He kneels between your legs, his lips pink and shiny with your wetness, looking down at you, as you lie on the bed completely naked with your legs spread for him. You feel a light blush creep onto your cheeks, though after the sounds that just came out of you, it’s too late to be embarrassed. You have been friends for so many years, and if someone told you this morning that tonight you’d find yourself naked in bed with him, you would’ve laughed in disbelief.

“So beautiful.” He says, his voice a little hoarse, his fingers slowly stroke the bare skin on your thighs. “And so horny for me.” he smiles, and slides his thumb down your folds again, making you shiver with overstimulation. “Are you ready for more? I’m far from done.”

Your lips curl softly into a confident smile.

“Of course I am. Bring it on.” You say, your voice tire but confident. You are more than ready— you crave more.

He lets out a low chuckle, his eyes fixed on your body.

“Good girl…” his voice low and raspy. “I thought you might say that.”

In one, swift motions he takes off his boxers, and you admire him, kneeling in front of you wearing nothing at all.

He slides both hands beneath your knees, lifting them up, as he shifts forward, settling himself between your legs with a slow movement. But before he slides into you, he leans down and kisses you tenderly. His lips still taste like you, but you love it, you love that you bodies seem to be connected from the very first touch, you love the hunger behind his lips, the urgency in his touch, the overwhelming desire in his eyes — because you feel the same for him.

He slides into you and moves slowly at first, even though you don’t need to adjust too much — all that he did earlier made you wide open for him. He speeds up the pace, as one of his hands is reaching to your nipple, pulling and twisting it. You watch him, his hair moving with the rhythm, while drops of sweat glow against his pale skin under the light. He looks so good, how come you’ve never been absolutely mesmerized by his beauty before? How did it never hit you that he’s exactly your type — not just in looks, but everything else too. You could watch him like this every day: naked, beautiful, and hungry for you. Suddenly you want to give him more — the view and the sensation he won’t be able to forget.

“Stop” you say, and when he does you sit up, your fingers wrapping around his arms with determination. With one swift motion, you guide him down, reversing your roles — now he’s the one beneath you, his back hitting the mattress as you brush your hair with your fingers.

You sit on him, and helping yourself with your hand, you put his cock inside you so deep that it almost hurts. You throw your head back, feeling his hands reach for your butt, squeezing the cheeks in his large hands. You start moving up and down, finding your rhythm, he moves his hands to your hips, helping you get the right pace. You throw your head back, enjoying every time he fills you, bite your lip and ride him like there’s no tomorrow. You breath out, as he moves his hand up to squeeze one of your boobs in his hand. Every movement pulls you further into bliss, and you can’t help but moan his name.

“Fuck” you whisper under your breath, while he’s so deep in you. His hands explore your body, like he’s trying to memorize every curve, like he’s trying to claim every inch as his own.

“I’m close” he says, and you nod, quickening the pace and arching your back, exposing your whole body for him. He doesn’t close his eyes, he’s watching your every move, he doesn’t blink even once as not to lose sight of you. He finally finishes inside of you, but you don’t stop, you keep moving up and dow, feeling your own orgasm starting to build up. You get off him, sit on the bed and spread your legs. You’re just about to tell him to touch you, but his hands are already reaching out, eager for your body. He doesn’t need an invitation. He gets closer, looking at your pussy, dripping with his cum.

He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss full of intensity, your tongues intertwining in a rhythm that seems so desperate, and unlike any hunger you’ve ever known. He puts his hand between your legs and start patting your clit, causing you to moan against his lips, and digging your fingers into his arm. You’re already so overstimulated that you don’t need much, just a few movements of his soft fingers, pressing in just the right place, makes you completely lose yourself and he has to hold you in place with his hand.

He gives you a second orgasm of the night, and you moan his name so loudly he eventually has to cover your mouth with his hand to muffle the sound, otherwise you’d probably wake up the whole floor. Your friends are just behind the wall — if only they knew what’s going on in that room.

Your head arches back as your fingers dig deeper into his arm. Finally, when he’s done, you breathe deeply, resting your face against his shoulder, your body still pulsing with aftershocks. You take a moment to calm yourself, then lie down on the bed, heavy with exhaustion. Joost follows, lying beside you and for a moment nothing fills the room but the sound of your heavy breaths.

You don’t touch at all, but you’re not mad about it. You need to calm your breath, to feel the gentle breeze on your tired body. A few minutes pass, and then he finally wraps his arm around you.

You know you should talk about what just happened — Was it just a one-time thing? Should you just be friends with benefits? Does he want something more? Do you want something more?

But now it seemed like a lot of work, and you were in such a delicious state, that you didn’t want to ruin it with any serious conversations. You didn’t even know the answer to any of those questions yet.

“So… How did I do?” He asks, as you rest your cheek on his arm. He’s all sweaty, but you don’t mind. The closeness gives you comfort.

“Fishing for compliments, are we?” You laugh.

“Oh, i so am. But i earned it! At least… I think I did.” He says, looking at you like he’s searching for confirmation.

“Yeah” you nod “I mean… you definitely do” you say, and he presses a soft kiss to your temple.

You suddenly feel very tired — it must be really late, and you have plans for tomorrow. You should probably sleep now. But his presence feels so good, and the simple act of just lying there, touching each other gently with fingertips, and leaving small kisses on his bare skin, feels too good to give up for sleep yet.

He pulls the blanket over both of your heads and underneath it, brings you even closer than you already were, giving you yet another passionate, sweet kiss.

“Oh no, don’t start again. We have to get some sleep.” You smile. “as much as I want too…”

He chuckles.

“You’re right. But we can do it again… tomorrow… or… I don’t know if — you want?” There’s something careful, almost unsure in his tone.

Is it his attempt to have that conversation?

“Yeah… tomorrow is good.” You nod your head.

You want to do it again — you know it — but a worry sparks in your mind: what if this turns into just booty calls? You don’t want that. You enjoy having him as your friend.

He doesn’t let you slip out of his arms, and eventually, you both fall asleep.

You must have been asleep for a very long time, when a sudden knocking on the door jolts you awake. It’s not just knocking — it’s loud, insistent banging. Whoever is on the other side of the door definitely isn’t planning to go away without someone opening it.

You glance at Joost - how the hell is he still asleep?! He lies there with his mouth slightly parted, completely undisturbed.

You slip out of bed and quickly realize you’re naked — yeah, no way you’re opening the door like that. Your pajamas are crumpled on the floor, right next to the blue wig. As you pull them on, the images of the night before flash your mind, and you catch yourself smiling. You can’t wait for tonight to repeat it.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror. Your make up is completely smudged across your face, dark circles under your eyes, your hair is a total mess. You look like someone who’s been through a lot. You’re grateful there ain’t any visible hickeys on your neck or chest— you have no idea how you’d explain that.

You smooth your hair as good as you can, swipe a finger under your eyes, and finally open the door just slightly, leaving a narrow gap.

“Jesus Christ, finally” you hear Julia’s voice the moment the door cracks open. “What the hell? I’ve been knocking for like… ten minutes.” She sounds annoyed — as if Bryan yesterday wasn’t enough of a problem, now you’re added to the list.

“Oh… sorry, we um… drank too much yesterday I think.” You rub your eyes and try to sound casual. “I’m sorry. Whats going on? Is Bryan okay?” You ask, concerned.

“I got an email from the karaoke place saying you apparently stole the blue wig.” she says, raising her eyebrows at you.

“Wh-what?” You answer, doing your best to look confused.

Damn, in all that chaos you didn’t think about the fact that she was the one who made the reservation — of course they had her email, maybe even her phone number.

You hadn’t consider this outcome. Honestly, you hadn’t thought much at all yesterday. The second Joost touched you, it was like some switch flipped in your head — and the reason? Gone. Completely shut off.

“Can you tell me, what the hell happened? And where’s Joost?” She asks, clearly impatient. Panic sparks in your chest. You need to come up with something — fast.

“I… ummm…” you’re stumbling for words, the exhaustion and lack of real sleep aren’t helping.

“OH MY GOD” Julia says suddenly, her eyes widening in realization. Before you can stop her, she pushes the door open and walks right in.

You look at Joost. He looks at you — now awake, confused and still somewhere between sleep and shock. Thank God he’s covered with the sheets. The last thing you need is for Julia to see him naked on top of everything else.

“I knew it!” she shouts, practically pointing an accusing finger first at Joost, then at you. Her eyes land on the blue wig crumpled on the floor, and she can’t help but laugh. She goes back to the door and yells down the hallway

“Bryan! Come here, you’re not gonna believe it.”

You bury your face in your hands. All that effort to deny it, to keep it quiet, to avoid giving them the satisfaction and now she’s yelling it down the hallway for the whole damn floor to hear.

#joost klein fanfic #joost klein x reader #joost klein x you #joost x reader #joost x you #joost fanfic #joost klein fanfiction #rpf #joost x you smut #joost x fem reader #joost x reader smut

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tsaheylutales · 1 day ago

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hiiiii!

if you’re still taking requests, i’d love to see steve with someon like him. someone who’s like loud, snart, flirty, flirts with him and they’re like “wait, you actually like me?! wtf???? i thought it was just a game!” queue kisses (maybe a liitle smut 👀)

i love yr writing tbw!! 🤍🤍🤍 everything dad!steve is just so fucking sweet!!! 🤍🤍🤍🤍

Hii! Yes I'm still taking request, Thank you so much for leaving one! I didn't do any smut but the kiss does get a bit heavy. let me know what you think!

about 1k words.

You and Steve were always flirting. That was just how your friendship was. You’d wear ridiculously low-cut shirts and lean over the counter at just the right angle and watch Steve’s eyes flicker down, up, and back down again.

You’d smirk. He’d cough, and pretend he wasn’t looking.

It was a game. A safe, ridiculous game you’d both been playing for months. No rules, no consequences.

But lately…It’s been feeling less like a game. And more like something you didn’t quite know how to handle.

It was a slow Tuesday and the peak of Indiana summer. The AC was broken and all there was to cool you down was a tiny desk fan perched on the counter that occasionally turned just right and blessed your face with three seconds of relief.

You were wearing one of your thinnest tank tops, the kind that hung just low enough to make Steve’s jaw clench, paired with cut-off denim shorts and zero shame. Your skin was warm, a little sticky with sweat, and the heat made everything feel heavier. Slower. Needier.

Steve was trying to make himself useful. Or at least look useful.

He was kneeling by the horror section, stacks of VHS tapes beside him, pretending to reorganize what definitely did not need reorganizing. You’d watched him line up the same row of tapes three times already, each time fussing with the angle like it mattered.

It didn’t. Not when his eyes kept drifting to you every few seconds.

“You good, Harrington?”

He stood up too fast, bumping into the shelf. “Yeah! Fine. Totally fine.” He says, pupils blown wide, mouth slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his lips. His eyes fall to your chest.

You smirk, voice sickly sweet. “Getting a bit hot and bothered there, babe?”

Steve freezes.

His jaw works for a second, like he’s trying to form words and failing, before his eyes flutter shut for a moment and he lets out a low, shaky breath.

Then he marches over.

Not striding. Not swaggering. Marches like he’s made a decision and there’s no going back.

You barely have time to process before he’s right in front of you, hands gripping the edge of the counter on either side of your thighs, locking you in.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” Steve breathes, voice low and wrecked, like he’s one second from completely losing control.

You tilt your head, lips curled in a knowing smile. “Think I do. S’part of the game.”

His eyes flicker, something shifts behind them. Less teasing, more need.

“Yeah?” He says, stepping even closer. “Well I don’t want to play anymore.”

You blink, heart skipping, breath catching. Because the look he gives you? It’s not the usual cocky, flirty Steve.

It’s real. Desperate. Like he’s been aching for this, for you, and he’s finally giving himself permission to stop pretending it’s all just a game.

“Then stop playing.” You say quietly.

He doesn’t hesitate.

His mouth crashes against yours, messy, open-mouthed and hungry. You gasp into his mouth and he takes full advantage, deepening the kiss with a kind of desperation that sends heat straight through you. His lips are soft but needy, his tongue insistent, teeth catching on your bottom lip just hard enough to make you whimper.

Your hands move from his shirt to his hair, threading through the soft strands, tugging just enough to make him groan, low and rough in the back of his throat, like he needs this.

He kisses you deeper, hungrier, hands gripping your thighs like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded. Then, suddenly, he pulls back just enough to breathe, not far, just enough to mouth along your jaw, your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below your ear.

“You have no idea how much I like you, sweetheart.” He murmurs against your skin.

You freeze. Just slightly. Your fingers still in his hair, breath catching. “Wait…”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your voice caught somewhere between disbelief and nervous laughter. “So you actually like me?”

Steve leans back just enough to see your face, and he’s smiling, but it’s not cocky or flirty this time. It’s soft. Real.

His eyes search yours like he’s trying to figure out if you’re messing with him.

“Yeah, I like you.” He says quietly, like it’s obvious. “I’ve been losing my mind over you for, like, months. Thought it was pretty clear.”

You stare at him. And now you’re the one reeling. You blink once. Twice.

“Steve…” You breathe, suddenly aware of how fast your heart is beating.

“I thought we were just… playing.” You say, softer now. “I didn’t think you actually meant it.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, a little stunned, like he’s the one who can’t believe you didn’t know.

“Babe.” He says, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “I’ve dropped about seventy-five tapes, called you every name except your own, and haven’t been able to look at you without forgetting how to speak. You really thought that was just flirting?”

Your cheeks are warm, but not from the heat anymore. You smile, small, a little dazed. “I… didn’t know you liked me back.” You admit, blinking up at him.

He grins, wide and so Steve, brushing his nose against yours.

“Well.” He murmurs. “Now you do.”

And then he kisses you again.

This time softer, slower, like now that the truth’s out, there’s no rush. No more hiding.

Just you.

And Steve.

And the kind of kiss that says this isn’t a game anymore.

#request #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington

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michipan · 3 hours ago

Text

sfw link ^^

(cracks knuckles) ok so lemme tell you. from the moment i saw this event's masterlist, i was HOOKED by your fic. mean slytherin kai??? YES PLEASE??? gave myself a moment to sit down and really enjoy this fic so i could give you a proper review soooo… prepare yourself, because im completely normal! ^^

starting off with the smut being in his pov… ouuuu yes i love. i can’t remember the last time i read smut in the male lead’s pov, this was so interesting and refreshing (also i couldn’t help but get stuck on the fact that you used “cloying”. such a cool word just wanted to tell you!) but christ… what an opening scene!! this was such a good choice on your part, so many things were told about his character right off the bat— his refusal for intimacy when literally having sex, the degrading way he regards this girl, his dominance… oh lord i was squealing and kicking my feet!!! the fact that he physically pushed down this girl’s hand when she tried to kiss him??? ohhohohohoho ur so good… calling it a line he never crosses… AND WHEN HE WENT “should I?” AHHHHH i can’t. he’s so cold and arrogant and i LOVE IT

“She can’t let him be the one to leave first, not tonight.” im not gonna get into it too much right now because it’s gonna come LATER, but it’s crazy how such small details like these manage to encapsulate your characters so much. it’s like you know all your characters like the back of your hand, im enamoured…

“He strides through the grand halls with the effortless poise of someone who believes the castle itself was built for him.” this sentence. DO YOU KNOW IM CRAZY??? so good so yummy i can imagine him so perfectly… you’re so good at setting the tone, you make it seem effortless; the same goes for status, i absolutely adore that you go into small details like his pristine clothes, the way people react when he passes, the way kai doesn’t regard them— it really sells the whole idea that kai is above everyone, i love it!! EVEN MORE SO when he tries to intimidate a gryffindor, just to get a reaction out of him?? it’s like he needs to prove himself every chance he gets, and the fact that he gets so disappointed when he doesn’t get the reaction he wants is soooo…. fawk… i was a little intimidated… i was a little scared…

your writing is just so??? good??? you keep pulling out imagery left and right and it stuns me because it’s all so unique and not repetitive at all, which is so difficult to do! i love the little motifs that recur throughout (blades, cracks, blood, rot, etc) and how you manage to keep it fresh every time! I read “he could see the ache written in the curve of her back” and immediately ran to my notes to be like “woah!!! me like!!” and TRUST i will be pointing out the other ones i liked!!!

oh also him pretending like he didnt gaf and didn’t want to see mc was so funny to me. he’s just going “i have no choice, i don’t want to see this, idgaf!!” over and over just to get so entranced by her is so akdhadggk okay man. keep telling yourself you don’t care. (btw that whole sequence was SOOOO good!!!)

getting introduced to jay and chaweon was so interesting… i love getting thrown in a situation and be given the context later its my favorite kind of storytelling… it makes everything feel much more intense and trust, my hatred for chaewon is indeed INTENSE!!! when she called??? mc??? DIRTY???? oh i SCREAMED CAUSE HUH!!! but god, this interaction being the way the readers get the mc’s backstory… so delicious. again, you have the ability to set up tone/mood so nicely, and your imagery just amps that up to a 100. “You were the one who showed up on the doorstep with nothing but a trunk and a name no one knew how to say.” you are just so fucking cruel, you know twisting the knife inside of someone after stabbing them is just overkill!!! the fact that her life is just so rough that she even wishes she never got the letter is just so telling…

“Not the muggle-born mistake among children who made spells sing on their tongues, while yours stuttered, cracked, and bled.” this is just perfection. such an intense contrast that shows how the mc perceives herself,,, im giving you a kiss. right now.

MEETING JAY WAS SO. im just gonna repeat myself, but i just love the deliverance in your wording when it comes to certain characters, whether it be introducing them/giving them dialogue. his dismissiveness toward the mc, him laughing at her unease, his dialogue?? oh it’s so telling and i was immediately wary of him… “I wanna be with you. Do that thing with you.”/ “If you really liked me, you’d do it too. You know?” I can just hear that stupid arrogant tone as if what he’s saying is the most obvious thing… good job! I hate him. 💗

HIS PERSISTENCE. THE REVEAL THAT IT WAS ALL A BET. OUHHHHH IM RAGING I HATE THIS GUY!!! him trying to chase after her and asking to talk is such a slap in the face (haha) like??? oh WHO IS YOU!! (also let me tell you the sentence “his form clinging to your shadow” is so fucking cool. just imagining him trying to grab her but not being close enough… your imagery breathes life into this fic)

the switch to kai…. oh 💞💞💞 i can’t i just love his character so effing much. the way he perceives the mc, the way he watches her… the way he grins 🤤 i need him soooooo bad its not even funny. the way he sees her crying and gets HORRNNNNEEEY like wtf do you mean you wanna be the one to make her cry instead($^(#^)& UNDER HIS??? HANDS???MOUTH??NAME??? EXCUSE ME!!? (yes PLEASE!)

this little opposites attract moment you have with kai and mc is just so interesting because of how intense it is, and holy fucking shit i cannot believe i just came to this realization while i typed this up im so fawking dumb: kai’s upbringing was so meticulous, crafted into the perfect leader, someone who can charm his way through anything but can still control the room with a single glance… he was given a formula, given the world, given more attention than he knows what to do with; he’s calm, collected, perfect. and then the mc… is quite literally his counterpart. no family (she’s an orphan right? or rather, adopted? did i pick that up correctly?) mistreated and ignored, forced to care after herself and figure out life, which inevitably flipped itself on its head when she was accepted into hogwarts, a complete 180 from her muggle life.. a storm of trauma and emotions she doesn’t know how to regulate, with powers that are way out of her league [or so she deems] unapologetically herself, unapologetically imperfect. it’s no wonder kai would be drawn to her, she’s everything he’s never been allowed to be!

when kai decides to chase after her, “like a shadow stretching to meet its mark.” (let me just say, the same metaphor for jay and kai, only one is clinging and the other is stretching out? come on. you’re joking.) ouuuu you. you you you you you when i get my hands on you!!! so interesting how the mc knows she’s being followed, and kai doesn’t really care about being subtle?? their dynamic is just so interesting, and kai is so forward it makes me squeal… “The wind caught your hair, brushing it across your cheek. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out and touch it, feel if it was as soft as it looked, feel if you would flinch.” TO FEEL IF YOU WOULD FLINCH YEOOOWWWW HOW INTENSE!!! this whole interaction was just perfection. crazy first (official) meeting, but hell yeah!

people whispering how dare she? for beating the shit outta jay… grrrr we lowkey gotta kill them. mc not explaining herself bc she knew no one would care anyway… oh we gotta bomb the school! (too much? sorry.) also, i would love to learn more about mc and her powers; i know it was already pretty well established in this fic in regards of what they are and her struggles with them, but i just find it so interesting… something that has the potential to bring her to the top yet is frowned upon, alienates her, and she tries to suppress… i just find it so interesting, along with chaewon’s (ex)friendship with the mc! so much worldbuilding… me love. oh, and her snap at chaewon?? “I have power. You just have a last name.” YESSSSS QUEEN!!! oh everyone cheered. clapped. whistled. screamed, even.

AND KAIS ENTRANCE UGGGGHHHHHHH 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 YOU ARE SO CRUEL FOR MAKING HIM SO FUCKING HOT the fact the you wrote that he was STAKING HIS CLAIM MEOWWWWW im a melted puddle of kai brainrot you cannot be doing this to me its just. not fair!! also why the hell is this man saying he “didn’t do it for me”??? is there a secret third person getting bullied by chaewon in this room that we just didn’t know about??

but ough… mc finally breaking down after having to pretend to be strong… this poor girl.. can i just say, despite you mentioning previously that kai was taught to listen and look into someone’s eyes while thinking a million different things, this didn’t feel like that at all… it was just such a raw and intimate moment, the fact that hueningkai didn’t try to use some flowery language to comfort her, didn’t do anything unnecessary,, but just stood there… just to be there. and the kiss… and the fact that it had yet to develop any passion, bc hueningkai is just so confused on why he’s so drawn to her,, “He tasted like someone who hadn’t felt anything in years and hated that you made him want to” god its like you want me to kill myself i hate you. him also being shaken by the kiss… just to tell her to stop crying bc it ruins her face 😭😭😭 god i love him. I LOVE HIM!!!

my goodness, you really did your big one with this fucking character. i love when kai is written in a more cold manner, it’s such a weakness for me; i love that you made him soooo forward, it’s so ridiculously hot. he knows what he wants and doesn’t care that they have different statuses, which is sooo incredibly HOT?? i wondered if it would be a dilemma between the two (as if he’d be repulsed by her or reluctant to chase after her) but the fact that it’s not is SO REFRESHING you have no idea!! him just following her around like a guard dog…. dude my knees are weak. i need to shake you by the shoulders and scream at you so you can realize what this man is doing to me.

the scene where the mc was having a panic attack was so !!! important to me !!! kai doing something as simple as feeling her pulse and telling her to continue walking with him…. then holding her hand… oh em gee… need that… also yunjin coming up to her after and asking if she was kai’s gf.. and not being super mean and jealous ?! again,,, this is like a breath of fresh air.. it’s not like i hate cliches (love them) but i also find it interesting when you’re just met with the unexpected… like. yunjin’s chill as fuck! okay queen! saying he’s obsessed with the mc… 😖 and calling him unwell LMFAO she’s so chill i wasn’t familiar with her game…

“I’m ambitious,” she said. “And if being ambitious makes me a bad person… then I guess I’m a Slytherin.” this line is so crazy good i ate that shit UPPPP i always think abt that trope where it’s like. idk how to explain it… people that know they’re bitches are more real/better than a person who hides behind a fake persona and tries to convince themselves they’re not rotted… idk. yunjin reminds me of that.

now lets get to this final scene shall we… everything about this was genuinely perfect. i loved hearing kai talk about his upbringing, talk about how cruel it was but not seeing it that way bc yk… it’s what he grew up with. “He sounded like someone explaining the weather. Like grief was just another season he’d already lived through.” you and that fucking figurative language i cannot believe you just write this shit down like nothing i cant STAND YOU (marry me? ^^)

“I look for you when you’re not around.” DO YOU KNOW IM CRAZY??? IM HUNTING YOU DOWN!!!!

the smut…. im speechless…. kai constantly asking for consent FAWWKKKKK GRRRRRRR I CANT DEAL WITH THIS. YOU CAN TELL ME TO STOP ANYTIME>????A{OEGT&)&)U JJST FUCKING. SHOOT ME!!! “Here?” / “You want me here?” HES SOOOOO>??!>!$@$ im malfunctioning. NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED GIMME GIVE ME HIM NOW

the teasing. the dirty talk. him being a fawking EATTERRRRR MEOWWWWW

HIM CONSTANTLY. FUCKING. KISSING HER. EVERYWHERE. HE JUST. CANT STOP. KISSING HER. DO YOU KNOW. IM FUCKING CRAZY. YOU HAVE THREE DAYS.

everything about that was just so sweet… so good and charged with emotions and pining, the way they lingered around each other, meticulously cleaning up not because it needed to be perfect, but because it meant having an excuse to stay longer…

the callback to the mc fixing the bed, focused on symmetry. him not caring about it and instead being fixated solely on her. oh FUCK YOU!!!

“Why would you change for me?”

“Because you made me want to,”

oh sigh…. i need to be institutionalized after this. this was just so… soooo perfect… (but also can i say it’s interesting that kai’s first instinct is to mold himself completely around her? it really is all he knows, in a way… it’s okay to be you kai…) BUT ALSO i can recognize the sweetness and adoration that comes with wanting to be like your partner, wanting to understand them more in order to reach a better closeness. i just love overanalyzing !

ALRIGHT now let me move onto these following quotes that i just found so interesting and that i wanted to talk about on their own!

“you didn’t notice the silence blooming around you like mold.” / “boys with bloodlines like poisoned roots” / “Screw this whole bloody castle and the way it always stank of legacy and rot.” / “A boy born with a silver knife in his mouth,” / “You felt too much. You burned too brightly. You cracked in places he didn’t understand. You cried like it meant something. You fought like the world still owed you something soft.”

i just wanted to dive a little further into the whole “you have motifs that keep appearing in your figurative language for each character” thing, because this is truly so interesting and (in my personal opinion) a huge standout in your writing! (or at least, this fic? i’ll have to read more of your works to prove this theory… hehe) like how the mc is constantly associated with rot/ruin/cracks, and how kai is always associated with silver/blades ? (THE FACT THAT YOU USED SILVER BLADE INSTEAD OF SILVER SPOON YOURE A GENIUSSS) and how the themes of power and legacy are also associated with rot/decay… and how there’s a lot of recurring metaphors of blood… i can’t it really is just so amazing to read and pick up on. it just sets up this subconscious premise in the reader’s mind on how they should feel about certain things, gives them physical imagery/ imagery that appeals to the senses and just really elevates the feelings one gets… idk, the fact that you used blooming like mold is so crazy to me. how do you come up with this?? were you blessed by the gods? i hope you know that at some point, i just started cussing you out in my notes.

okay! let me just say, despite my really, really aggressive review and reactions, i loved this story!! so much!!! i truly think you’re such an incredibly talented writer, you have such a good grasp on imagery and your characters that you manage to intertwine both and elevate your story so much more. the plot was absolutely perfect, im such a sucker for jaded characters like kai, your fic had me hooked from the day it was announced, and i was so excited to see that it was finally out! i’ll add a final comment on the playlist; i was so surprised to see that it went for a much softer, loving sound, but i truly think it fits. it’s so gentle and just added to that yearning that we got in the fic… 10/10, amazing. (die for you, paramore, and w2e in one playlist?? Oh, your mind…) i enjoyed this fic sooooo soso much, i wish i were hit in the head and given memory loss so i could experience this for the first time again. amazing work, im in love with you!

‎₊ ˚ ⊹ ིྀ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐅𝐈𝐓

pairing: slytherin!kai x gryffindor!reader

He was supposed to look away. He was never supposed to crave the one who didn't belong.

warnings: hogwarts au, set in college age, romance redemption, strangers to lovers, pureblood/halfblood societal norms, mdni. bullying!, family!trauma.

smutwarnings: virginity-loss, missionary, oral!fem receiving.

wc: 10k — playlist

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: so happy to be part of this event! thank you to my girls, rain, ash yun and nina for being awesome ily all ^.^ see the event masterlist here.

He grips the back of her head, his fingers sinking into her hair as he thrusts into her with a steady, punishing rhythm. Skin into skin. Her soft moans turn ragged, a needy, breathless chorus in the dimly lit room. The air is thick with the cloying scent of her perfume, almost too sweet, making his head swim.

“m-more, Kai, please,” she whimpers, her nails scraping at his shoulders, her legs tightening around his hips.

He smirks. They always beg the same way.

He watches her, how her lips part with every gasp, her brows knit in desperate pleasure but as she reaches up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, he knows what she’s after.

A kiss.

He shoves her hand down, ignoring the flash of irritation in her eyes. He doesn’t want to see that. He doesn’t want to see anything but her writhing beneath him as he chases his own high.

He keeps pounding into her, the bed creaking under them, her breaths turning into sharp cries. When he feels himself tip over the edge, he holds her hips still, burying himself to the hilt as he cums hard into the condom. He stays there for a moment, head bowed, catching his breath. He pulls out and steps back, his chest heaving. She lies flushed and trembling, a sheen of sweat on her skin, her hair a tangled mess. He’s already made her release twice tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to press his lips to hers.

A line he never crosses.

She sits up, tugging down the hem of her uniform skirt, smoothing it over her thighs. She ties her hair back in a tight ponytail, her green scarf slightly wrinkled. She watches him with narrowed eyes, her lips still parted and pink. “Why don’t you ever kiss me?” Yunjin says finally, her tone somewhere between curiosity and frustration. “I used to think it was just me… but I talked to some of the other girls you’ve hooked up with. You never kiss them either.”

He shrugs, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark as he tugs on his jeans. “Should I?”

“Asshole.” Yunjin’s voice is clipped, her eyes sharp with hurt as she stands up. She can’t let him be the one to leave first, not tonight. She smooths down her skirt and grabs her bag, shoulders squared as she heads for the door.

Heuning Kai just watches her, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk. He’s known her since their first year, long enough to read every flicker of her mood, how she tries to cover her hurt with anger, how she thinks he can’t see it.

He doesn’t bother trying to stop her. He doesn’t have to.

She leaves with her head high and her footsteps light, and he doesn’t move until the door clicks shut behind her. He shakes his head, a small huff under his breath as he stands and tugs his jeans back up, his shirt still undone.

Kissing. It’s always been too intimate, too close; something that feels like more than he can give. He’s never been interested in playing at something deeper than what they already have. He’s never found the will to do it.

He glances at the rumpled sheets. He will need to have them smoothed out, made right again. Things should be neat, aligned.

He has always hated disorder, the way it jars the symmetry he craves.

He strides through the grand halls with the effortless poise of someone who believes the castle itself was built for him. Every step is confident, his polished shoes clicking softly on the stone floor. When someone calls his name, he turns enough to flash them a half-look. His name is on everyone’s lips. His robes are cut to perfection, dark green and silver threads woven just so, a mark of being a pureblood heir and wealth. He sees the girls watching from the corners, cheeks flushed. Some whisper to each other, others just stare in open admiration. The boys in his own house, look at him with a mix of camaraderie and begrudging deference. They share the same colors and the same crest, but not the same steep.

He doesn’t slow down for them. The air around him seems to shimmer with an arrogance that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.

Everyone knows who he is and what he represents.

He’s about to turn the corner when someone barrels into his shoulder. He glances up, finding himself face-to-face with a student dressed in vivid red.

A Gryffindor.

“Honestly, must you always be this clumsy?” Kai sneers, his voice dripping with scorn as he glares at the boy. There’s no kindness in his eyes, just the sharp gleam of someone who delights in cutting others down. He’s never had patience for Gryffindors, the way they strut around, so certain of their own virtue, as if bravery alone could make them special.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” he adds with a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Or did you leave that famous Gryffindor courage somewhere behind you?”

He hates their pride, their blind sense of righteousness. It’s always been a sore spot for him — the ones in this house always seem so sure of their own moral, so quick to wear it like a crown. They don’t understand real power. They don’t understand how quickly their loud ideals can be torn apart.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Not everyone here is as forgiving as I am.”

The Gryffindor boy shoves his hands down into his pockets and walks off without a word. Kai’s smirk falters, turning into a disappointed scowl when he realizes he won’t get the reaction he was hoping for.

He turns back to his locker, swinging the door open and rifling through his books. His fingers move. A sudden burst of laughter echoes from the other side of the hallway, loud and grating. He can’t see them, but the harsh, triumphant cackle is enough. Another group of Gryffindors, undoubtedly.

He hates how their lockers are practically pressed up against his own. How he has to see them every day, laughing like the world is theirs for the taking. It makes his skin prickle with annoyance.

He heard them leave.

With a grunt, he shut his own locker and started toward his first class, but not without catching a faint, choked sound from the direction of the lockers he hated so much.

It’s not that he’s curious. It’s not that he wants to see it.

It’s just that it’s on his way, like a grain of sand stuck in his shoe, like a pedestrian standing in the road he needs to cross. A path he has to take, whether he likes it or not.

At the end of the row, a girl is crumpled in defense, her face hidden in her hands. Her shoulders are trembling, the soft, broken sounds slipping past her lips even as she tries to swallow them down. Even from here, he could see the ache written in the curve of her back, in the way her breath hitched and faltered. The world feels too bright around, the hallway too bright and uncaring.

He breathes.

How hurt must she be to let someone else see her so wrecked, so undone?

"I am not the Darkling" he said softly, his eyes searching mine. "I am not the monster you think I am."

You echo the words under your breath, the pages of your battered book trembling slightly in your hands. You feel your eyes burn, but you don't dare blink. The darkling tried dragged her into the dark, but it was her light, Alina, that ended up swallowing him whole.

Fairy tales for the lonely. Lies stitched into paper and ink. Because in the real world, no one survives being consumed by someone else.

And no one asks to be.

“Hey.” You hear your name. When you glance up, Chae Won is standing over you, eyes sharp with contempt.

She’s supposed to be your friend. A fellow Gryffindor.

Without warning, she snatches the book from your hands and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from where you’d been sitting quietly on the floor. “Can we just stop this, please? I—”

“Stop what?” she snaps, already stepping closer. “Crying to Jay? Playing the victim again?” His name stops you cold.

She doesn’t let up. Her hand fists your hair, enough to hurt. “Do you forget you’re a Muggle-born?” she hisses. “And him? He’s everything people want. We were fine before you. You just had to show up, cry to him like some helpless little thing, and now he thinks you're this princess he has to save.”

Chae Won shoves you hard against the lockers. The metal slams cold into your back, the sound echoing down the empty hallway. She leans in, eyes burning, and says the one thing that never stops hurting, no matter how many times you've heard it. “You’re dirty.”

And just like that, you’re six again.

Not here. Not now. But back in that cold, too-quiet house where no one looked like you. Where you sat at the dinner table and watched mouths move around you like you weren’t even there. Where you learned, early and without being told, how to be invisible.

Where no one taught you how to belong.

You don’t say anything. The words are there, caught in your throat, but they taste like shame. They always have.

The afterthought. The charity case. Strange eyes. Odd temper.

You were the one who showed up on the doorstep with nothing but a trunk and a name no one knew how to say. You tried your best to earn your place, to blend in, to make yourself useful, but they still looked at you like you were something foreign. Something misplaced.

In the darkest corners of the night, you wished you’d never gotten the letter. That magic had skipped over you. That your name had never burned through that parchment. Never touched a wand. Maybe then, you could’ve had a normal life. One where you didn’t have to watch your adopted siblings shine in a world that only ever dimmed you.

Because then maybe, just maybe, you’d get to be normal.

Not this. Not the ghost haunting a place that was never yours. Not the muggle-born mistake among children who made spells sing on their tongues, while yours stuttered, cracked, and bled.

You didn’t even feel that you were crying.

Chaewon stares down at you with a cruel smirk, almost entertained by your tears. You’re frozen, your chest tightening, looking like a ghost of yourself. Pathetic. That’s probably what she’s thinking. Then she shoves you again hard. Your body hits the cold locker room tiles with a sickening thud, pain through your spine. You flinch, but you don’t even try to get up.

“Tell anyone,” she sneers, leaning down. “and you’ll regret it.”

They left you right after that.

No one would believe it anyway. You’ve spent your whole life fighting, pretending you're fine, building yourself up just to keep surviving. You wear strength like armor. But now?

Now you’re nothing but shattered pieces on the floor. No one saw you break. No one knows how hard you cried.

No one fucking knows.

"What?" Your voice comes out sharper than you meant, caught off guard.

It was the morning after — after everything and Jay had found you outside like he always does. The golden boy of Gryffindor, the one everyone seemed to adore without question. For months, he'd been chasing you. Sweet smiles, thoughtful words, persistent in his way. He asked you out more times than you could count and a month ago, you said yes.

That was why Chaewon hated you more now than ever.

Jay leans in across the picnic table, casual and unbothered like nothing had shifted in your world. Like you hadn’t spent the night before crumpled on a locker room floor, swallowing sobs and blood.

"I said you should sneak into my dorm later," he repeats. You blink at him. You had planned this picnic, thought maybe today would give you a moment of peace. A needed softness, but now his words float in the air like smoke, invasive and unexpected. He doesn’t notice the way your hands tremble slightly. Or if he does, he says nothing.

You swallow hard.

"Why would I do that? I could get caught," you say, your voice uneasy, the words tumbling out. Jay laughs, it was as if your nerves are a joke to him.

"Come on," he says, grinning. "It’s been a month now. I wanna be with you. Do that thing with you."

Your stomach turns. You might be naive but you’re not stupid. You open your mouth to say something, to maybe ask what he really means, to question the way he’s looking at you like he’s owed something, but he cuts you off. "If you really liked me, you’d do it too. You know?"

You look at him, stunned, like a deer caught in headlights. The boy you thought wanted you for you is now dangling your feelings like bait on a hook. "That... that won’t prove if I like you or not,"

"What do you mean?" he asks, brows furrowing. "So you don’t wanna do it?"

"Of course I would," you say quickly, your throat tightening. "But not right—"

"Not right now?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "That’s always your excuse."

"Excuse?"

He leans back, annoyed. "You know, if you don’t want me, just say it."

You freeze. His next words come out in a bitter, quiet mumble, like he doesn’t even realize he’s saying them aloud. "If this wasn’t for a stupid bet, I wouldn’t—"

"What?" Your voice is almost breathless. Cold rushes through your chest like someone ripped the air straight from your lungs. He doesn’t answer. His eyes widen, just for a second — just long enough to tell you everything you needed to know.

Your mind races. You remember the guilt that bloomed in your chest every time you turned him down, thinking you were the one being difficult. You remember how sad he looked when you said no, how it made you feel like you were failing him. How you apologized for it, over and over, thinking you were the one ruining things.

You remember trying, really trying to open up. The effort it took to prioritize someone else's wants over your own. The nights you rehearsed words in your head, how to say things gently, carefully, so he wouldn't feel rejected. You remember the ache of being left out, how his friends would talk around you like you were invisible. The silence when you spoke. The forced smiles when they laughed at jokes you didn’t understand because they were never meant for you.

You remember Chaewon's cruelty and you remember convincing yourself it was all worth it because he chose you.

"I was a fucking bet?" Your voice comes out hoarse. You stare at him, this boy who once looked like something good. Something kind. All that softness you thought you saw in him feels like a lie now.

You can feel the fire start to rise in your blood. You wore the same house colors.

"I—It was from the start, but then—"

“We’re done.” A blade slipped between the ribs.

You stand, your eyes focused on anything but him. You don’t look at the people beginning to notice, don’t care about the whispers. Your chest is hollow and screaming, but your face doesn’t show it. You walk the grounds like your heart isn’t shattering with every step.

You feel him behind you, his frantic footsteps, his form clinging to your shadow. You feel the stares, the weight of every eye on you.

"Can we please talk?" he pleads, his hand wraps around your wrist.

You turn your head and slap his face so hard it echoes. He doesn’t even get to process it before your foot collides with his, a sharp kick that throws him off balance. Pain, humiliation — all of it written across his face now for everyone to see.

“I said we’re done.” Your voice cracks but not out of weakness. It cracks from the sheer force of holding back everything you could’ve screamed. "You're evil."

He’s looking at you now like he’s the one broken. You turn, this time for good. Your body is trembling, anxiety crawling beneath your skin like a thousand needles, but your steps are steady. You're done.

Kai lounged on the stairway, tuning out the crude, drunken laughter of his housemates as they bragged about the girls they’d had the night before. Their voices blurred into nothing. His eyes scanned the grounds lazily, flashes of yellow, green, blue, red, the usual mess of students he barely cared to notice.

He saw you.

He saw you and remember how you cried that night.

He leaned forward without thinking, resting his chin on his hand, the world narrowing to just you. Everything else fell away against the blinding, face of yours. You moved with a kind of arrogance he recognized instantly: head high, steps sharp, like the world didn’t deserve you. The fire in your eyes. Typical of your house — spoiled, untouchable. He should’ve been bored.

He couldn’t look away. He couldn't stop hearing remembering your soft whimpers the night before.

A boy in red caught up to you, fumbling for your attention, desperate to be seen. Kai watched, as you turned to him with a look of pure disdain. The boy stammered something, like he was apologizing. You slapped him. Hard.

Kai’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked grin.

You didn’t stop there. You kicked the boy’s foot out from under him, angrily spat a few words he couldn’t catch, and walked off, not even glancing back. Kai’s eyes stayed locked on you, tracking every furious step you took across the grounds. You tried to hide it; the tremble in your hands, the way you blinked too fast but he caught it.

You're crying.

His chest tightened, something crawled under his skin. How much sweeter would it be if he were the one to do it? He could already picture it: your pride, your voice breaking, your pretty face crumpling; under his hands, under his mouth, under his name. Not for some sniveling boy, but for him.

Only him.

You didn’t even know his name. He stayed where he was, eyes following your broken form.

Kai had grown up as the only son of a pureblood family, where reputation bled deeper than blood, and control was not a suggestion but a rule etched into the spine of every morning. He was taught to be composed, restrained, untouchable — never too loud, never too soft. Smile, but not too often. Speak, but only when it matters. Feel, but never let it show.

He’d been raised that way.

His life was built on legacy. Emotions were weakness. Kindness was liability. He was not held, not comforted, not loved — only shaped.

They carved obedience into him like marble.

He watched his father hold entire rooms in silence with nothing but a stare. Watched him speak to people as if their existence was a favor, an inconvenience he barely tolerated and everyone listened. Everyone bowed. He learned early that power wasn’t just about magic.

He wore it well. Better than most.

He learned how to mimic empathy without feeling it. He learned how to laugh on cue, how to listen without caring, how to look someone in the eye while thinking of a thousand other things.

He drifted through life half-asleep, wearing the world like an ill-fitting coat. Friends, lovers, enemies; it was all noise. Meaningless. Predictable.

You were raw, undone, human. Everything he wasn’t. Everything he had been taught to crush.

What would it take to ruin you completely?

With every difiance in his body he stood up. He found himself taking step forward. Kai moved before he realized he was moving.

The sound of his housemates' laughter faded behind him, smothered under the pounding in his ears. He descended the steps with the same cold precision he was raised with, but something feral stirred beneath his ribs. His strides were steady, calculated, like a shadow stretching to meet its mark.

You were walking fast, too fast, your back stiff and your steps clipped. Anger clung to you like perfume, sharp and choking. He trailed you from a safe distance, ignoring the students who brushed past, oblivious. All he saw was the set of your shoulders, the shake in your hands. He could practically taste the heat radiating off you.

You turned a corner. So did he.

You passed the greenhouses, cut through the arch, your pace stuttering as if your own breath was betraying you. You didn’t notice him. Or maybe you did. Maybe you felt it — that feeling like you're being watched, hunted. The air changed around you.

Kai waited until you slowed near the old stone path that led toward the empty wing of the castle. Then he spoke.

His voice didn’t waver. “Why did you hit him?”

You stopped walking.He watched your back rise with a breath, then you turned.

Your eyes met. For the first time.

Up close, you looked even more dangerous. Even more breakable. Fire and ruin, cloaked in pride. Your lips were trembling, but your jaw was clenched. He took a slow step closer, tilting his head slightly, studying your face like it was a spell he hadn’t learned yet. Something unreadable flickered in your eyes — recognition? fear? anger?

He spoke again. “Is he the one who made you cry?”

Your fingers curled at your sides. You narrowed your eyes, not answering, as if silence could keep you safe.

Kai smiled, cruel. “You're not very good at hiding it.”

“I heard you last night,” he said, voice so calm it almost sounded kind. “In the hallway. You were crying.”

Your expression twisted. “Were you spying on me?”

“Observing,” he corrected, as if it mattered. “You’re... difficult to ignore.”

You scowled and turned to walk away, but this time he moved,faster than you expected, cutting into your path. “Your name,” he said. “Tell me.”

You stared at him like he was insane. Like something in him wasn't right and you were right. Something wasn't right. “What, so you can tell your little pureblood friends? Have a laugh?”

“So I'll know what to call you.”

Your breath hitched. He didn’t smile this time. His eyes dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes. He could see it, the flicker of panic behind your bravado, the instinct to run, the ache in your throat from holding everything in. And yet, you didn’t move. You stayed rooted.

Still burning. Still human.

Still too much for someone like him.

“You're insane,” you said.

“I've been told.” Kai murmured. The wind caught your hair, brushing it across your cheek. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out and touch it, feel if it was as soft as it looked, feel if you would flinch. “Tell me your name,” he said again.

You stared at him for a long time. Seconds stretched like hours. A war in your eyes, as you spoke your name. Maybe if you gave him your name, he would leave you alone.

“Wasn’t hard,” he said softly, almost mockingly. “Was it?”

He stared at you for a second longer, and when you didnt answer him he turned and walked away; no grand gestures, no parting words. A slow retreat, like he’d taken exactly what he came for. You stayed frozen in place, blinking hard, as if shaking off some invisible fog. The anger you felt with Jay minutes ago completely erased in your mind.

You told yourself he was just another entitled, pureblood brat playing mind games. But somehow… you knew he wasn’t done with you.

It was a surprise that you didn't cry a tear when you returned to your dorms that night.

The sun filtered through the high windows in thin, silver lines, catching on the dust that hovered in the still morning air. Breakfast chatter filled the Great Hall.

You walked in alone. As usual.

Your boots echoed softly against the stone as you passed through the threshold, robes hanging heavy off one shoulder, the collar of your uniform just slightly wrinkled. Your hair was pulled back, but loose strands clung to your cheeks from where you’d barely bothered to dry it. There were shadows under your eyes. A bruise of exhaustion, of restraint.

People noticed. They always did.

You could feel it, the way heads tilted toward each other when they thought you weren’t looking, how eyes followed you just long enough to make your skin crawl. It wasn’t new.

That’s her, they’d whisper. Muggleborn. Dangerous. Did you hear what she did to that Golden boy? How dare she?

You could’ve explained. You could’ve said he tricked you. Said he turned you into a bet, but you’d learned a long time ago, they never really wanted your side of the story.

You crossed the room, spine straight, steps controlled, passing the long tables like you didn’t notice the silence blooming around you like mold. You sat at the edge of your table. Your plate filled with food, untouched by your hand. A flick of your fingers beneath the table, no wand. No words.

A few first-years flinched.

Your fingers hovered over the rim of your goblet, then curled back. You weren’t hungry. You hadn’t slept much. A voice still rang in your head like a spell that hadn’t worn off.

“So I'll know what to call you.”

Kai sat three tables over, surrounded by his housemates; all perfectly-groomed pureblood sons and daughters of old families, boys with bloodlines like poisoned roots. He wasn’t speaking. He rarely did, but his gaze was fixed on you like a blade laid flat across your skin. He didn’t look smug. He didn’t smirk. He just watched. As if you were something worth waiting for.

You held his gaze. Steadily.

He didn’t look away. The last time you locked eyes with someone like that, they ended up on the floor, clutching their ribs, coughing blood, but Kai didn’t flinch.

He simply raised a single brow, like he was inviting you to do it. Daring you. Testing the temperature of your fury. You clenched your jaw and shoved your chair back, the scrape echoing louder than it should’ve.

Screw the eggs. Screw the toast. Screw this whole bloody castle and the way it always stank of legacy and rot.

And just as you stood, “Filthy little freak. Thinks she’s special.”

Your fingers twitched. You didn’t need a wand. The goblet in front of the boy crushed. Water soaked his robes. Gasps echoed. You didn’t look back. You kept walking.

You weren’t afraid of what you could do. You were afraid of how easy it was now.

The doors slammed behind you as you left the Great Hall, but you didn’t get far. You’d barely made it into the courtyard, “Well, if it isn’t our little wandless wonder.” The steps behind you were deliberate. Stiletto-sharp. The sound of privilege. You turned around.

Chae-won stood there, arms folded, robes pristine, her platinum hair twisted in a perfect knot that screamed power. Her prefect badge gleamed on her chest like it mattered. And behind her, always behind her. trailed two other girls.

“Chae-won,” you said flatly.

Her smile was razor-thin. “Did you think we wouldn’t hear? Poor Jay.”

“What?”

“You slapped him. Humiliated him. In front of everyone,” she hissed. “He was apologizing, you freak.”

“You know nothing.”

Chae-won’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, please. He did something, or what? That gives you the right to act like some dark creature in the middle of the grounds?”

You didn’t flinch. “I said you know nothing.”

Chae-won blinked, her voice lowered to something crueler. “So? Do we care about a mudblood like you?”

You looked at her. Really looked. And wondered how many people had handed her the world and called it earned. You remember the first year you were friends, the first year she knew all of you, and the once smile on your face whenever you see her. It all became a blur when people looked at you as a misfit.

Your hands twitched again.

“You planning to explode something else?” Chae-won taunted. “Go on. Show us what you can do. Everyone’s already terrified. Might as well give them a real show.”

You stepped forward. “You want to know the difference between you and me?” Chae-won raised a brow.

“I have power. You just have a last name.”

Her jaw tightened, but before she could respond, before she could reach for her wand or hurl another insult, a voice broke through from behind: “Chae-won.” She froze.

Kai stood a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes locked not on her but on you.

“I’d stop if I were you,” he said, calm, lazy, terrifying.

Chae-won blinked like she hadn’t heard him right. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not repeating myself,” His shoulder brushed yours, intentional as he passed and stood between you and her. Not defending you, but as if staking a claim.

Chae-won’s face burned. “This has nothing to do with you, Kai.”

“It does.”

She stood there for a second, jaw clenched, then scoffed. “Figures. Your house never know where to keep your standards.” Then with one last look at you, all venom and fury, she turned and stormed off, her little shadows flurrying after her.

You looked at Kai. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He didn’t look at you. “I didn’t do it for you.” And yet, he was still standing there. Still between you and the world.

You hated how you lived your years.

You hated the way your life had built itself around survival; around silence, around swallowing things that no one else ever seemed to choke on. You hated that you were born like this, like a wrong answer in a question nobody asked.

You hated that once, long ago, you’d called Chae-won your friend. That you’d laughed with her, studied with her, braided her hair in the dormitory mirror. You hated that she knew all the parts of you worth breaking and now she used them like blades.

You hated that even now being Muggleborn wasn’t enough. Wasn’t already a mark on your back. No, you had to be different, too. You had to wield wandless, wordless magic, the kind they couldn’t control, couldn’t track, couldn’t replicate and that made them stare, like you were unnatural.

You hated that, out of all the people in this castle, the one who wouldn’t look away was him.

Kai. A stranger. A Slytherin. A boy born with a silver knife in his mouth, and the gall to look at you like he saw past your fury, like he saw you about to break.

You walked away; fast, sharp steps that echoed off the stone corridor — hoping he wouldn’t follow.

He did.

You didn’t stop him. You hated that, too.

You didn’t speak, didn’t glance back, you kept walking until the hallway emptied behind you. Until there were no portraits, no prefects, no Chae-won, no whispering mouths. A stone and silence and the feeling of someone watching you like a match watches a flame.

When you reached the end of the corridor, where the light didn’t quite reach and the air felt still and forgotten, you stopped. Your shoulders rose once, then fell. The first sob cracked out of your chest so violently it startled even you.

You tried to cover it, your hand flying up to your mouth, like that would make it less pathetic, but it didn’t matter. You were already shaking, already crying, already too human to stop it now.

Behind you, he didn’t say anything.

You sank down against the wall slowly, like your legs had given out — not from fear, not from pain but from carrying it all too long. The silence between you pulsed, thick and unkind, and still he stayed. No comfort. No lies.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” you whispered, not even knowing if you meant your life, or this day, or this moment. Maybe all of it. You could feel his eyes on you. You could feel the way he was listening.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, voice raw.

You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying like this in front of him of all people. Your lips trembled, and your vision blurred, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

And Kai just sat there.

Watching. Unmoving. Unbothered.

Or so you thought.

Kai exhaled slowly, like a man tired of waiting, because watching you; ruined, furious, crying and still managing to burn like a goddamn wildfire — it made something unravel inside him. Something unholy. Something that clawed its way up from beneath all the manners and legacy and careful obedience.

You, with your defiance. You, with your trembling hands and splintering voice. You, who didn’t even look his way.

You felt too much. You burned too brightly. You cracked in places he didn’t understand. You cried like it meant something. You fought like the world still owed you something soft.

A single, smooth motion and before you could ask what he was doing, before you could read the shift in his expression, he was standing over you. Looking down at you like you were a problem he couldn’t solve, like you were noise in his carefully constructed world of silence.

His jaw twitched. “I don’t like messy things,”

You opened your mouth, to apologize, to yell, to tell him to leave but your voice didn’t come.

Instead, he crouched down. Slowly. His hand reached out, not toward your face, but beside it, bracing against the wall near your shoulder, boxing you in. His other hand hovered near your chin, pausing midair. A breath. A hesitation. Something nearly human.

He kissed you.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of your robes. Your chest ached from the sobs you hadn’t finished, from the weight of the day, from the way his mouth pressed against yours like it was the only language he knew.

It wasn’t sweet. It was hungry.

He tasted like someone who hadn’t felt anything in years and hated that you made him want to. His hand moved to your jaw, holding it, not harsh but unrelenting.

His breath was unsteady when he pulled back. So was yours.

Your tear-slick lashes fluttered as you stared at him, chest rising and falling with everything you hadn’t said, everything you didn’t understand.

Kai didn’t blink. You didn't too.

You weren’t sure who looked more shaken.

“Stop crying,” he said. “It ruins your face.”

It was past curfew when the door creaked open.

A soft, deliberate sound, barely loud enough to disturb the quiet hum of sleeping breaths in the girls' dorm. The enchanted lanterns were low, casting dull golden shadows across the hardwood floor.

You were curled on your side, blanket kicked off, facing the wall like it might protect you from the dreams that had been growing more vivid lately — filled with brown eyes, the weight of a stare, the press of a mouth that never should have touched yours.

It has been a week since he kissed you, and all he did now was consume you.

You heard a slow footstep across the floorboards that didn’t belong. You sat up in an instant. Your hand instinctively curled, breath caught in your throat.

It was him.

Kai stood there leaning just inside the doorway like he owned the place. His eyes flicked over the room, over the slumbering forms of your roommates, and then back to you.

You were too stunned to speak. He shut the door behind him with a careful click.

“You can’t be here,” you whispered.

“Then tell me to leave.” He said it like he already knew you wouldn’t.

He didn’t move toward you. “I won’t skulk around and pretend I don’t know what I want.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how your heart was hammering. Of the ache in your hands from clenching them too tight under the blanket. Of the way you hadn’t breathed properly in hours.

His voice lowered. “I wanted to see you.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. His hair was messy from wind or sleep, his collar half-open. His expression, unreadable as ever, but void of any smug.

His look scared you more than any smirk ever had.

You were walking to your next class, trying to keep your head down, your thoughts together, your breathing even.

Kai walked beside you. Beside you. Shoulder to shoulder, step for step, like he belonged there and he wasn’t hiding it, either. He was adamant in the way he moved.

You rounded the corner and saw them.

Jay was seated on the ledge just outside the main stairwell, one arm slung lazily around Chae-won’s waist as she perched in his lap. They looked like a painting, like every pureblood fantasy the school worshiped. Perfect posture, perfect hair, perfect detachment. Chae-won was smiling; a perfect, cold little curve of her mouth that never quite reached her eyes while Jay just stared.

He saw you before you saw him. His gaze locked with yours, cold and pointed, like you’d wronged him. As if he were the victim. Chae-won didn’t even glance your way, but she leaned in just enough to whisper something in his ear, and though he didn’t smile, something in his jaw flexed. His hand tightened on her hip and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

Your vision went blurry. Your throat tightened. The corridor felt too bright, too narrow, the sounds too loud, too far away. Your breath stuttered; shallow, clipped, your heart racing like you’d been running.

Kai's gaze move from your face to your hands, where they clenched and twitched at your sides. You tried to blink it all away, tried to keep walking like nothing was happening, but your body had betrayed you.

“Has this happened before?” His voice came low.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your limbs felt heavy and useless, and the corridor seemed to stretch further with every step. You were floating and falling all at once. You barely noticed when his hand reached for you, until you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist — not tightly, not to restrain, but to feel.

He pressed his thumb lightly over the spot just above your pulse. He didn’t need words to know. The panic was there, thundering under your skin, alive and frantic and loud enough to silence everything else. His brow furrowed. “You’re panicking.”

The words landed heavy, simple and precise. You flinched like he’d struck a nerve, tried to pull your arm back, but he didn’t let go.

“You don’t get to worry about me,” you snapped, voice sharp and broken at the edges, as if saying it out loud could make it true.

Kai tilted his head, expression unreadable. He didn’t react to your words. He didn’t need to. He just looked at you like you were the one thing in this corridor that mattered. And then he said, calm and quiet, “Continue walking with me.”

It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t even a request and you hated that your legs obeyed before your mind could fight it. Hated that some fragile part of you wanted to keep walking, if only he stayed beside you.

You closed your eyes for half a second, just enough for the tears to sting. You wouldn’t let them fall, not here, not with them still behind you but your chest ached, and the shame pressed hot against your throat.

His hand found yours again.

His fingers slipped through yours like it was instinct, and then he held on careful, steady, like he was holding something breakable. You kept walking. One step after the other.

He walked with you ike the entire castle wasn’t watching, but even if they were, he didn’t let go.

“So, you’re Kai’s girlfriend?”

You looked up from the ancient, half-crumbling book in your hand and blinked at the girl now standing beside you in the dim library aisle. She was dressed in green and silver and wore the kind of smile that had probably gotten her everything she ever wanted.

“Pretty,” she added, tilting her head slightly, eyes raking over you not with curiosity.

“I’m not,” you replied evenly, turning back to the shelf, hoping she’d take the hint but her presence didn’t waver. You could feel her shadow shift with yours. She followed as you stepped further down the aisle, her footsteps light but intentional.

“I’m Yunjin, by the way,” she said. Her voice had that lilting quality warm, but not soft. “I always see him around you. I mean, everyone’s noticed. It’s kind of hard to miss, the whole... obsession he has with you.”

Your fingers paused mid-reach. Obsession?

“And I guess,” she continued casually, “that must be the reason he stopped seeing me.”

“…What?” The word left your mouth before you could hold it in, too stunned to coat it in disinterest.

“Oh, don’t worry.” She gave a light, musical laugh. “It wasn’t serious. Kai doesn’t do serious. He’s unwell. Emotionally, I mean. Brilliant, but broken. The type of boy you keep behind glass until he cuts you with it.” She said it like she knew. Like she’d bled.

You stared at her. Her smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. “But I do see something different now,” she added, “He looks at you… differently.”

You expected cruelty to follow. A sharp comment tucked behind a smile. A passive-aggressive jab meant to draw blood beneath the surface because that’s how it usually came, wasn’t it? From the people who knew how to dress poison up in perfume.

You thought of Chae-won. A girl from your own house. People from your own house who doesn't even dare to smile at you. It was strange, wasn’t it? That someone from your own house had been so much crueler than the students from the house everyone warned you about.

So much crueller than Kai. Than Yunjin.

“Why are you being kind to me?” you asked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Yunjin tilted her head like she was trying to decide whether to laugh again. Then, with a small shrug, she said, “What?”

You held her gaze, unflinching.

She exhaled through her nose, almost amused. “Oh. Yeah.” There was a flicker of something beneath her expression then something real. “I’m ambitious,” she said. “And if being ambitious makes me a bad person… then I guess I’m a Slytherin.”

You were sitting in your bed, knees tucked loosely to your chest, the blankets crumpled around you like a forgotten thought. The castle was quieter than usual. Music pulsed faintly from somewhere down the hall. There was a party for your batch tonight; a celebration, one you were meant to attend, smile through, pretend for.

Instead, you were here. Alone.

You were counting the minutes.

The door opened without urgency, a soft sound not trying to sneak, not trying to impress. You didn’t turn your head. You didn’t need to. You already knew who it was.

Kai stood in the doorway like the rest of the room didn’t matter. His eyes swept across the space, landed on you, on your still form in the sheets, on the way your gaze had already been waiting for him.

“You knew I would come,” he said.

“Yes,”

He strode toward you with his usual measured grace, never rushed, never nervous and you moved slightly on the bed. “You never told me anything about you,” you said, and your voice didn’t accuse, “You’re always around. You help me. You... show up but you never talk.”

Kai looked at you, and there was something different in his eyes tonight. “What do you want to know?” he asked.

You didn’t blink. “You.”

There was a long pause.

Long enough that you thought he wouldn’t answer. Long enough to feel the ache of expectation rise in your chest, but then Kai huffed, soft through his nose, and there was a shape to it that almost — almost — sounded like a laugh. Not the full thing, but the ghost of it.

You wondered, not for the first time, what he sounded like when he really laughed.

Your eyes flicked to the empty space beside you, and you shifted further inward on the bed, a small movement, but clear.

He caught it.

He sat on the edge of your bed, hands resting on his thighs, the weight of him sinking into the mattress beside you. His posture was still too careful, still too contained, but he was there.

“I don’t talk about myself,” he said suddenly.

You didn’t answer. You knew better than to fill silence that didn’t ask to be filled. Kai exhaled softly, the sound shallow. Measured. Then he looked up, his eyes distant but focused on you, like he was reading from a page only he could see. “I was raised to be an heir. Not a person.”

You didn’t flinch. He noticed that. It made him keep going.

“My father were strict. He didn’t believe in wasting time on things like comfort, or affection. If I cried, he said it was noise. If I asked questions, he told me to read faster. If I smiled too easily, he asked if I was bored, or foolish.” He paused. Not for effect. To breathe.

“He had this saying. You were not born to be loved. You were born to lead. And I repeated it to myself every morning. For years. Until it didn’t sound like cruelty anymore.” he shakes his head, “When I was five, I learned how to duel with a real wand. When I was seven, he started leaving me alone in the manor for days. Said it would teach me independence. I didn’t speak to anyone for weeks.”

His voice didn’t shake. Not once. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t even sound sad. He sounded like someone explaining the weather. Like grief was just another season he’d already lived through.

“I don’t know how to talk about feelings,” he admitted. “I know how to talk around them. How to look someone in the eye and not let them touch a single part of me.”

He looked at you again. “But then I saw you.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t dramatic. “I didn’t mean to care. I don’t know how to. But I do. I hear your voice in my head even when I try to ignore it. I look for you when you’re not around.”

“And when you’re upset, I want to fix it.” His hands unclasped slowly, then gripped the edge of the bed. “I want to fix it because it’s you.”

You moved closer. He didn’t stop you. He just looked at you like you were the first warmth in a life made of glass and granite and rules. “I hate how much I feel now,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to go back.”

His words made you reach out the back of his neck and pull him to you. You hugged him and you let out a shaky breath. "I'm here. I'm here Kai."

Two strong arms snaked around your waist as soon as you said those words, and Kai's lips were against your nape. He left trails of kisses on your neck up to the back of your ears, his body pressed on yours. "Good."

He presses a few more soft kisses to the back of your head, then his voice drops to a whisper against your ear. “Can I touch you?” Your breath hitches, but you nod. His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers brushing lightly across your stomach. “Can I touch you here?” he asks, voice gentle.

You nod again, barely able to get the word out. “Yeah.”

His hand travels higher, fingertips gliding up until they meet the bare curve of your chest. He pauses, just long enough to make your heart race. His lips are at your neck now, breath hot. “Here too?”

When he feels you nod, his hand moves with more purpose, fingertips gliding over the curve of your breast. He cups you fully, palm warm, thumb brushing the softness, squeezing just enough to make you arch subtly into his touch. He teases, exploring everywhere except where you need him most, drawing out the ache with every careful touch. When his fingers finally graze your nipple, a quiet moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. He pauses, his breath brushing against your neck. “You can tell me to stop anytime.”

Then he pulls his hand away from under your shirt, and the sudden absence makes you whine, your body instinctively chasing after his warmth. Before you can speak, he cups your face gently, tilting your head until your eyes meet. It’s dark but he's close, so close — you can make out the shape of his face, the softness in his gaze.

He leans in, brushing a featherlight kiss over your lips. Then another. You smile softly, breath mingling, and when your lips part, he takes it as invitation. This time the kiss is deep — hungry. His mouth moves against yours with desperation, like he’s been craving your taste for far too long. His hand finds your waist, tugging you closer, bodies aligning in all the right ways as the heat between you builds.

“I want you,” you whisper, voice barely there, lost in the way his lips trail along your neck, warm and wet. “Please.”

He pauses just enough to meet your gaze, then his hand slips between your thighs, cupping you through the fabric. The pressure makes your hips jerk, breath hitching.

“Here?” he murmurs, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “You want me here?”

It’s too much, and not enough. Heat pools low in your belly, a need that feels raw and overwhelming. You nod, biting your lip, your voice trembling. “Yes. There. Please.”

He groans, low and deep, and that’s when clothes start disappearing—slowly, messily. Every layer peeled off is interrupted by his mouth; on your lips, your jaw, your collarbones. His hands, greedy and gentle all at once, explore you like he’s memorizing every inch. The room is filled with nothing but breath, the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional hitch of a moan.

When he finally sinks lower, eyes locked on yours as his lips trace a burning path down your body, you don’t stop him.

“Kai…” You moaned as you clenched your fist on his dark locks. His tongue was doing to your buds as his fingers part your wet folds. You don't know what it is, but it makes your legs quivered as his tongue lapped at your entrance.

Kai grunts as he hears your soft moans, sucking on your clit to hear more. Your taste in his mouth got him drunk as he shook his head from side to side, making your moans go higher as you moved your hips to grind your wetness on his tongue. "Hmm?"

He pulled back, replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing her wet clit as he kissed and sucked your inner thighs. Your eyes rolled back as your chest rose up and down, glistening with sweat.

You're fucking beautiful. Kai thought as he looked up at you with hooded eyes. The sight of your blushing cheeks, eyes asking for more with your lips between your teeth made Kai slightly rut his hips on the bed.

"Do you know how long have I imagined this?" He pumped a finger inside your pussy, curling it to hit your spot as he put his mouth back to work again, flattening his tongue over your swollen pearl before flicking it with the tip. You cried out in pleasure, throwing your head back.

“I couldn't help myself but think of you.” He begged as he doubled the finger inside your soaking cunt, making you cry out in pleasure as your hands grabbed the pillow under your head.

“I can't resist having all of you.” He kissed your clit, making you whimper at the brief contact. He took off his shirt and pants before pulling you by your arm, sitting you on his lap as he took off your blouse and bra. He kissed around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

He moved your position to grind on his bulge, letting out quiet moans as he desperately kissed you. He stopped your hips as he moved to your other nipple, lightly biting it while staring at your glossy eyes, making your breath hitch. He hummed as he sucked the pebbled flesh into his mouth, nibbling on it. He laid your back down, admiring your body as you panted. Your eyes are glistening, and so is your cunt. He groaned at the sight, pushing his hair back and taking his erected cock out of its confinement. He pumped it a few times before you sat up and took it into your hand.

“Let me make you feel good.” Kai stopped your hand, giving a kiss on your forehead. “Fuck.” He murmured as he moved to your lips, sucking on them, making you whimper as you laid back down again.

“Kai, please…” You cried when Kai started to rub his shaft on your slit. Every time his head hits your bud, you let out a whimper, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide as you look up at him.

Kai took his time, grunting before pushing the tip inside. You gasped, grabbing the sheets under, feeling the pain as his length invade you. Your walls fluttered around his cock, making him let out low growls. You felt tears in your eyes as you watched half of his length disappear inside you. Kai took your hand, intertwining your fingers. He kissed your tears.

“Am I hurting you?” Kai shushed when you hissed, feeling a hint of pain as he filled you. His other hand began rubbing circles on your clit to ease the burn from the stretch.

"No,"

Kai kissed your hand when he was entirely in, giving you time to adjust. You look gorgeous underneath him. Legs wide open,mouth slightly parted, and body glistening under the dim lights of his room.

Kai started moving slowly when you nod your head, until your whimpers turned into moans. His name echoed in whispers, as you clawed on the skin of his back, leaving red marks. He was cradling your head, and his lips pressed on your ear. He was whispering the sweetest things to you.

“The things you do to me,” Kai whispers, kissing your ear lobes. "I can't even look at anyone else now."

“Yes, yes, Kai, please…” You begged as his hips started to thrust harder into you.

“Fuck.” He groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. He could tell that you were both close. Your walls spasmed around him, and his thrust started to stutter.

“Look at me.” He stared into your eyes, feeling your orgasm take over your body. His mouth reaches for your sweet lips, your toes curling as your legs wrap around his waist. Kai thrustied into you a few more times before pulling out to spill his thick load on your thighs.

It was slow, and it was soft, the way he helped you clean up. No magic. Just his hands and yours, sleeves rolled up, fingers brushing as you folded the same blanket twice just to have an excuse to linger near each other. The silence between you wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward. It was full.

Your scent clung to the air; a little floral, a little tangy, something warm and alive, like late spring clinging to skin. It was in the sheets, in the corners of the room, in him. He’d never been the type to notice things like that, but here he was, trying to memorize how the air felt with you in it.

You were fussing with the pillows now, distracted, focused on symmetry but he was just watching you.

“I’m going to work every day,” His voice was low, almost rough with restraint. “I’ll work every fucking day, just to follow you.”

You feel your eyes burn.

“I’ll learn how to move the way you do. I’ll learn how to speak the way you understand. I’ll change the way I live if that’s what it takes. Every single day, I’ll do it, just to fit you.”

“Why?” you asked, voice almost a whisper. “Why would you change for me?”

Kai’s eyes found yours. “Because you made me want to,”

It's the truest thing he’d ever said in his life.

taglist: @heesmiles , @lovingbeomgyudayone , @virtaideen , @hyukascampfire , @fancypeacepersona , @bamgeutori , @lilbrorufr , @beomieeeeeeeeeeees , @xylatox , @yunverie , @imlonelydontsendhelp , @moagyuu , @immelissaaa , @readinmidnight , @pagelets , @wonderstrucktae , @boba-beom , @seodami , @izzyy-stuff , @gyudollies , @i-am-not-dal , @page-isa , @tyunarisu , @s0urcherry , @lostgirlysstuff , @tinycatharsis , @randomheyl @txtsoobean , @bweargyuu ,

@reep04 , @lovesickchoi , @xylatox , @soobinieswife , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @saejinniestar , @bunniwords , @starrynightgyu , @cardiaccannibalism , @stormy1408 , @fancypeacepersona ,, @angelz-howl , @gyudollies , @i-am-not-dal , @yeonjunnnielover , @yystarz , @boba-beom , @bbyzzn , @darkethes , @taehyunluvrs , @prettypeachprincesz , @beomgyusluver , @thetxtdevil , @demidelulu , @bamgeutori , @soobundle1009 , @luumiinaa , @akitfffr , @babigriin , @seokqt , @soohashits , @i4tzy , @pengningie , @prettypeachprincesz , @cjrnctzenforlife , @taehyunluvrs @lostgirlysstuff , @beomgyusluver @i-am-not-dal , @bakugosbottombitch , @sanscupid , @idknunsadly , @mixxie2203

#sorry to bombard you with this literal essay #IM unwell. emotionally.#[ღ]— fic recs #txt smut #txt x reader #txt imagines #txt hard hours #txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #hueningkai hard thoughts #hueningkai hard hours #hueningkai x reader #huening kai x reader #hueningkai smut

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dozybeez · 3 days ago

Text

Spin For Me (Pt. Ten)

She's the quiet girl in class with a secret life after dark. He's the campus heartthrob who's used to getting what he wants— except her. When a class project forces them together, buried truths, blurred lines, and undeniable tension threaten to unravel everything they thought they knew.

→ part one → part two → part three → part four → part five → part six → part seven → part eight → part nine

→ part eleven coming soon

pairing: college au! kim mingyu x exotic dancer f!reader

word count: 4.6k

content warnings: slowish burn, smut, lap dances, adult club setting, derogatory language toward sex workers, internalized shame, emotional distress, subtle? size, possession, and innocence kink. drugs & alcohol. MDNI

You wake up wrapped in warmth—the kind that sinks into your bones and stays there. Mingyu’s arm is draped around your waist, while you stir slowly, the soft weight of him pressed against your back like a quiet promise. His chest rises and falls gently, syncing with your own breathing, steady and warm beneath the cool morning light filtering through the curtains. You’re still tangled in his hoodie, the fabric loose and comforting, like a shield you never want to take off.

His breath fans across your neck, and you can feel the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat against your skin. You shift slightly, and he moves with you, a subtle, protective pressure that makes your heart ease into a calm rhythm. Slowly, your eyes flutter open. He’s not looking at you, face nuzzled into the curve of your neck, eyes closed. But the quiet rhythm of him breathing, the scent of soap and clean cotton, the way his warmth presses through the fabric—it’s enough to make your heart skip.

You shift just slightly again , trying to be careful not to disturb him.

But, he stirs, makes a low sound—half a groan, half a sigh—and nuzzles closer.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “You’re warm.”

You can’t help but laugh softly. “You’re clingy.”

“‘M not,” he replies, tightening his hold just a little. “You’re just soft.”

You glance down, realizing you’re still in nothing but his hoodie and the boxers from last night.

“Gyu,” you say softly, “I have a final in, like, thirty minutes.”

He groans again, dramatic and deep. “The world is cruel.”

You roll over onto your back, and Mingyu follows, curling around you like a sleeping bear. His hand finds your waist, fingertips tracing gentle circles as he presses a slow, tender kiss to your forehead.

Eventually, you sit up slowly, the warmth of the bed reluctantly leaving you. Mingyu pads ahead of you toward the bathroom, and when you step inside, he pulls open the drawer and hands you a new soft-bristled toothbrush.

You take it, smiling at him. The toothbrush feels simple and ordinary in your hand, but the way he looks at you—like this small gesture is the most natural thing in the world—makes your chest tighten.

He gestures toward the sink. “Go ahead.”

As you start brushing your teeth, he steps behind you, fingers threading through your hair. His touch is gentle, patient—tugging the strands back so they don’t fall in your face. The sensation is intimate and soothing, grounding you in a way you didn’t expect.

You catch his reflection in the mirror—a quiet, focused look you don’t often see—and it makes your heart flutter.

“This is nice,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice soft. “We should do this more often.”

You grin, toothpaste foam and all.

When you finish, you pull on the sweatpants he hands you next. Before you slip your legs in, he reaches out and lightly tugs at the waistband of the boxers peeking out beneath his hoodie.

“Only I get to see you wear these,” he says with a small smirk.

You blush but don’t argue. The fabric is warm and loose, swallowing your legs, but somehow it feels right.

You glance around the room, grabbing a pencil from his desk. Your bag is still at your place—you came here straight from the party last night—and your final is only minutes away.

Glancing at the clock, you panic a little.

“You’re corrupting me,” you mutter, tightening the joggers as you rush toward the door. “I only have a pencil, and I’m almost late. This is so you.”

Mingyu just grins, keys in hand.

“You’ve never looked hotter.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You’re welcome.”

You follow him out to the car, the soft fabric of his sweatpants brushing your skin as you move. He opens the door for you, his smirk softening into something warmer.

The engine hums to life, and the gentle vibration beneath you feels like a steady heartbeat in the quiet space between you. Morning light spills across the dashboard, painting his face in gold. You watch the way the light catches his lashes, the curve of his jaw, the steady calm in his eyes.

Your fingers twist nervously in your lap. Without thinking, he reaches over and rests his hand gently on your thigh—warm, steady, grounding—more a promise than anything else.

“You nervous?” he asks, voice low and careful, as if afraid to disturb the fragile quiet.

“A little,” you admit, eyes flickering to the soft light on your fingers before meeting the road ahead.

His smile is quiet but certain—like he’s believed in you long before doubt ever found its way in.

“You’re gonna kill it,” he says softly. “You always do.”

You want to believe him. You hold onto that thread of confidence, even as your stomach flips with the weight of the unknown. Just hearing him say it, so sure and steady—it feels like a lifeline.

He glances over, catching your gaze for a moment, then leans a little closer, voice gentle but firm.

“Come to mine at seven. It’s important.”

Your heart stutters, cheeks warming as you nod, shy and almost giggly.

“Okay,” you whisper.

The city blurs past the window, but inside the car, time slows. The space between you hums with unspoken promises—patience, trust, something delicate and real that words can’t capture.

You think about how perfect this morning feels—how easy, how quiet, how right. Everything about it makes your chest tighten with a warm kind of happiness, the kind you didn’t expect but now don’t want to let go of.

The thought of the day ahead still makes your nerves flutter, but with him here—steady and sure—it feels like you can face anything.

When the car slows and pulls up outside the brick building where your final awaits, the world outside feels sharper, colder, more real.

Mingyu reaches over and unlocks the door for you, fingers lingering on the handle as if reluctant to let go.

You go to step out, the cool morning air brushing your skin, sending a shiver through you. Your heart pounds—not just with nerves but because he’s there, steady and sure.

Before you can take a full step forward, his arms wrap around you in a quick, tight hug.

His warmth presses against you, anchoring you to this moment, to the here and now.

“You’re gonna ace that final,” he whispers, voice rough and soft all at once.

Then his lips find yours after cupping your jaw to face him—slow, sure, and full of everything he feels but can’t say.

You close your eyes briefly, letting the calm wash over you.

“Go get ‘em,” he breathes.

You nod, clutching the waistband of his sweatpants, your nerves dulling beneath the quiet strength he’s given you this morning.

Turning, you step into the building, carrying more than a pencil—you carry everything he’s given you in this quiet, perfect morning.

⸻

The rooftop always smelled like rain, even when the sky was clear. Concrete and wind and metal railings warmed by the sun — he’d always liked the solitude of it. But tonight, it didn’t feel like a place to be alone.

Mingyu set the last candle down and stood back, heart pounding. It looked… almost right.

The string lights he’d dragged up and taped along the low wall cast a soft, golden haze over the rooftop. He’d laid out a thick blanket and a couple of pillows from his couch. Your favorite snacks were tucked into a little picnic basket he’d borrowed from a friend and claimed was for a “film project.” The tea you always ordered. A tiny Bluetooth speaker that still had sand in it from last summer. A folded hoodie—his—just in case you got cold.

He stared at it all now, hands on his hips, trying to breathe through the nerves clawing at his ribs.

It’s just a question, he told himself.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

It was everything.

He sat down on the blanket, pulled out his phone, and typed:

“Upstairs. Come hungry.”

Then deleted it.

Typed again.

Deleted.

He tried a couple times more. Settled on:

“Rooftop. Got something for you.”

He hit send before he could overthink it.

The message went out.

And then he waited.

And as the minutes crawled by, his heart started to race.

This morning had been perfect. You in his bed, curled into his chest, sleepy and smiling and teasing him about “corrupting” your finals prep. Him tugging on the waistband of his boxers that you’d stubbornly worn and saying, “Only I wanna see you in these.” You’d blushed so hard your nose went red.

He had drove you to your exam with his hand on your thigh the whole drive there, stealing glances at you like he couldn’t believe he got to be the one beside you. And just before you ran inside, you’d looked up at him, all nerves and brightness, and he’d cupped your face and kissed you—not on the forehead, but on the lips, soft and full.

“Come back to mine at seven,” he’d said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “It’s important.”

You’d giggled. “Okay.”

That smile had burned into his chest all day.

He’d spent the afternoon buying the snacks you liked. Setting up lights. Sweeping the rooftop clean even though his fingers were freezing. Rewriting how he’d ask you in his head over and over and over.

“I want this to be real. I want us to be real.”

“So... wanna be my girlfriend?”

“I know I’m already yours but will you be mine?"

Every version sounded stupid. But it didn’t matter. He just needed to say it. Out loud. To your face.

His phone stayed dark.

He checked the time. 7:08.

Okay. You were probably just changing. Maybe you stopped to grab something. He sat down, pulled his jacket tighter, and waited.

7:19.

The wind picked up, ruffling the corners of the blanket. One of the candles blew out. He relit it with shaky fingers.

7:33.

He texted:

“You okay?”

7:41.

“Are you still coming?”

8:02.

“Let me know if you’re running late. I’ll wait.”

No reply.

His chest tightened, something heavy and slow blooming behind his ribs. The city lights shimmered in the distance—familiar, but blurred now, like he was watching the world through glass underwater. From this rooftop, he could trace the skyline like a map of memories: the library where you two had lost entire afternoons, tucked between pages and whispered jokes. The quad where you’d run laughing through the rain, letting yourselves get soaked without a care. And farther still—the stadium, quiet and open beneath the stars, where you’d simply existed together. Just breath and warmth and the silent ache of something real.

The sky was so damn clear. It should’ve been perfect.

But you still weren’t here.

He sat in silence, phone clenched in one hand, the other gripping the edge of the blanket like he could steady himself through touch alone.

Maybe you forgot.

Maybe something came up.

Maybe…

His throat tightened.

Maybe you changed your mind.

⸻

8:45 p.m.

The rooftop was cold now.

Not that Mingyu noticed. Or cared. His fingers were red at the knuckles where the wind had kissed them raw, but he didn’t tuck them away. Didn’t move.

He just sat there—motionless—on the blanket he’d laid out hours ago, his back pressed to the ledge, the candles burned out around him like wilted stars.

You were late.

Over an hour late.

But some small, stupid part of him still believed you’d come.

Maybe you got caught up. Maybe you were curled in your dorm room right now, lost in a nap, phone on silent, having completely forgotten.

He'd forgive you. He would. He’d forgive anything.

If you just showed up.

He tilted his head back, eyes drifting upward. The night sky was hazy tonight, just a few stars blinking through the city light.

The food had gone cold. The little bag of snacks he’d packed—your favorites, all carefully chosen—sat untouched by the tea glasses. One had tipped slightly, and the tea inside was staining the edge of the blanket like an old bruise.

He didn’t fix it.

Didn’t clean up.

Didn’t have the energy.

What was the point?

The string lights he’d strung along the rooftop railing flickered softly. Still glowing. Still hoping. Just like him.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket again, though he didn’t expect anything even after his numerous calls and texts.

No little heart emojis or “on my way!” or dumb jokes about being underdressed.

Just the lock screen. Of you.

His thumb hovered over your name again. That little heart next to it.

He’d called four times. Texted numerous times. Left a voice message. Nothing.

Still, he didn’t leave.

Couldn’t.

He kept glancing at the door. The stairwell. The place you should be walking through with that apologetic grin, that lopsided laugh that always gave you away.

It was freezing now.

But he didn’t go back to his apartment.

Couldn’t bring himself to move.

He thought, What if she’s running? What if something happened? What if she shows up in ten minutes—fifteen—an hour—

He’d wait.

He would.

He’d wait until his bones ached. Until the wind turned his fingers numb. Until the wine froze in the glass and the lights dimmed out and the city slept around him.

Because if you walked through that door—everything would be okay again.

He could tell you it was fine. That he didn’t mind. That you could’ve come a mess and barefoot and breathless, and it still would’ve been the best night of his life.

But the door stayed shut.

The skyline flickered like it was trying to say something he didn’t want to hear.

Below, the campus buzzed softly. Somewhere, music played from an open window. Farther off, a car alarm blinked once and went silent. And Mingyu sat still in the quiet heart of it all, wrapped in silence and the memory of your voice.

You’re not coming.

He didn’t want to believe it.

Didn’t want to stand up. Didn’t want to fold the blanket. Didn’t want to blow out the lights or throw away the food or scrub your name out of his night.

So he stayed.

Even when his shoulders shook from the cold.

Even when the wind bit at his ears and his breath came out in fog.

Even when everything around him said go.

He stayed.

Because some stupid, stubborn, shattering part of him still believed in you.

Still believed that if he waited long enough, you’d appear at the top of the stairwell. That your voice would call out to him. That your eyes would soften when they met his. That everything would make sense again.

But you didn’t come.

Not at 9:00.

Not at 9:30.

Not even when the sky turned violet and the cold sank all the way into his chest.

And still, he waited.

Because if there was one thing he knew how to do—it was hold on.

Even when it hurt.

⸻

The rooftop was empty now.

Mingyu had finally packed it up—if you could call it that. The blanket stayed half-folded. The food, untouched, dumped into the trash bag with shaking hands. He left the lights strung, too tired to unwind them.

He walked down the stairs like a ghost, joints aching from the cold, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He couldn’t feel the key in his fingers as he unlocked his apartment door. Couldn’t feel much of anything.

Inside, everything was still.

Your hair tie that you left was still on the arm of his couch.

The hoodie drawer—his one full of the softest ones, the ones he hoped you’d steal—was cracked open. Waiting.

And Mingyu just stood there in the middle of the room, breathing like it hurt. What the fuck had happened?

He sat down on the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, phone clutched like it had answers buried inside it. Still no messages. Not even a "sorry." Not even a lie.

Just silence.

He opened your last text again—his message asking how your final went, your reply soft and modest as always: “it was alright.” So you. He read it like it might hold some hidden meaning now. Like if he looked hard enough, it would explain the silence. Undo whatever had gone wrong in the hours since.

It couldn’t.

The silence got louder.

And finally, his mind began to turn.

Was this too much for you? Did you know he was going to ask?

He hadn’t said it out loud. Not in so many words. But maybe you could feel it. Maybe you saw it in his eyes when he tugged your hoodie in place and tied your shoelaces before the two of you left his apartment that morning. Maybe it was written in the way he held your thigh in the car, soft and steady like he wanted to keep you anchored to him forever.

Just maybe you knew. And that’s why you ran.

He dragged a hand over his face.

“God, I’m so stupid,” he muttered.

He should’ve slowed down. Should’ve noticed the way you flinched when things got too serious. Of course it was too much. Of course you pulled away.

That’s what always happened when he let people in. They wanted the idea of him—the charm, the smiles, the version that looked good in photos. But not the real parts. Not the ones that were messy or too much or too soft.

But you weren’t like them. You saw all of it—him—and still leaned in.

And somehow, he’d still lost you.

A part of him wanted to be angry. At you. At himself. At how perfect the morning had felt, how safe you’d looked curled in his bed like you belonged there. At how everything pointed toward forever and now all he had was a text thread and a tea-stained blanket.

But mostly, he just felt… hollow.

Exhausted. Confused. Bruised in ways he couldn’t name.

He looked at his phone again. The screen stayed dark.

His thumb hovered over your name.

Then—he stood.

Because he couldn’t sit here anymore. Couldn’t keep staring at pieces of you and pretending they added up to something.

He had to see you.

He didn’t even know what he’d say. He just needed you to open the door. To look at him and explain. Or yell. Or cry. Or laugh in his face. Anything. Anything but this.

He knew the floor, the door, the slight tilt of the number plaque that none of the dorm maintenance ever bothered to fix.

He didn’t think about what time it was— just grabbed his keys and left.

Down the stairs. Into the street. Across campus.

His heart beat louder the closer he got. Faster.

He didn’t want to scare you. Didn’t want to crowd you. But he had to understand.

You didn’t look scared this morning. Or hesitant. Or unsure.

You looked happy.

Like he made you happy.

So where had that gone?

Where had you gone?

⸻

You were supposed to be at the dorm. You had to be. Mingyu’s feet carried him across the dark campus, the cold night air biting through his jacket, but he barely noticed the chill. His heart was pounding so loud it felt like it would burst free of his chest. Every step took him closer to the building where you lived, where he thought you’d be waiting for him. Where you were supposed to be waiting for him.

His hand shook as he reached for your dorm door, the wood cold beneath his knuckles. He knocked hard, then softer, then again, voice caught in his throat. “Hey, it’s me.” No answer. No footsteps. No sound at all except the echo of his own pounding heartbeat. He pressed his ear to the door, desperate for any sign—anything to tell him you were inside, alive and okay—but the silence crushed him.

His mind raced, trying to imagine where else you could be, why you wouldn’t answer. Had he overwhelmed you? Was he moving too fast? Was this all just too much? The very thought made his chest tighten painfully. You’d seemed happy that morning, so alive, so full of light. Why now? Why was he left standing here alone?

He swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed himself to leave from your door.

Mingyu’s phone was already burning a hole in his pocket, and as he called your number again, hope twisted into desperation. Straight to voicemail. Again and again. His fingers trembled as he left message after message—pleas masked as calm words, but every one of them soaked in worry. “If you need space, I’ll give it. Just please tell me you’re safe.”

Minutes stretched into what felt like eternity. He paced the empty lobby, his breaths shallow and ragged. His mind spiraled into worst-case scenarios, images flashing through his thoughts—what if you were hurt?

The weight of not knowing pressed down so hard that his legs felt like lead. Finally, defeated and exhausted, he plopped down into a chipped chair of the dorm lobby, the paint peeling like forgotten memories peeling away with each passing year. The air was thick with a faint, stubborn scent of bleach mingled with mildew — that sterile, cold smell that clung to the walls, the floor, the very breath he pulled in. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the maze of worry and pain that twisted inside his chest.

He curled his fingers into fists, the rough material of the chair scraping his knuckles. His eyes kept flicking to the phone resting on the scratched laminate table beside him.

Please be okay. That thought had looped endlessly in his head, like a mantra trying to drown out the quiet.

Suddenly, a faint vibration cut through the silence. The phone buzzed against the table.

His heart jumped, wildly hopeful. Maybe this time, maybe this time, it was you. The weight of hours without contact lifted for a second as he lunged for the device, flipping it over like a lifeline.

But the screen didn't light up with your name.

Instead, it was a message from one of his friends.

The sudden burst of hope crashed, and the sharp sting of disappointment cut through his chest. His fingers trembled as he opened the message.

“Bro, you need to check the group chat. It’s blowing up.”

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t looked at the group chat in days — had muted it to keep the noise out, to keep you close in his mind, untouched by the chaos.

His thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating, before finally dragging open the chat.

The flood of messages hit him like a wave, crashing relentlessly. Hundreds of texts. Snide jokes, cruel taunts, unrelenting laughter typed out like daggers.

And then—there was the link.

His pulse hit a frantic rhythm.

The link that would change everything.

He tapped it open.

The screen flooded with neon light—harsh blues and pinks that glared against the dim dorm lobby like a spotlight in a dark room.

There you were.

Caught in the glow of the club’s pulsing lights, moving with a fierce, intoxicating grace around a steel pole. Your body curved and flexed with the rhythm, muscles flowing like poetry beneath your pale skin.

Every detail etched itself into his heart: the stray strands of hair falling across your cheek, your fingers gripping the cold metal with a mix of strength and delicacy, your body telling a story no one else was meant to see.

His chest tightened painfully. A raw ache settled deep inside him, twisting cold and sharp.

You wore the black mask, but it didn’t hide the way you moved, didn’t hide the energy pouring off you. Someone had posted a side-by-side: the masked dancer on stage, next to a photo of you outside the club, unmistakably the same person. Proof.

The comments below were worse than any punch.

“Stripping for Mingyu’s attention? Pathetic.”

“Bet she thinks she’s better than us because she has Mingyu. Newsflash: you’re just a stripper.”

“How does Mingyu even date this? Can’t believe he settled.”

“Everyone wants to be with Mingyu until they find out he’s with trash like her.”

“She’s using him to get ahead. That’s the real story.”

“Poor guy doesn’t even know what he’s got himself into.”

“Guess Mingyu’s taste is... interesting.”

“Since when was he into strippers?”

“Why’s he even with her? She’s just... entertainment.”

“Bet he’s embarrassed. Wonder if she even cares what people think.”

The laughter in the text was merciless.

His stomach turned.

His eyes tracked the username of the first comment — the same girl who had shot you that jealous, hateful look at the party. The one who never hid her contempt.

His fingers gripped the phone tighter, white knuckles pressing into the sides. His throat tightened so much it hurt.

The buzzing of the fluorescent lights seemed louder now, mocking the silence between his thoughts. The loneliness of the place swallowed him whole.

He pressed his forehead against the edge of the worn table, closing his eyes as memories cascaded over him—your shy smile the night before, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair, the softness in your laugh, the trust you’d placed in him on his couch.

And now—this. The pain was suffocating. He was supposed to be your protector. Instead, he’d been blind to the storm raging quietly around you.

His phone vibrated again—another message from the same friend.

“Dude, you’ve been ghosting the chat. We’ve been trying to get you to see this all day.”

Mingyu stared blankly at the screen, numb, the bitter taste of guilt and anger rising like bile in his throat.

The video had ignited through campus like wildfire, impossible to ignore. Everyone had seen it—watched you as if you were some sideshow, a spectacle to be whispered about and laughed over. What others thought of him barely registered anymore; that need to protect his own pride and reputation had faded the moment he met you. But you—he cared about you deeply. He knew the shame that clung to you, the guilt you carried like a secret weight every time you stepped into that club. And that made every mocking glance and cruel comment feel like a fresh wound. His chest hollowed. The weight of it crushed him, relentless and unyielding.

Even through the haze of pain and rising anger, one thought cut sharper than any blade, searing through the chaos and silence alike: you were out there—alone, aching in a way he couldn’t reach. He had no idea where you might be hiding, no way to know the depths of the hurt you carried in solitude. The old wooden chair creaked beneath him as he stood, every movement weighted with the heaviness of heartbreak and a fierce, unyielding resolve. His fingers curled tightly around his phone as he pushed open the heavy dorm lobby doors and stepped out into the uncertain night, swallowed by the cool shadows and the unknown.

⸻

// feel like im nearing a writers block and can't convey the details and emotions I want but oh well. also I wanted to wait longer till I posted this but whoops!

Tag List: @sojuxxi @belovedgyu @bingumingoo1004 @burnerforfiction @jujuz251013 @dmstoyangyang @armycarat2612 @eisaspresso @svthinker @babycaratdeul @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @iluvhosh @caratcak3 @anateeso @tooflef @cocoalmond @mayalou @aeerio @aquasan29 @chemiru @dinonara-ara @

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dismalflo · 2 days ago

Text

middle of nowhere

Sirius Black x fem!reader ✩ 3.7k words

summary: It’s summer camp - what should be a fun job quickly goes sideways thanks to Sirius. You both clash and he seems to delight in pushing your buttons. He’s wildly irritating… but maybe he’s not as unbearable as you think.

for this request here.

cw: Summer camp au, frenemies to lovers, reader and sirius are camp counselors, sirius is maybe a bit mean without meaning to be

an: this is the first part of a little series!! i'm not sure how i feel about this first part but i am excited for the next next chapter

It’s unbearably hot.

The kind of heat that doesn’t just sit on your skin – it sinks in. Heavy and unmoving. You lie back in the dry grass near the lake, limbs stretched and still, hoping you might trick your body into forgetting it’s slowly melting. The sun is relentless, high and hard in the sky, its light washing the world out into too much brightness.

There are layers of sun cream caked onto your skin. The camp must’ve gone through a million bottles by now, and you’re fairly certain at least half of that is slathered across your arms and legs alone.

Distant sounds rise and fall: a burst of laughter, the hollow thunk of a ball hitting something solid, the sharp cry of someone getting hurt and not bothering to hide it. But it’s all muted here, like the heat has its own gravity, pulling everything down to a hush. You and Maddison occupy a pocket of stillness just shy of the treeline, the lake breathing slow and quiet in front of you.

She’s sitting cross-legged beside you, small hands worrying at a blade of grass. A sweet kid, if a little shy. She’s figured you out well, how you won’t ask questions she’s not ready to answer, won’t speak into silence just to fill it. You make space for her because you remember what it’s like when the world feels too big, too noisy, too much.

When she finally speaks, it’s soft enough you almost miss it.

“Do you know any tricks?”

You shift your head on your arm, turning slightly toward her. “Tricks?”

“Yeah, like…” She shrugs one shoulder, eyes still on the lake. “Bird calls or something. Everyone else knows stuff. Cool stuff. I don’t really.”

There’s something folded inside her voice. Not quite sadness. Not quite jealousy. Just the ache of wanting to belong. The other kids are kind enough, mostly, but it’s still hard to fit in.

You scan the shoreline absently. “You could... whistle with grass.”

She turns to you, puzzled. “What?”

“It’s a thing. You hold it between your thumbs and blow. Here.”

You pluck one from the ground – a wide, flat strip – and hold it up between your fingers. She leans in, eyes narrowed with interest.

You sit up just enough to grab a wide blade from the ground. She watches, close and quiet. You position the grass between your hands, thumbs together, just like someone once showed you when you were her age – on some long-forgotten summer afternoon.

The whistle that comes out is sharp and sudden, cutting through the thick air like something alive. Maddison jumps, startled, then bursts into laughter.

“That was so loud!”

You grin, a little surprised yourself. “Try it.”

You hand her a few blades to choose from. Her fingers are unsure, fumbling at first, but you guide her gently, thumbs over thumbs, until she blows a breathy whisper of a sound that almost qualifies as a whistle.

Her whole face lights up.

“I did it,” she breathes.

“Told you.”

She tries again, this time with more confidence – the whistle sharper, cleaner. When she clutches the grass like it’s a talisman, you don’t say anything.

Then, like a storm rolling in over calm water, the noise starts.

The unmistakable thunder of running feet and laughter rolls in from over the hill, followed by a voice you’ve learned to dread with Pavlovian precision.

Sirius Black.

He appears at the top of the rise, all grass-stained knees and wind-blown hair. A sleeveless shirt clings to his back, sunglasses perched too perfectly on his face. Somehow, he still looks like he belongs in a film. You’ve stopped trying to figure out how he does that.

Two rounders bats are slung over his shoulders like swords.

“All right!” he calls out, loud enough to startle nearby birds. “We’re playing rounders! I don’t want to hear any whining or excuses–especially from you, Danny.”

Danny flips him off without missing a beat. Sirius laughs like it's the best thing he’s seen all day.

Maddison sits up straighter, attention caught by the commotion. You can see the wheels turning in her head, curious, maybe even a little tempted. And of course, Sirius spots her. Spots you. His aim has always been infuriatingly accurate.

He heads over, crouching beside Maddison without hesitation. “Hey, Mads,” he says easily. “We’re forming teams. You in?”

She hesitates. Her eyes flick to you.

You nod. “Go on.”

That’s all she needs. She bolts toward the hill, the grass blade still clutched in her fist.

Sirius straightens, sunglasses slipping down just enough to reveal a single raised eyebrow and a smug, maddening smile.

Like: See? Even your shadow likes me better.

You don’t blink. “Do you want a trophy or something?”

He steps into your space before speaking. “No need. Their unconditional admiration is reward enough.”

You exhale through your nose. “Congrats, Black. You’re real popular with twelve-year-olds.”

“Don’t be bitter, sunshine,” he says, his tone taunting. “You coming?”

“I’d rather not.”

He shrugs, all breezy nonchalance. “Suit yourself.”

Then he spins on his heel and heads back down towards the lake.

You watch them go. Maddison’s practically skipping. And Sirius is soaking it all up. He’s good with kids, you’ll give him that. Too good. Like it comes wired into his bones.

Still, there's a sting that comes with him.

Maybe it’s because this isn’t the first time he’s strutted over, stolen your moment, and somehow come out looking like the hero. Or maybe it’s because every time you start to think, maybe he’s not so bad, he opens his mouth and ruins it.

It’s not just the noise, or the attention he draws like gravity. It’s that he’s always on, always pushing buttons. And for whatever reason, he’s made you one of his favourites to prod.

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s jokingly called you stuck-up. His tone is always light and teasing, like it’s some inside joke you’re both in on. But it grates. Because sure, maybe you are quieter. More reserved. But that doesn’t make you cold. Or boring. Or stuck-up.

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you’re almost certain. But intent doesn’t make it feel any nicer. Not when you’ve spent years trying to unlearn the idea that being composed makes you less fun, less wanted.

So no, you’re not friends. You clash. Where you’re careful, he’s reckless. Where you build slowly, he dives in headfirst. And maybe the worst part is – beneath all of it – you can tell he’s not trying to make you feel small. He probably thinks it’s all in good fun.

Which just makes you want to scream into a pillow.

So you sit there, sticky with heat and sun cream and something else harder to name, watching him jog back down toward the others, the back of his neck catching sunlight like a spotlight.

You don't hate him.

But you’re not ready to like him, either.

The sun’s moved again, dipping just enough to soften the shadows, though the heat still clings on. A dragonfly zigzags past your knee, iridescent wings catching in the light. You should close your eyes, let the dull hum of distant activity wash over you. Let yourself drift.

But then–

“Y/N taught me how to whistle with grass!” Maddison’s voice cuts through the air, high and proud.

You hear the answering pause before the response. Then, Sirius’s voice joins hers. Warm, amused, genuine.

“No way. That’s a classic. Bet you’ll be better than me by Friday.”

She giggles, the sound light and effortless, and something twists under your ribs.

Sirius proving once again that he’s not all bad. That he sees people and gives them what they need.

You’re still not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You stand slowly, brushing grass from the backs of your legs, and try to shake off the haze of it all, Sirius’s voice still echoing in your ears, Maddison’s laughter threaded through it like a melody trapped in your head.

But there are things to be done. You check your watch. Barely an hour until dinner.

The next stretch of time passes in a blur of small tasks and routine. You help corral the younger campers for swim checks, lend a hand when someone’s flip-flop snaps and they dissolve into tears, untangle a poor girl's hair from her bobble. You refill water jugs, smile through sunburn complaints, and offer reminders about bug spray that everyone promptly ignores. Somewhere in there, a football glances off your shin. You’re still not sure if it was on purpose.

There’s comfort in the rhythm of it all.

By the time the bell rings for dinner, the sun has begun its slow descent behind the treetops, painting the sky in streaks of gold and rose. Campers begin to shuffle toward the dining hall in messy lines and noisy clusters, the din of chatter rising with each step.

You trail behind them, slowly with heavy legs. Sweat’s dried sticky on your neck, and the back of your shirt is clinging in places that make you want to peel off your skin. The dining hall looms ahead, buzzing with early chaos: trays clattering, laughter overlapping in a dozen directions, someone already shouting about pudding.

You find a seat near the end of the staff table. It’s quieter there. Not quiet, but manageable. Far enough from the worst of the flying cutlery and spontaneous food fights.

You’re halfway through dabbing marinara sauce off your schedule sheets – why you brought them in here, you’re not even sure – when the bench beside you groans under new weight.

You don’t need to look up to know who it is.

The bench dips under his weight with an unnecessary flop, followed by the rattle of his tray hitting the table. A sigh, too loud to be sincere, leaves his mouth as he drapes himself into the seat beside you. You can feel him watching the side of your face.

You keep your eyes on the marinara-stained schedule sheet.

“Is this what we’re doing now?” he says eventually, voice pitched low enough to slice through the noise around you. “Romantic dinner for two, complete with tomato-scented paperwork?”

You hum, unbothered. “Only if your idea of romance includes swim rosters and three broken whistles.”

“Don’t kink shame me,” he replies, without missing a beat.

That earns the smallest upward twitch of your mouth, but you don’t let it grow. You’ve been through this dance too many times.

“Shouldn’t you be over there?” you nod vaguely toward the middle of the dining hall, where Sirius’s usual entourage of junior counselors and impressionable campers are engaged in what appears to be a napkin-folding contest slash interpretive dance.

He leans in slightly, like he’s about to reveal something confidential. “I was. But then I remembered someone here enjoys my company immensely and would be devastated if I left her all alone.”

You glance sideways. “Pity Maddison ran off then.”

His eyes sparkle behind the sunglasses still inexplicably perched on his head. “You wound me.”

“You’ll recover.”

His shoulder brushes yours. He doesn’t move away. Of course he doesn’t. He smells like lake water and sun cream, like grass and heat and the sharp, peppery tang of whatever body spray he overuses. You shift subtly, but not enough that it matters.

He exhales dramatically. “I’m exhausted. I think Danny tried to bruise me on purpose.”

You stab a spiral of overcooked pasta. “Good for Danny.”

He laughs, short and surprised. “So cold. I missed this.”

You roll your eyes, content to leave the conversation there.

“See?” he says, nudging your knee with his. “Admit it. You’d miss me if I weren’t here.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You would.”

“Only in the way people miss headaches when they’re gone. To remember how peaceful life is without it.”

The jab earns a sharp, startled laugh from Sirius – the kind that bursts out before he can help it. It draws a few curious glances from nearby tables, but you both stay cocooned in your corner, tucked just slightly out of reach from the dining hall madness. The noise blurs at the edges again. Voices filter in and out – forks clatter, someone shrieks about spilled squash, chairs scrape against the floor – but none of it quite cuts through.

Sirius leans back like he’s got nowhere else to be, arms stretched across the bench behind you in that careless way of his. Like he owns the space just by sitting in it. Like he belongs.

“So,” he says after a pause, drawing the word out like a thread, “some of us are going swimming later.”

You don’t look at him. “It’s barely dinnertime.”

“After lights out,” he clarifies, grinning. “Lake. Midnight. You in?”

You turn toward him just enough to catch the curve of his smirk. “You’re joking.”

His head tilts, sunglasses still perched uselessly on his forehead. “I never joke about nighttime rule-breaking.”

“That’s the only thing you do joke about.”

He shrugs, a picture of unbothered cool. “Still. Moonlight. Water. Adventure. Don’t be boring.”

You stare at him, flat. “You’re genuinely suggesting I sneak out to go swimming in the middle of the night.”

“Correct.”

“In a freezing lake.”

“Fresh is a nicer word for it,” he replies, eyes not leaving yours.

“You’re actually serious.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Every day of my life.”

You let out a groan and drop your head into your hand. “You’re exhausting.”

“Come on,” he nudges, voice warm and coaxing. “Live a little! or is it the fun part that's putting you off?”

“It’s the you part,” you say dryly, narrowing your eyes as he falls back into form with the joke at your expense.

He clutches his chest like you’ve physically struck him. “Wounded.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I don’t know,” he says, sighing dramatically. “Not even in your top five coworkers? That’s harsh.”

“Not even top ten.” you mutter.

“Horrible woman.” But he’s laughing again, eyes creased with genuine amusement.

He’s about to push it further, you can see the start of something insufferable brewing inside of him, when a small hand tugs at your sleeve. You glance down and find Leo standing beside you, tray in hand, eyes wide.

“Can I… sit here?” he asks softly.

You shift instantly. “Of course. Always.”

He climbs up carefully, knees barely clearing the bench. Sirius wordlessly leans away to give him space, arm retracting but heat still lingering. Leo settles in, eyeing the food like it might bite first.

“Still doing bracelets tomorrow?” he mumbles, stabbing at his mac and cheese.

You nod. “After breakfast. Me and Lily. You in?”

He shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but you catch the spark in his eyes. “I wanna make one for my sister. She likes purple.”

“Then purple it is,” you say. “We’ll find the best one we’ve got.”

He gives you a small, lopsided grin, and just like that, the conversation shifts. The space around you softens. Somewhere down the table, someone is swearing they saw a monster in the woods last night, and a heated debate breaks out over pudding portion conspiracies. You glance to your left again, but Sirius is gone. Quietly, without fanfare, he’d slipped away.

Later, after lights-out rounds and cleanup, after the children are tired and full in bed, you find yourself walking back along the gravel path to the staff cabin. The trees whisper above, their branches rustling in the slow breath of night. Your trainers crunch softly on the stones, the only sound that marks your passing.

And then, just before the bend, the lake comes into view.

The dock sits still and quiet, lit only by the moon’s reflection. The surface of the water is impossibly calm, silvered like old glass. And there, sprawled out across the wooden planks, is Sirius.

He’s lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lazily on his chest. His eyes are closed. Not asleep, just... still. The expression on his face is unreadable, softer in profile than you’ve ever seen it.

You freeze, caught somewhere between curiosity and unease.

You’d expected a group. Noise. Movement. Laughter echoing out over the water. But he’s alone. No midnight rebels, no splash or scream or even whisper of another soul. Just him, stretched out under the moon.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

You linger at the edge of the trees, hands tucked into your pockets, heart ticking with something uncertain. He hadn’t really expected you to come. It was just a joke, a throwaway invitation. He invites everyone. He doesn’t wait for anyone.

So why is he here? Why is no one else here?

The longer you stand, the stranger it feels to intrude. This stillness isn’t for you. Whatever has him this quiet, this still, it’s not for your eyes, you decide. So you step back, let the darkness claim you again, and leave him there beneath the moon.

But the image sticks. Long after you’ve curled into bed, it follows you: Sirius Black, alone and quiet under a silver sky.

The next morning, the sun is already high when you finish setting up for bracelet-making. The picnic tables are strewn with beads and string, plastic tubs arranged carefully. You run a hand through your hair and sigh. It’ll be a messy kind of morning, but manageable. Calm.

You expect Lily. You get Sirius.

He strides up, all smug swagger and sunglasses, hands on hips.

“Well, well,” he says, eyeing the craft table. “So where do you want me?”

You squint at him. “What?”

“Lily swapped with me,” he replies, far too cheerfully. “I’m your new co-host.”

“Swapped,” you repeat flatly.

“Crafts are good for the soul,” he says, spinning a neon thread around his fingers like a magician’s trick. “I read that somewhere.”

You narrow your eyes. “You were slagging this off two days ago.”

He grins. “Growth.”

Before you can question it further, the first wave of campers barrels into the space. Backpacks thump to the ground. A bead tub topples. Someone immediately starts chanting and shouting.

And Sirius – against all odds – steps in.

He moves through the chaos like it’s second nature. Crouching beside kids, helping them knot threads (badly), making up names for the beads (“This one’s dragon’s breath. Only use it if you’re brave”), and laughing when they laugh.

You watch, wary at first. But he doesn’t push, doesn’t overstep. You direct. He follows.

At one point, he tosses you a roll of string just as you’re reaching for it, and you catch it mid-air without thinking. The motion is easy. Natural. Like muscle memory for something you didn’t know you’d learned.

When the last camper finally leaves, arms full of tangled attempts and glitter-streaked foreheads, the silence that settles over the space is different. Not empty. Just full in a quieter way.

You’re sorting through the mess when Sirius wanders back over, holding something behind his back like he’s about to reveal a magic trick.

“Brace yourself,” he warns, eyes dancing.

You sigh. “This better not be another worm in a cup.”

“That was one time and you're the type to like worms. Anyway…’

With a flourish, he holds out the ugliest bracelet you’ve ever seen.

It’s a disaster. Pink and green threads clashing like enemies. Knots in all the wrong places. A single hot dog charm dangles from the center.

“It’s hideous,” you say honestly.

He presses a hand to his heart. “It’s bespoke. It’s… avant garde”

You try not to smile. You fail.

“I made it for you,” he says. “Wear it, or I’ll be distraught.”

You roll your eyes, but slip it on. The charm swings stupidly against your wrist. But it fits. Not well. But enough.

You glance up. “Happy?”

His grin softens, just a little. “Yeah. Actually.”

The moment hangs. Real and light and a little too fragile.

“I swear,” you mutter, “one day I’m going to punch you in the face.”

He leans in, voice low. “Would you consider anywhere else?”

The laugh comes before you can stop it, real and bright and entirely unguarded.

You shake your head. “You’re such a knob.”

And then, predictably:

“I didn’t know you could have fun,” he says, smile pulling a little too wide.

Your laugh cuts off.

You blink, stunned. “Excuse me?”

He falters. “I just meant—normally you’re so... composed. It’s good. Seeing this side of you.”

“Not being stuck up, you mean?” you say, arching a brow.

He winces and then scrambles for the right words. “Okay, yeah, that’s... yep. That’s what I meant but not in a dickish way. I just mean–”

You hold his gaze a moment longer, then sigh. “Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

And for once, he does.

The silence lingers. He leans back, watching you with that small, half-charmed, half-curious smile before turning to leave.

You shake your head. “See you later.”

“Not if I see you first.”

You turn back to the mess of string and beads, pretending to busy yourself, but your hands are still. Across the table, Sirius lingers for a beat longer – like he might say something else – but then thinks better of it. He gives a lazy salute and strolls off, humming some ridiculous tune under his breath.

You watch him go for a second too long.

It’s annoying.

And maybe a little bit... not.

The ugly bracelet still clings to your wrist, too loose, lopsided, ridiculous. The hot dog charm swings with every movement. You should take it off.

You don’t.

Because that’s the thing about Sirius Black:

He gets under your skin. Not in the charming way he thinks. But he’s there, irritating and loud and occasionally – annoyingly – almost kind.

You’re not friends.

Not really. Not yet at least.

masterlist <3

#flo'sfics #marauders au #marauders fics #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x self insert #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black angst #sirius black #sirius orion black

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chrxsprettygirl · 2 days ago

Text

𝑻𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒄!𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏!𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑼𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒏

AN: THIS IS FICTIONAL. i dont think Chris or Marylou would ever act like this this just for entertainment purpose only!! Also I love this song so much u should listen to it :)

You should’ve known better.

From the beginning, Chris Sturniolo was the kind of boy your mom warned you about — charming in that cold, I-don’t-care way. The kind who says just enough to keep you hooked, but never enough to keep you safe.

And still, you let him in.

⸻

It started casual.

Talking every night. FaceTimes that turned into sleepy 3AM silences. “I don’t really do relationships,” he said once, and you just hummed, pretending it didn’t sting.

Then one night, sitting in your dorm with your legs over his lap and a movie playing on mute, he looked at you like he was actually seeing you for the first time.

“You’re mine now, yeah?”

It wasn’t a question. But you nodded anyway.

⸻

Bringing him home to meet your family was your idea.

It felt right. You’d been talking for months. You knew the shape of every scar on his hand, the way he slept with his jaw clenched, like he never fully relaxed. He never said I love you, but you felt it. Or you thought you did.

He sat stiff on your parents’ couch while your mom served dinner and your dad tried to get him to talk.

He barely made eye contact. Didn’t touch his plate. Kept checking his phone like he couldn’t wait to leave.

You brushed it off. “He’s just nervous,” you told yourself.

But when he left that night, he didn’t say goodbye. No hug. No kiss. Just a quick nod and he was gone.

⸻

Then came the silence.

Two weeks. Nothing.

No texts. No calls. You watched his story once — a picture of his hand around a red cup, middle finger up. Caption: “Don’t catch feelings, catch flights.”

Cute.

When he finally texted you again, it was like nothing had happened.

Chris: Wyd.

Not an apology. Not even an explanation. Just wyd.

⸻

You met up with him anyway.

And the second he walked into your dorm, you knew something was off. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just sat on your bed like he didn’t even wanna be there.

You crossed your arms. “You good?”

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You sat beside him, careful not to get too close. “I haven’t heard from you in two weeks, Chris.”

“So?”

“So?” you echoed. “You ghosted me. After meeting my family.”

He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that deep.”

Your stomach twisted. “Maybe not to you.”

He looked at you then — finally — like he was trying to decide if this conversation was worth it. “Why are you always making shit complicated?”

“I’m asking you a simple question,” you said. “What are we doing? What am I to you?”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t start.”

“No,” you cut in, voice firmer. “You met my parents. You slept in my bed. I’ve told you everything about me. And I still don’t know a damn thing about you.”

Silence.

You swallowed. “Can I meet your mom?”

He flinched.

You knew instantly — wrong question.

He stood up. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“Why do you always need more? Why isn’t it enough just being with me?”

Your heart thudded. “You can’t be serious.”

He turned to you, voice sharp. “She’s not gonna like you. You’re not her type.”

“What does that mean?”

He hesitated. Just long enough.

“It means… you’re not good enough.”

It hit like a slap. Not loud. Not violent. Just… cold.

You stared at him, blinking. “Say that again.”

He didn’t.

You nodded slowly. “Cool. Get out.”

“Come on—”

“No,” you said, voice hard now. “Get out of my room, Chris.”

He stared at you like he didn’t think you’d actually say it. But you did.

So he left.

⸻

You didn’t cry.

Didn’t chase. Didn’t reply when he texted three days later. Or four. Or five.

Then, out of nowhere:

Chris: Be ready at 7. Wear something nice.

You stared at the screen.

And for some reason — God knows why — you got dressed.

⸻

He didn’t speak on the drive.

Didn’t hold your hand. Didn’t even look at you.

He pulled up to a cold-looking house in the suburbs. Big, clean, empty-feeling. You followed him up the path like a ghost.

Inside, it was quiet.

His mom stood at the island in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. She looked up. Stared at you.

“This her?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Chris muttered.

She raised an eyebrow. “Thought you said you weren’t serious about her.”

Your breath caught.

Chris didn’t say anything.

She looked you up and down. “Huh.”

No smile. No warmth. No hello.

You stood there, clutching your purse, heat crawling up your neck.

This was not a “meet the family” moment.

This was a punishment.

“I’m gonna go,” you said, quietly.

Chris turned to you, confused. “What?”

“I should’ve believed you when you said I wasn’t good enough,” you said, and walked out the door.

AN:….hey…….how y’all doing

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ranticore · 3 days ago

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how did you start writing books that had themes? i’ve been writing since i was 7 years old and i’ve always wanted to write a whole book one day, but i don’t feel like i write with enough intention for any of my stories to keep my interest long enough to write a novel. i love building worlds and characters, and i often understand the themes that i want to explore in a given piece, but i always feel like worldbuilding gets in the way of actually writing a plot or having something to say, or that i’m too interested in stuff that doesn’t matter as opposed to actually telling a story. that or i feel like my stuff is too derivative.

So I did the same as you from a very early age, a lot of writing that was kind of directionless, lacking overarching structures. I don't want to say it was immature but in the way of kids playing imagination games, it just kinda.. went on and on with no resolution just pure interaction where any random thing could happen because it seemed like the next step. But for that kind of writing, "the next step" was based off the one directly previous to it. To make the jump to what you describe as books with themes, "the next step" can't be based off the one directly previous to it. "The next step" has to be the extension of every single previous step, including the very first, because the entire story is built from the ground up to be a single unified whole.

I think the jump from the directionless writing to writing A Novel (with all attendant structural conventions - different to fanfic, tv writing, screenplays etc) is that the novel is approached holistically with every single event considered at the same time, instead of each little part examined as a discrete unit that links to the next at the end of the chapter/scene/etc.

What I did was write my entire series out - all three books - in rough draft format, changing it and retconning it freely as I went. the continuity in these drafts sucked and the themes are all over the place but when I was finished with these three book drafts I had every tool at my disposal. at the end of my book 3 rough draft I had worked out all my themes and my events sequence etc. which meant that when I went on to start writing what would become the final draft of stbh (complete rewrites from the ground up, no reusing rough draft prose), I knew from the very beginning exactly how the story would end and it gave me so much freedom and space to approach the full story as a whole, add foreshadowing that wasn't there before, coded hints to how the last book would end (nobody's spotted them yet... as far as I know), and so on

As for themes vs worldbuilding, and what details matter more, ultimately it's for you to decide what you want to focus on. But you also need to understand when a particular element needs to be cut to serve the narrative. If it's something you really really need to include, then you need to restructure the narrative around it (the rough draft -> rewritten first draft method helps a lot with this). There's plenty of plotlines I really liked which I axed in the end because, cool as they were, they broke the causal chain and therefore had to go.

When choosing themes you can approach it not as "what do I like" but "what do I want to say". This should clarify a lot of things. Sometimes what you want to say is "wouldn't that be fucked up or what", it isn't always some deep commentary on the world. For the imimata story I went at it with the initial core of "I am talking about dehumanisation, abuse, and celebrity culture". So I have to wrap my worldbuilding around that, rather than start without direction. The fact that the situation for imimata is so dire is a result of this theme. And so on.

Finally for worldbuilding it is possible to overdo it. I personally get turned off a story very quickly if I'm hit with eighteen walls of exposition and detail unrelated to characters, because I only want one thing and it's disgusting (character interaction), so I'm happy with a very loose canon setting. Not everyone's the same. When you do reveal world building details, link them to your theme. Let's say in Inver my theme was poverty and I want to talk about my worldbuilding around diets. I narrate that through a character who grew up in poverty reminiscing about having to go collect whelks in the bay mud. That teaches us about the physical geography of the city, what the view out to sea looks like, the coastal habitats, the types of food gathered by the poor, and also something about that character as well. Additionally, you might know one billion facts and figures about your setting but do your characters have that knowledge?

Also your own interests vs others' - write for yourself first or you'll be miserable. And if it's derivative or not - idk I mean I just avoid pulling inspiration without twisting it into what I want (and I also avoid pulling inspiration from ppl on my tumblr dash because that's how things get stale). I am a contrary bitch first and foremost and I approach a lot of stuff like "everyone's doing this? well I'm doing the opposite" ... ymmv

#finally for me what helped was ditching the blank slate fish out of water protagonist #everything kinda clicked for writing books when i wrote about someone already entrenched in their world #with their own opinions and biases on this place. and then the worldbuilding doesn't have to be exposited #it can be observed #although i don't think stbh is the best ever example of that lol but it's better than my previous attempts

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orellazalonia · 2 days ago

Text

Borrowed Time (Pt. 1)

Summary: You and Bucky fell in love quietly and deeply, the kind of love that felt like coming home after war. But when you were diagnosed with a terminal illness, you chose to protect him the only way you knew how: by leaving before he could watch you fade. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 4.1k+

A/N: This has ANGST by the way. I wanted to really hurt tonight, but it’s really long. So I’ll share half of my suffering with you guys (/hj) and the other half later. Happy reading!!

Main Masterlist | Part 2

You hadn’t expected much when you joined the team. Not respect, not belonging, and definitely not love. You weren’t one of the flashy ones either. Not like the godlike ones or the headline names. Your talents were subtle, quiet. Support work, recon, sometimes intel, sometimes patching people up between missions. Normally in the background and always trying not to get in anyone’s way.

You met Bucky Barnes on a Tuesday morning. You remember that because it had been raining. The kind that soaked through your boots and your mood, and made the Tower feel lonelier than usual. He was standing in the gym, watching the rain pour against the glass walls, barely moving, like the storm was inside him too.

You didn’t say anything that first day. You just stood a few feet away, drinking your terrible coffee, and both of you pretending not to notice each other.

The second time, he spoke.

“Morning,” He said gruffly, his voice low like gravel.

You smiled. “Barely.”

It wasn’t a cinematic beginning. It began with smaller gestures and quiet kindnesses. He started sitting with you in the rec room when the others got too loud. You brought him fresh coffee when you passed the kitchen because you noticed he liked it black and too strong. He started walking you back to your room after late missions, even when you insisted you were fine.

Then one night, when your hands were trembling after a near-death close call, he took them in his, warm skin against cool metal, and just held them until the panic faded.

“I’ve got you,” He’d whispered.

And from that moment, you knew.

You didn’t fall all at once; no, not you, and not Bucky. But over time, like sand wearing down stone, you carved out a space in each other’s lives. One that became necessary. Familiar. Safe.

You were the one who kissed him first. It was quick, you were nervous with your heart pounding loudly. He’d stilled like a statue for half a breath. Then pulled you close like he’d been waiting years.

Everything after that felt like healing. Soft mornings and hesitant laughter. A shared toothbrush, his old t-shirt on your skin, late-night walks when sleep wouldn’t come. He called you “doll” when no one else was around, and you teased him for it. He told you about the old days in pieces, slowly, only when he felt ready. You didn’t push.

He spoke with his eyes before he ever used words, and you learned quickly how to read them. Tired eyes meant he didn’t sleep so you stayed close, sometimes in silence just to anchor him. Distant eyes meant memories had pulled him under. So you’d distract him with a game or a dumb movie. Sometimes you’d even do horrible impression of Sam. It worked more often than it didn’t.

He was surprisingly good at domestic things too. Laundry. Folding towels. Even sewing. You once came home to find him repairing a ripped sleeve of your favorite hoodie, his brows furrowed in concentration, metal fingers surprisingly gentle as they worked the needle.

“Didn’t know you could sew,” You said, standing in the doorway.

He glanced up. “Used to fix Steve’s stuff. Back then, you didn’t toss clothes when they tore. You learned how to fix ‘em.”

You stepped forward, grinning. “My hoodie’s being saved by history.”

He smirked. “You’re welcome.”

You loved him. God, you loved him.

Bucky wasn’t big on public affection, but in private, he was warm and clingy in the way that people who’ve spent their lives alone tend to be. He’d pull you into his lap while watching movies, arms around your waist like he needed to be sure you were real. Sometimes, he'd trace the lines of your palm like he was memorizing the map of you.

“You’re too good to me,” You whispered one night, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound of his heart.

He didn’t say anything right away, just tightened his hold. Then, quietly:

“No one’s ever said that before. Not like that.”

Mornings with Bucky were slow and sweet.

He always woke up first, but never left the bed. Just stayed curled around you like a shield, his hand absently brushing your hair, your shoulder, or your arm. You’d pretend to sleep longer just to enjoy it all. The weight of his presence, the safety of it. He knew. You knew he knew. But he always let you pretend.

Sometimes, he’d hum old songs, stuff he remembered from back then. He never did it around anyone else. Just you.

Once, when you asked why, he only answered, “Those songs feel like you.”

You didn’t know what that meant. But you never asked again. It felt sacred.

There were inside jokes too, like how he always called you “the dangerous one” when you swatted at him with a dishtowel, or how you pretended his metal arm beeped like a robot’s whenever he poked you. You once stuck googly eyes on it. He found them three days later in the shower.

“Real mature,” He’d muttered.

“You left me unattended.”

He gave you a look, deadpan. “You’re always unattended.”

You beamed. “Exactly.”

He loved seeing you happy. You could tell.

Even when he tried to act unimpressed, there was something in the way his eyes crinkled when you laughed too loud, or how he’d lean back just to watch you talk about things you loved whether it be music, books, or dumb memes Peter showed you.

And when you were tired, overwhelmed, or worn thin by the world, he didn’t ask questions. He’d just reach out. Tug you to his side and press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ve got you,” He’d say.

And he always did.

Even when things started going downhill.

It started small.

A headache that lasted longer than it should have. A dizzy spell in the shower. Pins and needles in your hands when you typed too long. It was anll easy enough to dismiss. You didn’t think much of it, not at first. You were tired, stressed, and probably pushing too hard in training. It was easy to brush off when the Tower was always in motion, full of mission prep, early morning sparring, Sam yelling about breakfast food, and Bucky’s deep voice murmuring good morning into your hair.

But then you dropped your coffee cup one morning. Just slipped from your hands, no warning. Glass shattered across the floor like a gunshot. Bucky looked up immediately from the couch, brows furrowed.

“Hey,” He called out, getting to his feet. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” You answered quickly. Too quickly. You bent down to clean it up, waving him off. “Just clumsy today. Had a bad grip on it.”

He hovered nearby anyway, crouched beside you, brushing away glass with his metal hand before you could slice yourself.

“You’re not usually clumsy.”

You forced a laugh. “Guess I’m evolving.”

He didn’t smile. Just looked at you a little too long. But then he dropped it, for now.

Other days, your legs felt heavy like your bones were made of wet concrete. You’d get out of bed slowly, waiting for the room to stop tilting, and sneak painkillers into your mouth before Bucky woke up.

He caught you once.

“Love, why are you taking those?” He asked sleepily, rubbing his face with one hand.

You shrugged. “Training soreness. Nat kicked my ass yesterday.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t spar yesterday. You were with Bruce doing some file sorting.”

Shit.

“Right. Yeah. No, I meant… the day before. It’s fine. Just overdid it.”

He didn’t believe you. You knew it. But you changed the subject fast. You kissed him, stole his shirt, and made some joke about him being old and creaky; and just like that, his concern faded into teasing.

But his eyes still lingered a little longer than usual as you moved around the kitchen that morning, like he was waiting for something else to fall apart.

You started keeping water in every room. You got overheated quickly now, and your mouth was dry more often than not. Sometimes your vision would go spotty if you stood up too fast. You started hiding the bruises too, the weird ones that bloomed like ink stains across your skin without warning.

Your smile became a tool. A mask. A defense.

“Nothing a little coffee won’t fix.” “Guess I need to eat more iron, huh?” “Pretty sure this is just stress. Tony stresses me out.”

Everyone bought it. They always did.

Except Bucky.

One night, after a shared dinner with the team, you excused yourself early and barely made it to the hallway before your legs gave out. You caught yourself on the wall, heart pounding like a war drum. Your vision wavered. You thought you might throw up.

You took deep, careful breaths, waiting for it to pass.

Bucky found you a minute later; not collapsed, but close. You were standing stiff, holding the wall, and blinking hard.

“Hey,” He reached for you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” You croaked. “Just… dizzy. Think I stood too fast.”

“You’ve been acting off for weeks,” He said, voice low. “Is something going on?”

You smiled, tired and crooked. “You worry too much.”

“Because I’ve lost too much.”

That made your chest ache worse than the actual pain.

You touched his face, thumb brushing the scar near his cheekbone. “You’re not losing me.”

Later that night, when he finally fell asleep with his arm around your waist, you stared at the ceiling and wondered how much time you had left before you’d have to break that promise.

The next morning, while he was out on a run, you called the doctor.

You didn’t tell him. Not yet.

The clinic was small. Tucked away in a quiet part of the city in the kind of place where no one would ask for autographs or clearance codes. You’d chosen it carefully. Not Stark-approved. Not affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D. Just… normal. Human. Somewhere you could be anonymous for a moment, where the walls didn’t echo with weapons and war and legacy.

You sat on the crinkled paper of the exam table, cold in the fluorescent light, as your fingers twisted the edge of your sleeve until it wore thin. The doctor was kind, older, with eyes sharp behind thick glasses. She asked questions, ran tests, and drew blood.

You came back a week later for answers. She didn’t say the word right away. She didn’t have to.

The silence, the sigh, the way she sat down instead of standing, it told you everything.

“It’s rare,” She spoke carefully. “Aggressive. It’s likely genetic, but the stress you’re under probably worsened the symptoms. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Your mouth was dry. “How long?”

“We can’t be exact. But it’s progressing fast. Months. Maybe.”

Maybe. That word would haunt you.

You walked home in a haze.

Everything felt too loud. Car horns, wind through your coat, your own footsteps on the pavement. You kept your phone in your pocket, even though you knew Bucky had texted twice:

You okay? Want to make dinner together or order in?

You didn’t reply.

Not until you were already at the Tower, already up the elevator, and already standing outside the floor you shared like a stranger on the wrong doorstep. When the door opened, Bucky was mid-laugh, probably from something Sam had said over comms.

But then he saw your face.

His smile dropped instantly. “Doll?”

You blinked. “Sorry I took so long. Went for a walk.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… long day.”

He stared at you. For a moment, it looked like he might ask more. Push. Press. He was good at reading people, especially you. But instead, he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, and held you close.

You felt like glass in his arms.

That night, you couldn’t sleep.

You watched him in the dark, his breathing steady, jaw relaxed in rare peace. This man, this haunted, broken, beautiful man had just started to believe he deserved good things again. He was trying. Healing. Building something with you.

You couldn’t steal that from him. You wouldn’t let his second chance be another tragedy.

So you made a choice. You weren’t going to tell him. Not yet.

You’d give him good days. Soft mornings. Sunlight and safety. Laughter. Love. And when the time came… you’d figure it out. You’d find a way to leave.

Before he ever had to watch you fall apart.

The days went on.

Bucky didn’t notice at first. Not the extra naps you took, or the way your hand hovered over your side when you thought no one was looking. He didn’t question why you turned down missions. He just squeezed your hand and said, “Rest is good. You deserve it.”

He didn’t know you were already slipping away.

Some nights, you lay awake beside him, staring at the ceiling while his breathing rose and fell beside you. He looked so peaceful when he slept, like whatever ghosts he carried let go of him just long enough to rest. You’d shift closer, soaking in his warmth, his presence, his life.

You couldn’t help but keep thinking how unfair it was.

He was finally okay. He was finally happy. And you were about to become another scar on his soul.

You started wondering if it would hurt him less… if you left first.

Just disappeared. Said something awful. Said nothing at all. Let him hate you instead of mourn you. Maybe it would be easier, in the long run. Less traumatic, something cleaner.

Because Bucky had already watched people die. People he loved. You didn’t want to be a memory he flinched away from.

You wanted him to live.

But then–

One evening, you were curled up on the couch, pretending to watch a movie while your body throbbed beneath the surface. Your joints ached. Your head pounded. But Bucky was beside you, one arm thrown lazily around your shoulders, your legs tangled together under the throw blanket.

“I don’t say this enough,” He murmured, voice quiet, rough, and honest, “But I really like this life with you.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

He nodded, still looking at the screen. “Didn’t think I’d get it. Something normal, safe. You… you make me feel real again.”

Something cracked in your chest, deep and quiet.

You didn’t deserve that. Not when you were lying to him every day. Not when every sweet moment was borrowed time.

Later, when he was asleep, you sat on the bathroom floor, back against the tub, and let yourself cry. Silent tears. Ugly, hurting, because you didn’t know what was worse:

Dying with him holding you, and breaking him. Or leaving before that happened and breaking him anyway.

You covered your mouth with your hand. Your body trembled. The ache in your side flared again, sharper now. You reached blindly for the bottle of painkillers tucked behind the sink.

You stayed there for almost an hour, in the quiet hum of the night.

Trying to convince yourself that love meant letting go even when everything in you screamed to stay. But you knew you couldn’t.

So, you started with the little things.

Stopped staying in his room every night. Claimed you couldn’t sleep, needed to stretch, needed to read, or needed a little space. Bucky didn’t question it at first. Just gave you a sleepy nod and a quiet “Okay, doll. Come back if you change your mind.”

He always left the door open for you which only made it harder.

You stopped holding his hand in public.

When he reached for you, you’d pretend you didn’t notice, or shift your focus just in time to miss it. You told yourself it was working. That he didn’t mind. That he didn’t feel the way your fingers used to curl into his like second nature.

But then one afternoon, walking out of the Tower, you crossed paths with Sam and Nat. They cracked a joke. Something harmless. You laughed weakly and when Bucky reached for your hand like he always did, you tucked it into your jacket pocket instead.

He didn’t say anything, but you felt his eyes on you the whole way home.

You started canceling plans. Dinner reservations. Movie nights. Coffee runs.

You blamed headaches. Scheduling conflicts. Steve’s old files that you “really needed to go over tonight.”

He started offering to stay in, but you turned that down too. “Go,” You’d say with a soft smile. “You should go. I’m okay, promise.”

Every time you said it, you felt like you were digging your own grave. But if you could just ease him away from you, make the distance feel natural, maybe when the worst came… it wouldn’t feel like a fall. Just a long, quiet drift.

But even that wasn’t enough. So, you had to increase the scales.

You stopped saying I love you first. And then you stopped saying it at all. That one nearly broke you.

Because he noticed. He didn’t push. Bucky never pushed when it came to your heart. But you saw it, the way he hesitated now before saying it, like he was bracing for you not to say it back.

Sometimes you said thank you instead. It sounded like goodbye.

One night, he sat down beside you in the common room, his expression unreadable, posture stiff.

“You mad at me?” He asked.

You blinked. “What? No. Of course not.”

“You’ve been pulling away.”

“I’ve been tired.”

“You’ve been lying.”

Your breath hitched. It wasn’t like him to raise his voice, but that edge was there now full of frustration, confusion, and something worse: fear.

“I’m not lying,” You whispered.

He looked at you, eyes stormy and tired. “Then tell me what’s going on. Tell me what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why are you leaving me like this?”

The silence stretched too long.

You stood up.

“I just need space, Buck.”

And that was the worst lie you’d told yet.

Because what you really meant was: I need to make this easier for you. I need you to stop loving me before it kills you.

You walked away, heart shattering in your chest. And he didn’t follow. And that night, for the first time since he’d fallen asleep beside you all those months ago, the door stayed closed.

But even after that, still– he didn’t leave.

He gave you what you asked for. Space and distance. He stopped reaching for your hand in the hallway, stopped knocking on your door at night. He didn’t press when you skipped dinner, avoided movie nights, or disappeared into empty corridors with too-bright smiles and too-late excuses.

He didn’t say I love you anymore, either.

But he looked at you like he was begging to.

Like maybe, if he stared hard enough, long enough, he could piece together what was breaking you from the inside out.

And that, more than anything, made your chest ache. Because you knew Bucky.

You knew how he loved: fiercely, stubbornly, completely. He didn’t let go unless you tore yourself from his hands.

One night, you found him alone in the common room, lit only by the dim glow of a laptop and the cold flicker of the city outside the windows. His brows were furrowed, eyes locked on the screen, and jaw clenched the way it got when something didn’t sit right in his chest.

You hadn’t meant to stop. You were supposed to pass by, to keep walking, and pretending.

But then you saw it on the screen from the search tabs. Your search history. You don’t know how he got it, if you had forgotten to log your account out from his computer, if Tony had something to do with it, or something else. But there it was:

Chronic fatigue. Joint pain. Weight loss. Dizziness. Treatment options.

A stone dropped in your stomach.

You stepped back too quickly, your heel knocking into the wall. His head snapped up, and your breath caught. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you.

Not accusing. Not angry. Just hurt, scared, and quietly desperate.

You turned and left without a word.

That night, you sat at the edge of your bed for over an hour, staring at your reflection in the dark window. Your eyes were sunken. Your skin dull. You didn’t recognize the person staring back.

You’d tried to do this gently. Quietly. Give him peace instead of grief. But it wasn’t working. It never would at this rate.

So you did the only thing left that you could control. You decided to end it: truly, finally, and brutally.

You found him the next evening in his room. He was sitting on the floor beside the bed, back against the wall, one hand curled in his lap, and the other toying absently with a photo you’d taken together months ago. A rare day off with wind in your hair and sunlight in his smile.

It made what came next even harder.

You swallowed hard. “We need to talk.”

He didn’t look up.

You stepped inside anyway. “I’ve been thinking… this isn’t working. Us. I think we should break up.”

Still no reaction. His thumb brushed the edge of the photo.

“I mean it,” You said. “You deserve someone who’s actually here. Someone who doesn’t disappear. Someone who’s not lying to you every day.”

That got his attention.

Slowly, he looked up, eyes dark and unreadable. “Then tell me what you’re lying about.”

Your heart thudded painfully. “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t what?” He asked, voice quiet. Controlled. “Don’t ask why the person I love is trying to vanish in front of me?”

“I’m not–”

“Yes, you are.” He stood now, the photo dropping to the floor between you. “You’ve been slipping away piece by piece, and you think I’m too broken to notice? You think I can’t feel it every time you shut a door between us?”

You turned your gaze away, jaw trembling.

He stepped closer, not touching you, just watching. Analyzing.

“Whatever this is… whatever you’re hiding… let me carry it with you.”

You shook your head. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll kill you,” You whispered. “Just like it’s killing me.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

His breath hitched, just once, and for a second, neither of you moved.

Bucky just stood there. Breathing. Hurting. Waiting for you to take it back. To say more. To let him in. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

If you said it out loud, if you gave it shape and voice and weight, it would become real. Too real. And you weren’t ready for the way his heart would break when he finally understood.

So instead, you took a step back. Pulled the door between you shut again. This time, for good.

“I didn’t mean that,” You said flatly, forcing your voice steady. Cold. “I’m just done.”

Bucky blinked, his expression hardening like something was folding up behind his eyes.

“You’re lying.”

You crossed your arms. “No, I’m finally being honest.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

That hit him.

He flinched like you’d struck him.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy, suffocating. You kept your face blank. You had to. If you faltered, even for a second, he’d see through you. And then all of this would be for nothing.

He took a breath. “You expect me to believe that after everything? After us?”

You shrugged. “People change.”

His jaw tensed. “Is this because I found your search history? Because I looked?”

“No,” You said. “It’s because I’m tired. Of pretending, of playing house, of being with someone who looks at me like I’m the only good thing in his world. It’s exhausting.”

He was quiet for too long. You almost hoped he’d yell, scream, demand answers, rage at you, anything.

But instead, he said quietly, “You’re trying to make me hate you.”

You didn’t respond.

“You think if I hate you, it’ll be easier.”

Still, silence.

His voice cracked just slightly when he added, “But it won’t. Because I won’t.”

You looked down at the floor, willing the sting in your eyes to go away.

“Then maybe you’re more broken than I thought.”

That one worked.

He blinked slowly, jaw tight, like you’d finally struck a nerve that bled.

A beat passed. And then he spoke, voice quiet:

“Okay.”

Just that. No plea, no begging, no last-minute desperation. Just surrender.

He stepped away from you toward the exit, as if physically pulling himself from your orbit. Then he reached for the door, paused for a heartbeat, and said without looking at you:

“If you ever decide to stop running, you know where I’ll be.”

And then he was gone.

You stood there, rooted in place, your breath stuck in your throat. You had done it. You had finally pushed him away.

So why did it feel like you’d just shattered something permanent inside yourself?

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #marvel x reader #bucky barnes fic #marvel fic #bucky x you #angst #angst fic #terminally ill #sick!reader

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