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scarletmika · 18 days ago

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Kiss Me Again : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Goddess!Reader

Summary: A crush isn't a problem, and when that crush becomes love, it's usually a good thing. For Bob, it terrifies him, because he'd managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess. Why would a Goddess choose a broken man like him?

Warnings: SO much fluff, shy Bob (I would be too), pining, age gap (inevitable when one of them is a literal Goddess), probably some very incorrect Norse Mythology but it's fanfiction people, SPOILERS kinda for Thunderbolts*, female reader description

Word Count: 4,727 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here A/N: this was an anon request and the second I read it I said "I must write this right now" and then I ran with it

PART TWO Kiss Me Forever : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“So, Winter Soldier…when you say ‘otherworldly visitor’ do you actually mean ‘otherworldly’ or is she just very…you know…beautiful in that entrancing sort of-”

“Oh my god, Alexei, when he says ‘otherworldly,’ he does mean ‘otherworldly,’ why is that so hard to understand?”

Bob was nothing short of confused throughout the entire conversation playing out before them. Bucky had called a meeting of the entire group, stating an ‘emergency,’ and gathered them all in the meeting room that Valentina had designed for staging before missions. It wasn’t a room that Bob was in often, still yet to have gone on a mission with the team as he worked to find a way to use his powers without losing control of himself, but even being in there for less than 5 minutes, he could tell why his friends hated it so much.

The A/C in the conference room was terrible, and as someone who ran hot naturally because of the ‘medical trial,’ it wasn’t doing Bob any favors in the summer heat of New York City. The table was entirely too large for the small team, judging by the way that Bucky had to practically shout down the table to where Alexei sat at the head of it, claiming it was the best seat and the most important. All in all, Bob hated it, though there was a lot about the newly renovated tower that everyone hated, given it had all been Valentina’s design work.

“Look, can we forget about the ‘otherwordly’ comment for two seconds? If either of you says it again, I may just carve out my own eardrums,” Yelena made a show of holding her freshly sharpened knife to her ear, giving Ava and her father a blank look, before turning her attention back to Bucky. “Wherever she may or may not be from…why exactly have you invited some woman to the tower?”

“To train him,”

Bob’s head shot up when it got quiet in the room, realizing that Bucky’s finger was jabbed in his direction, and all eyes were on him. His own eyes went wide, and he himself thought they might fall out of his head, as he pointed at himself.

“T-train…me?”

“You said you were ready to begin learning to fight, that you had a pretty good grasp on the…other sides of you,” Bucky explained as Bob shifted uncomfortably at even the mention of the other parts of him he wished to keep locked away. “There are three super soldiers in this room, and we all got our asses handed to us by you months ago in this very tower. Trust me, if anyone can train you and keep up, it’s her.”

The team gave one another skeptical glances, turning to Bob who looked just as confused. Yelena hung her head, rubbing at the sockets of her eyes with the palms of her hands as she turned back to Bucky.

“And who in the hell could possibly be strong enough for that?”

“...the Goddess of Strategy-”

“EXCUSE ME?”

The room erupted into absolute chaos as Bucky uttered those three simple words, hanging his head with a groan that resounded through the room as the team yelled over one another, their words impossible to decipher.

Bob, on the other hand, was frozen. He’d kept himself entertained in the attic of his childhood home with many, many books on Norse Mythology stolen from the local library. He’d grown up reading the myths of Thor, Loki, and the likes, only to learn years later that those gods were, in fact, real.

Yeah, Bob knew exactly who you were. He couldn’t decide if the flush quickly crawling across his skin was due to the yelling in the room or because he’d harbored a crush on you, his favorite Avenger, since he was a literal child.

“If you think Valentina will allow this-”

“When have I ever cared what Val thinks-”

“Are we glossing over the Goddess aspect of this-?”

“Please, she could probably break little Bobby in half with a look-”

“FRIENDS, MY WONDERFUL TEAM, LOWER YOUR VOICES!” it was a very contradictory statement for Alexei to be shouting, standing on top of the rolling chair at the conference table, which the entire team was shocked wasn’t buckling under the pressure. It did the trick, though, the ceaseless arguing and shouting coming to an end as everyone looked to the older man expectantly. “I trust the Winter Soldier’s judgement, but this old Russian only has one question…who is this Goddess?”

These days, Yelena seemed to always be groaning around her father and anything he said, and this was no different. She muttered something in Russian under her breath, which most of the team by now had come to learn meant something along the lines of “shut him up before I do.” Bucky attempted to do just that.

“She’s-”

“Thor and Loki’s sister, daughter of Frigga and Odin. Goddess of Strategy, has a sword formed at Nidavellir that she’s- she’s kind of deadly with, but it’s really cool because it can summon the Bifrost. She was uh, trained in sorcery by Frigga, was an Avenger…” Bob hadn’t even realized that he’d gone on a tangent, interrupting Bucky and info-dumping everything he could about the myth that was you before his brain could stop him. He could see Yelena’s smile quirk up into a smirk as that red flush he’d already had deepened as he realized what he’d just done. “I just uh, I-I think I must’ve- I read that somewhere…once…a long time ago. A really-really long time ago.”

There was quiet in the room for a moment before Walker laughed, slamming his hand down on the table as he gestured between Bucky and Bob.

“Nice one, Barnes! Seems the student has a big ‘ole crush on the teacher you found for him!”

If the blush on his cheeks could get worse, it did. Bob avoided making eye contact with anyone at the table, gaze entirely focused on his hands as he wrung them together in his lap.

“Alright, lay off. Fact of the matter is, Bob needs a teacher that’s not easily breakable, and she’s the best of the best,” Bucky side-eyed Bob for a second, catching his eyes for just a brief moment. “I sent a message to New Asgard, they got it to her, and she said she’d do it. So bury your crushes, get your teasing out now, because she’s arriving tomorrow and I’d like if we could act like the Avengers and not the Avengerz for once. This woman did save the world…multiple times.”

Bob tried to do just that, he really did. There was endless teasing from John the rest of the day, and while Ava and Yelena didn’t directly contribute, they didn’t try to stop John’s comments either. Bob did his best to ignore them and brush them off, too busy giving himself a pep talk all day that he could do this. It was a harmless crush on a literal Goddess he’d had for years; it was nothing. He was an Avenger now, he could do this.

His pep talk had been great the night before. But it couldn’t prepare him for the moment you actually arrived at the tower in a stream of color.

The Bifrost was a sight in itself, but seeing it before your own eyes, as Ava muttered under her breath, was like its own separate wonder of the world.

The stream of colors dissipated before their eyes, leaving that same etched pattern it always did into the helicopter landing pad of the Tower they now called home. A conversation that it was decided Bucky would get to have with Valentina. When the colors were gone, you were left standing in the Bifrost’s place.

Bob hadn’t prepared himself for what it would be like to see you in person. Somehow, you were prettier than he even thought was possible.

The Asgardian armor you’d donned for years was still shiny, the light of the sun reflecting off of it. It was almost an exact copy of Thor’s own armor, though entirely blue and gold, billowing blue cape hanging from your shoulders, flowing in the wind of the city. Bob could see Styrkr, your sword, sheathed across your back, glinting in the sun as you stalked toward the group, a smirk that Bob thought could rival the sun itself on your lips.

You were beautiful. Gorgeous. Ethereal. There was no shortage of words that Bob could use to describe you in that moment as you stopped in front of Bucky.

“Well, Barnes…you look better than you did years ago, that’s for sure,”

Even your voice had the flutter in Bob’s stomach threatening to eat him alive from the inside out.

Bucky laughed, quickly pulling you into a hug that you eagerly reciprocated.

“I’d make a comment about how you haven’t aged a day, but I don’t think I need to point out the obvious,”

“Isn’t the longevity of Asgardians so fun?” you both shared another laugh, Bucky’s arm thrown over your shoulders as he seemed to give you an affectionate squeeze, a history of fighting and the semblance of a friendship clear between the pair of you. Your gaze drifted over the team beside him. “So…this is the New Avengers, huh? Still weird that you’re living in the tower I once called home.”

Bucky was quick to introduce the team to you. Yelena and Ava were nothing but respectful, while John still seemed to carry that ‘entitled arrogance’ as Ava typically called it in his greeting to you. Alexei had the entire team wishing that he just…knew how to be normal, for once. Loud, boisterous, but it brought a smile to your face nonetheless.

“I’ve got to say, you remind me a bit of Volstagg and Fandral if we mixed them into one person. I think you would’ve gotten along well with them,” the comment seemed to make Alexei surge with pride, even as he leaned over to his daughter and asked loudly ‘who the hell were those people.’ It was when your gaze finally made it to Bob that he felt his heart was going to stop. “So…that means you must be my indestructible, ‘power of a thousand exploding suns’ student.”

All eyes were on Bob in that moment, and he was struggling…hard. He tried to speak, to remind himself of his pep talk from last night and to portray confidence, but he was a stumbling mess of words.

“I uh, I’m-I’m Bob. That’s uh, that’s me…exploding suns and s-stuff. I’m the n-new student…yay. And I-I know who you are…b-big Norse Mythology fan…”

Bob could hear the snickers of his teammates, not entirely subtle about them, and could see the grimace on Bucky’s face. But not you.

Your smirk had softened into the sweetest smile. Your head had cocked to the side, eyes almost the tiniest bit brighter as they trailed his form up and down, and Bob could feel the sweat forming as he tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt, knowing you seemed to be assessing him.

“Bucky…you failed to warn me how cute my student was,” Bob’s breath had caught in his throat as you sent him a wink. “You know what they say…it’s always the quiet ones.”

You were going to be the death of him, Bob had decided in that moment.

You requested to spend that first day alone with Bob in the training room of the tower, gauging his comfort level in any form of fighting in the slightest. The team respected that, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t all found reasons to take turns walking past the training facilities in hopes of eavesdropping on conversations and catching glimpses of this training that they all thought was going to end terribly.

Bob’s eyes were locked on you as you removed the heavy armor plating you wore, laying it out on one of the benches until you were left in the form-fitting undershirt and pants that sat below your armor. Yeah, this was going to be absolute torture for him.

“Do you want to see it?”

Shaking himself out of the stupor that Bob seemed to put himself in, his eyes went wide as they focused back on your face. He was confused until he glanced at your hands, seeing that you were holding your sword, Strykr, out toward him.

“O-Oh! Oh uh, I don’t know-”

“She doesn’t bite,” you joked with a slight laugh, taking a step toward him and holding it out. “You said you liked Norse Mythology, so I figured you’d want to take a look at it before we get started.”

You were right, but Bob didn’t need to say that. With a shaky hand, he reached out and took the sword in his own hands, and he could almost feel the power flow through him just from holding it.

It was heavy, but not too heavy, a strange lightweightedness to it while still feeling like it took godly strength to swing. He realized, holding it up close, that the sun glinting off of it wasn’t what he’d seen earlier on the helicopter pad. The sword itself had a faint glow to it, almost pulsing, a power he could only assume came from the fact that it was forged in the heart of a dying star.

“It’s beautiful…” Bob managed to say without stuttering through it, probably because he hadn’t taken his eyes off the sword as he adjusted his grip on the hilt. “It ’s-it’s almost like-”

He hadn’t realized how fast he’d swung it, unused to the lightweight feel of the sword that was, most definitely, heavier than it looked. Your hand caught the blade easily, not even flinching, as it swung toward you, simply eyeing him with a curious look and a genuine smile.

“Well…never seen that before,”

“I-I’m sorry!” Bob dropped the hilt immediately, sure his cheeks were going to be permanently flushed red after spending time with you. You’d only let out a light laugh, catching the hilt easily, swinging it quickly in your hand before placing it down next to your armor. “I didn’t mean to! It’s just so…it’s so l-light.”

“It’s actually not. For most normal people, even for super soldiers like Bucky, it’s quite heavy,” you replied with a smirk as you rose back up to your feet. “Guess that��s a better explanation for your strength level than the bullshit ‘power of a thousand exploding suns’ shit Valentina came up with.”

Bob laughed lightly, wringing his hands together as his eyes followed you. Taking your place across the sparring mat from him, ten feet between you both, you stood ready for a sparring session. Bob…he stood as if he was in fight or flight mode.

“So…uh, how d-do we do this?”

“Depends. Bucky says when it comes to training you…don’t have much,” Bob nodded at your comment, watching as you tilted your head curiously. “You want to take it slow, or you want me to throw you in the deep end?”

“Uh…w-what’s the deep end entail?”

Bob had barely finished his sentence when your hands flicked, tendrils of navy blue magic wrapping around his waist and tugging him across the mat in your direction. A gasp left Bob involuntarily at the motion as the magic dissipated, leaving him barely on his feet in front of you. A single swipe of your leg had him plummeting to the ground on his back, landing with an ‘oof’ as your foot came to rest on his chest, barely pressing him into the mat.

“Y-you…” Bob was speechless, staring wide-eyed up at you as you simply smirked down at him. “T-that’s cheating!”

“No, that’s called the deep end,” you laughed wholeheartedly, reaching down to take his hand and tug him back to his feet, and he knew you didn’t miss that now signature red flush on his cheeks. “And that is why we’re going to start slow.”

“...why’d y-you even offer the deep end, then?”

“Girl’s gotta have some fun from time to time. Come on, let’s start with basic stances,”

Those training sessions started as once a week, before quickly evolving into twice a week, and before the team knew it, you essentially lived in that tower once again, there all day, every day. None of them minded, loving the stories you’d tell them over dinners of your adventures with your brothers when you were young, of the pranks that Loki enjoyed playing on Thor but never played on you, and even stories of everything that had once happened in the very tower the team now called their home. The more you were around, though, the more the rest of the team managed to find a way to tease him relentlessly when you weren’t in the room over his ‘obvious’ little crush.

Those moments of domesticity around you were what Bob loved the most, especially when it somehow managed to just be the two of you.

For weeks, even when you began to visit more and more often, the pair of you sparred together for hours, and that was the end of it. Bob, though, remembered the day it changed like it was yesterday. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forget it. The rest of the team had been sent out on a mission by Valentina, but you’d still promised you’d have your usual training session that day, even without them lurking around.

You’d thrown a punch that Bob managed to quickly dodge, even if he stumbled slightly on his feet afterward. Thinking of everything you’d been teaching him, Bob managed to steady himself, lock his feet into position, and throw a punch back at your ribcage. It connected, even though you hadn’t even flinched. You’d spun away from him, circling him with a smile on your face.

“Good! Next time, though, actually hit me,” Bob’s eyes widened, realizing what you were saying. You’d been trying to get him comfortable with his own super strength for weeks now, and that was the one thing he was still struggling with. “You have it, so use it. Don’t let it use you. Focus on it, channel it, and use it. You can do this, Bob. Don’t think, just do.”

Bob closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back on everything you’d been teaching him. Being the Sentry meant potentially letting that dark side of him overtake him, so he’d blocked off the Sentry. He’d blocked out his own powers, but he couldn’t. He had to accept that the Sentry and the Void were parts of him, and he didn’t need to be them in order to channel their strengths. He just had to be Bob, and when you were the one teaching him that, he seemed to understand it.

You charged forward, and he could see the magic encasing your fist as you threw a punch. Bob managed to duck, switching places with you. Your smirk quirked up as your leg came flying up at super speed. With a deep breath, Bob’s hand managed to catch it, not missing the way your eyebrows shot up. He threw your leg back to the ground, taking in a sharp breath as he thought about everything you’d taught him, and threw a punch toward your ribs, this time channeling the power surging through his veins that he tried so hard to block out in fear of losing control.

A gasp left your lips the second his fist connected, your body dropping to the ground as you fell on your knees, hand immediately holding onto your side. Any confidence surging through Bob in that moment dissipated in a second, and panic overtook him.

“O-Oh my god! I’m s-so sorry. I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have done that, I-I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

You laughed, and that laugh was enough to stop Bob’s incessant rambling of apologies. His gaze met yours as you looked up at him, and there wasn’t a trace of malice in it. There was pride, and something else buried beneath it that had the constant fluttering of his heart beating erratically once again.

“That, Bob, was perfect. Now…you want to get dinner together?”

From that day on, many of those days in the tower didn’t even consist of training.

You’d introduced Bob to the shawarma restaurant in downtown Tony had dragged you all to all those years ago, watching as Bob fell in love with the food. That became a typical Thursday outing for you both for lunch. In that time, simple walks around Central Park became more common than not. Bob enjoyed the peacefulness of the park, the contrast it had to the bustling city around it, and he found tranquility in walking through it. He didn’t leave the tower much, terrified of losing control, but when you were with him, he felt like he could do anything.

Moments in the tower with you were still his favorite. He could listen to you for hours on end, and he had, as you walked with him through the tower and told him stories upon stories from your years spent here with the people you’d called family for so long. There was a story for almost every room. And eventually, when those days turned into you crashing in one of the spare bedrooms Valentina had set up in the tower for the night, you’d both found yourself watching movies in the common room until the early hours of the morning before Bob’s insomnia would let him sleep, even if the others weren’t joining you.

The team had noticed. It was hard not to. The Bob they’d known, the one who often shied away from long conversations with them but could still throw out a snarky remark, had grown more comfortable. He’d left his shell, but only around you.

“Did you anticipate this?” Yelena questioned Bucky one day, who was comfortably sitting at the island counter of the tower’s kitchen. He’d followed her gaze to the common room, seeing you laughing on the couch at something Bob had said while yet another movie droned on in the background.

“To this extent? No,” Bucky shook his head, before glancing back at Yelena with a smug smirk. “But I hoped it might go this route. I’m taking credit for it.”

Yelena found herself watching you both again, and Bucky followed her gaze.

“Do you think she likes him…like that?”

The super soldier pondered it for a moment, but there was no mistaking it. Not with the way you smiled at Bob, no matter what he was saying, that glint in your eyes. He knew you well enough to know it was written clearly across your face.

“Yeah…she’s not very subtle. Then again, if you’ve met her brother, neither is he. She looks at him like Steve looked at Peggy, and that’s all I have to know,”

Bob was in deep, and he knew it. That crush he’d harbored was long gone.

He was in love, and god was it terrifying. To fall in love in general was a scary thing. Bob had lost enough in life; falling in love just meant there was another thing in his life he could lose. It complicates everything more when he’d gone and managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess.

It had been months of training, but something in the air this time was different. Bob couldn’t focus, couldn’t pull his eyes from you, and you seemed to know it. Every time you turned away, his eyes locked on you, but you always managed to glance back and catch him with a small smile.

His head felt fuzzy, that flutter still in his heart when he looked at you, and paired with that weightless feeling in his stomach, he knew being around you would never be easy again from this day forth. He was so mesmerized by the simple idea and sight of you he almost didn’t see your smirk as you entered fighting position, ready to spar again.

You were on him in seconds, this time with a knife in your hands. Both of you knew it couldn’t hurt him, but he also knew even if it could, you never would hurt him with it.

Bob sidestepped, but his mind was blank, the simple scent of your perfume sending him over the edge as he lost his entire train of thought. You’d taken advantage of the opportunity, knocking him down to his back on the ground.

What he hadn’t expected was for you to staddle him, knife pointed directly at his neck as you smirked down at him and the wonder written across his face.

“I win…”

Bob’s breath was caught in his throat, he didn’t know what to do. But you seemed to have him exactly where you wanted him. Your smirk shifted, a soft smile replacing it, as your hand rested gently on his chest, over the undershirt he wore to these sparring sessions. He knew you could finally feel the erratic beating of his heart reserved just for you.

“I’ve been teaching you for months now to fight. To be confident,” your voice came out in a whisper, and there was nothing for adoration laced through it. “I’ve spent enough time with you, Bob, I know you. So be confident…and tell me the truth about your racing heart.”

Maybe it was the way you always had a way of calming him, or maybe it was the training you’d been giving him for months, but something clicked in Bob. He sat up, leaning back on his hands until he was completely sitting straight up on the sparring mat, you still perched in his lap. A tentative hand came up to your waist, lying on it, and squeezing it gently. Your hands followed suit, running up his arms until they rested around his neck.

“You…” Bob tried to find the words, but his nerves were clear in his voice. “Y-you make me nervous.”

You hummed, hands finding the hair that curled at the nape of his neck.

“In a good way, or a bad way?”

“G-Good way,” he’d managed to get out, leaning is head back into your touch. “Good but…but scary.”

“Why?”

“B-because loving you means…I c-could lose you,” once the words started flowing out of him, they couldn’t stop. He’d held it inside for weeks now, and the weight on his shoulders was finally lifting off him with everything he said. “And I’ve lost enough. I…I don’t want to think a-about losing you, about you…not feeling the same way.”

You cocked your head at that, one hand trailing to his jaw as you caressed it beneath your fingers.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“B-because why would a Goddess…want a broken man like me?”

He could see it clearly, the sadness that seemed to flood your gaze at his words. You opened your mouth as if to speak again, before shutting it in a moment of contemplation.

Then, you’d surged forward and kissed him.

Bob’s heart could barely be contained in his ribcage the second your lips met his, and he pressed back with a surge of confidence that only you could give him. But it was a kiss that held so much more in it than what someone on the outside might see.

Your magic was woven into the kiss, into the feeling of your lips against his, and he could feel it. He could feel your emotions, your memories, flashing before him in every move of your lips against his. From the moment you’d stepped out of the Bifrost and looked at him, he could feel the twin flutter he’d had that had moved through you. The affection, the adoration, the love that poured off of you in every moment, from Central Park to movies on the common room couch.

Feelings that he believed could never be reciprocated, not for a man like him. Your magic-infused kiss told him the entire story of how you fell for him, just like he fell for you. There was no denying it.

Your lips parted from his, but they didn’t stray far. The space that hung between them was non-existent, and your lips brushed over his faintly with every word you spoke to him in a hush.

“Do you believe me now?”

“I…I don’t know. Y-you…you might need to kiss me again.”

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heathermason6060 · 7 months ago

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Rick Grimes x F!Reader x Daryl Dixon Smut: And There was only One Bed

Warnings/Mentions: Smut, unprotected sex, jealous Rick, awkward inexperienced Daryl, dry humping, spooning sex, oral, handjobs (Daryl receiving), staying quiet/fear of being caught, Daryl pretending to be asleep

Summary: Rick, Daryl, and reader get caught out on a storm and take shelter in a small cabin. They're stuck there for the night, and you'll never guess what happens next. THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED

Notes: God this is so hot I don't care that the morals are questionable!!!! I need it more than anything I've ever needed before thank you for requesting anon

Being squished between a snoring Daryl and Rick's hard-on was not how you imagined your night going when you set out that morning.

It was supposed to be a cut and dry intel run. Scope out the new group nearby, learn a few things, maybe grab some supplies on your way back, but no, it's never that easy.

First off, you couldn't find the group. Aaron claimed they were composed of maybe forty people living in the nearby school, but the place was quiet when you'd checked it out.

Then, Rick's truck broke down. Dead battery. Daryl set out looking for one with enough juice to get you home when the first signs of a storm rolled in. Angry dark clouds and cold fat raindrops.

The only place nearby in walking distance was down a long gravel road. It was the smallest, but also the cutest, cabin you'd ever laid eyes on. It only had three rooms, one bedroom with a bathroom, and a large open living area that held a tiny kitchen and a couch with a fireplace.

“Get those windows boarded up.”

Rick was quick to spew out commands after the three of you busted through the front door, all wet and shivering. The wind was so strong it slammed the door closed behind you, blowing the curtains and causing stray paper to fly off their tables.

“Can't!” Daryl shouted. He stood behind you shielding his face from the rain shooting through the broken windows.

That's how you ended up in the bedroom. You sat shivering on the foot of the bed as Rick went through the dresser, looking for clothes to replace the soaking fabric you all wore.

Daryl slid the bedroom vanity in front of the door. He even went as far as to set the armchair on top of it.

“Can we just wait it out?” Your teeth clattered together as Rick tossed you a towel from the closet. You ruffled it in your hair and watched Daryl.

He was standing in front of the only window in the room, his arms crossed and his thumbnail between his teeth.

“Yeah, should ease up soon.” Rick sat on the bed opposite from you, drying his arms and hair with his own towel.

“Naw.” Daryl muttered. He finally turned away from the window and began drying himself. “Gonna be a few hours, at least.”

You furrowed your brows, looking down in your lap. This was quite the predicament. Stuck in a bedroom with two men, one you barely knew and were pretty sure hated you.

The other… Well, you weren't sure what Rick was to you.

Daryl wasn't right, but he wasn't wrong either. The storm did continue for a few hours, but it also didn't show any signs of stopping.

You glanced down at your watch and felt your heart drop. It was seven pm, and the sun would be setting very soon. Not that you could see much outside anyways, the clouds were thick and covered a majority of the sky.

Your voice broke the long streak of silence.

“Are we gonna have to stay here tonight?”

Rick and Daryl had known the answer to that question two hours prior. Neither of them wanted to be the ones to say it, but their lack of direct answers filled you in enough. Rick looked down at his revolver and Daryl continued staring out the window.

“Fuck.” You groaned, sitting back down on the bed. “I promised Maggie we'd watch season two of True Blood tonight.”

“That dog fucker show?” Daryl muttered around his cigarette. He was leaning against the wall next to the window, legs crossed at the ankles, cleaning under his nails with the blade of his knife.

“No Daryl, there's no dog fucking.” You sighed and he just mumbled in response, not looking up from his fingers.

Rick had made himself busy trying to prepare the room for the night.

He'd found a few hurricane lanterns and set two up on the bedside tables, and began anxiously ‘cleaning’. The room only had the bed, dresser, and bedside tables, so there wasn't much he could do besides look in the same drawers over and over.

At some point he went into the small bathroom and shut the door. He stayed there for a couple minutes, doing god knows what.

There were a few clothing items left by the previous owners. Daryl and Rick got some raggedy sweatpants, shirts full of holes that were a little too small for them. You were stuck with a massive piss yellow sweater and the ugliest pair of basketball shorts.

Anything was better than your soaking rags.

The storm had eased up a bit, but that didn't do much in terms of easing your boredom. The sun had long since set, your watch read ten-thirty, and neither man was very talkative.

“I'll take first watch.” Daryl was the first to speak in a while.

“No. I'll do it.” Rick protested. He'd been cleaning his revolver for the last thirty minutes. “I can't sleep anyway.”

“Yeah, well. Neither can I.”

You'd found a box of random items under the bed and had been looking through them while they bickered. A dead Gameboy, random PlayStation controllers, a few comic books, pieces to Monopoly, and an array of broken crayons. There was a pen and a notepad though, so you started drawing a caricature of Daryl.

Angry eyebrows, a cigarette that was half his height in his frowning mouth, and a speech bubble filled with hash tags for explicatives.

“Hey.” You nudged Rick's knee with your elbow. He sat on the bed above where you were, cross-legged on the floor next to your box of bullshit.

He looked down at the paper you showed him, and for the first time that day you saw his lips twitching up into a smirk. His eyes trailed over the paper and he grabbed it from you, bringing it up closer to his face.

“Is that Daryl?” He questioned, and you nodded, a grin splitting across your face.

“That's good.” Rick nodded, shrugging his mouth. “You got a real talent. Looks just like him.”

Daryl was too bored to hide his interest, so he stood from his spot under the bedroom window and walked over to you. He grabbed the notepad from Rick, and you could see his eyes narrowing as he tried to make out your scribbles in the dim lighting.

“Yeah?” Daryl looked up when he heard the two of you stifling giggles and laughter. “Think that's funny? Gimme that.” He snatched the pen from your hands and flipped the page, sitting down on the dresser and scribbling furiously.

The pad was tossed in your lap a minute later. Your eyes widened on the drawing.

It was obviously you. You had on the same sweater, but it went down to your feet instead of your knees, and you were standing beside a cat. The only problem was, the cat was three times taller than you, and you had the ugliest expression on your face. Your mouth hung open and you were nagging the cat about scratching up the furniture. It was based on a scenario that had happened the day before, with your cat back home, Daisy, who you had caught shredding the living room couch.

“Dude, what am I? Two inches tall?” You laughed, handing the paper to Rick. He covered his mouth to hide the smile, but you saw it through his fingers and stood to give him a shove.

“Right, sorry. Drew ya too big. Hold on.” Daryl came over and drew a new stick figure of you so small that it was the size of a real ant.

“Ooookay, fuck you.”

Daryl dogged the small notepad you'd tossed at his face, and started laughing. Actually laughing. Your smile grew softer as he and Rick began to joke. It had been a while since you'd seen either of them behave in such a lighthearted manner. It made the bare bedroom seem not so cold.

Eventually the curtains were drawn and the lanterns dimmed considerably. You'd claimed the only spot on the bed that wasn't lumpy or sunken, which just so happened to be the middle.

No other reason, promise.

For the sake of his joints, Daryl had given up trying to sit on the hard floor and joined you on the bed, claiming the side closest to the window. He'd made sure to put distance between you, so much so that he was nearly hanging off the edge.

Rick had a little more resolve than the other man and stood by the window for a bit, occasionally peeking out the heavy curtains to see the same amount of darkness as before.

“Thank god you showered this morning.” Rick grunted as he sat down on your left, knocking his boots together before he brought his legs up on the bed.

“Me?” You blurted immediately, already feeling the tiniest but of anxiety, Rick never teased you like that. He saved that for the men.

He gave a toothy grin and shook his head. “No. Him.” He pointed over your body to Daryl, who was smoking his third cigarette of the night. “Carol made him take his monthly shower after he came home covered in coyote blood.”

You giggled, glancing over at Daryl.

“Yeah. Laugh it up.” Daryl took a deep drag.

You kicked off your shoes and sat upright, taking off those god awful shorts while the two men continued to playfully insult each other.

Rick caught himself going quiet when he saw you pulling the shorts down your thighs, his mouth drying at the sight. Daryl quickly shot him a look, dragging his attention away from your now bare legs and back onto him.

You didn't notice a thing, but you wished you had. Maybe you'd have started grinding against him earlier that night.

You were the first to fall asleep, to no one's surprise. There were little things that you loved more in life than sleeping.

Curled up underneath the sheets that you'd checked twenty times for bugs, sleep came quick and easy for you.

The sweater you were wearing had become incredibly uncomfortable so you swapped it for Rick's hole ridden T-shirt, leaving him shirtless. The image of his bare chest and the muscles in his back almost gave you enough adrenaline to stay up the entire night, but Daryl's soft breathing and Rick's body heat beside you tugged you unconscious.

Rick was next to give in, he'd kicked his boots off and climbed under the sheets with you, not before sliding a pillow between your bodies, more for your consideration than his modesty. He didn't give a shit, but he was worried you might.

Daryl was last, and by complete accident. He'd meant to take the first watch but the sounds of rain on the roof, gentle thunder outside, and your soft breathing beside him had him out like a light.

Two hours went by before something woke Rick up. The feeling of pressure against his crotch.

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times in a struggle to see, but the room was too dark to immediately recognize his surroundings.

Once he remembered where he was he relaxed. He closed his eyes again and almost fell back to sleep when he felt it.

A gentle nudge of something soft and plush against him, something that made him well aware of the situation in his sweatpants. He was painfully erect.

His eyes opened again, but the room was no easier to see in. He could still hear the sounds of quiet rain and wind, and the new sound of Daryl's soft snoring.

Then you whimpered.

It was quiet, barely audible, and whiny. You were squirming in your sleep, the pillow between the two of you now between your knees, separating them to prevent the annoying feeling of bone on bone.

Your ass moved back against him again. He pulled his hips back, his dick immediately complaining about the loss of contact with a slight twitch. He clenched his teeth together and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall back asleep.

Think about cold showers. You're taking a cold shower, he thought, taking deep breaths. Cold cold shower. She's in a cold shower--- raw potatoes, grub worms, rotten walker flesh, her flesh, her ass is only a few inches away, snug in those cute boyshort underwear-

Daryl let out a sudden louder snort, startling Rick out of his thoughts. His eyes snapped open, only closing once he heard the earlier gentle snores return.

Your movements stilled and he was able to sleep once again, not without an iron will mindset.

You weren't sure how long you'd been sleeping when you woke up. You checked your watch, seeing the green glowing hands pointed at the twelve and nine.

It was only twelve forty-five.

You sighed.

The room had grown colder as the night went on, cold air seeping through the thin cracks in the walls and floorboards.

As a result of said colder temperature, Daryl had moved closer to you, be that in his sleep or on purpose, you didn't know. All you knew was he was there on your right side, his bicep warm and pressed against your upper chest.

Rick had also moved closer. So close, in fact, that his hand was on your waist, resting there like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Your heart sped up when you realized this, and when he pulled you closer in his sleep you almost gasped.

He was hard.

Like, really hard.

You could feel it behind his sweatpants pressed right into your ass. His breathing was slow and deep, letting you know that he was definitely asleep, not that the knowledge did much to stop the arousal filling your chest.

You couldn't stop the whimper that sounded deep in your throat. Daryl's snoring covered it, or you thought it did. Rick stirred behind you and you heard the sound of him sniffing sleepily.

He had to be awake, you were sure of it. His breathing had become quiet, much different than the sounds of someone who was deep in sleep. He made no move to pull his hand away from your hip, confusing you even further.

Maybe he wasn't awake.

A lightbulb went off. You wiggled your hips, very slightly, only a few millimeters side to side. It was enough to gain a reaction from him, which let you know that he was definitely awake.

Rick's grip tightened on your hip.

Then he pushed into you.

There was nothing you could've done to prepare yourself for that kind of response. You sucked in a breath and felt your pussy throb. It was such a faint and quick movement, but you could vividly feel the shape of his dick pressing against your ass.

You heard movement behind you, the sound of his stubble scraping across his pillow as he moved his lips to your ear, speaking barely above a whisper.

“Stay still.”

Your eyes flicked to Daryls face.

You could barely see the outline of his head illuminated in moonlight thanks to the parting clouds. His nose pointed up at the ceiling, his lips parted as he breathed.

A wave of heat traveled through your body, starting in your chest and shooting down to your core. You felt that flipping sensation in your lower stomach and you whimpered again, rubbing your thighs together.

Rick inhaled deeply through his nose at the action. His hand shifted upwards, moving over your hip and splaying over the curve of your waist. He could feel you pressed against him, even if you weren't moving, and it made him groan faintly.

The sound of him groaning sent another spark through your core. You couldn't help it, you arched your back just enough to feel friction. You were too weak willed.

“Sweetheart.” He breathed, his forehead resting against the back of your hair to try and steady himself. “You gotta stop, please.”

He hated how desperate and wrecked the whispered words came from his lips. Hated how his dick was aching in his boxer briefs.

Hated how he was just as weak willed as you, his hips moving forward in a way that betrayed his words and stomped them in the mud.

You couldn't understand why you were so unbearably aroused. You weren't a teenager going through puberty. You've had partners.

Sure, you had a little admiration-fueled crush on the two men, but the way your body was behaving was animalistic. Your heart felt like it was going to burst through your chest and your pussy was soaked.

If only you had your vibrator that was back in Alexandria, you'd orgasm in five seconds, you knew that for a fucking fact.

Daryl muttered a nonsensical sentence in his sleep, his head lolling over in the direction of the window. His right arm rose to lay over his chest, and his left leg spread out in your direction.

His knee bumped against the top of your thighs, almost slipping between them.

You could've screamed.

You tried to stay still, really, you did. But the feeling of Rick pushing against you again, Daryl's knee nudging between your thighs, it was impossible. You moved your hips, intending on just pushing back against Rick but your action also succeeded in grinding down right on Daryl's knee.

Rick could feel resistance in your movement but his mind couldn't focus on anything but the feel of your plush ass pressing against his dick.

His blood ran cold at the sound of Daryl mumbling in his sleep again. He held his breath, waiting with baited breath to see if he'd stir awake.

Relief flooded his body after a moment of silence, and he pressed his face back into your hair. There was still a faint smell of shampoo or conditioner despite the earlier rain. The feminine smell made his dick twitch and he flexed his jaw.

You were caught between excitement and horror. Daryl's knee was wedged right between your thighs, and occasionally it would jerk up against you. Each time it would make you fight away a gasp, and make your clit throb.

Daryl was definitely asleep, right? If he woke up he'd roll over on his side, right? There was no way he was awake, pushing his knee right up against your pussy, right?

You reached down to grab Rick's hand, which was still resting against your waist, gripping onto his fingers for support. His fingers curled around your own and sent butterflies in your stomach at the feeling of comfort.

He hated himself for all of it, but in the moment, he felt like he didn't care. His hips rocked against yours, once, twice, the need to get relief clouding all judgment he was capable of having.

You couldn't help yourself either. Your eyes fluttered shut and you rolled your hips, soft and slow, against Rick's bulge and Daryl's knee. You'd tried several times to push it away, wiggle back further into Rick, but it was like there was a goddamn super magnet attached to your clit and his knee cap.

You bit down hard against your lip, trying to keep your voice from escaping. Everything felt so good, Rick dry humping his heart out, your clit buzzing, it all felt so overwhelmingly amazing that you hadn't even noticed Daryl's snoring was no longer present.

In the end, it wasn't enough, Rick was being too cautious. You needed more, just a little bit. You pushed back hard against him and heard his breath hitch in his throat. His hand gripped yours so tight it almost hurt, and he leaned into your ear.

“Movin’ too much. Stop.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. You shook your head, your lip trembling between your teeth.

“Can't.” You breathed. You physically couldn't stop, you knew that and Rick knew that. You were both so close to relief, you'd already gotten this far, there was no point in stopping now. No going back.

Rick swallowed hard as he felt his resolve break at the way you and your body pleaded. It was all he needed. His hips moved a bit faster, a bit rougher. His hand left yours and grabbed the string of his sweatpants, fingertips pinching the ends, hesitating only for a second before he pulled.

Time seemed to literally freeze when you felt him digging his cock out behind you. Your heart stopped, your breathing stopped, and so did the grinding of your pelvis. You couldn't think. It was suddenly all too very real.

You didn't expect Rick to do something like this. The dry humping, sure. He was horny and it wasn't really that big of a deal. But this? Tugging down your underwear? Spitting on his hand and stroking his dick to get it wet for you? It felt like a dream and way too terrifying at the same time.

“Sweetheart…” His hot breath against your ear snapped you back to reality. “You… you gotta be quiet, okay? Promise?”

You'd never nodded so quickly and eagerly in your life. Your heart felt like it was literally up in your throat. The tight knot in your core became more and more taut, and it trembled when you felt the hot tip of his wet dick bump between your folds.

Rick nearly came when he felt how wet you were. It was mind blowing, you were fucking soaked. The hot lube was covering your pussy and trailing down the side of your ass, reaching his hip bone.

You inhaled deeply when you felt him start to push in. You'd think with how wet you were it would be easy, but your muscles were wound tight due to the nearly paralyzing fear of possibly waking Daryl.

There was a bit of self disgust when you felt the weight of reality sinking in. The absolute pathetic degeneracy of what you were doing with Daryl right next to you.

That self disgust faded when Rick pushed into you.

Rick swallowed a groan as his cock dug up into you, your walls hot and soft and squeezing the life out of him. He could feel how nervous you were so he slipped an arm over your side, his hand reaching for your own again.

You moaned.

His hand broke from your grip and clamped over your mouth. Neither of you moved for a solid minute.

It was the longest minute in history. You could feel his dick twitching inside of you, your clit throbbing so hard you thought it was going to have its own little heart attack.

Your thighs absentmindedly squeezed against Daryl's knee, and you were sure you'd start crying.

Finally, Rick began moving. His breathing was growing heavy behind your head, his face burying back into the mess of hair in front of him.

His movements were slow at first. Tantalizingly slow. He waited until he was sure you could stay quiet before picking up the pace.

Your eyes had adjusted a fair amount in the darkness. You looked up to Daryl, finding comfort when you saw his eyes were still closed, but he'd stopped snoring long ago.

You dismissed it and grabbed onto the wrist of the hand covering your mouth, gripping tight for support.

Your right hand slipped under the sheets to rest on your thigh, but instead landed on Daryl's lower thigh. He must've been a very heavy sleeper, because he didn't react to it beyond the muscles tensing under your palm.

The sound that escaped Rick's lips had your eyes rolling back into your head. A trembling whimper. His movements grew quicker and deeper, his dick dragging your walls against him, pulling out every drop of arousal he could and thrusting it back in.

Your mind spun as all thoughts left your brain. There was nothing going on up there anymore, just dark blackness, the feeling of Rick fucking you taking over your conscious body.

His hand grabbed yours, the one on Daryl's knee, and pulled it away from you, to the right.

When your fingers brushed up against something warm and soft, you didn't question it. You didn't even question his fingers moving yours to wrap around his dick.

Your eyes shot open.

Rick's dick was still inside you. His right hand was still on your mouth, his left on the small of your back.

Daryl's eyes were open, and looking right into yours.

You went to jerk your hand away out of reflex, but his grip was tight, forcing your fingers to stay wrapped around his thick cock. Your eyes flew over him, fighting to understand what was happening, when had he woken up? Just then? Or was he awake when he pushed his knee between your thighs?

The orgasm that came out of nowhere pushed all those questions aside.

You moaned against Rick's hand as you came, no longer trying to be quiet, no longer trying to keep your hips still. Your thighs clamped down on Daryl's knee, grinding rough and quick.

Much to Rick's absolute heart-stopping horror.

He tried to muffle your moans, forcing his hand down painfully hard on your mouth, but it did little. He bared his teeth near your ear and hissed for you to stop, the sound sharp and jarring as it came through his clenched teeth, but then his eyes landed on the scene over your body.

Daryl using your hand to stroke his dick. Daryl with his other arm bent behind his head, his face tilted to the side to watch your expressions with parted lips.

It took Rick a few seconds to recover from the near heart attack. He almost lost his boner from the heart dropping adrenaline, but your wet walls spasming around him coaxed his hips forward.

Now that you didn't need to be quiet you pulled Rick's hand off your mouth and gasped down a lungful of air. Your mouth was hot and dry, and it was hard to swallow.

You couldn't take your eyes off Daryl, his eyes, the eyes that hadn't left your face since he woke up.

God, he was unbelievably sexy. The way he was so responsive to your touch led you to believe your hand might possibly be the first hand to touch his dick other than his own.

He grunted softly, his eyes finally falling shut after you gently squeezed the base of his dick. You'd be content to get him off with one hand like you had been for the past few minutes, but you couldn't resist the urge to give him his first hand job and blowjob.

“Up.” You panted. You curled your finger at Daryl, pointing up. He happily obliged and sat upright, scooting up towards the headboard until his lap was right in front of your face.

He seemed absolutely thrilled, ecstatic even. His once heavy eyes were now wide open, watching every move you made as you shifted your upper half so your mouth could reach his dick.

Rick was still thrusting with hesitation when you moved. He watched you lick broad stripes on the underside of Daryl's dick, and he couldn't help but glance at his face to see his reaction.

Mouth hanging open, eyes clenched tightly shut, his expression almost looked pained. His hands had found their way to your hair, gripping two handfuls as he began trying to move your head for you.

You slapped his hands away and grabbed his wrists, an action that had his eyes opening and looking down at you.

“Don't.” Your hot breath tickled the sensitive skin of his tip. He pinched both his lips shut between his teeth, nodding quickly, a shaky closed-lip moan rattling in his throat.

Rick finally got ahold of himself and grabbed your hips to turn your lower half on your stomach. He kept his dick inside you as he slid on top of you, his knees spreading to rest on either side of your thighs.

You were taking Daryl's head past your lips when Rick suddenly fucked you like he'd been wanting to the entire time. Both his hands rested on the small of your back, pushing your hips down into the mattress with all his weight to keep them firmly in place.

You gasped around Daryl at the feeling of Rick pounding into you from above. It was a comically drastic change from only five minutes before when he thought Daryl was asleep.

Daryl's wrists flexed in your hands where you had them pressed against his lower stomach. You knew he was only keeping them there in your grasp because he allowed it, and not because you were somehow strong enough to keep even a single wrist of his in your fist, let alone two.

It took a lot of effort on Rick's part to actually finish. Having Daryl in the room when you fucked was one thing, but having him making all that noise just from your mouth was another.

He was honestly more surprised that Daryl actually enjoyed sex acts than the fact he was engaging in them with him in the room. With no one other than you, a girl he almost never saw him interact with.

Rick had assumed Daryl simply wasn't interested. Incorrectly assumed.

Either way, having Daryl only a few feet away from him while he had his dick inside you was something he wasn't sure he enjoyed. But the way you clenched around him every time he pulled back was enough to make him forget about it.

Daryl was struggling to keep himself together. He had no point of reference, but he thought you were incredibly talented at giving head. You were giving it your all, sucking and licking like your life depended on it. It was impressive how well you were managing to concentrate on blowing him with Rick making such a mess of your pussy.

You couldn't be happier. You knew there were so many women back in Alexandria that would kill to be in your position, lying in front of the Daryl Dixon, lying under the Rick Grimes, both of their dicks inside you.

“Wa-wait.” Daryl suddenly sputtered and ripped his wrists from your hands to cup the sides of your face, giving a few gentle slaps with the tips of his fingers.

You looked up, not taking your mouth off of him. His expression made your pussy clench around Rick and he groaned behind you, the sound raw and deep. He shifted his hips and ground down against you, quick and rough, his tip jabbing deep inside you.

The ragged moan you let out reverberated through Daryl, and the hand you had around his base gave a trembling squeeze.

“M’boutta, Jesus! Hey, oh, godfuckindamnit-” Daryl's jaw dropped and his eyes rolled back, his head tipping backwards as he made that same pained expression and came down your throat.

Your hips were roughly jerked up from the bed, shoving you back on Rick's dick, and then his hands slipped under your armpits to pull up your top half.

It was hard to stay upright, but thankfully Rick was generous enough to provide you the luxury of his hands tight against your tits, keeping your back flush against his chest.

Oh, it was a goddamn shame Daryl had just come. The sight in front of him was something he knew millions would pay- no, kill- to see. You looked breathtaking. Rick had taken your shirt off some time ago, leaving you completely bare as you kneeled in front of Daryl.

He forgot to breathe as he watched your face, slack in pleasure. You were struggling to keep your eyes open and on him, something that made his softening cock twitch. All that struggling just to look at someone like him? The hell did he deserve to have someone like you looking at him like that?

Rick deserved praise for the way he supported your weight with just his hands, keeping your entire upper half pressed against his chest while he fucked you in desperate effort to finally get off. His dick felt raw from how long he'd been at it, his balls throbbing from the delayed orgasm, it was a wonder he was able to keep himself upright, let alone you.

“Daryl.” The way you whimpered his name made his cock jump back to life, and he pushed himself up on his elbows to look up at you, eager to obey whatever it was you were about to ask.

“Yeah?” He rasped as he stared up at you.

You'd placed your hands over Rick's and moved his fingers over your nipples, which he was pinching and rolling, something he understood without you even needing to ask.

“Touch me, please.”

You didn't need to ask twice. Daryl inched down the bed and kept himself propped up on one elbow, his other arm sliding over his chest to reach your clit.

Rick decided at that moment he definitely didn't like threesomes. Feeling you twist and hearing you moan due to Daryl's thumb rubbing against you made his chest and face hot, a childish reaction considering you and Rick were not a thing, and certainly not an exclusive thing.

He just wasn't good at sharing.

The silly jealousy led to him putting his all into pleasing you. His thrusts became slower but deeper, more forceful, knocking out a gravely groan from your throat with each one. His hands left your breasts to tangle in your hair, pulling it up into a makeshift ponytail with his fist being the hair tie.

Your skin buzzed when he pressed his face into your neck to plant sloppy kisses. He bit down and you whined, arching your back against him and tilting your head to the side to provide him better access.

Unlike Rick, Daryl didn't have a care in the world. His mind was completely blank as he stared up at you above him, oblivious to the way his thumb cramped from the constant circles he rubbed into you.

“C'mere.” You breathed, wrapping your fingers in Daryl's hair to urge him up and guide his mouth to your nipples.

Daryl's eagerness to please was one of the hottest things you'd ever witnessed. He took your right nipple in his mouth and went to town like his life depended on it.

He flexed his tongue, digging the firm and wet muscle around your bud, circling it the same way his thumb now circled your clit.

Your orgasm came screeching out of nowhere.

You cried out and gripped Daryl's head tighter, pulling his mouth firm against your breast as you came.

The feeling of your walls squeezing the life out of his cock finally brought about Rick's own climax.

He wrapped his fist around the hair bundled in his grasp and tugged your head to the side, baring your neck to his itching teeth, and clamped down as he gave a rough thrust.

You'd failed to notice that at some point Daryl had grown hard again, only noticing when he let out a ragged moan into your wet chest.

Your bleary eyes found him and caught sight of his hand quickly jerking himself. There was the flash of thick cum spurting out, long ropes coating the inside of your thighs.

“Fuck.” You slurred. Now that was the new hottest thing you'd ever seen.

Rick's teeth released their grip on your neck. He pulled back and let his head droop back as he caught his breath, his shoulders heaving with deep and ragged pants. He became aware of how uncomfortably sweaty he was. His chest and back felt soaked, and he dropped your hair to pull away from you.

You heard Rick plop down on the bed behind you, the springs creaking from his sudden weight dropping on it all at once. You were too busy admiring Daryl to pay attention to it.

There was a lazy smile on your face, your eyes half lidded and glued to his face. Even though the room was dark you were sure you could see how red his cheeks were. His lips were glossy and parted as he took in deep breaths, still wet from drooling all over your tits.

He could barely keep his eyes open, and with the way you had one hand cupping his face, the other brushing back his sweaty hair, he wasn't sure he wanted to. The sweet way you were looking down at him was just too hard to look away from.

The next morning wasn't as awkward as one would think, even though it was obvious Rick was having some internal battle on the ethics of what he'd done the night before. He'd never been in a situation where he knew he really shouldn't be doing something like that, so his lack of restraint was new knowledge he'd have to ponder over.

Daryl couldn't give any less of a fuck, that morning he gave you the whole princess treatment. Grabbing your now dry clothes, your bag, your shoes, and bringing them to you. Offered you the last of his water and opened every door you came across for you. He didn't say much at all, much like Rick, but his mood was clearly the exact opposite.

It was so sweet it made your heart ache.

“Hey.” Rick pulled you aside after you finally got back home, shooting Daryl a look to give the two of you privacy.

“Hi.” You smiled. The stern look on his face was cute.

“What we did-”

“Don't.” You stopped him, giving the man a tired smile. “It was the sexiest thing I've ever done and I'm fine with it being a one time thing, but don't ruin it and tell me it was wrong.”

“I wasn't going to say that.” His gaze had softened, but he still looked down at you with his hands on his hips like a disappointed authority figure. “I just don't want you to think it's okay to bring up if we're all alone again.”

“I'm not stupid.” You snorted, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Won't bring it up again.”

He sighed in frustration, trying not to roll his eyes but failing. “No, it ain't that either. Let's just- next time,” your eyes widened, “not be as spontaneous.”

You grinned. “Alright. You got it.”

Daryl was nowhere near as reserved about the experience. You could understand Rick's point of view, conservative family man, that was probably the most extreme thing he'd ever done in bed. But Daryl, oh, you'd just changed his fucking world.

“Pst.”

You stopped in front of the bathroom to see Daryl nodding you over, lighting a cigarette as he stood near the door to his room.

“Hi.” You smiled after approaching him.

“You okay?”

You beamed at the question, shifting your pile of clothes in your arms. “Yeah, I'm okay. Are you?”

He nodded as he took the first pull, turning his head to blow the smoke away from your face. “Is, uh…” He nodded his head to the front door, where Rick still stood on the porch talking to a few people. “He alright?”

“He's fine.”

“Alright. Good.” He shifted awkwardly. He cleared his throat, looking down at the cherry on his cigarette before bringing it back up to his lips. “That somethin' you wanna do again?”

You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide the ecstatic smile that threatened to embarrass you, and nodded.

He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh of relief and disbelief. There were a few seconds of silence, his eyes darting between his cigarette and your face. “With me?”

“Of course. Maybe next time just you.” You turned to head back to the bathroom but quickly turned on your heel and walked back to him. “Daryl? When did you,” you struggled to get the words out, ironic considering how bold youd been the night before, “you know, wake up?”

“Oh.” He grunted, his ears burning. “Dunno. While before.”

You felt a mix of embarrassment and relief. So he had pushed his knee between your legs on purpose. The thought had your stomach flipping and your face getting warm, so you gave a quick and polite smile before running off to the bathroom.

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @jinx-nanami

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skullsfiction · 4 months ago

Text

hand of gold — cs55

pairing: carlos sainz x wolff!reader

summary: nobody knew you and carlos sainz jr were dating, much less getting married. now everyone’s buzzing at the prospect of getting to witness the biggest (and most expensive) wedding in formula one history.

authors note: this was requested by an anon MONTHS ago and i am so sorry this took me so long, AND im so sorry because the request has for some reason disappeared from my inbox, i hope this makes it to you anon!

instagram • ynwolff • dec 23 • monaco ⚑

liked by lewishamiliton, kimi.antonelli and 718,025 others!

ynwolff: happy holidays from the wolff family 🐺🎅

view comments below!

username1: you never let me forget how rich you are

username2: how does it feel to live the life

username3: are toto and susie looking for a 3rd

➥ ynwolff: it’s christmas…have some decorum.

➥ username3: i didn’t think you would see that…i apologize.

➥ username3: but…are they?

username4: i would kill my entire family to experience a wolff family christmas

username5: i can’t believe she’s still soft launching, you can trust us girl

➥ username6: it’s been THREE whole years…we will never see this man’s full face

➥ username7: i bet he’s ugly.

➥ username8: hes either 1. hideous to look at 2. not rich 3. a driver, or 4. a controversial man

➥ username9: what if it’s lewis?

➥ username10: do you see an ounce of melanin on that man’s skin?

➥ username11: this whole thread is why we will never know who she’s dating 😒

kimi.antonelli: thank you for the new kart 💙 i love it!

➥ ynwolff: only the best for a mercedes driver <3

➥ georgerussell63: i don’t recall getting a new anything for these last 2 years? 🤨

➥ ynwolff: remember that you are a grown man with a grown man paycheck!

instagram • pomegranatesgossip • unknown ⚑

liked by 72,626 users!

pomegranategossip: #neverforgiveneverforget the day this picture came out and everyone thought carlos was for sure going to mercedes! just for him to go WILLIAMS, will forever reminisce on what we could’ve had

view comments below!

username12: they knew what they were doing..and they were so evil for it

➥ username13: will forever wonder what they were talking about

➥ username14: and why on earth was old papa sainz there?

username15: i have a theory..but im scared people will think im schizophrenic

➥ username16: as a diagnosed schizophrenic, let’s indulge into this theory together

➥ username15: i’m convinced carlos is dating toto’s daughter

➥ username16: oh baby….

➥ username15: NO IM NOT CRAZY

username17: nightmare blunt rotation

instagram • carlossain55 • jan 13 • joali being ⚑

liked by susie_wolff, ynwolff, and 628,926 others!

carlossainz55: big things coming soon

view comments below!

username18: i’m cumming soon 😩

➥ username19: ON A POST WHERE HES SHOWING OFF HIS GF???

username20: another one that won’t man up and hard launch 😒

➥ username21: what a coincidence that both yn and carlos have been soft launching for the same amount of time 😭

➥ username22: now that you mention it..

➥ username23: huh

username24: why is susie wolff in the likes?

➥ username25: the TWO wolffs are in the likes

➥ username26: yn has been in the likes since forever, susie on the other hand…

username27: i’m look at the hand in the second picture, and as much as i hate to ask, is that a engagement ring?

➥ username28: please please PLEASE DONT START

➥ username29: i can’t handle that right now

➥ username30: climate change, the cheetos in office, the worlds falling apart, and CARLOS IS ENGAGED TO SOMEONE WHOS NOT ME??? I WILL KILL MYSELF

➥ username31: this was truly the last thing i needed this year

➥ username32: if carlos got a engaged, why would he be wearing an engagement ring? isnt it normal the woman?

➥ username33: unless carlos was proposed TO

username34: please don’t do this to me carlos

twitter

instagram • ynwolff • jan 15

liked by carlossainz55, lewishamilton, and 619,026 others!

yourusername: fixed on your hand of gold

view comments below!

username35: we really went from 0 to 100 real quick 😨

username36: im frozen. you just altered the timeline

username37: THE TWITTER CRAZIES WERE RIGHT?

➥ username38: more importantly THE SCHIZOPHRENIC GIRL WAS RIGHT?

susie_wolff: tell him to watch his hands

➥ carlossainz55: yes ma’am i will watch my hands forever and always

➥ lando: kiss ass 🤣

➥ carlossainz55: you wish you could kiss my ass

➥ ynwolff: oh 😆

➥ carlossainz55: i didn’t mean it baby, i only want you to kiss my ass

➥ susie_woff: …

➥ username39: i like this new change

username40: i actually cannot handle this news right now

username41: THATS WHY PAPA SAINZ AND BABY SAINZ WERE TALKING TOO SUSIE AND TOTO

username42: i can just imagine carlos asking toto permission to propose to yn 😭

username43: wait so who proposed to who?

➥username44: i can’t imagine yn wolff getting on her knees for any man

➥ username45: it wouldn’t make sense for carlos to have a an engagement ring unless yn proposed to him

➥ username46: keep in mind, yn has an engagement ring too

➥ username47: maybe rich people do stuff differently

susie_wolff: i would like to make it clear that my daughter did not get on her knees for any man. she was proposed too, and THEN did she get an engagement ring for her soon to be husband —toto wolff

➥ username48: toto said put some respect on his daughters name

➥ username49: this makes me feel much better

➥ username50: this wedding better be HUGE

➥ username51: if i can’t have a big wedding, then i least i can live through someone who will

carlossainz55: i love you 💙

➥ alex_albon: simp

➥ username51: so did everyone in the paddock know about this relationship?

➥ lando: yes

➥ username52: just dig the knife deeper

➥ username53: i didn’t even feel this level of betrayal when my boyfriend cheated on me

twitter

instagram • carlossain55 • feb 14 • monaco ⚑

liked by ynwolff, charles_leclerc, and 916,016 others!

carlossainz55: wolff-sainz wedding, september ‘25

view comments below!

username54: so what i’m understanding is that your taking the wolff last name 🤨

username55: holy shit look at those flowers

username56: ON HIS BIRTH MONTH EVERYONE!

username57: my expectations for men just went way up

username58: im assuming it'll be a very flower themed wedding??

lando: so according to my invitation, i shouldn't bring fireworks? will you be providing them or was it a typo?

➥ carlossainz55: this will be a firework free wedding lando.

➥ lando: WHAT

➥ charles_leclerc: NO FIREWORKS?

➥ maxverstappen1: well i already bought the fireworks so

➥ carlossainz55: do not set off fireworks at my wedding max.

➥ maxverstappen1: what the fuck am i going to do with all these fireworks

username60: im so excited for OUR wedding

username61: the bride right in the middle as she deserves

username62: the way yn has posted these exact photos on her story before..

➥ username63: private but never secret

➥ username64: i still can't believe they got away with this for THREE years

ynwolff: so ready for you to take my last name

➥ carlossainz55: so ready for you to take MY last name

➥ susie_wolff: technically you're taking my last name—toto wolff

➥ username65: you two should fight to the death, and whoever wins takes the others name

instagram • pomegranatesgossip • unknown ⚑

liked by ynwolff and 92,193 others!

pomegranatesgossip: two snippets of carlos talking about the wedding in a recent interview:

"I think the thing that bothers me the most is when people say 'is yn a bride...what do they call it? bride...zila?' I do not understand what is wrong with a woman wanting everything to be perfect on her big day. I don't think people understand how stressful it is to plan a wedding. It seems like all we do is plan, plan, plan. And I do love it because I want the day to be perfect for her, but if I'm not racing, I'm planning the wedding. So I understand why some women, especially when they don't have their fiancé to help them, can get a bit....angsty."

"When we had that talk about our future, one thing my YN made very clear was that she wanted a huge wedding. She wanted different dresses, different cakes, different venues, everything. So, I think it was our fourth date when I started taking note of everything she liked—I actually still have the list—so when we did plan the wedding, it would be easier, you know? what flowers she loved versus which ones she just liked. It did make it easier. Instead of going crazy over two good choices, we can easily pick one."

view comments below!

username66: oh my gosh he's so in love???

username67: that was supposed to be my man

username68: i am begging you guys to go see the actual video because the heart eyes he gets when talking about yn is so 🥰

ynwolff: i knew there was no way he just memorized my top 50 favorite flowers... 🤨

➥ carlossainz55: i’m sorry baby i have bad memory

➥ username69: THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY MAN

username70: his yn everyone

username71: HE KNEW HE WAS GOING TO MARRY HER BY THE FOURTH DATE! THE FOURTH

instagram • carlossainzwolff55 • sep 1

liked by ynwolffsainz, alex_albon, and 1,726,917 others!

carlossainzwolff55: Mrs. Yn Wolff-Sainz 🫀

view comments below!

username72: i just woke up wtf happened

username73: oh so by september you meant the FIRST of the month

username74: THAT DRESS

danielricciardo: beautiful wedding, beautiful bride 🍾

➥ carlossainzwolff55: 🤨

➥ lando: you don’t have to be so jealous anymore, you’re married now!

➥ carlossainzwolff55: 🤨

username75: he wasted NO TIME changing that username 😭

username76: for those who are in a different time zone and missed the insta story’s, here’s a summary: yn had 3 different dresses, they had 4 different venues? (what it looked liked) and a shit load of flowers, ALSO toto cried

➥ susie_wolff: is it so shocking that i cried at my beautiful daughters first wedding? — toto wolf

➥ username76: you need to get an instagram account old man

➥ carlosainzwolff55: first and ONLY wedding ** 🙂

username77: they took each others last name 🥹

username78: its so scute how he’s the one that’s always the first to post

lando: would’ve been better with fireworks

➥ charles_leclerc: agreed

➥ maxverstappen1: totes

➥ carlossainzwolff55: god forbid i don’t want tacky fireworks at my wedding

➥ maxverstappen1: TACKY??? I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW MY FIREWORK GUY ONLY GETS ME TOP OF THE LINE EXPLOSIVES

➥ username79: top of the line and fireworks should not be associated

username80: we’ve come so far in such little time

username81: it’s carlos’s birthday…

➥ username82: OH MY GOD THEY GOT MARRIED ON HIS BIRTHDAY

ynwolffsainz: i love you 🫀

➥ carlossainzwolff: i love you MORE 🥰

➥ alex_albon: sick to my stomach (beautiful wedding btw!)

username83: the picture in the middle?? jaw dropped.

➥ username84: it’s my new wallpaper 😭

username85: i see my future and its bright

username86: thank you for all the wedding inspo!

username87: so can we refer to toto as old man wolff now? because it’ll get real confusing real quick if we don’t change something

#carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz smau #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fluff #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #f1 social media au #f1

3K notes · View notes

absdollievu · 14 days ago

Text

Is It Casual Now?

internalized homophobia!abby x lesbian!reader

Warnings: lesbian sex (abby!receiving)

I lost the request to this but if you were the anon who requested this, here ya go!

You still remember the first time Abby Anderson looked at you like you weren’t normal.

It was sophomore year, outside the locker room after gym. You were laughing with a girl you had a crush on—nothing big, just flirting, the kind you thought no one really noticed. But Abby did. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, watching like she’d stepped into a room that smelled wrong. Her jaw clenched. Her eyes narrowed. And then she said it—loud enough for everyone to hear.

“No wonder no one wants to change next to you.”

You froze. The other girl laughed, awkward and sharp, and peeled away from you like she’d touched something dirty.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. The damage was done.

That was how it started.

⸻

Abby never hit you. Never shoved you into lockers or called you slurs. Her cruelty was quieter, more calculated. Snide comments in the hallway. Avoiding group projects when your name came up. A pointed roll of her eyes when you answered a question in class. Loud whispers of “Jesus” or “disgusting” when she passed you holding another girl’s hand on campus.

And she had a following—friends who mirrored her disapproval with mocking stares and muttered jokes, like she gave them permission. It didn’t matter that she was smart, respected, even admired. Her words were always sharper around you. Her tolerance thinner. Her discomfort obvious.

You learned to ignore it. Or you tried to.

It wasn’t the worst bullying you’d faced. But coming from her, it hurt more.

Because before that moment in sophomore year, Abby Anderson used to smile at you.

Just once or twice. Passing in the hall. When you said something funny in class. There was a flicker of warmth there—confusion, maybe, or curiosity. You remembered thinking she had kind eyes.

But now you’re used to Abby Anderson looking at you like you’re something she wants to scrape off the bottom of her shoe.

It’s a stare you’ve come to recognize: a cold, disdainful sweep from head to toe that lingers a beat too long, like she’s cataloguing everything she hates about you. Or maybe everything she doesn’t understand.

She doesn’t talk to you anymore. Which is weird, because you’ve had at least three classes with her over the last two years. You move in the same social circles, even if they rarely overlap. You’ve been at the same parties, stood feet apart at campus rallies.

But she acts like you’re radioactive.

Like if she got too close, she might catch whatever makes you… you.

You tell yourself you don’t care. You roll your eyes when she glares. You smile brighter, laugh louder, flirt more when she’s in the room—just to spite her. If she’s going to judge you, then she might as well have something to look at.

But when your professor calls out your name alongside hers for the upcoming group project, your stomach drops.

You don’t hate her. You wish you did.

⸻

She sits next to you in the library like it’s a punishment, her legs splayed wide, arms crossed, a hoodie pulled low over her face like armor.

“I’m not doing the girly stuff,” she mutters before you’ve even opened your laptop. “No pink fonts. No cutesy transitions.”

You arch an eyebrow, smiling tightly. “You think I use pink fonts?”

Her lips press into a line. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t.”

She finally looks at you. Her eyes are sharp, blue-gray, too intense for someone who’s always pretending not to care. “Just… I’m not putting rainbows all over the slides.”

There it is.

“Right,” you say, teeth clenched. “God forbid someone think you’re not aggressively straight.”

Her jaw ticks. “I’m not doing this.”

You lean back in your chair, folding your arms. “Then don’t.”

But she doesn’t move.

⸻

You meet again the next day. And the next.

She doesn’t say much, but she shows up. Brings notes. Stares hard at the screen and refuses to make eye contact.

You catch her looking, though—always out of the corner of your eye. A flick of her gaze to your lips when you chew your pen cap. A second too long staring at your hands when you scroll.

She’s not subtle. But she wants to be.

You don’t say anything. Not yet.

⸻

It happens on the fifth day, when you offer to get her a drink from the café downstairs. She grunts something like approval, and when you return with a coffee just the way she likes it—black, two sugars, you remembered—she stares at the cup like it’s a trap.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she mutters.

“I know,” you say, shrugging. “But you look like you’re gonna bite someone if you don’t get some caffeine in you.”

She doesn’t smile. She never does. But her eyes flick toward you—curious. Conflicted.

She doesn’t thank you.

You don’t need her to.

⸻

The breaking point comes when you’re at her dorm. A last-minute cram session. Her roommate’s gone, the place smells like cedar and something faintly floral—body wash, maybe. You sit on the couch, notebooks scattered between you.

It’s late. You’re both tired. And something in the air has shifted.

She’s quieter tonight. Less combative. She leans back against the cushion, legs stretched out, her knee brushing yours. She doesn’t pull away.

You glance at her profile—sharp, defined, so fucking beautiful it’s painful. Her lips are slightly parted. Her throat works when she swallows.

And then she says it. Out of nowhere. Like it’s been boiling under her skin for years.

“I don’t hate you.”

You blink. “Okay…?”

“I mean, I act like I do. I know. But I don’t.”

You set your pen down. Carefully. Slowly. “Then why do you treat me like shit?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Her jaw clenches, and her eyes stay fixed on some spot in the distance.

Then, quietly—so quiet you almost miss it:

“Because you make me feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Silence.

You shift toward her, cautiously. “What does that mean?”

She exhales, long and shaky. “It means I don’t understand how you can just be so… open about it. Like it’s not a big deal. Like you don’t even care.”

You stare. “About being gay?”

She flinches at the word. Doesn’t answer.

“Abby,” you say softly, gently, “are you—?”

“Don’t.”

Her voice is sharp. Defensive. But not angry—scared.

You reach out, almost instinctively, your hand brushing her wrist. “It’s okay. Whatever it is you’re feeling—”

“No, it’s not,” she snaps, and finally looks at you. Her eyes are wild. Shining. “I wasn’t raised to think this was okay. I’ve been trying to ignore it for years. But you—”

She stops herself. Breathing hard. Her whole body trembling.

“You make it worse,” she says, voice breaking. “Because when I look at you, I can’t pretend anymore.”

Your throat tightens. “Then don’t pretend.”

You reach up. Touch her cheek.

She freezes. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

And you kiss her.

Soft. Questioning.

She doesn’t move for a heartbeat. Then her hands rise, uncertain, and she kisses you back.

It’s messy. Desperate. Her mouth moves like she’s starving for it, like she’s been craving this for years and never let herself feel it. Her fingers clutch your sides, your shirt, your hair—anything she can anchor herself to.

She moans into your mouth. It’s raw. Vulnerable. Scared.

You pull back only enough to whisper, “Are you sure?”

“No,” she breathes. “But I don’t want to stop.”

You pull back just a little, only to catch your breath—and hers.

Her lips are still parted, flushed from the kiss. Her chest rises and falls like she just ran a mile. Her eyes—those sharp, guarded, unflinching eyes—are wide now. Uncertain. Open.

“Abby,” you whisper, one hand still at her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone, “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Her breath stutters.

“I want to,” she says quickly, then—softer—“I think I want to.”

You nod, slow and steady. “That’s enough.”

She leans forward again, not quite kissing you—just pressing her forehead to yours, her breathing shallow, her hands trembling at your sides.

“I’ve never…” she starts, then stops. “Not with a girl. Not with—someone like you.”

You smile, small, just for her. “I’ll go slow.”

That gets a little exhale out of her. A nervous laugh, almost bitter. “You’re too good at this.”

You shake your head. “I’m not trying to be good at anything. I just want to be with you.”

That word—with—makes her shudder.

But she nods. Swallows hard.

You kiss her again, slower now. Less desperation, more depth. Her hands roam your sides like she’s learning you, memorizing every inch she’s never allowed herself to imagine touching. When your tongue teases the seam of her lips, she lets out a soft gasp, surprised at how natural it feels to open up to you.

Your hands slip under her hoodie, fingertips brushing her waist. She tenses—but doesn’t stop you. Just breathes harder, like every new inch of skin you find sends a shock through her spine.

You murmur, “Can I take this off?”

She nods, barely. So you do—pulling the hoodie up and over her head, revealing a plain gray tank top beneath that clings to her chest, rising and falling with every breath. You trace your fingers along the hem of it, and she closes her eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper.

She laughs again—nervous, shaky. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m not saying it for your sake. I mean it.”

That makes her open her eyes.

Something flickers there—pain, longing, disbelief. Like no one’s ever said that and meant it.

You lean down, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. Then another. And another.

When you kiss just beneath the strap of her tank, her fingers tighten in your shirt. Her head falls back, and her mouth opens in a quiet, breathless sound that goes straight through you.

You shift to straddle her lap slowly, giving her time to react. She watches every movement, frozen in place, lips parted. You sit over her, chest to chest, your thighs on either side of hers.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

She nods—quick, almost frantic. “Yeah. Fuck—yeah.”

Your hands trail under the hem of her shirt, up over her stomach, feeling the solid muscle underneath. When your fingers graze the bottom of her bra, she flinches—but not from fear.

“Can I…?” you ask.

She swallows. “Yeah.”

You pull her tank up and over her head. Her bra’s simple—black, cotton, a little worn at the seams. She looks down, arms twitching like she wants to cover herself.

“Hey,” you whisper, taking her hands gently. “You don’t have to hide.”

She exhales through her nose. “I’m not hiding.”

“No?” you smile. “Then let me see you.”

She nods, just once, and drops her arms.

You unclasp her bra slowly, sliding the straps down her shoulders, watching her the whole time. Her chest is flushed, rising and falling rapidly.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Abby.”

She closes her eyes like it hurts to hear. Like it’s too much.

But when you lean forward and kiss her breast—just above the nipple—her back arches slightly, breath catching in her throat.

Your tongue teases her nipple, slow and deliberate, and she moans—soft, almost like she’s trying not to. Her hands grip your hips hard. You take your time, sucking gently, kissing lower, worshipping her like she’s something sacred.

When you look up at her, her eyes are glassy. Her mouth slack. Her thighs are shifting under you like she’s already aching for more.

You slide one hand down, under the waistband of her sweatpants.

She freezes.

You pause immediately. “Too much?”

“No,” she says, voice hoarse. “Just—no one’s ever touched me there.”

Your heart swells at the vulnerability in her voice.

“I’ll be gentle.”

You ease your hand down, fingers slipping beneath her underwear. She’s already wet—soaking, warm, and trembling under your touch.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, half horrified, half amazed.

You laugh softly, kissing the side of her neck. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to want this.”

She doesn’t answer—but when your fingers find her clit, she gasps and grabs at your shoulders like she’s falling.

You circle it slow, barely-there pressure, watching her come undone piece by piece. Her hips lift. Her breath stutters. She bites her lip so hard you have to kiss her just to make her stop.

“Let go,” you murmur. “I’ve got you.”

She moans into your mouth, louder this time, and grinds against your hand. You slip two fingers inside her—slow, careful—and her entire body jerks.

“Holy fuck,” she chokes.

“You’re doing so good,” you whisper.

She clutches you tighter, rides your fingers like she’s chasing something she’s never let herself feel. You keep your pace steady—deep and slow, thumb brushing her clit, her breath getting more ragged by the second.

And when she comes—God, she shakes. Her body stiffens, legs trembling, her mouth falling open in a desperate moan she doesn’t even try to stifle. Her eyes squeeze shut. Her head drops against your shoulder.

You hold her through it, whispering softly into her hair.

When the tremors stop, she collapses back into the couch, breathless, wrecked.

You kiss her temple. “You okay?”

She nods. Barely.

Then, quietly: “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smile, pressing your forehead to hers.

“That’s just the beginning.”

⸻

848 notes · View notes

elliespassagerprincess · 20 days ago

Note

I keep thinking about reader and ellie having so much sexual tension because reader never been with a girl before but is feeling so much for ellie and ellie is just obsessed with what she thins is a "straight" girl.

So all of that just reaches its peak and they just lezz it out 😭

Jessie and dina just find them being all lovey dovey kissing and holding hands

I LOVE GIRLS MAN

Not so straight - ellie williams x reader

hi anon!! this is some of the gayest shit i've ever written. Women are so hot. I hope you enjoy!!

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts and ideas!!

warnings: MDNI 18+ Explicit sexual content (reader has never been with a girl before, oral sex), sexual tension, reader is "straight", ellie being a pussy

summary: You arrive in Jackson unsure of yourself and your place, while Ellie Williams—quiet, sarcastic, and secretly obsessed—tries to hide her growing feelings. Convinced you are straight, Ellie buries her longing until a slow-burn tension ignites between them.

masterlist

This story contains sexual content—please read with care. You are responsible for what you consume online.

Ellie watches you like you’re a solar flare in a snowstorm.

You’re new. You showed up to Jackson in the dead of winter, cheeks red from cold, carrying nothing but a chipped mug and the kind of smile that makes people slow down when they walk past. She doesn’t talk to you at first. Not directly.

Not until Joel pushes her toward you during patrol pairings, muttering something about “being friendly.”

You stand there in your coat, boots muddy, hand half-raised as if uncertain whether to wave or run.

“Ellie,” she says, dryly. “I guess we’re stuck together.”

You smile. “I’m good at being stuck.”

She doesn’t ask what that means.

You are sunshine in a town of shadows. That’s what Ellie thinks. You help in the greenhouses, hands always smelling like basil and soil, smile always crooked. You hum when you walk, badly off-key, and it drives her insane.

Insane because she thinks you don’t notice how close she stands when she’s near you. How your scent—warm and herbal—makes her jaw lock. How every time you look at her, she forgets what she was supposed to say.

“Wanna share a joint?” she offers one afternoon after patrol.

You tilt your head. “You share with everyone or am I special?”

Ellie’s throat goes dry. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

But you’re already smiling, cheeks glowing with something she doesn’t understand.

Not yet.

You call her “Williams” when you’re teasing. Which is always. She likes it too much.

“Williams,” you say, voice muffled by your scarf. “You always this grumpy or just when you’re with me?”

“Just you,” she mutters.

You grin like you won something. Maybe you did. Dina notices it first.

“Ellie,” she hisses one night while the two of you play cards. “You’re pining.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re obsessed.”

“I’m—”

“I mean, I get it. She’s gorgeous. But you really think she’s into girls?”

That stops her. Because no—she doesn’t. Not really. You dated a guy when you first got here. A quiet one. He left after three weeks. Ellie pretended not to care.

But you never talked about it again. And now—now you blush when she stares too long. Now your eyes linger on her lips. Now she can’t stop imagining what your mouth tastes like.

Even though she shouldn’t. Even though she won’t.

You're not dumb. Something's off between you and Ellie. It's electric. Tangled. Quietly loud.

She looks at you like she hates you. But she’s always helping. Always near. Always touching the small of your back, brushing dirt off your shoulder, muttering dry little insults that somehow sound like praise.

And you—you don’t know what to do with the heat curling low in your stomach when she laughs.

You’ve never felt this before. Not with anyone. Not like this.

You're not sure if you're straight. You thought you were. You still think you might be. But when Ellie’s in the room, your thoughts derail.

And when she's not, you look for her.

You almost kiss her by accident.

It’s a rainy afternoon. You’re both stuck in the library, waiting out a patrol delay. She’s showing you sketches in her notebook—little scribbles of dinosaurs and space shuttles and, weirdly, you.

You laugh when you see it. “That supposed to be me?”

Ellie snatches the book away. “Shut up.”

You grab it back. She lunges. Your heads knock, and suddenly her lips are a breath from yours.

You freeze. Ellie does too.

Your hand is still on hers. Your heartbeat is thunder. Her eyes flick to your mouth.

Then—

“Sorry,” she mutters. She pulls away. “Didn’t mean to—yeah.”

She’s gone before you can say her name. You sit alone, heart in pieces, wondering what the hell is happening to you.

You try to avoid her. It doesn’t work.

She’s always around. Always half-glaring, half-hoping. She looks at you like she’s memorizing your face. Like she’s sure she’ll have to let it go. You want to tell her she doesn’t.

You want to ask her why it feels like your skin burns when she touches your wrist.

But you're scared. So you say nothing. And she says less.

Dina corners you one night during a movie night in the rec center.

“You like her,” she whispers.

You blink. “What?”

“Ellie. You like her.”

You hesitate. “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do.”

You lower your voice. “I’ve never liked a girl before.”

“So?” Dina shrugs. “She’s not any girl.”

You stare at the screen, heart pounding. No. She isn’t.

She’s Ellie. And you’re falling.

You find her on the roof.

She’s sitting cross-legged, hoodie up, sketchbook balanced on her knee. She doesn’t hear you until you sit beside her.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you say.

Ellie’s head jerks up.

“What?”

“I’m confused. I’ve never—liked a girl. Not like this.”

She’s quiet.

Then: “You don’t have to say that to be nice.”

“I’m not being nice. I’m being honest.”

Her hands shake. “You’re straight.”

“I thought I was.”

She looks at you. Really looks. You lean in. It’s awkward, soft, perfect.

Your lips meet like you’ve been waiting years.

When you break apart, breathless, Ellie’s voice is a whisper.

“Still confused?”

You grin. “Less.”

You’re in Ellie’s bed again, but this time it’s different. It’s not about sleep. Not about hiding from the cold or curling up after a long patrol.

It’s about the look she gives you when your fingertips trace the lines of her collarbone. It’s about how you lean in, lips trembling, whispering:

“I want to… I want you.”

Ellie stiffens. “You sure?”

You nod, but she holds your face in her hands, searching. “Hey. We don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“But—” her voice cracks, “—you’ve never done this.”

You lean in, kiss her softly. “Then show me.”

She exhales shakily. “Fuck, okay. Come here.”

She kisses you like she’s memorizing it.

Like you’re the only thing she’ll ever study again. Her mouth is warm, slow, exploring yours as her hands stay feather-light on your waist. No pressure—just patience. Her fingers toy with the hem of your shirt.

“Okay?” she asks between kisses.

“Yes,” you breathe.

She pulls it off gently. You shiver, not from cold—but nerves.

“You’re beautiful,” she says.

You blush. “You’ve barely seen anything.”

“I see you. That’s enough.”

Her calloused hands explore carefully—over your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your breast. Every touch is tender, like she’s afraid to break you. And maybe you are breakable. But only in the best way.

When she lays you back, you swear you could cry from how gentle she is. She kisses down your chest, murmuring soft things you can’t even make out over the pounding of your heart.

“Still good?” she asks, lips brushing the underside of your breast.

You nod. “Please don’t stop.”

Ellie hums. “I won’t. I’ve got you.”

Her fingers slip into your underwear slowly. She’s warm, steady, curling them just enough to make your back arch. You moan—soft and startled. She watches your face like it’s sacred.

“Feels good?” she whispers.

You nod again, biting your lip.

“God, you’re wet,” she mutters, more to herself. “You’re doing so good.”

You cling to her wrist, breath catching as she works you open, curling and pressing just right. Her mouth finds your thigh, then lower.

And then—

“Ellie—”

She answers with her tongue.

You didn’t think you could fall apart so fast. But with her, it’s like being known. Like your body was made to be read by her. She doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking, your hand tangled in her hair, your voice cracked from saying her name too many times.

Later, she holds you close, lips on your temple.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

You nod, still catching your breath. “You?”

She laughs. “I’m great.”

You giggle, burying your face into her neck. And for the first time, you don’t feel confused.

You feel found.

The morning sun spills across Ellie’s bed in quiet gold.

She’s still asleep, sprawled beside you, freckled cheek pressed to the pillow, one arm possessively wrapped around your waist like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. You’re not going anywhere.

You stare at her, your heart soft. Her lips are slightly parted. Her lashes flicker from some dream. She looks young like this. Peaceful.

You reach up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. She stirs.

“Mornin’,” she mumbles.

You smile. “Hi.”

Her eyes blink open. Green and dazed. “You okay?”

You nod. “Better than okay.”

Ellie exhales. “Good.”

You bite your lip. “Can I… touch you?”

That wakes her up fully. She props herself on an elbow, eyes wide. “You want to?”

You nod. “Last night… you took such good care of me. I want to make you feel good, too.”

Her breath hitches.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “Yeah. Yeah, baby. Please.”

You kiss her first, softly, until she melts beneath you. Your hands move carefully—over her ribs, her stomach, her hips. Her skin is warm, muscles twitching under your touch.

“You’re shaking,” you murmur.

Ellie groans. “I’ve been dreaming about this for months. Letting you touch me? That’s—fuck. It’s everything.”

You swallow your nerves and slide lower. Her thighs part automatically. She’s already wet, and you whimper softly at the heat between her legs.

“Just like that,” Ellie whispers. “You’re doing so good.”

You press gentle kisses along her inner thighs, and her breath stutters.

“Is this okay?”

She nods frantically. “Please. Please, baby.”

Your mouth meets her, shy and slow at first. But the way she gasps—hands gripping the sheets—makes you bolder. You lick, suck, explore her with growing confidence. Her taste is addicting, and the way she moans your name makes your stomach flutter.

When you slide two fingers inside her, she arches up off the bed.

“Fuck, yes—don’t stop—”

You don’t. You hold her down, mouth still on her, fingers working steadily, watching her unravel completely. When she comes, it’s with your name broken on her lips and a desperation that makes you fall in love all over again.

Later, she’s breathless, clinging to you. “You’re dangerous,” she murmurs, still dazed. “You’re so good at that.”

You laugh. “I had a good teacher.”

She pulls you closer, kissing your forehead.

“I’m yours,” she whispers. “You know that, right?”

You press your lips to hers. “I do now.”

You’re inseparable after that. Ellie walks with a little more swagger. You smile more. Dina catches you kissing behind the horse stables and nearly screams.

“I KNEW IT!”

Jesse owes her twenty bucks. Ellie scowls, but you’re laughing too hard to care.

At night, you lie in her bed. Her arm is slung across your waist. You trace the freckles on her shoulder.

“I feel like I’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper.

Ellie smiles. “I think I’ve been writing about you since I was twelve.”

You kiss her again. Because you’re not so straight.

And she’s not so alone.

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nanamisdollie · 3 days ago

Note

Touched starve rin finally gets his hands on reader, stay with me now

rin missing his girl a lil too much ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

oh trust me i’m with u anon.

smut, mdni, charecters aged up!! cw: dubcon, somno, rin being pathetic and needy<3

it was late when rin finally got home from post game festivities. he hated them in all honesty, anyone who knew him knew that, but he was also way too exhausted to fight the other grown men physically pulling him to an uber while yapping about shots.

zero drinks and three hours later he was unlocking the front door of his apartment.

he didn’t even bother to take his sneakers off, ghosting through the living room followed by the hallway that led to the bedroom. the door was ajar so a gentle push was all it needed.

rins heavy eyes scanned the dark room. when they landed on the bed the sight made something deep in his chest soften; you. you curled up half under the comforter, bare leg kicked out, hair a halo beneath your head. it was a site that never failed to make him weak in the knees.

he had been so busy lately; practice, games, press…not enough of you. it didn’t help that you had your own priorities, but sometimes he wished he could take you away, run away from all of it with you,

but that wasn’t realistic. he loved soccer, and rin may have loved you more but this was the life he built for himself since he was a kid.

so, instead of taking you and leaving everything without a word, he kicked his shoes off and fell face forward onto the soft mattress you shared. sinking in, his teal eyes scanned your figure once more and a hand came to rest on you hip. you stirred, but didn’t wake.

he admired you as you slept for a while. it may have been creepy, but he missed you so damn much. rin didn’t get love the way most kids did when he was growing up, he had sae of course but his parents weren’t…affectionate.

when the two of you began dating he was confused when you would touch him in small, soft way. a hand on his back when he muttered complaints about how he played in a game, holding his hands in yours when you were talking to him sincerely, caressing his cheek while admiring him; after that he was addicted to your touch.

the hand on your hip slid up to your waist, fingers brushing at the skin where your shirt rode up. itd been so long. god damnit, now he was getting hard, all from a few fingers on your skin! it was pathetic, rin knew it, you even knew it. you let him be pathetic, you let him be different from the rin itoshi the world knew.

he loved you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

it was a choked whine that made you stir from sleep, one right in your ear so close that it made the hair on your neck stand up.

a huff fell past your dry lips as your eyes fluttered open. they fell on the digital clock on your cluttered bedside table; 1:27 am. was rin home?

“shit, m’ sorry…”

well, that was certainly an answer. more familiar whines filled the room while your other senses came to; the feeling of friction and wetness between your thighs, a hand underneath your shirt grasping and kneading at your breast, drool on your neck.

“rin?”

another choked sob following by a sloppy wet kiss to the side of your face

“so fuckin’ s-sorry- mmph-“ rins hips began to thrust faster hitting your ass while his cock slid up against your clothed cunt. he was lost in his own pleasure, he could feel your lips from just how much precum he’d leaked.

you tried to look back at him the best you could and when you met him with a mess of black locks, drool dribbling from the side of his mouth, he kissed you.

it wasn’t rough, it was needy. full of want. he kept mumbling out little ‘love you’s and ‘missed you’s whenever there was a pause to breath. his hips still worked against you at an adjusted angle that let his tip hit your clit just right.

when you finally pulled back and were able to rest your forehead to his in the awkward position you shakily spoke “y-you could’ve woken me- mm- up” it was a whisper, so sweet he whimpered in response.

“jus’ missed you so- fuck- fuckin’ bad! needed to t-touch you” rins face fell into the crook of your neck that was still messy with his own drool. he didn’t care. “i love you, y/n. say you love me. please!”

his begs were persistent, his cock was throbbing against you and his pace slowed. he was close. you turned your head once again to look at him properly, your hand coming to hold his face. another whimper escaped his flushed lips.

“i love you, rin”

that was enough for him. his hips press flush to your ass as he finishes, cum staining your thighs and the bed. he was crying at this point, both arms coming to wrap around you tightly.

“thank you-“ a hiccup followed by a shaky sigh “missed being able to touch you…” he already sounded like the exhaustion was catching up to him, post nut clarity filling his senses

that made you soften slightly. you shifted your body the best you could without making more of a mess with his load still sticky and cooling against you skin. you press a kiss to his cheek.

“s’ okay baby…just relax. we can clean up in the morning”

“you sure?” big eyes look up at you. its as if he’s looking at a goddess.

“i’m sure…you owe me head though”

“anything for you, maam~”

tysm for ur request ^.^ i <3 needy pathetic rin!!! I’m sorry if its diff from what you might’ve imagined :,)

#<3nanamisdolliefic #bllk #bllk smut #rin #rin smut #rin itoshi #rin itoshi smut #blue lock #blue lock smut #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader

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madsxyins · 16 days ago

Text

Not clingy, Just close

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

word count: 1k

warnings: none

synopsis: Just a bunch of clips showing Paige being clingy but pretending she’s not, and Y/n catching her every time.

anon req

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

TikTok @yourusername

Caption: “This girl acts like she hates attention but won’t let me breathe in peace 😭 “

The video opens with a soft rustle of sheets. The screen is dimly lit with early morning sunlight filtering through blinds. You angle the camera toward your chest, where Paige is draped across you,head buried in your neck, one leg thrown over yours, both her arms snug around your torso.

You (quietly) “Paige… baby, I gotta get up.”

Paige (muffled) “No you don’t.”

You shift a little under her weight, one arm wiggling free to brush back her messy morning hair. She grumbles and tightens her hold like you’re her human-sized security blanket.

You “You’re literally using me as a mattress right now.”

Paige (still buried) “Exactly. Warm and Soft.”

You let out a quiet laugh and hold up your phone a little higher to capture her face , sleepy eyes half-closed, pout forming as she nuzzles closer.

You“Who’s my baby?”

There’s a pause. She groans and doesn’t lift her head, but her response is barely audible.

Paige “…I am.”

You smile. It’s such a quiet moment, so intimate. Then , your mistake ,the camera shifts slightly and Paige catches sight of the screen reflection in the window.

She freezes. Slowly lifts her head and gives you a blank stare.

Paige “Are you filming this?”

You (caught) “No?”

Paige (dry) “Right. And I’m not currently suffocating you with love.”

She peels herself off of you like she was never even snuggled in, sits upright against the headboard, and pretends to scroll on her phone like a stranger. Completely blank expression.

You “You were literally clinging to me like a koala two seconds ago.”

Paige “Must’ve been someone else. I don’t even like cuddling.”

You flip the camera to your face, deadpan.

You “This girl is such a liar.”

In the background, Paige sips from your water bottle without asking. Then sighs and mutters under her breath:

Paige“…Still want cuddles though.”

YouTube Vlog “a day off with my girlfriend (who claims she’s not clingy)”

Thumbnail: Paige asleep in your lap with the caption “not clingy, huh?”

You set the camera down on a windowsill to record a chill day off. You’re on the couch reading, and Paige is… fully spread across your lap like a sleepy golden retriever. She’s not even pretending to be productive.

You (to the camera) “She said, and I quote, ‘I’m gonna let you do your thing today.’”

You glance down. Paige opens one eye and hums.

Paige “I am letting you. I’m just… participating.”

You “You’re deadweight.”

Paige (grinning, eyes still shut)“Emotional support girlfriend. Let me live.”

You shake your head and go back to your book. Paige kisses your thigh once and sighs dramatically.

TikTok @yourusername

Caption: “Me trying to work vs my girlfriend pretending she doesn’t need attention”

Quick clips show you sitting at your desk editing. Behind you, Paige appears: first just walking in… then pretending to grab something… then hovering like a shadow… and finally, quietly laying her head on your shoulder.

Text overlay “every 12 minutes like clockwork 😅”

Last clip is her whispering:

Paige “You still love me, right?”

You “Yes, Paige.”

Paige “Just checking.”

YouTube Vlog “late night q&a with my gf (until she fell asleep mid-answer)”

You both sit in bed, filming a relaxed Q&A with soft lighting. Paige is in an oversized hoodie, half-asleep but answering questions.

You: “What was your first impression of me?”

Paige (blinking slowly) “I thought you were too pretty to talk to me. So I avoided you for like three weeks.”

You “You literally sat next to me at the camp orientation.”

Paige “Yeah. And I didn’t say a single word.”

She smiles sleepily, leans her head against your shoulder. Your hand goes to her hair almost on instinct.

You “Favorite thing about me?”

Silence. You glance down. She’s knocked out.

You (laughing) “That’s crazy. Guess I’ll just take that as everything.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

author’s note: idk if i find this cringe😭 seems okay enough lmao thanks for reading!

#madsxyins writes #paige bueckers #wlw #influencer #paige bueckers x reader #basketball #tiktok

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lambilegs · 4 months ago

Note

your best friends older sister!sevika fanfic had me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. love the way you write her as a mean teasing flirt ☺️ may i suggest roommate!sevika who does everything she can to get reader worked up such as bringing home girls to purposefully fuck them loud as fuck to make reader jealous 🙂‍↕️ hehe

roommate!sevika headcanons

note to anon: OMGGGG thank you so much bae!! and right? I feel like if she found someone who got on her nerves, she'd enjoy being the rudest flirt alive, hehe. ALSO, YES, I LOVE THIS IDEA SOOOO MUCH. took me a while to write it out, but I hope you enjoy!! <33 contains: sfw and nsfw content (minors + ageless blogs dni), reader receiving oral and strap, porn-watching, kinda voyeuristic (reader gets horny from sevika having sex with other girls), throat-grabbing, smoking, reader's body is referred to with the terms "pussy," "g-spot" and "clit"

roommate!sevika who doesn't really bother talking to you at first, just keeping to herself. she's not a fan of sharing her living space with people, but money's tight, and this is what she can afford right now. she's not interested in friendship, or some sort of everlasting bond to form between the two of you. she just wants to live in amicable peace, and have her space to herself.

and so, the two of you barely talk. you try, at first, but it becomes clear three days in that she's utterly uninterested. which, you can't lie, is a pretty huge disappointment, considering that the prospect of living with an incredibly hot and stoic butch was one that had you thrilled initially. but, unfortunately, she seems anything but truly interested in any sort of connection with you.

roommate!sevika who remains in her bedroom most of the time, working on one contraption or the other, or watching videos on her laptop.

or gaming. because, yes, she games, and she does try her best to keep quiet, she really does. but, the idiots she plays with have her occasionally shouting, cursing loudly as they cause her team to lose yet again.

every now and then, she'll hang out in the living room, watching TV, but that's usually reserved to when you're not home, or locked up in your own bedroom. when you come out to cook in the kitchen, or sit on the love seat so that you can fold laundry, she'll usually linger for a few minutes, carefully observing, before standing up to head back to her bedroom.

it's not like she hates you or anything. you're pretty okay -- nice to her and not sloppy and disgusting like some of the other roommates she's had before. you even share the food you cook with her, and have always been cooperative about splitting chores with her. so, in sevika's books, you're not a person who she's keen on disliking, and she actually feels pretty damn lucky for having found your ad.

roommate!sevika who does nothing to quell the sexual frustration you've had for months due to the serious dry spell that's been plaguing you. walls are thin, and you can hear the loud ass girl she's brought home, moaning and whining as sevika's bed frame rocks against the wall. every now and then, her noises are met with sevika's hushed grunts and filthy words of, "tell me, who's a good girl?"

you twist and turn in bed, rolling over to glare at your phone. it's 2:03AM -- how does she still have the energy to be fucking at this time? you're exhausted, irritated, and insanely horny from what you're hearing. because horribly enough, this girl doesn't sound like she's faking -- no, she's truly enjoying herself. sevika is just that good of a lay, it seems. and that piece of knowledge has your pussy beginning to dampen, soaking through your panties.

if you shut your eyes, and drift into the hazy world of dream land, you can pretend that it's you and her making those noises. that she's the one fucking you right now. god, just the thought of that notion has your clit aching.

but, it also has you feeling a strike of insecurity. because the truth is, that probably won't be you and sevika anytime soon. she doesn't even give you the time of day. you don't know what it is you've done to her, but she avoids you like the plague, never returning any of your offers of kindness or bonding. and it's beginning to sting really bad. if she can canoodle with a stranger (and, yeah, you're painfully aware it's a stranger, since her text said, "Hey. I met a girl at the bar tonight, is it okay if I bring her over?") well enough to have sex with her that very night, why can she barely spare you attention as her roommate?

the thought is a cold wash over your horniness, and all it leaves is a bitter taste on your tongue.

roommate!sevika who's giving you the most bewildered stare as you shake the soaked thong of the girl she brought home last night, yelling about how you're convinced that said girl stole one of your underwear after this one got ruined.

"how would you even know that?" sevika snickers, eyeing you in disbelief. "are you that anal?"

"my drawer was half open, sevika! and I never leave it like that because I'd knock into it on my way in otherwise!" you snap, your eyes wide and glossy with anger. sevika's honestly a bit unnerved by the sight -- she's never seen you this pissed, but jesus, she thought it'd take more than a singular, flimsy piece of fabric to get you to this state.

"it's just one pair," she deadpans. "I'm sorry serena -- or, selena, I don't know -- took it, but it's not that big of a big deal."

"maybe not for you, but it is for me! listen, I don't care if you don't know the names of the girls you bring here, or anything about them -- but, just make sure they're not a thieving dumbass, okay? is that enough for you?"

sevika's jaw shifts, irritation beginning to sizzle in her from the condescension layering your words. you're talking to her like she's a fucking child, tone taking on a faux sense of guidance.

"okay, listen, I'm sorry she took your underwear, okay? I'll buy you a new pair if you're that bent out of shape over it. but, you don't need to be such a piss baby about it."

your head flinches back, eyes sharpening in clear anger. sevika feels a twinge of guilt. she knows she fucked up, since ensuring the girl from last night didn't do anything out of line was her responsibility. but, your anger has her own defenses kicking in automatically, and she's equal measures embarrassed and angered at being spoken to this way.

"I have every right to be pissed if you're gonna be stupid about the people you bring in our apartment."

well, that manages to snap her out of it. "because I could just magically anticipate that she'd steal your shit? I get it, she did something shitty, but I couldn't have known that. I've got lots of skills, but that's not one of them."

you scoff, the noise loud and unabashed. "oh, trust me, you made a great display of your skills last night. not that you seem to fucking spare any of that attention to someone unless you're gonna get a good lay out of it."

sevika immediately freezes at that, her brain running into overdrive. your tone has shifted into something biting, but lowered with what seems like -- frustration? frustration not just at that girl, but at sevika herself. and if you're frustrated about sevika possessing an attentiveness that she spares only to certain people, then that must mean--

sevika snickers softly. oh, yeah, you've definitely given her an opening in this argument. "what, you jealous?"

immediately, you're spluttering, broken words and half-gasps flinging from your mouth, sentences barely strung together. it only heightens sevika's newfound delight in having found something to hold above your head.

"you are, aren't you? what, haven't had a good fuck lately? need me to get one of my boys to come over and take care of you?"

sevika can see the way you work your teeth behind your pursed lips, and it only causes her flame of amusement to burn brighter.

"first of all, I'm not fucking pitiful, okay? I can handle getting fucked. second of all, I'm not into guys, something you'd know if you even spoke to me for two fucking seconds."

sevika's eyes widen at that. this interaction definitely had her suspecting it, but to hear you confirm it only sends another wave of satisfaction, mingled with surprise, through her. so, you're gay and bitter over having no attention, and specifically not hers? you're making it too easy.

"so, what, you're into me?" she asks, her voice twisted with snark. "been wanting me this whole time? mad I'm not giving you attention?"

she knows it's risky to be goading her own roommate like this, flirting and teasing. but, she can't help it -- not when your mouth is finally shut and she knows she has something on you.

she stalks up to you slowly, using her height to her advantage as she dips her head down, staring at you with a piercing smirk. "well?"

your eyes are wide, blinking rapidly like a pretty little butterfly. they flicker down to her mouth, and sevika feels something stir in her gut at the sight. she's always been neutral about you, but there's something undeniably attractive about seeing you like this -- seething, wanting, in need of someone to take care of you. as her gaze roves over your features, she finds herself struck for the first time that you're, frankly, pretty good-looking.

but, then, you draw in a sharp breath, and sevika reels back in surprise when you hiss, "no."

she's left baffled as you whirl on your heel, stomping to your room, muttering out, "perverted jackass."

sevika chuckles at that. perverted jackass, huh?

roommate!sevika whose noises are so bothersome that you cover your ears, gritting your teeth at the rattling-headboard noises that are running through the apartment for the fifth fucking time in these past two weeks. how sevika manages to get this many girls in her bed is beyond your human capabilities. all you know is that it was never this often in the past. no, this -- this is fucking personal. you can feel it in the way she shoots you a haughty smirk the next morning, and how she encourages the people she's with to moan louder, move back faster. it's gotten to the point where you can even hear the fucking skin smacks.

it makes you utterly enraged. and impossibly soaked. but, for your own sense of justice and determination, you refuse to get off to the noises. in fact, everytime she continues her habit of asking you politely if she can bring someone over, you ensure to respond in as chipper a tone as possible. you don't want her thinking she's having an impact on you. you want to convey the self-image of being unbothered, unfazed and completely okay with every little dig she's attempting with you.

what makes you snap is when you're on your way to work one morning, and from where she's seated on the couch, lip bitten in frustration as she does a crossword puzzle like a fucking nerd, she says, "enjoyed the show last night? I can pick someone else up tonight. thought I'd ask in case you need to charge your vibrator in advance."

stay calm. stay calm. don't attack her. don't sit on her face.

"well," you drawl with a forced smile, "you'd like that, wouldn't you? so, your next girl can steal it for herself."

she immediately bursts into a loud round of laughter, her gap revealing itself unabashedly. your eyes linger on it, struck with a sudden bolt of fondness. it's one part of her that is unarguably adorable.

you turn away before she can catch you, heading to the kettle to pour the boiling water into your tumblr.

"wait, no," sevika calls out from the couch, eyes still fixed on the newspaper. "the counter."

your eyes curiously travel to the wooden surface, gulping in surprise when you see a fresh pot already made. you know sevika always drinks coffee before her shift at the mechanic's, but that's usually just a single cup. never an entire pot like this. "did you, uh, make this for me?"

"don't flatter yourself. just take some."

her voice is a grunt and no-nonsense, not allowing for her meaning to be minced whatsoever. she wants you taking the coffee, and that's that.

with a bitten smile, you pour it into your tumblr, the pleasant scent of it wafting through your nostrils. it's the brand you always use, the one you've offered to sevika before that she's never actually taken you up on. at least until now.

she's at least half-redeemed to you until she says, "just needed some energy after last night, you know? wait, what am I saying? you were listening, won't you?"

your skin stretches over your knuckles as you tightly grip the doorknob.

jackass.

roommate!sevika who you try to get back at by watching obscenely loud porn. sometimes, you touch yourself to it, while other times, you just let it play in the background while folding your laundry, or wiping the dust from your furniture. you know it's immature as fuck, and will probably never equate to the personal touch of her being the one to incite those noises when trying to piss you off. but, hey, if it keeps her up at night and pisses her off, you're more than content. and judging from the glares she silently shoots you in the morning, you can tell you're succeeding.

at least, until one day, she leans in from behind when you're making eggs, her mouth lowered to your ear, and mutters, "c'mon, you're easy on the eyes. can't be so hard to find someone that you resort to porn, right?"

your nostrils flare, nearly slamming down the pan on the stove. "oh, fuck off."

"don't you mean 'fuck me'?"

your mouth cracks into an almost-smile. it's one thing to wanna fuck sevika, it's a whole other thing to have your stomach tighten up from how funny she is. makes it all the harder to deal with your current predicament. "no, I mean 'fuck you,' actually -- thanks for helping with that clarification."

"anytime," she huffs in amusement, lightly smacking your shoulder, which sends you nearly tumbling from her strength.

you glare at her back as she leaves. god, it's a good back. you hate that she has a good back.

roommate!sevika who's almost... thankful for this situation? because paying more attention to you, being in your way more often, ends up revealing to her that she was, admittedly, a damn fool for not having taken notice of you earlier.

because you're smart. like, wicked smart. what she suspects is mostly out of spite, you've started leaning over her shoulder, your scent flooding her senses as you spoil the answers to her crossword puzzles. at first, she rolled her eyes, grumbling that she would've gotten it without your help. but, now, she anticipates your stupid antics before you can even think about disrupting her mood with it. that translates to her raising the newspaper to you right as you meet her in the kitchen, an action which you first met with a disapproving glare.

but, in a matter of days, you're sitting right next to her, a pencil in hand, the two of you debating over answers together and groaning in frustration whenever you get something wrong.

when you bump her arm, whining, "c'mon, I told you it was wrong!" she can feel her face heat up like some fucking teenager.

and when you roll your eyes when her answer ends up being the right on, it only eggs her on, the motion usually followed with her murmuring, "sorry, what was that again?"

whenever you two finish, she always says, "thanks for ruining it," to which you singsong, "anytime, sevika."

and she hates to admit it, but you're funny, too. there've been several times where she's actually been rendered silent from just how good a comeback of yours was, or where you said something that caught her so off guard she nearly laughed in a moment where she was just annoyed.

and fuck her, you're so fine. so goddamn fine.

a notion that seizes at her when you come out of your bedroom one evening, dressed from head to toe in clothes she certainly has never seen you in before. clothes you'd surely never wear to work or when lounging at home.

she licks her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling very, very dry. "what-- where are you--?"

"putting myself out there." you shrug, idly stroking a palm along your head, smoothing your hair. "I mean, it always works for you. and, you're right, porn can only do so much. I think it's time for me to, you know, actually try to get with someone."

sevika's jaw clenches. like the fuck you will. "no."

"what do you mean 'no'?" you scoff, swinging your bag over your shoulder. "I can do whatever I want."

"well, I'm not letting you do this," she snaps, standing from her seat on the couch and rushing to block you from the door.

"why not?"

"because I--" she cuts herself off, teeth pressing in together as her mind is shaken with an influx of thoughts. because what can she even say? it's not just about wanting to fuck, not anymore. she's actually interested now. so interested that it's been weeks since she last brought a girl over. no point in doing so if her mind is filled with thoughts of you touching yourself to the noises, anyways.

you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. "yes?"

she leans in closer, propping a hand next to where your shoulders rest along the door. there's an inexplicable urge tugging her forwards to you, and she doesn't have it in her to resist it. "because I," she rasps, her voice low and scratchy, "I want you safe."

jesus, is she an idiot?

your face is deadpan, not a twitch of expression in sight. "you do it all the time. besides, how will I learn unless I'm out there, doing it?" after a beat skips between you two, you add, "unless you wanna come with?"

sevika snorts. "you really think I'm gonna watch you fuck about with some other people who don't deserve you?"

you brace your head against the plane of the door, eyes tracing over her face, making sevika's skin tingle in response. "then, who does?" you mutter quietly.

your tone is no longer flat. it's raised in pitch a bit, almost sounding hopeful. sevika swallows hard, her own body beginning to tense in anticipation. she latches onto that audible sign, using it to propel her forward until her lips are ghosting yours.

"me, you idiot."

and with that, she cups your face, drawing you into a soft kiss, your chapstick-smeared lips thick and slippery against hers.

roommate!sevika who makes you come so many times that night that you lose track. first with her head between your thighs, mouthing at your clit, fingers pumping into your hole as she spreads you loose and open. her lips wrap around the stiffened bud, drawing it in in tight, sharp sucks, the pressure of the movements making your legs tremble around her head, pressing into her ears without relent.

"damn, you trying to suffocate me?" she murmurs against your clit, the vibrations of her words making you whimper.

"it's what you deserve," you chuckle once the fog has cleared a bit, the noise dissolving into a whine when her tongue darts out, flapping over your clit with hard presses up and down, up and down.

"you're right," she hums, pressing a soft kiss to the spot just as her fingers curl up and begin stroking your g-spot, making streams of pleasure pulse from your pussy into your tummy, which tightens in anticipation. "I've been a dick to you, huh? I'll make it up to you tonight."

and make it up she does, her strap plunging into you and stretching your hole into a dull ache as her strong fingers hook onto her headboard, raising herself over you as your hips smack together. the mix of lube and your juices send filthy little squelches flowing through the room, and the noise only adds to the whirlwind of pleasure she's throwing you into without pause.

when she kisses you hard, making you whine as her fingers wrap around your throat and her tongue shoves into you, you can't resist quipping through your moans, "gotta say -- those girls had a point."

she chuckles against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. "and I was going easy on them. just wait till I'm done with you."

roommate!sevika who wraps her arm around you when smoking her cigarette afterwards. after lying together with nothing but some faded music playing in the background for a few minutes, she presses a tentative, slow kiss to your head, muttering, "I wish I had started talking to you earlier on."

you blink in surprise from the words, the tenderness of the moment sending a flood of emotions through you. you don't want to sound needy, but now that the topic has been brought up, a part of you aches for reassurance, wishing for the hollow part of you her initial avoidance had bore to be filled. "was it because I seemed uninteresting, or...?"

"no, no," she immediately cuts in, her voice hard. "I just wasn't interested in bonding with any roommate. never have been." her nails gently skim along your arm, and her voice lowers before confessing, "I thought you were sweet, though."

that sends satisfaction pumping through you, and you need to purse your lips together to halt a wide smile from breaking over your face. "yeah?"

"yeah, until you started being a little fucking menace," she whispers with a grin, her hand snaking down to squeeze your ass, a motion which nearly sends you moaning.

"hey, you started it with your panty-stealing girl."

"my panty-stealing girl?" she asks incredulously, her chin pointing down to shoot you a wide-eyed look. "you think I'm gonna call anyone mine except you now?"

feeling suddenly bashful from the bold declaration, you nuzzle into her neck, your face heating up. "I don't know."

"huh, you know, you're cute like this. docile, quiet--"

"oh, fuck off."

she laughs, lightly pinching your arm, which sends you squealing. "eh, I knew it only could've lasted so long."

"like you'd have it any other way."

she takes a drag, the corner of her lips curling up. "got a point there."

no sentences and/or parts of my writing are allowed to be reposted or reused without explicit permission or credits given.

#s.writing #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you

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godmadeaterribleerror · 5 months ago

Text

Still You Want Me

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pregnancy, a little angst if you squint, pre-established relationship.

Summary/Warnings: Dean's fought the worst evil in the world, but only one thing has really managed to scare him. His pregnant wife.

Author's Note: Request from an anon!! I got emotional with it, and I'm very sorry about that but I couldn't help myself. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.9k

“We got three hours left.” Dean returned to the parked Impala, sorting through the bags in his hands. “But we can make it back in two if I-“

Sam shook his head, taking his bag of bird feed—trail mix, but the pointless kind without any M&Ms—from Dean with a frown. “Two’s a bit stretch, don’t you think? I mean even for you, Dean, and it’s not like we’re in a rush-“

“You’re not in a rush, Sammy.” Dean muttered, dumping the rest of the snacks in the backseat. “I got a pregnant wife who’s left me three voicemails about how she’s either gonna castrate me or give me head, and-“

“Gross, dude.” Sam walked around the car, making a scrunched bitch-face of disgusting. “All you needed to say was that’s she’s got mood swings-“

“Don’t call them mood swings.” Dean dropped behind Baby’s wheel, saying Her name with a sigh. “She hates that. And you can’t charm your way out of like I can.”

“I think I could.” Sam shrugged. “She likes me more.”

��She’s my freakin’ wife-“

“She loves you.” Sam grabbed his phone as they pulled out of the lot. “She likes me. I’ve never been threatened with castration-“

“Yet.” Dean muttered. “Cas thought he was safe until he got a shade of yellow that was too red for the nursery. I mean, yellow is yellow, Sammy, but she threatened to cut off his wings-“

Sam frowned. “I don’t think she could do that-“

“Trust me, man.” Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “She’d find a way.”

Sam just nodded, because they both knew Dean was right. He was pretty goddamn sure that, if She wanted—or if Dean pissed Her off enough—She’d figure out how to send him somewhere worse than the Empty, bring him back, then start sobbing and apologizing on Her knees all within a ten-minute span. Then She’d probably give him a blowjob, he’d saying the exact wrong dirty talk, and she’d bite off Little Dean. Shit, he’d only been gone four days for the hunt, but half that time had been spent on the phone, reassuring Her he was being safe, the hunt wasn’t a part of any world-ending scheme from a new big bad, and he’d be home soon. The time that Dean wasn’t on the phone, Sam was, promising he wouldn’t let anything happen, that Dean was sleeping well and looking at the baby names list She’d sent, and that he’d called Eileen so she wouldn’t worry either.

Annoyingly, Sam had been keeping his promises to Her. Dean read the baby names list because Sam wouldn’t let him leave the table until he did, Eileen had gotten two calls, and Dean was being safer than he’d ever been in his freaking life. At this point, he was pretty sure the pregnancy was just one long scam to make him take care of himself. He was drinking and hunting less after Her breakdown that she’d lose him, driving a little slower—just a little, he wasn’t a blind old lady—after the ice incident got him the silent treatment for three days, and he’d even tried some of Sam’s rabbit food. He’d spat it out, but he’d tried it. For Her, for the baby, and because he was terrified for his life.

Dean loved Her more than every pie in the freaking universe, but She was freaking terrifying right now. She might be the only thing he’d ever really been afraid of. Planes he could avoid. Ghosts and monster he could kill. Hell, even Lucifer had been better. At least the son of a bitch hadn’t begged to give Dean a hand job, then started sobbing because Dean tried to move it to sex and they didn’t feel pretty enough for sex. And if Lucifer had done that, Dean wouldn’t have cared. He didn’t give a shit about Lucifer.

But he gave a shit about Her. Every time She cried it felt like someone was stabbing him, but he had less and less of a damn clue for how to help her the more pregnant She got. She’d said she felt ugly, he’d told Her she was beautiful, and that her tits looked better than ever, and She’d started accusing him of not loving her tits before. He’d missed one phone call and She’d sent Cas to teleport him home. He’d gotten the wrong candy bar and She’d had a breakdown about him not loving her enough to get the right one.

That last one was why the gas station had taken so long. Dean had triple checked every single snack he’d bought, and added a few extras just in case she changed Her mind. He’d even had Cas text him a second list after She’d told him all her requests over the phone, out of fear that he’d missed even a single one. Even now, on the road, he was running through everything one last time, because he’d gotten five different Gatorade colors, but maybe She’d want a sixth, or two of the same color, or only one color and he’d get yelled at because She didn’t even like orange-

“Hey!” Sam pulled Dean out of his thoughts with a shout. “Phone!”

“Wha-“

Sam said Her name, holding Dean’s phone in front of his face. “She’s calling you-“

“I got that.” Dean snatched the phone, shooting Sam a glare. “And that’s not safe, Sammy. Gonna get us fuckin’ killed-“

“Yeah, sure, Dean.” Sam just shrugged—even though Dean was right, that was dangerous—and nodded to the phone. “I’d pick up if I were you-“

“Shut up.” Dean muttered, ignoring Sam’s laugh as he answered the call. “Hey, baby, we’re-“

“Dean!” Her voice was a half-shriek through the phone, and Dean winced. “Holy shit, you’re alive, that’s good-“

“Course I’m alive, I promised I would be-“

“But it’s not up to you!” She was pacing. Her voice had grown frantic and high, so She was pacing. “Monsters don’t ask before they kill you, and they’d defiantly want to kill you, and Sam told me he’d take that bullet but I don’t want him to die either, and you’re both amazing hunters but if you die now, you can’t come back, and I’d miss you, I miss you now, why aren’t you home, you dick, I fucking hate you-“

Dean swallowed, saying Her name slowly as Sam snickered at his side. Asshole. “Take a breath-“

“Don’t tell me how to breathe, Winchester, I’ve been breathing my whole fucking life-“

“I know, sweetheart, I have too-“

“You’ve never had to breathe while pregnant-“

“And I’m not planning to, ever, but- just listen-“

“We should get you pregnant, it’s only fair-“

Sam started to cackle, Her voice loud enough he could obviously hear every word. It wasn’t really helpful.

“That’s not gonna happen,” Dean muttered, giving Sam a death glare that just made him laugh more. “Sweetheart, we’ll be there soon. I promise.“

“Okay, but don’t go too fast, if you’re far, because you promised me you’d drive carefully, and you need to be safer. I don’t want to lose you.” She started to sniffle. Shit. “I can’t lose you, De, I need you, the baby needs you, and Sam and Cas are cool but they’re not you and I want you and the baby wants you. It wants you more, it hates when your gone, it just keeps kicking me and if you die I’ll be a terrible mother with a baby who hates me-“

Dean snapped Her name, pressing the Impala’s pedal to the floor. He needed to be home soon. “Listen to me. I’m not gonna do anything stupid like die, and you’re never gonna lose me. Plus, our baby won’t hate you. It’s half me. It can’t.”

There was a slightly static hum from the other side, and Dean sighed.

“I know you miss me, baby, and we can get you whatever you’re craving, but-“

“I do miss you, De.” Her voice was soft and pleading through the phone.

But it wasn’t Her crying voice. That was her-

“I miss your cock, too. I miss touching you, and why is your bed so stupid and big-“

Dean chuckled, shaking off the whiplash. “Because I’m stupid and big-“

He could hear Her pout through the phone. “Don’t say that. You’re not stupid, and our baby’s gonna be a genius-“

“Because they’ll get their brains from you, pretty girl.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean leaned slightly forward, checking a highway sign. “Hour and a half, okay? Then I’ll be home.”

“Fine.” She mumbled. “I love you. Be careful.”

“I love you too, baby. And I’m always safe.” Dean waited for Her sigh, letting her hang up first. He’d learned to do that the hard way. “Not a word, Sammy, or I’ll shoot you.”

Sam raised his hands, palms up. “I didn’t even open my- got it.”

Dean turned his scowl back to the road, and he could be safe and get home in an hour. Both could be possible, and She’d never have to know that he’d been going 15 over the speed limit. And if She started to catch on, Dean could distract Her with his hands and dick and mouth, because—as hot as she was when she was pissed—Sam said stress wasn’t good for the baby.

They made it forty-five minutes of mostly safe driving—Dean’s hands gripping the wheel and listening to the music at a deafening volume, Sam texting Eileen and pretending he wasn’t bothered by the deafening music—before another incident.

Cas appeared in the back seat, said Her name instead of hello, Dean—already a bad sign—and looked almost genuinely scared. Dean had never seen his face do that before—red and sheepish like a child being scolded by a dinosaur—and it was a little off-putting.

He was used to Cas doing this enough to not swerve off the road, but he was still pissed. “Fucking hell, Cas, a warning would be nice-“

Cas frowned, then leaned forward, turning down the music. “Did you not hear what I said.”

“No, the music was on, I know you said-“

Cas said Her name again with Dean. “It was her message. I would, ah, prefer not to repeat it.”

Sam blinked, turning in his seat. “Why, is she-“

“She is well.” Cas’ eyes stayed on Dean in the rearview mirror. “She is feeling some very… confusing emotions. Towards Dean.”

Sam frowned. “Confusing? How-“

“She told me to relay to Dean that she hates him, and she hates hunting, and if he’s not home in forty-five minutes she’ll leave him, but she can’t leave him because she loves him more than life and she cannot live without him. Specifically his smile, voice, hands, stupid flirting that did this in the first place, and,” Cas swallowed, his voice dropping slightly as his face grew red. “Big cock.”

Dean smirked slightly—she was a menace, but damn it if he didn’t love his girl—as Sam paled next to him.

“By this,” Cas mumbled. “I assume she was referring to the baby. Which is in good health. I checked this morning.”

“Good. Thanks, Cas, but,” Dean sighed. “This could’ve been a phone call-“

“I was instructed to deliver it in person. To make sure you were safe, and driving carefully.” Cas leaned forward with a frown. “The speed limit on this highway is meant to be-“

“I know what the speed limit is.” Dean grumbled, refusing to ease his foot off the gas. “I’m tryin’ to get home, Cas.”

“I believe she would prefer you get home slower, rather than sacrificing your safety.” Cas let out a long sigh. “Although, I will admit I’d prefer you return quickly. I am not equipped to handle a pregnant woman alone, despite reading all of the books on the subject I could find. And, uh,” Cas said Her name with a red face. “Is frightening in this state.”

Dean sighed. “Thirty minutes, dude, can you hold down the fort-“

“He could take you now?” Sam cut in with a small frown. “Cas could zap you back to the bunker, and I could drive Baby home.”

“Sammy-“

Cas nodded. “I agree with Sam’s plan. If you could pull over, Dean-“

“I’m not gonna pull over!” Dean snapped. “I can get back just fine myself!”

“But I could-“

“You won’t always be there, Cas.” Dean grunted through his teeth. “I gotta be able to take care of my family by myself. Shit, I’m doing all the safety bullcrap for it, and I’m hunting less.” He said Her name, his grip on the wheel painful. “She’s gotta know I can take care of her, and the baby. I said I’d drive home, so-“

Sam cut Dean off a sigh. “Dude, she’s gonna care way more that you’re home with her.”

“Sam is correct.” Cas said, and Dean could feel his gaze through the mirror. “I attempted to make her breakfast this morning, and she started crying. When asked, she told me that you make it better.” Cas frowned. “It was cereal.”

“C’mon, man. Let Cas take you home.”

Dean glanced over to find Sam giving him puppy eyes—the bitch—and groaned. “Fine. But if I see one scratch on Baby-“

“You’ll kill me, yeah, I know.” Sam unbuckled as Dean pulled over, not sounding nearly threatened enough. “Let’s move.”

It took a minute for Dean to get all the snacks, but the moment the last bag was in his arms Cas grabbed him by the shoulder, the world because a spinning rush, and he was home.”

“Dean!”

He was barely on steady legs when She slammed into him, sending him stumbling slightly back as his arms wrapped around her, careful not to push too far into the baby bump.

“Hey, Sweetheart. I heard you missed me-“

“Of course I missed you, you asshole!” She pushed off of him, shoving his chest slightly. “Do you have any idea how many pies are just rotting in the fridge for you! You said the hunt would be fast, Dean, but I was stuck alone for four fucking days-“

Dean frowned. “Wasn’t Cas-“

“Cas doesn’t count!” She screamed, and over her shoulder, Cas didn’t look that offended. He’d probably gotten this outburst—and the following, tearful apology—at least twice already. “Cas isn’t you! He didn’t knock me up and then leave me-“

Dean thought about pointing out that he had not left Her, but thought better of it and let her keep shouting. She usually calmed herself down.

Usually.

“And Cas is an angel, and he’s been okay, and I feel so bad because I was such a bitch to him, but he deserved it! He wasn’t you! And I missed you and I hate you, Dean, I fucking hate you, why weren’t you home-“

Dean caught Her hands in his, pressing a gentle kiss to Her knuckles. “I’m home now, baby-“

“I know.” She whispered, crumbling in half a second into Dean, clinging to him like a koala. “And I missed you so much, De. I can’t do the laundry with this stupid bump, I can’t do anything, I’m useless and I’m a bitch and I think made Cas cry-“

“I’d pay to see you make Cas cry,” Dean muttered Her name, running a slow hand through her hair. “And you’re not useless. You’re growing a person, that freaking awesome and insane-“

She tilted her head back, pretty eyes glossy and wide on Dean’s. “But what if I mess it up? What if I fuck the baby up and you leave me-“

“I’m never gonna leave you.”

“But I’ve been mean-“

“You’re always mean, baby.” Dean grinned at her, letting his affection show in his voice. “And it’s always pretty freakin’ hot. And you aren’t gonna fuck up the baby, and I’m not gonna leave you, but,” he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “If you wanna make Sammy cry a little more, I think he’ll deserve it.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “I’m not making Sam cry-“

“He said you had mood swings.”

She gasped, hitting Dean’s chest. “You’re a snitch-“

“Gotta spread the love somehow.” Dean shrugged, squeezing his hands on Her as he dropped his voice down. “But I can think of a few other ways, just you and me, to spread some better love.”

She flushed—already putty in Dean’s arms—and almost dragged him back to their room.

And this made it worth it. All the screaming and flying objects and threats, all the living in cautious fear in his own damn home, was more than worth it for this. Not just the awesome sex—sex was always awesome, sex with Her was better than almost anything, and sex with pregnant Her was what Dean imagined crack was like—but the way that, in the end, She smiled at him no matter what. She smiled and giggled and moaned, proving to Dean in a million ways both between the sheets and after that she didn’t really hate him, and he got to rest his head on her stomach and feel a small kick near his brow. Her fingers combed through his hair peacefully, all her noises made of content, and everything was more than worth it.

Worth pushing through the worst of the screaming and moods—just like She’d pushed through all of his world-saving bullshit—to see Her peaceful face as she slept by his side. Worth letting Sam drive the Impala just once, so Dean could get home faster.

Worth the family he was finally getting to have, and being here with them.

End Note: Sam Winchester once again being a true trooper in my stories.

Title from Next to Me by Imagine Dragons

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@Youdontknowwe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

Text

HAPPY MARRIAGE

- nanami kento x reader

“you don't deserve to be unhappy. and i don’t want to be unhappy, either.” you have always wondered where did you and kento go wrong. in the wake of your divorce, as you both returned to single lives, you and kento would come to realize what constitutes a happy marriage is... and it takes more than just love

genre/warnings: post-divorce angst, crack, misunderstandings, arguments, hurt/comfort, bestfriend!gojo is going to help your love life, and fluff in the end!

note: this fic... goes through a major change overnight after i was struck with a wholly different plot *sobs* and then i went through a major writing block for at least a week before i know what words i'm going to write :') anyways, this isn't really proofread so please forgive any typos to the anon who requested this and others, i do hope you'll enjoy it! tagging @tiredkitten as per request <3

listen to: today more than yesterday - kim jong kook

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

No divorce ever comes easy.

When couples enter into marriage, they do so with the dream of a lifelong bond filled with love and compassion. You too did once. And even until now, you still want that for yourself.

When you married Nanami Kento three years ago, you thought it was for eternity. He was your dream man, the only man you could see yourself with. He embodied everything that was just and righteous, and he was also kind man, who would always put you first, shielding you from any sort of harm.

Even if the source of that ‘harm’ turned out to be himself.

“You don't deserve to be unhappy. and I don’t want to be unhappy, either.”

Strangely, you didn't resent Kento that much, in the end. At that time, both of you had come to terms with it and you couldn't blame anyone. But now, six months later, as you sat in this shabby bar, downing shots of gin with your thoughts swirling in an alcohol-induced haze, your emotions were all over the place, and moreover, the presence of a certain clown before you was just particularly irksome, and you knew that he was someone you could blame—

“Gojo, you prick!”

Gojo raised one righteous eyebrow. "Who, me? Sorry, but I'm not your ex-husband?"

Gojo Satoru was the witness to several milestone in your life. Insufferable as he was, somehow you clicked with him ever since your early days as a jujutsu sorcerer. You remembered sending him your handpicked wedding invitation, having him celebrating your promotions, and then coming to him with tears running down your face in the middle of the night, telling him, “We are getting a divorce.”

"You!" you snapped, slamming down your glass of gin, whipping your head around to face the blindfolded idiot that was your longtime friend. Your index finger accusingly aimed at him. "This is all your fault!"

"Wha—"

"Because of you!"

"Okay, now it's clear that you're just too far gone—"

You hiccupped, your tone laced with fiery emotion. "If it weren't for you—if you hadn't been so adamant about setting us up back then—!"

Gojo grimaced. Ah, so this was the so-called drunken musings. While it was amusing to see his friend of 7 years in this state, even he couldn't deny how a tad bit pitiful you were.

"...then maybe," you started to deflate, eyes watering and lips trembling, sniffling. "I-I won't have to go through this..."

Correction, you were so pitiful you had no idea. But still, as a longtime associate, he couldn't bring himself to abandon you there, wallowing in your sorrows all alone.

He sighed and patted your back. "There, there... what about I introduce you to other guys, hmm? See if it'll lessen the pain away?"

You shot him a look so hateful despite your bleary vision. "No! Last time you did, it ended in a divorce for me! I refuse to let you turn me into a two-time divorcee!"

"I'm pretty sure your marriage is far from my business, I'm just your kind-hearted, handsome broker—"

"Bah! You— tasteless prick!"

You burped loudly afterwards and Gojo winced, and then you suddenly (and theatrically, he might add) slumped face-down onto the table with a thud, passed out in all your drunken glory.

And Gojo could only stare at you in somewhat disbelief.

. . .

He thought then, that you were definitely going to owe him one after this.

More often than not, throughout the past six months, Nanami also found himself thinking about you too.

Despite his calm exterior, separation with you didn't come easy for him. There was a reason he married you in the first place—he had loved you, and he too wanted it to last. You used to be the reason he went home on time each and everyday, the reason he eagerly anticipated spending his weekends with.

Everything had fallen apart before either of you realized it. Some disagreements suddenly spiraled into lonely nights, no updates during longer missions, your tears, and then ended with both of you filing the papers in the city hall to end it all.

Six months ago, he thought he was final with his decision. He thought it was the best as he was faced with the sight of your tear-streaked face.

“Kento, I’m not asking m-much, am I?” you asked between sobs, wiping your tears harshly. “Aren’t w-we family? Shouldn’t we be doing a lot of things—together?”

Recalling that moment now, it tugged at his heartstrings anew. Yet, despite everything...

“I’m telling you, I know my limits—”

“Is that all you have to say? Don’t you know how sick with worry I am?” you ended up shouting at him, voice quivering. “Put yourself in my shoes and think: how can I possibly sleep at night, constantly fearing that my husband might—” your voice broke, fresh tears flowing freely. “—might not come back?!”

He was the one who backed away first, who made you lose all hope, and ultimately, placed the sentence upon you.

“If you don't have it in you to... then, perhaps it's for the best that we... just get a divorce.”

"Nanami-san, you okay?"

He looked up from the sizzling barbeque grill pan to his junior, Ino Takuma, who looked concerned as he flipped the meat. "You have been staring into space for a while..."

"I'm fine, Ino-kun." He looked down and grabbed the tongs, flipping his side of beef.

Ino let out a sympathetic sigh. "Honestly, lately, you seem down."

Words he was holding back were "ever since your divorce", but Ino was pretty sure his senior understood the implicaton.

Nanami hummed. "Sometimes life just doesn't go as swimmingly... I'm fine."

Ino never really knew you that well and was curious. In fact, he was so very curious. When it comes to Nanami Kento, everything he does and has done is always with justified and sound reason, but he might be biased because the 7:3 sorcerer was his role model.

It might verge on invading his privacy, but—

"They said... Gojo-san was your matchmaker back then?" he went through with the question anyway, testing the waters. "I don't mean to pry, but I just thought it's cute."

To Ino's surprise, Nanami's lips curled into a small smile. "It's fine, Ino-kun. I think it has become common knowledge by now. Yeah... he was."

"For you to have fallen for someone who was Gojo's acquaintance... it speaks volumes about how charming Y/N is."

"Mmm," he nodded slightly as he indulged in the grilled meat. "She is."

"Nanami-san." Okay, Ino was starting to think that he wouldn't be getting his point across if he went the roundabout way. He would shoot it straight then. "I don't mean to patronize you... but if you're really that miserable, then I think you should go back to her and talk things out, no?"

Nanami put down his chopsticks and let out a soft sigh, making Ino to immediately regret his blatant suggestion.

"Before arriving at such a difficult decision, of course we did try to discuss some things," he explained, his gaze meeting his calmly. "I don't take matters like divorce lightly, Ino-kun."

"But still... now—"

To drove the point home, Nanami chose to vocalize the conclusion that still left a bitter taste in his mouth to this day:

"She is unhappy with the way things are, and I have to come to terms with the fact that I can't provide what she needs."

Ino's gaze fell in dejection. "Nanami-san..."

Nanami chuckled fondly. “I appreciate your concern, Ino-kun. Thank you.”

In front of his junior, he could maintain composure and narrated the collapse of his own marriage as if he were a mere spectator. But in his heart of hearts, Nanami Kento wasn’t at all the stoic man he made everyone believed he was—the fact that he had failed to give you the life of happiness he promised on the day he proposed to you still stung him to this day.

It hurt him, but echoing your words, he couldn't subject you to a marriage that felt like a dull cohabitation with little understanding.

“We never really talk anymore, do we...? We never really work on our problems too. Kento, lately, I feel like... things have changed.”

Suppose what he had to do was letting you go now.

It was easier said than done, because when Nanami saw you the next day at the school—this being the first time in several weeks—he almost couldn’t keep his cool.

"Ichiji, don't be too stiff!" you slapped the poor guy in the back with a giggle. "It's just me, it's been a while!"

You didn't look much different than the last he saw you—still the chirpy self he unwittingly fell in love with, staying on top of the latest fashion trends and all. Yet, there was definitely something different about you, something he just couldn't quite identify...

And then those cheerfulness deflated when your gaze met his, eyes widening as you tried to get your bearings. "Oh—h-hi, Kento."

That's too forced. It was so unnatural that made him almost wince.

"Hello." But the tremble in his voice, too, betrayed him. "Have you been well?"

You shifted your gaze away from him, and right before you answered, you let out a cough, and that was when he spotted it: you looked kind of pale.

"I'm fine."

"Oh, that's good then."

Silence. This was the absolute worst.

Nanami exhaled. It was you he was talking to, his ex-wife. He knew you inside out—or at least, he used to. He knew you didn't like this dryness as much as he did. He had to say something.

He braved himself. "Are you here for a mission?"

You looked at him in slight surprise. "Oh... yeah."

Darn it. Another dry reply.

"There... is a cursed totem in North Tokyo," you elaborated, not really looking at him. "Gojo's out from tomorrow until next week. I'm substituting for him to assist the first years."

"Are you sure you're up for that?" Nanami found himself asking before he could stop. "I mean no disrespect, but you look a bit pale."

"I am," you snapped, leaving him surprised. It was as though he had unintentionally struck a nerve, quickly turning your mood sour. "I'm fully capable of handling this, Kento."

"Please, I don't mean to upset you. I'm just..."

Worried about you. Somehow his throat closed in, it didn't really feel right to say that now.

"—I know how rash you can be." He regretted his words as soon as they were out.

It was clearly a bad choice of words as you took offense, your expression quickly turned into one of disdain.

"How rich... that it's coming from you," you scowled.

Memories of your failed marriage flooded your mind's eye. The long nights your ex-husband didn't bother to leave you a message. How he would return home with wounds and blood staining his clothes. And now... he had the nerve to insinuate that you were the reckless one?

"I can take care of myse—"

"That's a whole load of bullshit!"

Good grief. Why must Gojo pick this exact scene to show up?

The blindfold took big strides and halted between the two of you, pointing one finger in your face.

“Last night, she got wasted. Like totally wasted! She could barely walk straight afterwards and then she had the audacity to blame me! Me! For all her mess! Goodness, I’m just a very chivalrous friend and yet—”

"Shut up!" you were horrified, face flushed with embarrassment. "Gojo, you complete jerk!"

Nanami wouldn't admit it, but there was always something between you and Gojo Satoru that made him a bit uncomfortable, even way back when the two of you were still married. Perhaps the closeness, the candidness you shared. He knew you wouldn't harbor anything for someone as elusive as Gojo Satoru, but still, it remained an uncomfortable sight for him.

Like there was nothing pleasant about knowing Gojo Satoru was the one taking care of you in your drunken stupor. You shouldn't have in the first place. If it were him, he wouldn't let you hurt yourself. If he were still the one by your side—

Despite himself, thoughts like that swirled in his mind far often than he would've liked.

Suddenly, the air felt stifling. Nanami didn't like this at all, and even as you two were still harmlessly bickering, he chose to leave.

"Oiii, Nanami!"

He had barely left the room when the person he disliked the most emerged from the door, following closely behind him. Gojo evidently knew what his thoughts were. As irritating as he was, the bloke was smart, he wasn't the strongest for nothing.

"Na-na-mi! You can't just leave like that! We're going to have lunch together—"

"Gojo-san," Nanami stopped in his tracks and let out an exasperated sigh, throwing the white-haired idiot a glare so hard it would curse him if only glares could. "Please stop bothering me."

“How cold-hearted,” the blindfold replied in a mocking scoff. “No matter how, she was once your wife. How could you not care one bit?”

“We have gone on our separate ways, and if she is good with the way things are, then so am I.”

What a lie. He still couldn't help but to care. If you ever needed his help in whatever way even now, he would still move heavens for you.

“And that’s where you’re wrong, Nanami,” Gojo suddenly interjected in a less playful manner. “She is really missing you, you know.”

But you had your best friend by your side, didn't you? Someone perfect, without equal. Surely, you wouldn't need him anymore.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "How are you so sure that she's good with the way things are?"

"What exactly is she not good with?"

"Everything? You never ask her."

This was getting irritating, and before Nanami really lost control over himself, he finally drew a line.

"Gojo-san, I'm tired of people assuming things about our current relationship," he said, leveling a piercing look at him. "We are both adults. We reached the decision to separate because we both know why. If this is your way of showing concern, then thank you—but I'd prefer if you didn't interfere any further. We're handling this just fine, and by all means, I think people should stop associating us anymore."

With that, he left. Even when he wanted to stay longer with you, even when, in his wildest dreams, he wanted to rebuild everything with you again—

He knew you were there, hearing all of this.

Gojo clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed. "Grr... You're so stubborn..."

. . .

There was a reason why you went to the school. Yaga's sudden request and of course, the chance to see Nanami again.

But when your conversation ended in a bitter note and he walked away, a part of you plunged into instant panic, compelling you to eavesdrop on his conversation with Gojo.

But as expected from you cool ex-husband, he was all rationale and logic.

By all means, I think people should stop associating us anymore.

Nanami would think so, wouldn't he? And he wouldn't be bothered either.

You shouldn't have expected more. This was no television drama in which the couple would get back together that easily. You were living in the harsh reality of jujutsu world, which basically, was the cause of your divorce in the first place.

At one point, you found it all to be exhausting, but upon reflection, it was more painful to acknowledge that he never truly fought to keep you by his side.

Tears welled up in your eyes unbidden, and you walked away quickly, brushing them away.

This is it. There is no use hoping anymore.

If you weren't on missions, then you'd likely be drinking. This had been the undeniable truth over the past few weeks.

Gojo found both you and Nanami to be irritating. The way both of you would evade each other was just plain stupid by this point, since it was clear to anyone with eyes that you were still not over each other.

"Nanami! Why don't you join us for dinner tonight!"

And since you were such an irritable drunk, he chose to keep poking the easier target.

Nanami shot him a scathing look, definitely done. "I have a prior appointment. Goodbye."

"Hoh?! But! They'll have free drinks!"

For the life of him, Nanami just wanted to go back home. He had minus interest in free drinks and even less in Gojo himself, and he would make his points clear.

"For the last time, I'm telling you, I don't want any part in your—"

Ring! Ring! Ring!

"Ooh, wait a minute, Nanamin! I got a call!"

Nanami gritted his teeth in pure annoyance. He truly didn't care about his call and seized the chance to walk away quickly, eager to flee.

Until—

"Hello? Yes. Yes... what? Huh— Y/N is rushed to hospital?"

...and that caused him to halt abruptly. Suddenly, his entire body went rigid, as if he had been doused with a bucket of cold water.

You're hurt?

"I mean why—the hell? Severe bleeding?!" Gojo's voice dramatically rose, seemingly in surprise. "Whoa, uh, traffic accident?!"

Within seconds, everything as he knew it came to an end. He spun around, yanking the phone from Gojo's grasp, indifferent to whether it caught the latter off guard or not.

"Which hospital is this?" he demanded from the person on the other end, his voice rough and harsh. Suddenly, the fog in his mind dissipated, and he was consumed by panic.

"I'm sorry, sir, that's not—oh, it's Tokyo General Hospital—"

"Thank you." Nanami shoved the phone back to Gojo and broke into a sprint, in search of taxi.

At this moment, everything was a plethora of chaos—his surroundings melded into a blur, the constant honking of nearby vehicles echoed in his ears, and the relentless pounding in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. Nothing else held any significance. Nothing, except you.

Why did you get hurt? How did you even get into a traffic accident?

This was maddening. His world was falling apart hard and fast. The beginnings of heartbreak, stirring and churning in the depths of his stomach, once again threatened to drown him whole—

To others it may seem laughable that he was this shaken over an ex-wife, but precisely because you were his ex-wife was why he was running through the streets of Shibuya, opting not to take the cab as the traffic jam was at its peak.

Oh, how Nanami regretted it. He regretted a multitude of things; those long nights, silent treatments, your tears, divorcing you. If he could turn back the time, he'd do anything in his power to prevent that divorce from ever happening. He'd treasure you better, he'd make time for you more—

Because what if, now you were really slipping away from him for good? What if, he would never see you ever again?

Within minutes, he arrived at the said hospital, haggard, spooking the nurses, demanding your room number.

Thank heavens that the visiting hour wasn't over yet. He marched towards the said room, all of his logic and rationale flying out of window as he threw open the door.

And then he saw the pristine bed, IV drip, and you—

Sitting upright on the bed, turning a page of a magazine, your eyes widening and blinking at him in complete confusion—

Huh, what?

The last thing you would expect after waking up in the hospital was your ex-husband barging in unannounced, looking as though he'd just survived a whirlwind.

"Kento...?" you almost squeaked, taken aback at the sight.

His hair was a sweaty mess, his usually immaculate suit was crinkled and his tie was loosened, but it was the look in his eyes that grabbed your attention—as if expecting the worst.

“Are you alright?” he grounded out, approaching you in deliberately slow steps. “How long has it since you woke up?”

“Um... yes? Since about an hour or so.” You frowned. “Kento, what are you doing here?”

“They said you have severe bleeding, involved in an accident—”

“What! No! Did the hospital reach out to you?” you felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought. “I was sure I have removed you from my emergency contacts—”

“Gojo did—”

Suddenly, understanding dawned on him, and he cursed under his breath. “That rotten bastard!”

You blinked, unsure of what he meant at all. To his credit, Nanami didn’t dwell long on his thoughts and faced you once again with another fresh batch of confusion. “Wait, Gojo is your emergency contact? Why?”

“Should anything happen to me and a payment is required to settle it, he can handle the bills first?”

If Nanami didn’t look exasperated before then he sure did now. “Y/N… you…”

He released the deepest sigh imaginable before settling onto the sofa, further tousling his hair and removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Did you know I ran to get here because I thought something bad happened to you?” Nanami stated in a strained voice.

Why did your heart skip a beat? Why was Nanami suddenly playing the part of a concerned husband when the time for it has long passed?

Feeling suddenly irritated, you rolled your eyes. “I just passed out due to high blood pressure. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” his eyes squared on you, quiet anger behind them. “In what sense does you passing out ever ‘not a big deal’? What have you been doing?”

"Why does that even matter to you still?" you contested. "You were the one who said everyone should stop linking us together by now."

"Y/N, you're missing the—"

"You divorced me!" you screamed, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as the urge to cry threatened to consume you. "You... h-have divorced me, Nanami Kento!"

Nanami felt as if a blade had pierced and twisted his chest at the sight of you—your quivering form, the stifled sobs. He had never wished to see you in such despair again.

"So why!" you finally broke down and sobbed. "Why did you play the caring husband now? Why not before? Why do you keep toying with my feelings...?"

"I'm not." Nanami grunted, getting up and approaching your bed. "I never meant to. That was never my intention. I never—"

"Then what!? What are you doing? Why did you throw me out just like that and why now—"

"Believe me when I said that I never want you to be miserable!"

You halted mid-rant, eyes wide as you gazed at him. Blinking, you felt a tear roll down your cheek. It was the first time Nanami had ever raised his voice at you. Even in the past, he never had.

But suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through your abdomen, causing you to instinctively clutch it. You whimpered, a nearly involuntary squeak escaping you, feeling the intense burn inside.

Nanami immediately got a hold of your hunched form, alarmed. "What is it? What hurts?" When all you could manage were pained sniffles in response, he swiftly hit the nurses' button and enveloped you in his embrace.

"Hold on," he comforted, placing a hand over where you clutched your abdomen, trying to offer some relief in any way. "They'll be here soon, don't pass out!"

"Mmngh," you gripped his hand in response, squeezing it as you slumped into his chest. For the first time in six months, you were enveloped in his warmth once again, and despite everything that had transpired, you were deeply moved by his gesture.

It took seeing you in such distress to dispel any doubts Nanami may have had. You were so petite against him, so delicate as you squirmed amidst your tears.

Had you experienced pain like this in the past six months? The thought made his heart lurch. Did no one comfort you at all?

. . .

And that was when he decided it.

He never, ever wants to see you in any sort of pain, ever again. And should it happen, then he'll be the one staying by your side, just like this.

Alcoholic gastritis. You consumed so much alcohol that it irritated your ulcer and causes a really painful tummy ache.

You could feel Nanami's judging gaze on you as your attending doctor explained your predicament. Truth to be told, you were quite ashamed. Your unhealthy lifestyle were laid bare before your ex-husband and it made you feel like a kid being scolded for misbehaving.

After the doctor left, Nanami sighed and pulled out a chair next to your bed. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah..." you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. "Sorry, that... you have to see that."

But thankfully, he was unflappable as ever. "Nothing to be sorry about. It's fine."

You were kind of embarrassed of your outburst earlier too. While you didn't regret expressing your feelings, you pondered if could've done it in a less confrontational way.

At this point, you'd accept anything. Even if Nanami told you off after this—

"Let me continue from what I was saying earlier," he suddenly began, catching your attention. You perked up, and looked at him expectantly.

Nanami released a deep sigh, and the words he spoke next were ones you never thought you'd hear from him again.

"Did you remember what I said when I proposed our divorce?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically. You wordlessly nodded, because it was one of the lines that made you unable to hate him completely.

"I said, you don't deserve to be unhappy." Nanami looked you right in the eyes, undaunted. "And that still stands until now."

Now fully engrossed in his words, the rhythm of your heart intensified, echoing in your chest.

"It wasn't a decision I blurted out lightly. I know you're hurt, because I am too. I married you with a reason. I have loved you. and if you were to ask me now, my answer would be the same—I am still in love with you."

Why did it feel like your vision was beginning to blur once more?

"But," Nanami's face contorted into a frown, gazing hard at you. "If staying with me is what makes you miserable—if waiting nights after nights, hoping I can make it each time haunts you so much—then I'm more than willing to release you from that burden. I don't want to subject you to that life."

Warm tears slid down your cheeks. Sniffling, you averted your gaze, looking downwards.

"Look, I make you cry again," he sighed, a mix of fondness and sadness in his voice, as a bitter smile graced his lips. One of his thumbs gently lifted your jaw, while the other tenderly wiped away your tears.

"Kento, I—" you quickly looked up, swallowing the lump in your throat. You had made up your mind. "I don't want you to leav—"

"I know," he cut in, his voice solemn, as he stroked your tear-streaked cheeks. "I know, and that's exactly why I'm going to say what I'm about to say next."

And with his next words, your heart burst into complete, utter warmth—

"Let's start over." Nanami Kento's voice was your lifeline, anchoring you and keeping you afloat. "We can take our time. There's no rush—we can return to how things were in the beginning. And when you're ready, then and only then... will I ask you to marry me again."

The one person who has your heart in his grasp, someone whom you are willing to care way more than yourself... You were openly sobbing now and yet a radiant smile broke through your tears.

There was only one answer you had in mind.

Five years later

"Yes! Yes! Yay!"

Today was sunny, just like the day of your wedding. Memories flooded back as you glanced at the grand wedding portrait in the foyer, a snapshot of yourself and your husband in blissful celebration.

A smile tugged at your lips as you stared at the gentle smile on Kento's face amidst his typically stiff posture. You remembered his vows to you.

The one person who I will look for the rest of my life... is you. I have never met someone so important and precious to me that it hurts.

The sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Oh, he's home.

As you opened the door, your smile grew even broader, until a small figure darted past you at such speed that you were left gawking.

"Daddy!" your daughter's voice rang out with pure delight, leaping into your husband's arms the moment he swung the car door open, catching him off guard.

"Oh my, why are you so sweaty?" Kento inquired, scrutinizing your daughter with a puzzled frown, yet holding her close. "I thought we're going to the playground after this?"

"She's so excited for it that she keeps running and jumping around all the while," you chimed in with a gentle sigh, affectionately ruffling your daughter's hair as she beamed up at both of you.

Before long, the three of you set off to the playground, fulfilling the promise you had made to your daughter. As she entertained herself with the slides, Kento's low chuckle drew your attention. "What's so funny?"

"She takes after you a lot, you know," he remarked, a fond smile on his face. "The way she is just full of energy."

"Really? But sometimes she'll get this wrinkly little scowl on her face when she's annoyed—she looks like you then."

"Wrinkly...? No, surely I don't have that many wrinkles yet..."

Your laughter filled the air, a testament to the joy found in these simple, everyday moments.

Unexpected moments of joy, the comfort of family, and a love that had grown and evolved, stronger and more resilient with time...

And this, is what you'd call a happy marriage.

3K notes · View notes

almostwisegalaxy · 1 month ago

Note

Hey, hope you're having a wonderful day.

Could you maybe write a few fics for Geum Seong-Je from Weak Hero Class 2? Fluff and *soft only for her* trope.

Thank you so much and its okay if you don't wanna.

I totally get it, I'm a writer too.

Love,

Anon

You can't fix me

Geum Seong-je x fem!reader

Cause... I love villains without a sob story, just psycho

..................................................................................

The first day Y/N saw him, he was bleeding from the corner of his lip and sneering like a rabid dog.

Ganghak High School was far from a stable place, but this boy… this Geum Seong-je, he reeked of instability from miles away. Chaos lived within him. He was the type to destroy a room because someone had sneezed too loudly. Y/N was supposed to watch him.

It was one fight too many.

The hallways trembled, the windows exploded. He had his fist in the mouth of another kid already on the ground and he kept going, methodical, his eyebrows furrowed as if hitting helped him breathe. Three supervisors hadn't been able to do anything. So she had entered. Silent at first.

Then:

"Are you done with your circus act, or do I need to train you like a mutt?"

He hadn't even looked at her. Just a hoarse breath, another blow. She had approached. A hand on his shoulder. He had growled. She had reacted: a knee strike, then two. He had thrown a chair. She had teased him.

He had collapsed, his muscles contracted in a brutal spasm.

When he woke up in the principal's office, still groggy, she was waiting for him. Arms crossed, back straight.

"What are you, some genetic waste?"

She had looked at him with an almost chilling calm.

"Did you think you were a hero today? Do you believe that hitting harder erases your shitty life?"

Pause. A silence.

"You're pathetic. Even dogs know when to stop."

He had wanted to smile. But there was this crack in his chest, this short breath he couldn't expel. She wasn't yelling. She was cutting. And it was worse.

She had hit him again, another time, another week. Because he had strangled a student against the lockers. Because he had smashed a cell phone against a wall. Because he had looked at her, her, with that look full of defiance, filth, and darkness.

And yet.

He always came back to her. Sat on the bench near the supervisors' room, his back torn by blows, a poorly stuck bandage, his eyes fixed on her with a morbid intensity. He followed her in the hallways, provoked her in class, insulted her sometimes, coldly, softly, almost tenderly.

"Ms. Y/N."

He murmured her name like a reproach. Like a burn.

"Are you stalking me, or is it the other way around?"

She never answered. She took notes, wrote words in her notebook, read his old files. And sometimes… sometimes, when his back was turned, she looked at his scars. The angle of his jaw, clenched. The tremors in his fingers. The way he would break when he no longer knew how to breathe.

He wasn't crazy. Just fractured. And in his cracks, he had lodged her, her. He stared at her like a mystery he had to dissect, like a living enigma he hated not being able to silence.

He said nothing, but in his eyes, it was obvious:

Y/N lived in his head.

And he had decided that as long as she was there, he wouldn't let anyone else breathe.

---

He always came back.

Sometimes at dawn, eyes red-rimmed, a piece of chewing gum stuck under his tongue, fists bandaged. Other times at the last hour, dragging his feet, but his gaze sharp. He didn't miss any of her rounds. He waited for the click of her heels in the deserted hallways, the rustle of her files against her hip, that clinical way she had of ignoring him.

And it drove him crazy.

"Sleeping in your office now, ma'am?" He had sat on the table, head tilted.

"Don't you have a life? Or are you waiting for me to give you one?"

She hadn't looked up.

"Do you want me to take away your right to speak, or do you want your jaw to last until tomorrow?"

He had laughed. A real laugh, hoarse, short. No provocation, just… a release. As if, with her, the mask fell without him realizing it.

But he hated her for it. For that way of seeing through him. Of walking through his shattered pieces without ever getting cut.

So, he tested her.

He wrote stupid things on the walls: "Madam is a cold witch. She punishes without heart."

He sat in her chair when she wasn't there. Rummaged through her papers. Watched her from afar.

And when she entered a room, he spoke loudly, always too loudly, so she would hear his name amidst the laughter.

But never, never did he touch her.

There was a line. He didn't know why. Maybe because she had already put him on the ground. Maybe because she was the only one who had never backed down from him. No fear, no false respect. Just… contempt. Pure and precise.

And that obsessed him.

He had started dreaming about her. Not in a gentle way, no. Suffocating, sweaty dreams, where she held him down with her foot, where she slapped him silently while he laughed. He would wake up, heart pounding, unable to understand if he loved her, hated her, or both.

He bought drinks that he left on her desk without a word. She threw them away. He started again. Out of habit. Out of defiance. Out of need.

One day, she had called him into her office. He sat down, provocative.

"Another punishment, ma'am?"

"Do you think I enjoy seeing you all the time?"

She had stepped forward, thrown a file onto his lap. His file.

"Do you think I haven't read it? You're pathetic, Geum Seong-je. You cling to violence like a kid to his teddy bear. It's your only way to exist. But you don't impress me. You just waste my time."

She had said that without raising her voice. He had smiled. Slowly.

"It's crazy how much you like to talk about me. Haven't you noticed? It's always me in your mouth."

She had almost slapped him. But she hadn't. And he had known: that, that was the real trap.

That day, he had gone home. He hadn't slept. He had punched the walls. He had clenched his teeth until they bled. And he had sworn, not out loud, just to himself:

Y/N would look at him. Even if it meant burning everything he touched.

---

It was hot that day. A sticky, stifling heat that the school walls couldn't contain. The air reeked of teenage sweat, cheap deodorants, and something electric—a premonition, perhaps. As if something was about to break.

Geum Seong-je, however, seemed unusually calm. Too calm.

He loitered in the courtyard, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a half-empty water bottle. He had the kind of look that you couldn't hold: empty but sharp, like a polished abyss. That day, no one dared approach him. Even his own guys kept their distance. He had beaten up a kid that morning for asking him for a cigarette. Just that. One sentence too many, and he had seen red.

But when he saw Y/N, her straight back, her determined walk, the way she seemed to cut through the air around her, he straightened up. Something within him readjusted, like a broken compass suddenly finding north again.

She was coming out of a meeting with a student. She looked tired. No makeup. A few strands of hair stuck to her forehead. And above all, she seemed elsewhere.

He followed her, silently.

When she entered her office, she felt it. A sensation at the nape of her neck, almost animalistic. She turned around.

He was there. Leaning against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on her, not mocking for once. Almost… attentive.

"You look dead."

He moved closer. Slowly.

"Didn't you sleep?"

She groaned, irritated, and threw her file onto the desk.

"What's it to you?"

He smiled. Not his usual smile. Not the one that preceded blows. Another one, rarer. Soft. And dangerous.

"I'm meddling in what belongs to me."

She raised her head, eyes dark, ready to strike him. But he was already there, very close, hands in his pockets, his chest almost touching hers. And he wasn't looking at her in defiance. He was looking at her as if he were listening. As if he could hear her heart beating.

"Step back."

"No."

A silence. Too long. Too charged. The slightest movement would have shattered everything.

Then she made the mistake. A human error, certainly. Fatigue. Loneliness. A slight crack in the mask.

She didn't hit him.

She didn't run away.

She sighed. Just that. A sigh. A release.

And he saw the flaw.

He sensed the weakness, the whisper of a possible attachment.

And it was worse than pity. Worse than hate.

He raised his hand. Slowly. Gently. And his fingers brushed her cheek. Not roughly. With an awkward, almost sacred tenderness.

"You should sleep, ma'am."

She let him. Just a few seconds. She could have broken his wrist. She didn't.

And that's when he knew. That she was no longer invulnerable. That she had opened, even just a centimeter, the door. And in that gap, he rushed in.

Since that day, everything changed.

He no longer just followed her. He waited for her. At the metro exit, sometimes. In front of the teachers' lounge. He left things on her desk: a lighter, an annotated book he had stolen from the library, a peach-flavored chewing gum she liked. He didn't always speak. But he watched. For a long time. Obsessively.

And she… she said nothing.

She should have. She knew it. Every step towards him chipped away at her a little more. She saw his gaze change—more fixed, more serious. He no longer called her just "ma'am." Sometimes, it was Y/N. Pronounced slowly. As if he were chewing each letter. As if it were an incantation.

She should have set boundaries. She should have re-established the distance. But she had found herself waiting for his gaze. Watching for his silhouette. And feeling something bitter when he wasn't there.

One day, she had hurt her hand—a stupid cut with a piece of cardboard. She hadn't noticed him watching her from afar. That evening, he had entered her office without knocking, a first-aid kit in his hand.

"You're incapable of taking care of yourself, huh."

He had taken her hand without waiting. She could have slapped him. She should have. But he was already gently cleaning the wound. Without brutality. His fingers were warm, calloused, but precise.

She said nothing. He wrapped the gauze around her palm. Then, he kept her hand in his for a few seconds too long.

"I can't get you out of my head."

She wanted to answer. He interrupted her.

"I don't want you to be like the others. You're not. And I'm not stupid, Y/N. You think I'm just a wild animal, but I see what you're trying to hide. You furrow your brow when you're worried. You're afraid of getting attached, and you always look at me like I'm a time bomb. Maybe I am one, yeah. But you activated me. And now, it's too late."

She stepped back, finally. But gently. He didn't try to hold her.

She closed her eyes. For a second. Just one. And he saw her breathe faster. He saw that what she was holding back wasn't anger. It was something else. Something more painful.

"You'd better leave."

"Not until you understand what you've unleashed."

He left the room. Slowly. He didn't need to kiss her. Not yet. Not right away. He had seen what he wanted to see: the mistake.

She had looked at him differently. She had trembled, even slightly.

And that crack, he would never let it close again.

---

The rain had fallen all night. It hammered against the windows of Y/N's car, punctuating the tension that tightened her throat. She hadn't stopped staring at the police station door, her eyes fixed in a blur, her jaw clenched. She knew these kinds of calls. Too well. Violent kids, repeat offenders, desperate cases left to drift in a soulless system. But tonight, it wasn't a "case," it wasn't a student.

It was him.

Geum Seong-je.

When she had walked through the doors, the smell of disinfectant mixed with stale coffee and dampness had hit her. A familiar smell. Too familiar. And the police officers had greeted her with a vague air, as if it were just another detail in their night.

"He can leave," one of them said.

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning.

"Orders from above."

"Meaning?"

He shrugged, offering no further explanation.

"Release him to the supervisor. That's what we were told."

Y/N felt her temples throb. She wasn't stupid. "Orders from above" didn't exist without a reason. Even less so when it involved a teenager implicated in a violent fight with another school. There had been serious injuries. One of the boys had a fractured jaw. And Seong-je? He was going to walk out, as if nothing had happened.

It smelled like bullshit. Real bullshit.

And not a single answer. Nothing.

When she entered the small back room, she saw him. Sitting on a metal chair, slumped against the wall, legs spread apart, face turned to the floor. He looked… drained. Arms crossed over his chest, forehead pressed against the wall. Disarmed.

A dirty bandage covered his right foot, which he held half-raised, without even paying attention to it. Dried blood stained his temple. His knuckles were split open, scraped down to the bone.

But it wasn't the sight of his injuries that struck her. It was the absence of fire in his eyes. The absence of that fierce rage he wore like a second skin.

"Seong-je?"

He slowly raised his head. He blinked. Then a small, painful grimace stretched across his split lips.

"Ma'am..."

His voice was hoarse. Slowly, he straightened up, swayed, but remained standing.

But this time, there was nothing provocative about that "ma'am."

There was no more irony. No more game.

He had said it like an oath. Like a sacred whisper.

"Let's go home." She took his arm. He didn't protest. But she felt his whole body stiffen when she put an arm around his waist to help him walk.

She settled him in her home. Not out of weakness. Not out of pity. But because she knew. Instinctively.

He didn't want to go back. He had no one.

He hadn't said it. He hadn't even tried to make excuses. He had just let himself be guided, silent.

In her small living room, she sat him down on the sofa. She got what she needed: first-aid kit, compresses, hydrogen peroxide. He watched her, his dark gaze fixed on her every move as if he never wanted to lose sight of her again.

And when she laid her hands on him…

When she gently cleaned the blood from his temple, when she brushed her fingertips over his swollen cheek, when she bandaged his ribs without even raising her voice…

He broke.

Not in sobs. Not in screams. Inwardly. Silently. Devastated.

Because no one had ever touched him like that.

No one had ever cared for him without making him feel like a beast, a problem, a mistake. She, she placed her hands with an almost… frightening delicacy. As if he had value. As if he were fragile.

And the more she touched him, the more something inside him melted.

The more his obsession with her became visceral, devouring, uncontrollable.

He looked at her like one looks at a vision. Like a miracle in a world of filth.

Y/N, for her part, focused on her actions. But she felt it. She felt his eyes following her, scrutinizing her. As if he wanted to engrave her into his flesh.

She tried to remain upright. Hard. But it was too late.

In a corner of her mind, she admitted it: she hurt for him.

And she hated that crack within herself.

"You're going to have to stay off that foot for a few days. It's pierced."

"They stomped on me with a metal bar," he replied without emotion.

She froze. He said it as if he were talking about the rain. As if it were normal.

And this time, she couldn't help but look up at him. He was staring at her. Intense. Obsessed.

"Why are you like this with me?" he murmured.

She hesitated. Her hands trembled almost imperceptibly.

"Because you're still standing despite everything."

"You still think I'm just a kid, huh."

She didn't answer. He licked his lips, painfully. Then, he leaned in slightly. He was still sitting, she kneeling in front of him. And slowly, he placed his hand on her cheek.

"Y/N..."

She felt her throat tighten.

He wasn't trying to provoke her. Or seduce her. Not really.

He was just trying to maintain that contact. That link. That small, invisible thread that now connected them.

And in an almost unreal moment, she closed her eyes.

Just for a moment.

She felt his warm palm against her skin. Understood. Accepted.

But as she was about to straighten up, he spoke. His voice was deeper. Slower. Trembling.

"Even if you were to love me one day… you'd refuse. Because I'm still a minor. Because you have too many principles. Because you're strong. And me… I'm everything you've learned to run from."

She opened her eyes. Their gazes met.

Brutally.

And she understood. That this boy, this damn broken, unstable, twisted boy… had just realized that he was falling.

That he was falling for her.

And she… she wasn't sure she wanted to stop him anymore.

She placed her hand on his. Withdrew it almost immediately.

But it was too late.

He had felt it.

And in his eyes, in that uncontrollable flame, she read the promise of an obsession with no way out.

"I'm going to disappear for a while," he finally said.

She raised her head.

"Where?"

"You don't want to know."

She wanted to protest. He shook his head.

"Not now. But I'll be back."

He stood up with difficulty. She helped him. He rested his forehead against hers. Just for a second.

"You see… you left a crack, ma'am. And me? I'm going to make it open until you belong to me."

And she let him go.

Not because she wanted to.

But because she knew that when he returned, nothing would ever be the same.

---

I’ve kept a low profile.

No more fighting. No more staring. Nothing. Like a ghost in these damn hallways. Not because I’ve changed. No. I’m the same. I just understood. Baek Jin, that dog, that parasite… he used me. I was a tool. A pit bull he’d unleash when he needed to. Nothing else.

So I backed off. I waited. I watched.

And during that time, I thought about her.

Ms. Y/N.

Fucking hell. Just her name in my head and my nerves ignite.

I remember her fingers on my face that night. It was nothing. An almost professional gesture. Cold. Calculated. But damn it… I got hard as a rock that night. I clenched the sheets between my teeth. I touched myself like a dog in heat. And it was her. It’s always her. It’s always her hand I imagine between my legs.

I’m sick.

I know it. I don’t care.

I want her to touch me again. Not just my face. No. I want her hand everywhere. I want her mouth on my skin. Her nails in my back. Her breath in my ear. Her saliva. Her fucking scent—that mix between clean and fire. Between discipline and hell.

I want to see her crumble. See her lose that mask.

I want to be the one who makes her tremble. Not from fear. From need.

I want her to tell me I’m hers. Even if it’s not true. Even if she’s lying. Even if she hates me.

Because me… I love her.

Not that bullshit love they sing about in dramas.

Me, I love her to the bone.

I love her like you burn.

I dream of her. And in my dreams, she doesn’t scream. She moans.

She tells me no, at first. Always. Because it’s her. Because she’s proud. Fucking upright. But I see her body betray her words. I see her thighs part, slowly. I see her mouth slightly open. I see her breathing quicken.

And I grab her by the nape of the neck. I look at her. I say nothing. And she understands.

And I take her.

I devour her.

I want her to feel that I’m there. Inside her. Everywhere. That even after, when she washes herself, when she tries to forget, I’ll still be there. Under her fingernails. In her nightmares. In her scent.

I’m obsessed.

I could spend hours staring at her without speaking. Just watching her walk. Her swaying hips. Her dark gaze. That contempt she wears like perfume.

Even when she insulted me, I got hard.

Even when she threw me to the ground, tased me like a dog, I would have thanked her.

It was her.

She calmed me down. She hurt me. She looked at me like I was a monster. And damn it… I want her to continue.

I want her to tell me I’m fucked up. That I’m a lost cause.

But I want her to tell me that while moaning. Between two sighs.

I want her to scratch me. Make me bleed. Reject me while I take her. I want her hate, her fear, her confusion. I want her damn mind.

I want to crush her beneath me and whisper in her ear:

“You’re mine now, ma’am.”

And she won’t say anything. Because she’ll know it’s true.

Even if she denies it. Even if she runs.

I’ll always find her.

Because I’m not in love like other people.

I’m not a nice guy. I’m not made for happiness.

I’m made to destroy her softly.

To show her that she never really controlled her heart.

I stole it, little by little.

And one day, she’ll see it.

One day, she’ll feel that she can no longer breathe without thinking of me.

That day… I’ll be there. With my hands around her hips.

With my mouth against her throat.

And she won’t say anything.

Because it will be too late.

---

She’d been warned he was back, in a fearful whisper from a student with a tongue that wagged too freely.

He hadn’t returned to school. Of course not. Too obvious. Too risky. He was hanging around the construction site of the old shopping center, the one no one watched. Walls covered in graffiti, windows blown out, rats making their kingdom out of the debris.

That’s where she found him.

He hadn’t hidden. He was sitting on the cracked steps, one arm bloody beneath his torn sleeve. His eyes were vacant. An expression she’d never seen on him before.

And it drove her mad.

Mad with rage. With pain. With not knowing. With not understanding. With having believed him to be different, perhaps. A dangerous, unstable guy, but not this. Not a fucking rapist.

She approached. The sound of her footsteps echoed on the concrete.

He looked up, slowly.

And without warning, the first slap landed.

A sharp crack in the cold air. Seong-je’s head snapped violently to the side. He didn’t react. He blinked. That was all.

“Tell me it’s not true,” Y/N breathed. Her voice was low. Strangled.

Not a scream. A warning.

He looked at her, silent.

She slapped him a second time, harder, backhanded this time. He swayed slightly but remained seated. Still without a word.

“Tell me it’s not true, damn it!”

He inhaled. Closed his eyes.

“It’s not true,” he said.

But it was too late.

The third slap was brutal. Stinging. He placed a hand on his cheek this time. Not to protect himself. Just… to feel.

As if the pain was the only proof he was still there.

Y/N was trembling. Her whole body. Not with fear. With rage. She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up brutally.

“Then why did you hide?! Huh?! Why did you disappear?! What did you think?! That by leaving me in the dark, I’d… forget?! Defend you without knowing?!”

He kept his eyes locked on hers.

“Because I knew you’d do exactly that. Hit me. Judge me. Look at me like them.”

She gritted her teeth. And then, without thinking, the fourth slap came. And this time, she screamed.

“I protected you! I covered for you for months! And you leave me with a fucking accusation like that?! What do you want?! For me to abandon you?!”

He flinched.

He hadn’t said anything.

But his eyes had clouded over. A shadow had passed.

“I didn’t want you to see that. Me, like that.”

She shoved him violently; he fell back onto the steps, his hands scraped by the concrete.

He didn’t get up.

She remained standing, panting. Broken.

“They have photos, Seong-je. Blurry, yes, but usable. Your black hoodie. Your profile. Your scar on your temple.”

He murmured:

“I wasn’t there. I was somewhere else. I was…”

He hesitated.

“I was hiding out at an old acquaintance’s place. I didn’t call you. I… I was scared.”

“Scared of what?! Of me?!”

He finally looked up at her, and this time, she saw it.

She saw the distress. The real kind.

“Scared that you wouldn’t believe me. That you’d look at the evidence and hesitate. That you’d doubt. Even for a second.”

She didn’t answer. She approached slowly. Squatted down in front of him.

And she hit him one last time, not a slap this time, a punch to the chest, with a closed fist.

“Bastard,” she breathed.

But he looked at her as if she were the last beautiful thing he had left.

And maybe she was.

He coughed, a trace of blood on his lips.

“I’m not a good guy, ma’am. But I never touched that girl. I never wanted that. And I never wanted you to see me like this. Weak. Accused. Falsely accused.”

She closed her eyes. For a long time. Then, gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He shivered under her touch.

“Who?”

“Nabaek-jin. Or the guys behind him. They want to take me down. Shut me up. Make me disappear. And there’s no better way than this kind of accusation.”

She nodded.

And for a long moment, they said nothing.

His lips were split. His gaze was lost. He looked worn out. Damaged. Younger than ever. Just a kid. A kid who had been hit too much, dirtied too much.

She stood up.

“You’re coming with me. We’re going to prove you weren’t there that night. We’re going to flip the script. And if you’re lying…”

He nodded.

“I’m not lying.”

She didn’t answer him. She didn’t touch him again.

But as she left, she murmured:

“Don’t run from me again. Because if you do… I’ll hunt you down myself.”

He offered a broken smile.

And in his head, a single thought returned, insistent:

She’s still here. Even after all that. She’s here. She touches him. She hits him. She yells at him. But she’s here.

And that presence was worth all the pain.

Even the pain she inflicted.

---

He was there, leaning against the damp wall of the fire escape behind the school, his gaze fixed on the empty alleyway. He knew she was close. He could feel it. He didn’t need to see her to anticipate her steps – that cold, steady, almost military rhythm. Y/N never did anything halfway.

And she arrived, straight as a knife, her fists clenched in the pockets of her too-thin coat.

She shot him a dark look. He didn’t flinch.

“You have bruises.”

He smiled. An empty smile.

“I don’t fight, Ma’am. I fall.”

She hated that smile. Because it made her want to believe him. And she refused.

“Why do you insist on doing this alone?”

He looked at her for a long time. Too long. And in his eyes, there was that fever she dreaded. That uncontrollable thing, that unhealthy fire that simmered beneath his skin.

“Because it’s my mess. Not yours.”

“And if you get killed? If you fall?”

He approached. Slowly. One step after another. Until he was close enough to feel her breath on his face.

“Then I fall alone. But I refuse to let you dirty your hands for this. I refuse to let them see you, associate you with me, touch you from afar or up close.”

She raised her voice.

“You think I’m some fucking porcelain doll?! You think I—"

He cut her off sharply.

“Let me be a man for once, Y/N.”

She stopped.

He continued, lower. His voice hoarse. And full of that muffled crack he only showed her.

“You want to do everything, carry everything. You’re used to people relying on you. Me, I want… I want to be the one who isn’t saved. I want that at least once in my life, I can say: ‘I handled it. Me.’

He looked up at her. He was burning. Literally.

“You brought me to my knees with your gaze, Y/N. And I don’t want the rats in this city to know you exist. You’re mine. And I’m your dirt to hide.”

She tried to answer. But the words didn’t come. Not right away.

So he left. And this time, she didn’t stop him.

Three hours later, in a deserted bowling alley with a broken neon sign, Geum Seong-je retrieved what he had carefully hidden.

An old sports bag, stashed under a false ceiling in the utility room. Inside, papers, hard drives, photos. He had kept it all, just in case. Not because he was careful. Because deep down, he knew that one day, he would have to betray.

He wasn’t afraid of Na Baek-jin.

Not like before.

What he feared was no longer being worthy of Y/N’s gaze. She had slapped him as if she wanted him to become real again. And she had succeeded.

So that night, he walked to the hill where Yeon Si-eun and his two war dogs, baku, gotak and jun-tae. sometimes hung out.

They were there.

He handed the bag to Si-eun, without speaking.

Yeon Si-eun didn’t ask questions. He opened it. Scanned it. Understood. And looked up.

“Why?”

Seong-je ran a hand through his hair, his gaze elsewhere.

“You want to demolish their fucking syndicate? Here’s your bomb. Me, I have something else to protect.”

Si-eun nodded. He didn’t add anything. No need.

The next day, Seong-je returned to his hole. He didn’t plan on being a hero. He let others destroy. He just wanted to survive.

But in his head, Y/N.

Always Y/N.

Her voice, her slaps, her silences, her scent.

He thought of her as he went to bed. As he breathed. As he walked. As he washed his hands like a maniac so as not to contaminate what he might one day offer her.

He wanted her. Physically. Yes.

But it wasn’t just that.

He wanted her to see him and think: he’s changed.

He wanted her to offer him a hand one day. Not to save him. Just to touch him.

And every step he took in this fucking rotten world, he took for her.

Not for love. Not for forgiveness.

For the possibility.

The tiny, painful, terribly uncertain possibility… that one day, she would look at him without rage.

Without fear.

Just… with something a little soft.

And for that, he was ready to betray everything he had been.

Even himself.

---

CHAPTER 10 – STORIES ARE WRITTEN TOGETHER

Two months. That’s all it had taken for the dust to settle over the city. Two months of voluntary isolation. Of self-imposed exile.

Geum Seongje hadn’t returned right away. No. He had been a shadow, a figure hidden in the underbelly, where people like him hid, where wounds half-healed, and where time seemed to have forgotten to pass.

The war was over, but he still bore its scars. His name was no longer whispered in the dark alleys with disgust or fear. The syndicate had fallen. The accusations against him had crumbled with the collapse of that underworld. He was cleared, or almost.

But not yet rehabilitated. Not yet returned to who he had been.

The two months had passed. And here he stood before the school, in the middle of the school holidays, in the shade of a tree. He had grown, changed. He was now a man. Of age. And, more importantly, he was there for her.

A cold gaze settled on the entrance of the building. It wasn’t the first time he had returned here. But this time, he had a reason beyond mere rage to reappear in the life of the one who had marked him with fire.

Y/N.

She was there. In the shadow of the gate, talking to a group of students, like a guardian figure. When she turned her head, her eyes met his. A shiver pierced the warm summer air. She recognized him immediately, even after those two months.

She hadn’t changed. But he… He was something else entirely. Harder, more mature, more enigmatic. Far from the teenager she had had to watch, control, sometimes insult. He was no longer the one she had slapped. He was no longer the one she had tried to help, with her icy and closed heart. No, he was a man. A man she knew by heart… and who, yet, was no longer the same at all.

Seongje approached her, his gaze scrutinizing every movement. It wasn't just the desire to possess her. It was deeper. It was a visceral need. A need to connect, to give meaning back to his existence. An obsession, of course, but tinged with that nuance he had never thought possible.

“You know, I can’t call you ‘ma’am’ anymore. I’m no longer under your supervision,” he said with a wry smile, a smile that was both teasing and unhealthy. But his voice was softer, more confident. It was more than a provocation. It was… almost an attempt to get closer.

She stared at him. She was no longer as implacable, but her expression remained distant.

“You’ve changed,” she finally said. Not a question, just a statement.

He didn’t answer immediately, preferring to look her in the eyes. And in that gaze, she could almost feel what he was feeling. The buried pain, the shame, the rage, but also an insatiable need to be seen. To be accepted. To be chosen.

“I’m an adult now, aren’t I?” His voice was tinged with that childish arrogance he had always had, but this time, it wasn’t empty. There was something more in the way he addressed her. A plea for recognition.

She didn’t answer right away, her gaze lost in a mixture of confusion and curiosity. The situation was too unclear for her to embrace with a simple look.

He moved closer slowly, each step heavy with unspoken meanings. Everything he had lived through, everything he had endured… He had gone through it all to be there, in front of her. He was ready for anything. Even that dull ache that resonated in his gut with every movement he made.

“If I follow you… it’s not for school, you know.”

His words were simple, but they struck her heart like a hammer blow.

“You want to follow me away from all this?” she asked, surprised, but also slightly amused. She had remained calm, but he could feel the tension in her gestures.

“Maybe,” he said, a mischievous smile in his eyes. Then he added, lower, almost to himself, “I’ve always had this kind of connection with you. I want more than silences. More than furtive glances.”

She looked at him then, and for the first time in a long time, her gaze softened. Perhaps because she understood now. Perhaps because she knew.

“I’m going to another school… I’m getting transferred,” she murmured. “You know, the distance…”

He leaned a little closer to her, and this time, it wasn’t an enraged look, or the look of a badly behaved child. No, it was a conscious look, the look of someone who knew what he wanted.

“Then I’ll call you ‘noona’ now,” he said in a warm, sensual breath. The word slipped from his lips, and he pronounced it in an almost intimate way, a way that made all the difference. Because he had never pronounced that word that way before, not to her, not ever.

She froze for a moment before relaxing slightly. An almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. But he could see it. She saw it too, that small crack in the wall she had built around herself. She felt an electric tension, a dull pulse, as palpable as the air between them.

Their gazes locked.

It wasn’t a kiss yet, no. But there was something even stronger. It was a silent promise, a profound change. He, the child who had tormented her, now ready to be the one who would follow her. She, the woman ready to accept him, but not without her own fears.

Seongje’s fingers slid onto Y/N’s skin, brushing her wrist. The touch was soft, almost fragile, as if he were afraid of breaking what had just been created. And Y/N, this time, didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she leaned in slightly, like an invitation.

“Noona…” he repeated, in a heavier tone, almost a whisper. And this time, it was the beginning of something real, something vulnerable. It was no longer an obsession.

It was hope.

And then, he did it. He crossed that boundary that, until then, had seemed like an insurmountable chasm. He kissed her. Not brutally, not violently. But gently, gently, as if each movement was a revelation, as if he were discovering himself through her. He had no expectations. Just this desire to feel her close, even closer, more real than ever.

She recoiled slightly, her eyes wide open, shocked by the gesture, but he didn’t move away. Not this time. He waited for a reaction. He didn’t want her words. He just wanted… her to see him. To really see him.

And for the first time since he had met her, Seongje felt at peace. Not because the battle was over, not because he had won anything. But because this time, he had taken his future into his own hands. And that future, he wanted to share with her. No matter how twisted, difficult, or uncertain it might be.

She placed her hand on his cheek, caressing it gently. He had never thought that simple gesture could have such an impact. That tenderness… he received it like a precious, fragile gift. And perhaps, deep down, he was beginning to believe that he could build something real with her. Perhaps, finally, he could exist beyond his mistakes.

She leaned slightly towards him.

“Seongje…”

She said nothing more. Words were unnecessary. But in her eyes, there was what he had always sought: a promise. A promise he had waited for. That he would now build with her.

He smiled, without a word.

Things weren’t perfect. They never would be.

But for the first time, there was an “us.” And that was all he had ever wanted.

Their hands trembled. The air between them was saturated with desire and tension, but also with that fragility that now bound them. No further words were needed. No grander gestures. They understood each other. And for the first time, Seongje felt that he wasn’t alone in being obsessed with the other.

Y/N was there, ready to accept who he had become. But the question remained: would they be able to repair what had been broken before? Or would it all consume them even more?

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New Geum Seongje fanfictions

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