#(i hope this is okay but if you need me to do something else or change anything lmk)

[everrinsly]

a/n; your favorite boys are very needy hehe, hope you enjoy! thank you for reading!!! and my messages have been acting wacky (T_T) if you sent a message and I didn't reply, please send me again! have a good day/night!! slow updates still (ノωヽ)

pretty nails, pretty back. fluff. very suggestive. fem!reader. | not proofread.

when he pays for your nails just so you'll scratch his back.

♡ For all your ("Gimme back scratchies") favorites.

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જ⁀🏐ᯓ⚽⋆⭒˚.⋆🌌

You don’t think much of it when you tell him you’re getting your nails done. You toss it casually over your shoulder as you stand in front of the hallway mirror, fixing your hair—

"I’m thinking of doing that pastel pink, y’know? Something summer-y.”

He looks up from the couch, protein shake in hand, about to go for his run. His expression doesn’t change. There’s maybe a faint twitch in his brow. Or maybe that’s just how his face is when he’s trying not to care too much.

“You want me to pay for it?”

“Hm? What?”

“Your nails, baby,” he says. “Put it on my card.”

“…Yeah, but why?” you ask, pouting up at him. “I can pay.”

He shrugs. “I got it.”

“You never just ‘got it,’” you accuse, squinting at him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

A familiar smirk tugs at his lips. “No catch. Just wanna spoil my girl. That so bad?”

Okay… it wasn’t not believable. He did like to spoil you in that quiet way of his—“just because” flowers left on your desk, his hoodie thrown over your head when you shivered, snacks from that shop you mentioned once four months ago. But still, something about the way his voice curled at the edges made you wary.

You narrow your eyes. “I think… you want something.”

“Mm. Maybe.” 

He pushes off the couch, stretching lazily, then leans down to kiss the top of your head. His hand lingers on your hips for a second before giving your ass an encouraging little pat.

“Just come back looking pretty for me,” he murmurs, already heading for the door, earbuds in hand, leaving you stunned and flustered like always. 

So here you are, hours later—home from the salon, nails gleaming as you slip your shoes off at the front door. 

You went full girly for this one: baby pink with little white daisies on your ring fingers. Something sweet. Something soft. Something that, stupidly, kinda makes you want to bounce up to him, like look how pretty I am. 

Instead, you walk in quietly. He’s already on the couch, shirtless, sprawled out sore from his run. 

You swallow.

“Hey,” you say, slipping your tote onto the hook by the door. “I’m home.”

His head lolls toward you. “Yeah? Lemme see.”

He reaches for you, fingers curling gently around your wrist as he tugs you closer between his legs.

You bite your lip, cheeks warm, and hold out your hand, giggling softly. “Aren’t they pretty?”

His eyes flick down, then back up. Something dark settles in his gaze.

“Yeah. Real fucking pretty, baby,” he murmurs, almost too quiet. He lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

It’s uncharacteristically gentle and makes your chest ache a little, the way he lingers there, like he’s going to say something deeper—

“Butttt,” he drawls, still holding your hand, thumb lazily brushing over your fingers, “you owe me now. You know that, right?”

—Okay. Maybe not. 

“Oh, here we go.”

“I paid for your nails, so I need my return on investment.”

You’re unamused as you raise a brow. “What kind of return, exactly?”

He leans back into the couch, the perfect picture of entitlement. “Back scratches. Obviously.”

You blink. “That’s why you paid?”

“Why else would I do something nice?” he teases, flashing you a grin. “I’m a simple man. I see pretty nails on you and think ‘yeah, she should drag those down my back.’”

You gape at him, but he just pats his lap. “C’mere, baby. Put ’em to work.”

You try not to overthink it as you straddle him slowly, knees on either side of his thighs, heart pounding. But the moment you settle, he shifts and flips you over gently, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck in the process until you’re lying along the couch with your head on the armrest.

He slots himself between your legs, arms wrapping around your waist. His head finds a home on your chest—right between your breasts. His back is bare, golden, toned, and waiting.

“Perfect,” he mutters, nuzzling in with a sleepy sigh. “Now mark me up.”

Your breath catches. “But—”

“Hmm?” You feel the rumble of his voice against your sternum. 

“You said you’d scratch my back. So scratch.”

Your lips twitch as a sudden wave of boldness flutters in your chest. Instead of obliging right away, you lift one hand and gently tangle your fingers in his hair—soft at the nape, slightly damp from his shower—and give a light tug… just enough to make him lift his head and look at you.

“Actually,” you tease, voice soft, “I never agreed to anything.”

He stills, then scoffs, expression utterly unimpressed, brows quirked up in that classic really? look.

“I paid for your nails.”

“And that’s the bare minimum, yeah? Not princess treatment.”

“Oh baby,” he drawls. He lifts his head to smirk down at you, eyes half-lidded. “You wanna go there?”

“Mhm,” you hum, pretending not to notice the way his weight shifts between your legs. “Since it’s the bare minimum… you don’t get prince treatment.”

He lets out a breathy little laugh, more of a heh, and cocks his head to the side, surely about to ruin you.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” he warns. “You don’t wanna go there.”

“Why not?”

“Who suffered through Tokyo traffic and drove three hours to Nagano to bring you back ramen takeout?”

“You didn’t have to—!”

“Who got you and your girls plushies because “we’ll die without them.”

“Hey! We chipped in—!”

“Who gives you a daily allowance just for looking cute? Hm? Who lets you use his card for ‘stress shopping’ every time work gets too much?”

“...Okay, that is not—”

“And,” he says, leaning in even closer, voice dropping an octave, “who fucks you when you’re needy, baby? Who makes it better when you’re all whiny and worked up and can’t sleep unless you’re dripping on cock?”

Oh. 

Shit. 

Your face heats, and you suck in a breath.

He grins smugly; he’s got you right where he wants you. His nose brushes your cheek, lips barely grazing yours. “So, go on, princess. Tell me again how I don’t get prince treatment.”

You glare up at him, cheeks flushed, voice a whisper now. “You’re such a dick.”

“Your dick, though,” he agrees. 

You hate how true that is; you hate it almost as much as you love it.

So you shut him up the only way you can.

By finally scratching down his back.

It starts slow—soft drags of your fingertips down the expanse of his back, nails tracing lazy, teasing paths along the tip of his spine, across the swell of his shoulder blades. You’re delicate, painting affection across him one scratch at a time.

He lets out a deep breath and shudders slightly, his body sinking heavier against you. And for the first time tonight, that smug, cocky exterior of his begins to fade. All that usual teasing melts into something quieter, something raw. 

“That good?” you ask shyly, unsure.

“Shit… yeah,” he mutters, rougher now, a rasp curling around his words. His shoulders slump, jaw slack against the curve of your chest. “Keep going.”

You drag your nails a little deeper this time—scratches that leave a warm sting behind. He shivers under your hands, breath hitching every time you hit a spot just right. His fingers grip your waist, grounding himself, holding you tighter.

“Harder,” he says suddenly, voice hoarse, almost pleading. “Baby, go harder.”

You pause for a moment only to dig in a little more with each stroke, scratching firm lines down the length of his back. The pressure leaves faint, blooming pink trails in your wake. He groans softly, barely holding it back, and the sound makes your stomach flip.

“That’s it. Fuck, that’s it… pretty girl. Just like that.”

His hips press down into yours steadily, a lazy grind that feels unconscious, chasing relief without realizing it. You gasp softly as the pressure hits just right, but you let him... let him move with you.

Your legs part a little wider. You meet the next slow rut of his hips with one of your own, your breath shallow as your bodies find a rhythm—unspoken and messy.

And when he moans your name, your touch grows bolder… needier. You let your nails bite into his skin, not enough to break it, but enough to leave you were here carved into him.

And you want it to be known you were here—

So you move with intention, tracing the first letter of your name just beneath his shoulder blade. One letter. Then another. And another.

He stiffens.

You finish the curve of the last letter, your name now scratched—subtly, possessively—into his back.

He feels it.

“Baby…” he breathes out, voice shaking, wrecked. “Did you just—”

You nod. “Mhm. Wrote my name.”

He groans, guttural, forehead pressing harder against your chest. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so hot...”

And then—like he needs to do something, anything—he tilts his head and kisses the exposed skin just above your neckline. But it’s not soft… it’s hungry.

His lips part, and he sucks rough, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper. His hand slips under your shirt to steady your waist as he works at the spot, trying to leave a mark; his own name written in bruises, just like you scratched yours into his skin.

You sigh his name in bliss, barely holding back the shiver. “Feels good.”

“Yeah? It’ll feel more good if you keep goin’, baby. Scratch me up.”

You do.

And if that means keeping your nails pink and pretty for him to groan under your touch every day?

You’re in.

[ijustwannabecool]

Hi! I hope you’re okay. I just recently discovered your stories and they are stunning. I was wondering if you’ve thought of writing a Carlos’ version of Moments You Wish You Caught on Camera? I’d definitely love to read his version! ❤️

Moments You Wished You Caught on Camera - Carlos Sainz

Carlos Sainz x Wife!Reader

Summary…  Told through the eyes of strangers, six ordinary people recall quiet moments spent observing Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N around the world, moments that left a lasting impression.

A/N: I'm doing all good, thanks for asking. Took a break from writing to enjoy my summer before school starts again. Thank you for the support and the request. Keep them coming (: Let me know what you thought of the story.

Comment to be added to the tag list 🫶

Requests open!

Donate a coke zero?!

Like, Comment, Reblog, Enjoy!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The Woman Who Found Courage

Elena wasn’t sure why she’d come to the rooftop event.

Technically, it wasn’t even Y/N’s launch. Just a pop-up for a sustainable fashion brand she followed loosely online. Still, something told her to show up. She’d made the dress she was wearing for the first time, a floor-length deep green wrap with slightly uneven stitching and too much thread showing on the hem. She wore it anyway.

The terrace was bathed in golden hour light. Glasses of sangria clinked over conversations about textiles and ethics and minimalist branding. Elena stood near a planter of lavender, alone, half-heartedly sipping from her drink, trying not to fidget with the fabric at her waist.

She noticed the woman before anyone else did.

Y/N L/N arrived without announcement, no entrance, no heels clacking on tile. Just soft linen pants, a breezy top, and hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but somehow she still glowed. Elena watched her float through the space, greeting friends, complimenting strangers, stopping to touch fabric with genuine interest.

And then, Elena couldn’t quite believe it, Y/N noticed her.

The designer approached with a kind smile, tilting her head toward Elena’s dress. Her voice was low but warm.

“I love this color. It suits you.”

Elena smiled, small and a little nervous. “I made it.”

Something flickered across Y/N’s face, surprise, then delight. She leaned in closer, asked a few more questions Elena couldn’t hear from where she stood. The conversation didn’t look performative. It looked kind. Gentle.

Minutes passed. At some point, a man walked up, tall, relaxed, hands in his pockets. He didn’t interrupt. Just stood close enough for Y/N to lean against his arm, resting there like it was instinct. Elena squinted, catching his profile.

Carlos Sainz.

There was a stillness to him in that moment, none of the intensity he wore on race weekends. Just a man smiling quietly while the woman he loved talked about dresses with a stranger.

Eventually, Y/N squeezed Elena’s hand. Carlos nodded. They left together, fingers interlaced, slipping out the side without needing anyone to notice.

Elena watched them go.

Later, she found a piece of paper tucked into her tote. She didn’t know when it had been placed there.

Make things you want to wear. The rest will follow. –Y/N

It wasn’t signed with a brand name or a handle. Just those words.

She pinned it above her sewing table that night. And she hasn’t stopped creating since.

——————————

The Kid Who Got a Ride Home

The storm rolled in fast, one of those early spring downpours that gave no warning, just cracked the sky open and spilled everything at once.

Mateo muttered a curse under his breath as he stood under the narrow awning outside the preschool, clutching his phone and trying to refresh the weather app like it might help. His daughter, Luna, was still inside, and he was stuck without an umbrella, his car three blocks away. Typical Tuesday.

He wasn’t the only one caught unprepared. Other parents were gathered around, shoulders hunched, rain spotting their sleeves. The staff tried to usher the kids out quickly, but the rain made everything chaotic. He barely noticed the matte black SUV that pulled up at the curb, until he saw who stepped out.

A man in joggers and a hoodie, the hood half-up, his trainers already wet. He jogged around the vehicle with surprising ease, umbrella in hand, and opened the back door.

Carlos Sainz.

Mateo blinked. Was that…? No. Couldn’t be.

But then a woman appeared too, Y/N L/N, unmistakable even in a raincoat and messy bun. She was crouched at the backseat, holding a little boy’s backpack in one hand and a Spider-Man umbrella in the other, laughing softly as she tried to keep the child dry while buckling him in.

Mateo stared. No entourage. No security. No cameras. Just two parents caught in the rain.

He must’ve been really staring because the little boy, Sebastián; if he remembered correctly, turned and waved at his daughter through the preschool window. Luna, ever bold, waved back.

A minute later, the boy was calling from inside the car. “Papi! Luna doesn’t have her coat!”

Carlos looked up then, really looked around. “Whose kid?” he asked Y/N in a low voice.

“I think she’s with her dad. Over there,” she said, subtly nodding.

Carlos approached Mateo cautiously, umbrella extended.

“You okay?” he asked in Spanish. “She’s saying your daughter’s coat is inside.”

Mateo nodded. “Yeah, just waiting. Didn’t expect the storm.”

Carlos looked up at the sky, then back at him. “We can wait a minute with you, if that’s alright. He won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

And so, they waited. The four of them, two soaked dads, a quiet woman with rain droplets clinging to her lashes, and two preschoolers pressing their hands to the foggy car windows in some kind of wordless farewell ritual.

When Luna finally ran out with her coat clutched in her hand, Carlos held the umbrella over her like it was the most natural thing in the world. He helped her into her dad’s arms and nodded once before getting back into his own car.

By the time Mateo reached his own car, he was half-wet and still in disbelief.

His daughter spoke up from the backseat. “Papi?”

“Yeah?”

“Sebastián’s daddy drives really fast.”

Mateo grinned. “Yeah, hija. I guess he does.”

———————

The Man Who Didn’t Know

Joaquim didn’t get many visitors.

His vineyard had long since stopped producing wine, and the only people who came through the winding countryside roads were either lost or chasing some romantic idea of rural Portugal they saw on a Pinterest board.

He was pruning back the fig tree when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel. An SUV. Black, sleek, foreign plates. It paused just beyond the gate, the engine idling like it was thinking too.

He didn’t rush. He had lived long enough to know people came and went no matter what you did.

The passenger window rolled down, and a woman leaned over from the driver’s side. “Desculpe,” she said in careful Portuguese, “Estamos un pouco perdidos. Sabes como llegar a…?” (“Excuse me,” “We're a little lost. Do you know how to get to…?”)

“Espere,” Joaquim waved a hand, wiping dirt on his trousers. “You’re Spanish, no?” (“Wait.”)

She nodded, clearly relieved.

Behind her, a man leaned into view. Sunglasses, stubble, a faded cap pulled low. “Our GPS thinks this is a road.”

Joaquim chuckled. “It used to be.”

He gave them directions, slow and deliberate. The woman repeated them back just to be sure. She smiled when she got it right. “Thank you so much.”

“No trouble,” he said, but he didn’t step away yet. Something about them made him linger.

The man reached back into the car, rummaged for something, and handed Joaquim a bottle of water. “It’s hot,” he said. “You’re working hard.”

Joaquim accepted it with a nod. “Obrigado.” (Thanks.)

He watched them for another moment. They weren’t in a rush. The man reached across the console to tuck a piece of hair behind the woman’s ear. She leaned into it, like it was nothing and everything at once.

That simple gesture stuck with him.

It wasn’t until two days later, when his son came to visit and saw the water bottle sitting on the porch ledge, that the penny dropped.

“Where did you get this?” his son asked, flipping it in his hand. “This is from the race in Barcelona.”

Joaquim blinked. “A couple gave it to me. They were lost.”

His son stared. “Wait…describe them.”

When Joaquim did, his son looked at him like he’d seen a ghost. “That was Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N.”

Joaquim raised an eyebrow. “The race car driver?”

“Yes!”

Joaquim shrugged. “He was very kind. She was so bright. I liked them.”

His son gaped. “And you didn’t ask for a photo?”

Joaquim smiled, the kind that comes with age and a thousand sunrises. “Some moments don’t need to be caught on camera to last.”

—————————

The Woman Starting Over

Mariana wasn’t supposed to be in that part of Lisbon that day.

The boutique she worked at was closed for inventory, and her to-do list was long and unrelenting. But the thread store on Rua da Rosa had gotten a new shipment of linen blends, and the thought of running her fingers along clean bolts of fabric sounded better than facing another spreadsheet.

So, she went. And maybe that was fate.

The shop was quiet, warm, and smelled faintly of cedar. As she stood by the cutting table, comparing two shades of sage green, a voice behind her said, softly, “Go with the cooler one. It reads better in sunlight.”

Mariana turned. She recognized the woman instantly, though not in a celebrity way. More like the way you recognize someone whose style you’ve saved in moodboards and screenshotted late at night when you need to remember what dreams look like.

Y/N L/N.

She was dressed simply, white button-down, loose trousers, no makeup, but still looked like the sort of woman people designed runways around.

“I’m sorry,” Mariana blurted out. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Y/N smiled. “You weren’t. You looked torn. I know that look.”

Mariana felt herself flush. “I… I’m starting over. With design. Again. It’s been a rough few years.”

Y/N didn’t ask for details. Instead, she looked at the fabric in Mariana’s hands. “It’s hard, right? Making things that might not work. Making them anyway.”

Mariana nodded.

They spoke for ten minutes. Maybe twelve. About pattern grading. About creative burnouts. About imposter syndrome. About how sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk into a fabric store and say, I’m still trying.

Y/N bought nothing. She wasn’t there to shop. Maybe she’d wandered in by accident. Maybe not.

But before she left, she pulled a folded swatch from her own pocket, terracotta cotton with an unusual herringbone stitch.

“I carry this when I’m stuck,” she said. “It was from my first real show. I thought no one would come.”

She placed it gently on top of Mariana’s fabric. “Here. For yours.”

And then she was gone. Just like that.

It wasn’t until later that Mariana realized a man had been waiting outside the store the whole time. Dark sunglasses, reading a newspaper, casually leaning against the wall like any other local on a slow afternoon.

She recognized him when she flipped through Instagram that night. Carlos Sainz.

He’d looked up when Y/N walked out. Not at her, but for her. And when their eyes met, he smiled like he’d been smiling for her all his life.

————————————

The Single Mom and the Toothbrush

Camila had barely slept.

Her six-year-old son, Nico, was too excited. The hotel bed felt too soft. The air conditioning clicked all night. And now, somewhere between the chaos of packing their race day backpack and trying to brush her own teeth with one eye open, Nico had realized he’d forgotten his toothbrush.

Of course he had.

She stared at him, hair still in a messy bun, shirt half-tucked, and sighed. “We’ll get you a new one at the little hotel shop, okay?”

He nodded, wide-eyed and solemn, like this was the greatest tragedy of his young life.

The hotel lobby was buzzing, Grand Prix weekend always brought chaos, but the tiny convenience store off to the side was thankfully empty. She grabbed the cheapest kid toothbrush she could find, along with a juice box Nico didn’t need but would definitely beg for.

But at the counter, her card didn’t work.

The terminal blinked red once, then again. “Insufficient funds,” the screen said with embarrassing clarity.

Camila blinked. She knew her account was tight, but she'd transferred some money last night, hadn't she?

She was trying to figure it out when a soft voice said, “Add this too, please.”

Camila turned. The woman behind her held out a small box of soft gummy candies and a travel-sized pack of markers. She smiled and not the pitying kind, but the warm, understanding kind. “They’re good for the wait at the track. Long day ahead.”

Camila opened her mouth to protest.

“No, really,” the woman said. “I’ve been there. You’re doing great.”

And before Camila could even say thank you, the man beside her stepped in, handing over his black card like it was second nature. “Here,” he said quietly. “It’s fine.”

Camila blinked.

Wait.

The man’s profile was familiar. The voice, even more so. And the woman, soft curls tied back, oversized sunglasses, denim jacket thrown casually over leggings, she looked achingly familiar, too.

Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N. In her hotel. At her register.

Her jaw didn’t drop. Not right away. She was too stunned for that.

Carlos handed Nico the juice box himself. “You excited for the race?” he asked, smiling.

Nico’s eyes widened. “You sound like the guy my tío watches on TV.”

Carlos chuckled. “I get that sometimes.”

Then he looked back at Camila, a little more serious, and said, “Enjoy the weekend. It goes by fast.”

They walked off without fanfare. No bodyguards. No posing. Just two people, hand-in-hand, blending into a world that expected them to stand out.

Camila stood there frozen until the cashier cleared her throat and handed over the bag.

Later that night, she posted a thank-you on Twitter, not tagging anyone, not trying to make it go viral. Just a simple message.

‘To the couple who bought a toothbrush, candy, and markers for my son this morning, thank you. You were kind when you didn’t have to be. I hope your weekend was as good as you made ours.’

It never went viral.

But some moments aren’t meant to.

——————————

The Couple at the Cliffside Café

Luca had never liked the idea of “taking a break.” Either you fought for something or you let it go. You didn’t put it in a storage box and hope it’d look better after a few weeks.

But Bianca had insisted.

They booked the trip to Mallorca because it was far enough to feel like somewhere else, but familiar enough that it wouldn’t feel like pretending. They hadn’t spoken much since arriving. Just shared coffee in silence, walked side by side like strangers in familiar shoes. There were things they wanted to say. But neither wanted to say them first.

On the third morning, they found a café built into the edge of a cliff, whitewashed walls, wildflowers in chipped pots, a breeze that smelled like salt and citrus.

It was nearly empty. Only one other table was occupied.

A couple, probably in their 30s, sat tucked in the corner beneath the archway where the morning sun broke through like honey. The woman had sunglasses pushed into her hair, curls loose around her shoulders. She was laughing, really laughing, head tilted back, hands over her mouth like she couldn’t help it.

The man across from her watched her with such softness it made Luca look away.

He looked at Bianca. She was stirring her coffee slowly, eyes distant.

“I miss this,” he said quietly.

She blinked. “This?”

“Us. You and me. Before we started planning our future like it was a tax form.”

She gave him a long, searching look.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” she said.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But then I saw them.”

He glanced toward the couple again.

The man was reaching across the table to tuck a napkin under her coffee cup before the breeze caught it. The kind of gesture you only learn after years of loving someone well.

It wasn’t showy. There were no phones out. No attention drawn. But it was… real.

And the woman? She leaned in just a little, her hand brushing his like it belonged there.

“I think they’ve been through things,” Bianca said, surprising him.

“You think so?”

“There’s a stillness in them,” she said. “Like they’re not trying to prove anything.”

Luca turned to look again, just as the man took off his sunglasses and leaned back.

Carlos Sainz.

Luca’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “No way.”

Bianca tilted her head. “And her?”

“Y/N L/N,” he said. “She’s a designer. I think they’re married. Or… something.”

Bianca smiled a little. “That explains the dress. And the calm.”

They watched for a moment longer, just the two of them, quietly taking in a couple who existed like a secret garden in plain sight. One you didn’t know you needed until you stumbled across it.

When the waiter came, Luca ordered them another round of coffee.

“We’re not done yet,” he said.

“No,” Bianca agreed, reaching for his hand. “We’re not.”

By the time they left the café, Carlos and Y/N were gone. No photos. No autographs. Just a receipt left on the table, weighed down by a smooth, sea-polished stone.

And maybe, just maybe, two hearts stitched back together in their quiet wake.

----

The end.

Tag list: @bby-lve @devilacot @angelluv16 @angstynasty @hisashifrey @mynameisangeloflife @evalynkillgrave @lorena-mv33 @frenchtwistedd @baechugff

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 23

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, alcohol, angst, rollercoaster Wordcount: 7.4K A/C: sorry for this (live reactions always appreciated)

-

London

Jasper Your mum told me you’re under the weather and that’s why I haven’t heard of you. Bless you! I hope you feel better soon love. Shame about tonight, I shall suffer without you at the office. Call me when you can. I love you.

The text lingers on my lit screen, buzzing quietly against my lap. Under the weather - It almost makes me laugh. I bet that’s how my mother feels. Izara is sick, unwell, not herself. I wish I could explain to her. That it’s not sickness, but love. Love like she feels for my father. Love I can never feel for Jasper, let alone a man. or anyone else for that matter. Love I feel only for her.

I swipe the text away, another issue pushed to another day. Shelved to be found lying around years from now. I know I need to end it with Jasper. It’s so selfish of me to keep him hanging on. Hopeless and locked up like an animal by me just to be left to starve while I lie with another person, another pet I keep fed and allow to sleep in my bed. But it feels like the moment I do it, it means something more to Paige. The future is still as foggy as a November morning in the English countryside, lying thick on fields that keep going as far as eyes can see. I love her, yes. But what does that mean for me? I’m not ready to decide. And luckily I don’t have to. Not right now.

Because right now we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder in a booth in a nice pub, surrounded by my closest friends: Olivia, Molly and Keana, and I’m feeling a buzz from the tequila shots the bartender insisted giving Keana who always had a way to make strange men do things she didn’t even ask for. A few bats of her dark brown eyes and they were under her spell.

“Wait, Paige, do that impression again, please!” Liv says loudly over the crowd. I audibly groan. The blonde looks over for permission. Silently I give it to her, despite my distaste.

Paige sits up from her slouching position, licking her lips spread into a smirk and clears her throat. “I just have to take the Julibee line-”

“Jubilee line, my love,” I correct her horrific accent that’s supposed to be me.

“Right, Jubilee line, on the tube, but before I leave I must check 15 times that I didn’t leave the stove on and that I locked the door or-”

The girls around the table giggle. I bite my lip not to show my amusement. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“Aw, but she was just getting to the good part!” Molly frowns. Paige turns to me with a smug smile.

“Yea, I was just getting to the good part,” she repeats. I almost let myself melt into her blue eyes, but instead push her face away to tell her she’s done.

“Sorry y’all,” she sighs. “The boss said no.”

“Booo,” Liv complains. “It’s such a good impression. Spot on.”

I show my middle finger jokingly to her as she sits opposite me and the blonde. 

“God forbid a girl has anxiety,” I scoff, sipping the last of my vodka martini. I glance at the time. Only 20 minutes till midnight. I decide to forget about the text. I’m here with the people I love and my friends adore Paige, laughing at every stupid joke coming out of her mouth. I never even brought Jasper around - something about it made me uncomfortable. Paige just seemed to belong everywhere she went. She just clicked. So I didn’t think of our New Years plans twice when Liv asked us out.

Paige squints, smiling as she stares at me. I can’t help myself when I lean over and kiss her cheek. My friends all share a unanimous look, but I ignore it.

”You need another one beautiful?” Paige asks, pointing at my empty glass. I nod.

The blonde climbs out of the booth, grabbing everyone’s empty glasses from the table to bring to the bar. A spot of red seeps into the sleeve of her olive green flannel. She doesn’t seem to notice, we’re all too tipsy to care about a little stain somewhere.

”Darling, will you make sure they use Man-”

”Manzanilla olives, I know baby,” Paige murmurs absentmindedly and starts pushing through the crowd. A pleasant chill runs down my spine as I watch her broad back disappear behind a corner. My eyes nearly water as my heart pounds, overwhelming with love.

”She’s got Zari gone,” Keke says to the girls on either side of her, opposite me.

”Pardon?” I ask, realising I didn’t hear a word.

”Oh nothing,” Keke sighs mischievously. ”Just saying you’re mad about Paige, aren’t you?”

I feel the blush crawl up my neck. Even if I denied it, the redness on my face could only be explained by one thing. I knew it as well as they did.

”Why do you say that?” I ask, tapping my acrylics against the wood of the table. I had never heard my friends utter those words to me. I was always the one who hated PDA, who hated public pet names and the doting that came with being in love. 

”I’ve never seen you like this,” Liv admits, kicking me under the table playfully. But she doesn’t seem to be teasing - her blue eyes are genuine in the dim light and the smile on her face is real. We’ve known each other since year 3, long enough that her words hold incredible weight. Never seen you like this.

”She looks at you like she wants to eat you up,” Molly jokes. 

”Babe, Zari looks at her like that too, let’s be real,” Keke hides behind her drink, making all of us giggle.

Molly gasps. ”Wait, have you done that to her?!” She tries to whisper. It’s more like a yell.

”Done what?” I giggle.

”You know,” Molly giggles too. ”Gone down on h-”

”Molly!” I shout. My hand knocks into a pint, nearly tipping it over.

Keke rolls her eyes. ”Of course she has. I would too and I’m not even gay. She’s so fit.”

I suck the insides of my cheeks, a pang of jealousy running through me before I realise it’s ridiculous. Liv stares at me.

”So you think you’re gay then?” She asks.

”I don’t know,” I admit, licking my glossed lip. ”I don’t really think about other people. Just her.”

”Maybe you’re straight and just into her. Like an exception,” Molly suggests, but Liv is quick to shut her up.

”No, because what about Nicole?” 

”Oh Lord,” I groan, looking over the crowd to find a sign of the blonde girl. Still gone.

”Who’s Nicole?” Molly asks. Me and Liv share a look.

”She was Izzie’s first,” She says, earning gasps from the two girls in shock. ”Now that I think of it, that’s the only other time I’ve actually seen you happy in a relationship.”

”Didn’t last very long,” I chuckle awkwardly, my mind drifting back to Jasper. God I’m an awful human being. What was I doing? Wasting both of our time.

”Yeah, well while it lasted,” she waves me off. ”Iz, I think you’re gay. Not bi, just gay.”

I didn’t want to think about it now, let alone discuss the topic. I wanted to reject the idea completely and I don’t even know why? It made everything more real - I could never get my family’s love back if it was true. There would be no compromise, I’d have to choose between being happy and being loved by them. With my head spinning, I chew on my bottom lip, not bothering to answer. And thankfully I don’t have to, because Paige appears again holding a frosty martini and a fruity drink. My saviour.

”Bro, the line was crazy,” she sighs, plotting herself beside me. Scooting closer, I melt into her, allowing her side to press into mine. My pounding heart slows down, and I inhale the scent of sandalwood without shame. All I know is I love her. Right now that’s enough. I squeeze her hand three times as a sign, a squeeze for each word - I love you.

-

“Yo, you comin’ tonight, right?” Arike’s familiar voice blasts through the speakers of my phone. In coming here I had abandoned many commitments over Izara, which I would do again in a heartbeat. The problem is, I had also failed to let everyone know where I was.

Her eyes pierce me through the screen as they realise I’m definitely not home or available.

“Bro, you promised,” Arike groans. “Where you at? How you already drunk? Your ass is never gonna last to midnight.”

Iz is sitting right out of view, engaged in a conversation with the girls. Snickering at Arike’s comment, I bring the phone closer to my mouth.

“Bro, I’m not in Dallas,” I tell her with a smirk.

 “You still on the east coast?”

Placing my phone against my glass, I tap Izzie’s soft thigh. “Babe.”

Her gaze turns to me, sparkling and eyes heavy from the alcohol. Every fibre of my being wanted to kiss her senseless. I nod towards the screen.

A smile spreads onto Izzie’s face as she leans close enough to be in view, her cheek pressing into my shoulder.

“Hey Arike,” she chuckles at her wide eyes processing what she’s seeing.

“Yo what?!” She screams, nearly dropping the phone. Izzie lets out a bright laugh that makes my heart flutter.

“Sorry Arike, I stole her from you for New Years,” she says into the phone.

“Nah, forget it,” she grins. “Hollup, you called her babe? You two back together?”

Me and the woman beside me share a glance. I’m about to answer with the obvious yes, but the apprehension on Iz’s face causes a realization to run through me. We hadn’t even talked about it, let alone when she’d be coming back to the US. If at all. I mean of course she would, right?

“Oh sh- my bad,” Arike mumbles, realising neither of us knew how to answer that question. I don’t think I could be more thankful when I realise people around the pub are beginning to countdown to midnight.

“Uhh, sorry we gotta go. Love you bro, I’m flying home in a couple days,” I mumble into the phone. Iz shifts on her seat, taking a deep breath like she always did when something was on her mind.

“15, 14, 13…” The crowd chants, everyone looking for the person they love the most in the room. I’ve got mine right beside me. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, my fingers dip into her hair, massaging the back of her head and certainly messing up her blowout. She doesn’t seem to mind though, her green eyes meeting mine. This girl of mine could break my heart so easily and it would be a million times worse than it was when she left the first time.

We stare into each other as the people around us count down. 10, 9, 8, 7. My free hand travels up her arm to her cheek. Her face looks so small in the palm of my hand, and she leans against my touch, smiling only the tiniest bit. 6, 5, 4. She places her manicured hand over mine, and kisses the rough skin of my palm. 3, 2, 1. I lean towards her, and she meets my lips halfway, tasting like strawberries and vodka and everything I’ve ever loved. I don’t fight the urge to slide my tongue into her mouth. Iz doesn’t resist it. I feel her hum against me, her spit covering my swollen lips. The long nails dig into me as she pulls away. I can feel the way she’s struggling to stop. I almost wince.

“Happy New Year,” she murmurs, words slurring because of the alcohol. I wipe my lips dry. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was on the internet somewhere soon. And I don’t give a damn.

Her eyes sparkle brighter than the sun. Everything made me swoon. Life has no meaning without her. Suddenly nothing else matters. My life before her was dull and gray, the only meaningful thing concluding into an orange ball I bounced across the court every day of my existence. I do adore basketball - but what a depressing life, any existence without her. 

“I’m so in love with you,” I slur out, likely looking as dopey as I felt. For a second I think I said too much, but then a lopsided grin spreads onto her face. She’s pleased.

“I am utterly, completely, entirely in love with you Paige Bueckers,” she says back, the lilt of her voice telling me she means it.

-

The night had developed quickly, even the packed bar seemed too slow for the state we’d ended up in. It wasn’t hard to get into an overbooked club with Paige flashing a smile and my friends adding a few ”Don’t you know who she is?!” for the full effect. It was the Instagram profile that, however, convinced the bouncer to let us in.

For the first time in my life I felt slightly underdressed, my black top carefully placed off my right shoulder a dull sight in the sea of glittering dresses and sparkly jewelry. I almost felt self-conscious, but then the blonde squeezed my hip and whispered in my ear.

“You’re the sexiest girl in the world y’know that ma?”

I realised with her I never felt self-conscious, not to the extent I used to only a year ago. I didn’t mind either the sweaty bodies dancing around me, or Paige attached to my neck by her lips surely leaving marks on my skin. The sticky floors or my drunken state brought no anxiety. I knew no matter what she’d protect me from the world.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this about you of all people, but you two,” Keke’s finger points at me and the blonde. “Need to get a room.”

“You’re just jealous,” I tease, wrapping my arms around Paige’s neck. A warmth spreads through my chest all the way to my fingertips as her hands slide down to my ass. Suddenly remembering all my friends again, I glance around.

“Where is everyone?”

“Liv and Molly went to the karaoke room,” Keke says, nursing a bright yellow cocktail.

I hear Paige gasp in my ear, an excited grin spreading to her face.

“Karaoke?” She smirks, blue eyes batting at me. She didn’t have to say more, I already knew what she wanted. And I already felt very strongly about it.

“No.”

“Bu-”

“Absolutely not.”

Her pink bottom lip turns to a pout. “But… Bro you missed my birthday.”

I scoff. “You missed mine.”

“It’s not like I wanted to,” she scoffs. 

“It’s not like I wanted to leave,” I reply, a little annoyed now. I pull back, crossing my arms over my chest. Paige’s eyes widen.

“Baby, c’mon,” she hums, fingertips grabbing a gentle hold of my elbow. “Please.”

I can’t say no. Not when she’s looking at me like that with her eyes like a clear sky, the downward turn of her mouth. 

”I’m not singing though,” I admit defeat, ignoring the celebrations of Keke and Paige as we head to the other girls.

My finger flies to my ear as some man’s drunken squeal into the mic reaches me. The loud sounds made me tense up. Noticing my flexed jaw, Paige wraps an arm around me.

”Whatchu want me to sing?” She asks, her words slurred into my ear.

”You’re actually going to sing?” I laugh, but the girl is too excited to hear me out.

”Wait here, I’ma go line my song up!”

To my horror it seems to take closer to an hour for Paige’s turn. By the time she finally gets on stage, I’ve half-finished a drink I didn’t want and sat through three off-key ballads. She, however, looks thrilled.

A sly grin is already on her face as she climbs onto the stage, her shirt left somewhat unbuttoned showing the sports bra underneath. I lean into the tall table, clapping with the rest of the people as she fidgets with the mic between her hands. Hooting loudly, my friends jump up and down for her, just as drunk as she is, if not more. Not that Paige needed a drink to get on stage. Even now, she’s easily charismatic and comfortable under everyone’s gaze. I admired her courage more than anything.

”This song is for my girl,” she says, earning a cheer from the crowd. My ears feel hot, and I bury the smile on my face with my hand. 

”Look at her,” she points at me. ”She’s so fine. I’ma marry her one day, trust.”

If my ears burned before it was nothing compared to the way my entire face sparked bright red like a flame. My stomach twists at her public declaration, even more so when people’s eyes turn to me. 

”She’s so in love with you,” Liv murmurs to me, suddenly appearing. I gulp.

”Yeah, she is.”

Suddenly the lyrics for One Time by Justin Bieber appear on the screen, a burst of laughter erupting from us. As dramatic as ever, the blonde is clutching at her chest, singing slightly above the key and serenading me.

”Your world is my world, And my fight is your fight, My breath is your breath, When you're hurt (I'm not right)”

She sings with such passion I can’t help but feel butterflies bursting from my stomach, my cheeks as red as a firetruck. 

”You look so deep, You know that it humbles me, You're by my side and what troubles them don't trouble me, Many have called but the chosen is you, Whatever you want, shawty, I'll give it to you”

”Oh my Gosh,” I mumble under my breath, my cheeks hurting from smiling as she stumbles drunkenly around the stage. She’s so wasted. 

”And I'ma be your one guy, You'll be my number one girl, 

always makin' time for you, I'ma me tell you one time (girl, I love, girl, I love you)” 

She’s somehow managing to sing the background vocals simultaneously, getting me to laugh. I let out a sigh of relief as the song ends, and she bows deeply before walking to me, the worker running after her to fetch the mic she forgot to leave for the next person.

”Sorry,” I mumble to the lady, handing the microphone to her.

”What was that?” Paige asks, nuzzling her nose into my neck. I hope no one here has any idea who Paige Bueckers is.

”Just that I love you,” I quickly say, smiling wide at her. Her blue eyes soften, nearly tearing up. It’s definitely time to go.

”I love you so much mama,” she hums, leaning in for a big wet smooch. 

”Home time?” I whisper hopefully. She nods, her nose dragging against my cheek. I feel liberated over here, the oppressive fear of being found out in Dallas had left me afraid of the smallest touch or gaze. We were free to do what we wanted, even if the world was watching. And maybe for once, I don’t care if it is.

-

”Need water,” Paige stumbles into the hotel room hitting the door, the dresser AND the bedframe on her quest to the bottle on the bedside table. I follow behind, folding my jacket neatly onto a chair.

”Yes you do,” I reiterate. The blonde plops herself down onto the blanket, struggling to unbutton the shirt hanging off her. Wordlessly I walk to her, sitting onto her knee and doing it for her. I don’t need to lift my gaze to know that she’s staring.

Her hand rubs my bare knee, warming the cold skin.

”Are you happy?” The sudden question catches me off guard as I push the sleeves off her broad shoulders. 

”Of course I am,” it comes off a little too defensively, though I don’t know why. It’s just that as the days closed in on us and her return to the States, I seemed to be getting more and more irritable. It wasn’t her fault. It was the stirring in my stomach and the pressure in my throat - anxiety.

”I- I meant,” she slurs. ”Are you happier now that I’m here?” She’s not bothered by the tone of my voice, instead rubbing circles on my leg soothingly.

I bite on my lower lip. What a question to ask. Wasn’t it obvious? Time stood still without her. The last weeks have been the greatest gift of my life.

”Yes,” I simply say, meeting her intruding gaze.

”But I’m leaving tho,” she adds. I hadn’t addressed it since now. Or how I felt about it. I didn’t want to start now. Or I might completely unravel.

”Yes,” I swallow loudly. ”But you’ll come back. When you can.” Or so I hoped.

”Well yeah,” she murmurs, her voice slow and low. ”And we do that for how long?”

I shrug. We both knew the chances of a long-distance relationship. It wouldn’t last endlessly.

”Until we figure it out,” I hum. Or until one of us fell in love with someone else and was finally ready to let each other go. The idea was nauseating.

”I guess I’m just scared that it doesn’t really end for me tho,” she admits, now staring at her lap. ”Like, Dallas and Unrivaled is always gonna be there. Basketball ain’t going nowhere.”

”I know that,” I say sharply.

”So then, what are we waiting for?” She asks, her voice harsher now too. But her hand still stroked my thigh, telling me it was okay. ”Why not just come to Dallas now?”

This is what I feared. Why did it take me leaving my whole life and everything in it to get her? To return to that cruel city with the burning heat that made me nauseous.

”I’d need a visa,” I remind her, taking a deep breath to cool my nerves. ”And I don’t have one last I checked.”

”There are ways around that tho,” she snaps, throwing her head back. She wasn’t in a state to have a constructive conversation and honestly, neither was I. The day of socialisation had drained me.

”Can we talk about this tomorrow?” I huff, standing up from her lap. She’s about to snap back, but hesitates and sighs. A regretful look spreads onto her face.

She reaches for me blindly, like she can’t stand the space between us. ”Fuck, I’m sorry baby,” she says, pulling me back down and placing a kiss onto my lips. She tastes like alcohol and my strawberry lipgloss. ”I think I’m too drunk.”

I forgive her easily. Like I always do. ”I’m sorry too,” I whisper, kissing her cheek. ”I’m really tired.”

”Let’s go to bed,” she answers, pulling her sports bra off. For this once I let her climb into bed without showering, trying to take my mind off the sweat soaking into the sheets.

As I flip off the lights, Paige groans loudly and smacks her own forehead.

”Shit,” she sighs. ”I’m gonna be so hungover tomorrow.”

I chuckle, scooting into my rightful spot on her chest, not minding the sweat or the smell of alcohol.

”Yup.”

-

The slow ripples of the Thames reflect the sun climbing lazily over the buildings. The sound of the water lapping is more apparent this early, when the groups of tourists hadn’t made their way out yet. I now understood why they complained about the short-term visitors - experiencing London through the eyes of a Londoner is what made me fall in love. The moments of stillness, the sound of birds and the whispered conversations and the quiet hum of the tube felt almost sacred.

I recognise the buildings now, looking towards the Shard and the sunbeams reflecting off the glass. A whiff of lavender over the smell of wet stone makes me breathe in the humidity. The fog is only settling, making everything look blurred, softer even. The contrast to the swirling emotions within me felt cruel on our very last morning.

”Shall we sit here?” Iz asks. The trembling in her voice tells me she feels it too. Our shoulders brush as we rest on the rough wooden slats of a bench by the river. I squeeze her hand, patting at my pocket as she sips a black coffee. Silence falls over us like a veil, neither of us brave enough to break it. 

A group of joggers make their way past us, wet thumping of their shoes loud against the stone. I wait till the steps fade, and suddenly they’re gone.

To my surprise, she sniffles first. I’m shocked to see a tear pooling in the corner of her eye when I turn to her. 

”Hey,” I comfort softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

”Don’t,” she whispers. ”It’ll only make me cry more.”

I understood what she meant. I think a hug would be enough to reduce me to tears.

”Just distract me,” she waves me off, wiping the tear and letting it soak into her sleeve.

My mind scrambles to come up with anything. 

”How’s the coffee?” I ask.

She scoffs lightheartedly, lower lip trembling. ”Good.”

”Is that why you’re cryin’? Because the coffee’s so good?”

She laughs, nodding. ”Exactly.”

I don’t know what else to say, tapping my foot nervously. It felt impossible to stay still in this moment. 

We hadn’t spoken since New Year’s about what we’d do. Every time I tried she skillfully distracted me, or perhaps I was just too easily distracted. Either way, both of us felt in the dark. In about 7 hours I’d be on my way home without a plan. I could feel every second ticking away. 

”Aren’t you hungry?” Izzie suddenly asks. I shake my head, causing the girl to eye me suspiciously.

”Never seen you skip breakfast,” she huffs, taking another sip of her coffee. Leaning in, I kiss her cheek to give her something else to think about. And me I guess.

”Where are you gonna go after I leave?” I finally ask, leaning back on the bench. The dampness seeps into my puffer vest. Iz rests her head onto my shoulder.

”I guess home for a bit, if they take me.”

”I can get you a place y’know?” I suggest, letting her scent overwhelm me for as long as I could.

”Absolutely not,” she says sternly. I’m not surprised at all by her answer.

A silence falls upon us, my right hand digs into my pocket, warming my freezing fingers.

”I’m so lucky,” I whisper, heart thumping in my chest so loud I’m afraid she can hear it. I swear if I don’t chill I might pass out. Taking a calming breath, I nuzzle my nose into the side of her face. ”Never got to love anyone like I love you.”

A hint of a smile lifts the corners of her mouth, her green forest eyes turning to me.

”I’m so lucky too,” she hums melodically.

I think back to that first time we shared a cab to our building. That twinkle in her eye.

”Remember when I saved you from giving that speech at that pre-season party?” I grin, my fingertips intertwining with hers.

”I do,” she smiles. ”I also remember when you called me Ivanna.”

”Bro,” I tilt my head back embarrassed. ”I was just too nervous around you.”

”I thought you hated me,” she reminds me.

”I could never hate you.”

She contemplates. ”Not even when I left?” She’s too ashamed to look into my eyes. I take myself back - I felt confused, devastated, heartbroken. But never hate.

I shake my head. ”Never.”

She glances back at me, but returns her gaze to her hands. ”I’m sorry for that. I’m just so bad at goodbyes. Even now, I-” She stops.

I take a deep breath. ”Then let’s not make it a goodbye.”

She frowns a little as her eyes meet mine again. ”Paige-”

”Hold up, lemme speak just a bit.” I demand. She quiets down. I can feel the blood rushing to my face suddenly. Taking a deep breath I start.

”Iz, I love you, okay? I love all your routines and rules and I love when you break them just for me. I love how you challenge me and I think you might be the only person in this world that gets to have their way with me. You’re so stubborn it drives me crazy but I can’t get enough of it. I love when you stop overthinking and just are yourself and I think I’m pretty good at getting you to relax a bit, yeah?”

She stares at me, barely blinking as she takes in every word.

”Oh I’m allowed to speak now?” She teases and I can’t help but groan.

“Bro, I’m being forreal.”

Izzie sighs, rubbing her thumb against my skin leaving it burning. “Yeah you’re pretty good at that.”

“Cool. And I love you when you’re stressed and overthinking too. And I like to think I’m pretty good at helping you with that too, right?”

“Yes.” Her features soften, like they did when she slept.

I nod, catching my breath, butterflies fluttering somewhere deep beneath my abdomen. The smile melts off my face. This was serious. She needed to know.

“Life before you,” I murmur into the morning. “Was nothing. You make me a better person,” my voice trembles as I slide my hand away from hers and dig into my pocket. Her gaze follows and she’s frozen still, the weight of what I’m about to do settling amongst us.

“I don’t want there to be life after you, Iz.”

I pull out the tiny square box, sleek and covered in emerald green leather that matched the color of her eyes. I’m too afraid to look for a reaction, so I opt out for staring at my fingers, holding the case ever so carefully as if it might break. With a shaky breath, I open it, revealing a delicate golden band holding a round cut diamond, classy but large enough to cause a commotion. It catches the morning sun, sparkling on my lap. It’s not just a ring. It’s a promise, an oath, a reminder of everything I feel.

Izara seems to understand the significance, her lips parting as a small gasp escapes them. Her eyes are glued to the diamond, a slight breeze brushing a strand of her hair back. The silence gives way to the ringing of my ears that seems to carry on for far too long. 

”You’re my soulmate Izzie,” I say, barely a whisper, looking for any shift in her expression. A hint of hesitation creeps up my spine. ”I- I know it’s way too early. And it’s not enough or even close to what you deserve. But why would you stay? Let’s just run away from all this. Come with me to Dallas. Please. Marry me.”

Her hard face softens, green eyes filling with tears as she bats her lashes. My heart flutters as they lift up to meet my gaze, and a gentle smile forms on her lips. The certainty that she’d say yes and be mine forever growing every second.

”Oh Paige,” she hums, the lilt of her voice so sweet I nearly feel sick. Her fingers trace the box, the cool leather, the round diamond. ”It’s so beautiful.”

I watch as she touches the band and exhales shakily, and finally closes the box without picking up the ring, the sound making me shutter.

”But it’s not right.”

The wind picks up, the tide moving faster along the river.

My world comes crumbling down and all the hope that I’d been foolish enough to allow to grow is gone, just like that. There was no changing her mind, the situation or us. We would always be a tragedy.

-

From that moment all the way until Heathrow we shared a mutual grasp of our situation. An understanding of sorts. We loved each other, and maybe in another world that’s how we’d always get to exist. But not in this life. There was no reason to fight the inescapable end of us. It wouldn’t change anything. So I’d stopped fighting it a while ago. We got two amazing weeks together, and that was enough. It had to be.

Still, saying no wasn’t easy. For a second I let myself dream of a life spent with her. The thought was always better than the reality with us. Life with Paige was anything but practical and after all that’s what I’d always been. Everything about her and her life went against my very nature. As much as I adored Paige’s eternal optimism and idealism, one of us had to be the realistic one. Fate cast the die and it pointed to me.

The usually busy Heathrow feels surprisingly quiet. Why today? All I wanted was to be distracted by dodging the crowds of people, stealing more seconds in long lines before our final goodbye. The one we didn’t get last time around. But the line to check in is nearly empty. My stomach drops when it comes to view, the grip I have on Paige’s arm tightening.

”Shit,” she whispers, thinking the same as I was. I can’t stand it anymore. The tears that had been building ever since my realisation of our inevitable end begin to roll down my cheeks, and an embarrassingly loud weep leaves my lips.

”Hey, baby, hey,” Paige turns to me. Her expression tells me she’s startled by the emotion pouring out of me. I can’t blame her.

Her arms wrap around my shoulder as I cry into her grey hoodie, certainly leaving a wet spot on it. She cradles me, a soft shush leaving her lips until she sniffles and I feel tears seeping into my dark hair. She’s crying too, shaking against me.

”I love you,” I whisper into her chest, straight to her heart.

”I’m gonna always love you Iz,” she sobs quietly, the word causing an ache in my chest. There would be no always. She’d get over this too, move on one day. And I want her to. I hope she does. With someone who doesn’t burden her with all this baggage.

Finally the blonde moves back, her eyes now burning red and lips swollen. I glance at the clock, cursing the constantly cruel passing of time.

”You should go,” I hum, trying to force a smile.

She smiles sadly back, nodding but never daring to look away from my eyes. ”Iz-”

”Thank you Paige,” I smile, holding back the tears. ”For the most incredible two weeks, no, 10 months of my life.”

A tear rolls down her cheek as she rubs her jaw, listening to me.

”That’s more than some people get in their whole lives,” I remind her.

”Aren’t we lucky, huh?” She replies weakly.

Right now this feels anything but lucky. Her blue eyes leave mine only to gaze at the time.

”I really gotta go Iz,” she says, petting my dark hair one last time. ”If you’re ever in Dallas-”

”I’ll call you,” I answer before she can finish, my heart already breaking.

Paige pulls me into a deep embrace, smelling my hair unashamed. I breathe her in. Sandalwood and her.

”Remember your worth Iz. Cause sometimes you forget,” she says. ”You’re the best person I’ve ever known.”

The words come so easy to her. I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing that can tell her what she means to me, that it’s not because she’s not good enough for me - but because being with her would be selfish of me.

”Okay darling, you better go,” I pull back in tears. She catches my lips against hers and I kiss her, letting her taste be engraved into my brain. The kiss is wet and salty with tears, but neither of us mind, taking our time to feel each other for the final time. At last, I take a step back. Every cell in my screams to do otherwise.

”Okay, I gotta go,” she says, grabbing her suitcase. I watch, holding onto her hand.

”Safe flight,” I add, unsure what to do with myself. Paige laughs at the casual words, her voice ringing in my ears.

”Take care of yourself baby,” she replies, meeting my eyes with hers. ”Don’t watch me go.”

I bite on my lower lip to start it from quivering. ”I won’t.”

Then, with a painful breath in, she steps back and my hand drops from her grip. It burns and aches for her the moment she’s out of reach. All my self discipline is being tested, to not take a step closer.

”Bye Iz.”

”Goodbye Paige,” I hum, and watch as she turns around. It hurts too much. I flip my back to her, wiping the tears from my eyes but they don’t stop. I decide I’d rather watch her go just to see her for a second more - So I do, following her on the line until she disappears past the gates and is gone from my life. She never turns back, so confident I had already left.

-

Two weeks later

I tuck the white sheet tightly into the couch, throwing the decorative blanket carelessly on the floor. I place the duvet and fluff my pillow meticulously - a nightly routine I had perfected in the last week.

”You’re never planning on sleeping in the bed, are you Zari?” A deep voice grumbles from behind me.

With a weak smile I turn, meeting Jasper’s gaze as he leans into the doorframe.

”You promised to be patient, didn’t you?” I remind him, sitting onto the sheet. The couch was surprisingly comfortable. He was lucky I was even considering returning to the bed.

”You’re the one that disappeared on me for three weeks, sweetheart. Need I remind you?”

I shift uncomfortably. I had never told him the truth. I decided none of it mattered anymore. Either I make this work or my life as I know it would be ruined. What he didn’t know didn’t hurt him. And my mother had been speaking to me again.

”I just needed some time Jasper,” I lean back, lying down. He sits by my feet, lifting them onto his lap and massaging. I can’t feel a thing. He stares into me, brows furrowed and a sly smile on his face.

”You used to be so easy to read. But ever since you came back from America I can’t figure you out,” he sighs, shrugging. A hint of satisfaction warms my chest.

”Is that so bad?”

”It is when you disappear from me for three weeks,” he scoffs lightheartedly. A silence settled between us, and his hands climb to massage my calves. A half assed attempt to get me naked into his bed. It would be a long wait for him before I was ready, the mere idea to be touched by anyone but her making me sick.

”But it gave me some time to think of our situation,” he starts.

”Wh-”

”Don’t interrupt me darling, you know how I hate that,” he tells me and I bite my tongue.

”I just figured Zari, that you’re not getting younger. Neither am I. My mates all think it’s time, and I think they’re right. And your mum seems to agree,” he turns to me, clearly looking for the right words. ”I think it’s time I start saving for a ring.”

I sit up, the pressure in my throat making me nauseous and dizzy. Jasper sees my expression, misreading it as excitement.

”I mean, we must get a new ring! That old one is rubbish, just bad energy all around. We’ll get a new one. Plan a new wedding. And start having kids straight away.”

I blink at him, stunned.

”I mean, it’s not like you have a career going for you currently, do you Zari?”

I tremble, sweat gathering on my neck. I stand up suddenly before thinking, the sound of his voice ringing in my ears. I think I’m going to throw up.

”Excuse me,” I say, already half jogging towards the bathroom. Only when I lock the door behind me I can breathe again, knowing he can’t walk in. I think of his words. What a dream to hear them - but not from him. Or anyone else for that matter. I see the visions in my head of everything he talks about. But it’s not him there, it’s Paige. 

The realisation hits me like a punch to the gut. Something I knew deep down rising to the surface. It could never be anyone but her. I dig through my box of tampons, scattering them over the floor where I had hid it. In the one place I know he wouldn’t go looking.

I pull out the forest green ring box, flipping it open with trembling hands. When Paige had left it in my suitcase, it had felt like a cruel reminder. Now, I knew it was an anchor. Tying me to her. Grounding me, reminding me of the promise.

”Remember your worth Iz. Cause sometimes you forget.”

The words ring in my ears, the memory of her voice a painful gnawing. I see it all. The house, the kids, a family, me by the kitchen island barefoot and pregnant. It should be exhilarating, but all I feel is wrong. Because in every version of that dream it’s never been him. It’s Paige. And I’ve been lying to everyone - to myself, to him, to her.

I see her in the morning light. Her golden hair and brilliant blue eyes, her tan skin in the Dallas sun with the car window down, singing along to some R&B song. Her hand on my thigh, the only thing that ever felt like home. It was always something I thought I didn’t deserve. Maybe it’s time I learn to be selfish.

Carefully, I sit on the bathroom floor and pick up the ring with the golden band. It’s beautiful, looking at it up close. I didn’t dare to really look before. I don’t overthink it when I slide it into my ring finger. It fits like a glove, and the weight of the diamond feels right. Even if I don’t deserve this, or deserve her, I’m willing to work the rest of my life to prove to myself that I’m good enough for her. One thing I know is for certain - I can’t stay here a moment longer.

Without bothering to pick up the tampons scattered up the floor, I unlock the door. Jasper is right behind it, making me jump.

“Are you alright?” He asks me, voice concerned. I merely nod.

“Yeah, I just- I must go,” I mutter, grabbing the suitcase I had left unpacked since coming here.

“Wh- What?” Jasper asks in shock, watching me. “It’s 10 PM. You’re in your pyjamas.”

I glance down at my appearance, realising I’m wearing my pale pink set. 

“I’ll change at the airport,” I reply, the ring sparkling on my finger as I go to unlock the door.

“Airport? Have you gone ma-” He goes quiet the moment he sees it, brows furrowing deeper. “What is that Izara?”

“Jasper,” I sigh, too antsy to explain. I only wanted her. “I don’t love you.”

His grey eyes flicker to me, unbelieving, unsure how to react. He might blow up, but I don’t care anymore.

“I love Paige,” I admit. The words sound more sure than I ever have in my life. “I’ll always love Paige, Jas. It’ll never be you.”

He snickers, until he realises I’m being honest. His face darkens.

“So you’re a lesbian now?” 

I scoff. “Does it matter? I don’t love you Jasper.”

“I think you’re confused,” he says, shaking his head. Irritation grows within me, as I open the door. He leans to close it, but I block him with my suitcase. Finally standing up for myself.

“I’ve never been less confused in my life,” I say assertively. “I never want to see your face again.”

With that, before giving him the chance to blow up, I drag my suitcase into my car, not caring about the state of my hair or my bare face or the pajamas on my body. I only had one goal - to go home.

-

taglist: @lilpaigeyherbo @wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@pb524830@bueckersfive@lupinqs@sierrale8ne@avvwritesstufff@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges1vur@slut4uconnwbb@bueckersbitch@janaelalfysblunt@omgimtumbling@angryflowerwitch@ohbueckers @enchantingesme @ohmybueckers @potatobears-world @wnbawag @maryjanewatsons @naeswrrldd @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @paigebaby5 @gayflygirl @saverdelrey @xoxosierralane @katemartinsfuturewife @nicebellee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @cowboybueckers @user1269

[callsign-swan]

pink gets rly into romance books

romance books had overtaken your life. any spare minute you had, you were reading. Perry had caught you one too many times at your desk, book open and article half written on your computer screen.

clark was loving it. quiet time on the sofa, your feet in his lap as you giggled away at your book.

it wasn't just romance books. fantasy romance, too. with male main characters that had big muscles just like your boyfriend.

it had you going a little stupid.

you slipped your heart covered bookmark between your pages and stared at your boyfriend. "Clark," you started and put the book on your coffee table. "Clarky."

his glasses were off, a sight only reserved for you, when he wasn't saving the world. "honey," he said, letting go of the foot he was rubbing mindlessly.

"I need a favour."

it was the way you were uncontrollably giggling. he knew you were up to something, but he couldn't deny you. whatever you wanted, he couldn't deny you. he didn't want to deny you.

that was how you got him standing in the doorway. he loomed over you in a way that should have been imposing, a little terrifying. but you were ready to melt into the floor in a fit of giggles.

your man was just so big.

big and strong.

you were obsessed.

it was purely for your entertainment. no camera set up to capture the moment, to post it everywhere (you didn't exactly want to remind the world of who you were dating). just you and Clark.

at your giggles, he grinned. the kind of grin that reached his eyes, that suggested he was ready to burst into a fit of his own giggles at any moment. the kind of grin that made you want to grab him and pull his mouth against yours.

and all he was doing was standing there.

he lifted his arm and you shrieked. not in fear, not in terror. a squeal you couldn't contain. Jesus, he was so hot.

when his arm hit the door frame, you were ready to slide to your knees. Jesus, he was something else. big and strong and muscular. not really abs, but bulky (exactly your type (no I'm not projecting)). you wanted to bite him. you wanted to lick the sweat from his muscles after a long day.

instead, you grabbed him. you wrapped your arms around his neck, jumped up to wrap your legs around his waist, and held on.

now, Clark was strong. superhuman strong. but that didn't matter when you pitched him off balance. eyes wide, he attempted to brace himself against the doorframe, attempted to dislodge you, but it was too late.

he heard it when your head hit the doorframe.

clark didn't swear. as much as he wanted to hiss a 'fuck', pull you into his lap and make sure you were okay, he didn't. he still pulled you into his lap, still cradled your head and made sure you were okay, he just didn't swear.

"I'm sorry, honey," he mumbled and held you against his chest. you weren't crying, it wasn't something to cry over. Clark didn't mean to hurt you and your mascara looked really good. so you weren't going to cry.

"I'll make it up to you," he said quickly, hoping you'd say something to him. anything. anything but hold the back of your head.

you blinked at him, eyelashes sticking together for just a minute. "too right you're gonna make it up to me," you said, reaching over to the coffee table to grab your book. flipping it open, you found the page you wanted and held it up to him.

clark read it, his eyes going wide. he swallowed as he put down the book. "You seriously want that?"

"I seriously do."

finally, he nodded. "okay."

more pink

[rina786549]

★ STRAY KIDS REACTION: They take care of you on your period

★ PAIRINGS: Stray kids x fem!reader | ★ GENRE: Romantic, Fluff, Comfort,Light angst due to period pain | ★ WORDS COUNT: 1,480 words

★ NOTE: This is a fan-made, non-profit work created out of appreciation for the original content. All rights remain with the rightful owners. I'm just sharing my version for fun—hope you enjoy!

★ BANG CHAN / 방찬

You were curled up in bed, your face buried in a pillow as cramps stabbed at your abdomen like a knife. The heating pad had gone cold, and you didn’t have the energy to get up.

Just then, the bedroom door opened gently, and in came Chan holding a tray: a fresh cup of chamomile tea, your painkillers, and a new heating pad.

“Baby… I got you everything you need. I even warmed up your favorite hoodie—it’s fresh from the dryer.”

You sat up slowly, touched by the gesture. He knelt by the bed, brushing hair from your face with a gentle smile.

“You don’t have to do all this…”

“Of course I do. I love you,” he said, tucking the blanket around you. “You always take care of everyone else. Let me take care of you for once.”

He crawled into bed beside you, letting you rest your head on his chest. His fingers traced soft circles on your back as you sipped your tea.

“You know,” he whispered, “you’re the strongest girl I know. Periods suck, but you handle it with so much grace. I’m seriously in awe of you every month.”

Your heart melted at his words.

“I love you, Chan…”

“I love you more,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “Now close your eyes, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ LEE KNOW / 리노

You were cranky, sore, and bloated. Minho walked in just as you were about to snap at your hot water bottle for not heating up fast enough.

“Woah there, warrior princess,” he teased gently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I come in peace—with snacks.”

You looked down and saw him holding a bag filled with all your period favorites: chocolate, spicy chips, strawberry milk, and fuzzy socks.

“Minho…”

“Shh,” he said, pulling you to the couch and tucking you in. “I’m gonna run you a warm bath next, but first—cuddles.”

He sat beside you, resting your legs over his lap and massaging your feet. You melted under his touch.

“I hate this,” you murmured.

“I know. But even when you’re annoyed and in pain… I still think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You looked up at him, surprised by his softness. He smiled and kissed your knuckles.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Nothing,” he smirked. “But I must’ve done something incredible to get you.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ CHANGBIN / 창빈

You were lying on the couch with a frown, wearing his oversized hoodie and hugging a pillow like it could fight your cramps.

Changbin walked in with a determined expression and a notebook in hand.

“Okay! I have researched the top 10 ways to ease period cramps. You ready?”

You blinked at him, and despite the pain, a laugh escaped your lips.

“Binnie… you didn’t have to—”

“Nope. I wanted to. You’re in pain, so I’m going full boyfriend mode.”

He sat beside you and read the list dramatically. Then he started checking off each item.

“Snack: check. Cuddles: check. Warm drink: double check. Compliments? Oh yeah—you’re gorgeous, radiant, and stronger than the Hulk.”

You burst out laughing as he tackled you with a gentle hug, careful not to squish your stomach.

“Thank you, Bin…”

“You don’t need to thank me, baby. Taking care of you is the easiest thing. I hate seeing you in pain, but I love being the one you lean on.”

He kissed your forehead and held you tighter.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ HYUNJIN / 현진

You were trying not to cry over a dog food commercial when Hyunjin walked in with a sketchpad.

“Jagiya? You okay?”

You sniffled. “I hate this week…”

He sat beside you and offered a soft tissue.

“I drew something for you.”

You looked at the page—there was a sketch of you, curled up in bed, surrounded by floating hearts and fluffy clouds.

“That’s… me?”

“Yeah,” he said shyly. “Even when you’re in pain, you look like a dream to me.”

You blinked, touched beyond words.

“Hyune…”

“I mean it,” he whispered, cupping your cheek. “I’d take all the pain for you if I could. But since I can’t… I’ll hold you instead.”

You leaned into him, burying your face in his neck as he wrapped his arms around you, warm and protective.

“Stay with me?”

“Always.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ HAN / 한

You groaned loudly, clutching your stomach as Jisung peeked into the room with a sheepish smile.

“I come bearing… memes and ice cream.”

You looked up. He held out his phone in one hand and your favorite pint in the other.

“You’re ridiculous,” you chuckled.

“But effective,” he said proudly, spoon-feeding you while you lay on the couch.

He flopped beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“This isn’t fair. You have to suffer every month. I get sad when you’re not your bubbly self.”

“I feel gross,” you whispered.

“You’re still the cutest human on this planet. Like, have you seen yourself?”

He played a silly video to make you laugh, then turned serious.

“I love you, Y/N. Period or no period. Bad mood, tears, cramps—I’m here.”

“I love you too,” you mumbled into his chest.

“Good. Now eat your ice cream, woman.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ FELIX / 필릭스

You woke up to the smell of brownies. When you shuffled into the kitchen holding your stomach, Felix turned around, smiling like sunshine.

“Morning, my little mooncake. I baked these just for you.”

He handed you a plate and pulled you into a long, warm hug.

“I know you’re hurting. Let me pamper you today.”

He sat you down and massaged your shoulders while you ate, whispering affirmations into your ear.

“You’re doing amazing. You’re allowed to rest. You’re more than enough.”

Later, he brought out your favorite cozy blanket and laid next to you on the bed, hand on your stomach, giving gentle pressure.

“It helps with cramps,” he murmured.

“You’re perfect,” you whispered.

“Only because I have you.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ SEUNGMIN / 승민

Seungmin noticed you were quiet all day. You didn’t complain, but he saw the winces and the way you held your lower belly.

“Come here,” he said softly, opening his arms.

You leaned into him, and he held you without a word, stroking your hair.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said. “You can cry, whine, nap—I’ll still think you’re the most beautiful girl alive.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax in his arms.

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because I love you. And because I know if the roles were reversed, you’d do the same.”

He kissed your temple and whispered, “Just let me be your safe place today.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ JEONGIN / 아이엔

Jeongin paced nervously before finally approaching you with a warm rice sock, a plushie, and three different kinds of tea.

“I wasn’t sure what helps most so… I brought options.”

You smiled weakly. “You’re so sweet…”

He looked shy but proud.

“I just want you to feel better. You don’t have to do anything today. Just let me hold you.”

You laid your head in his lap, and he stroked your hair gently.

“Does it hurt a lot?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“I hate that I can’t take it away,” he whispered, voice full of sincerity. “But I promise I’ll stay right here until it passes.”

You took his hand and kissed it.

“You being here already helps.”

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

You stared up at the ceiling as you soaked in the tub. It felt like you were screaming in your head, but the volume was turned down to the point where you couldn’t even hear yourself. You weren’t sure if you were still angry from Bucky breaking ties with your parents or if you were resolute in what would happen going forward. Or maybe you were still tired from everything.

Probably both tbh

Natasha’s face shimmered in your mind since you now had some unexpected time off. “Self defense lessons later this week? Please and thanks. I hope you’re doing okay.”

She's a gem 🫰🏻

You wondered if you should tell her about your plans to help other women. Bucky gave you the green light and wanted to help how he could, but she would have insight and perspective that he didn’t. Would he be jealous if you sought out her opinion? Too bad if he did. This project would be yours with your rules.

Period 👏🏻

You felt his penetrating gaze. He wanted to see you, touch you. “Bucky, what if I never sleep with you? Would you still want me in your life?” you asked curiously. His obsession ran deep and he said he would never force you, but what if you never gave in? What then? A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Yes, I would.”

Oh 👀

He nodded slowly. “I haven't made it a secret that I want you physically. I dream of all the ways I’ll make you say my name and I think of how perfect you'll feel when I'm inside you. The thought of having you haunts my every waking moment in the best way,” he answered, your breath hitching when he crossed the distance to you. “But I want your heart and love. That’s what I want the most.”

That is actually really sweet

Because love wasn't easy or a passive feeling. It was a choice. Love was about choosing someone over and over, even when it was difficult. As he chose you, didn't he realize you had to choose him in return?

I guess we will see what will happen in the future

Your hands shook when you selected the undergarments. You had to admit they were sexy and would look good on you, which was exactly what you wanted. He’d be on his knees begging for a glimpse while you’d be lost in the world of friendship and letting loose.

🙂‍↕️👏🏻

“You said you’d never make me give up work,” you reminded him, and you wouldn’t. “I only asked because if your new passion project takes off it may take a lot of your time and energy,” he said softly. “You’re worried that doing both will take my time away from you,” you guessed. He’d want your attention too much and wouldn’t want to share with everyone else.

She instantly clocked it

He chuckled. “We’ll make time for each other. Meals together, dates, talking to each other in bed before we go to sleep,” he said. He made it sound like a dream. “Time isn't the issue. I don’t want you spread too thin.”

Of course he puts it in a sweet and caring way

“Will you really let me dance with you if I behave?” he asked, sounding strained. He wanted your love and heart, but it had to be pure agony having you just out of his reach. 

Someone has to put him in his place sometimes 🤷🏻‍♀️

You met his eyes in the mirror when he came up behind you and slipped the necklace on. Elegant, expensive. “Yes, I am,” you said. The second she saw you at the club, even when you’d smile, she’d sense something was off. She was your best friend and knew you too well. You owed it to her and yourself to give her at least a part of the truth of your life. “There’s already enough secrets and I don’t need to carry one more.” Even then, you couldn’t tell her what happened to your attacker since you still didn’t know. 

She is so realy for that! Also not telling your bestie? Yeah right, he can kiss her goodbye right then and there

His lips parted, but he didn’t look too surprised. “I imagine she’ll want to speak with me,” he said, his fingers moving along your skin. That gave you a reason to pause. How would Bucky react when faced with her? “She will,” you agreed. She wouldn’t just want to, she’d insist. “Because she cares about me.” If the roles were reversed, you’d demand to speak to Brady and make sure Addison was safe and cared for. 

That's just the true best friends actually, seems like Bucky doesnt know a lot about that 👀

There was a crack in his expression. “It isn’t a contest, but I still feel like I’ve won because I have you.” He didn’t say it like you were a prize, but you felt like a shiny trophy anyway. “You won because you rigged the system in your favor,” you said.

“I would’ve given it to you and would’ve looked forward to hearing from you,” you told him, his head lifting to gaze at you. “But that’s not what happened,” you whispered. As much as you wish things would’ve worked out that way, that wasn’t your reality. 

One hit after the other, she's on fire lol👏🏻

“Your friends arrived,” Bucky said, chuckling at his phone as you checked yours. Bucky had wanted you to arrive minutes after them, maybe so he could have a bit more time with you to himself. “And apparently Dana asked if Hal could be their personal bartender.” You didn’t mean to laugh, but it came out anyway. You had a feeling Hal would eat that up. Not to mention Dana was harmless since she’d never cheat. She just appreciated a good looking man when she saw one. “Since I’m in charge tonight, I’d love for Hal to be our personal bartender.”

Hahah what a start to the evening

You tugged the strands and received a pleased groan in response. “You will not dock his pay,” you said. Bucky said he gave Hal a raise after the John incident, but you weren’t sure what his paycheck was and you understood the struggle of budgeting and being careful with your funds.

She's so right for this 👏🏻 I have a feeling Buclys employees might like her a lot more than Bucky real soon, because his temper is a liability as a boss in a workspace lol

Curtis didn’t flinch, but something passed over his eyes. You felt the need to defend him because Bucky’s hands were far from clean and it wasn’t his story to tell. “My blood isn’t on his hands and that’s what matters, so leave him alone.” The silence that followed cut like a knife. Curtis’s exhale was audible, shaky, but he gave you a single nod. One of respect and thanks. 

“Curtis? You’ll stay close, right?” you called out when the partition rolled down. You put a hand on Bucky’s thigh when he growled and tried not to feel worried that he may fire him. Did Bucky fire people or did he make them disappear?

Valid question

Love her bond and alliance with Curtis!

Hold You Tight - Part 29

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 28 | Series Masterlist | Part 30

Chapter Word Count: Almost 4k

Chapter Summary: You have a heart-to-heart with Bucky before going to the club, and you hope he keeps his word.

Chapter Warnings: Kissing, jealousy, tension, bonding of sorts, inner turmoil, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 and @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You stared up at the ceiling as you soaked in the tub. It felt like you were screaming in your head, but the volume was turned down to the point where you couldn’t even hear yourself. You weren’t sure if you were still angry from Bucky breaking ties with your parents or if you were resolute in what would happen going forward. Or maybe you were still tired from everything.

It didn’t make sense. You should’ve been happy since tonight was going to be a night to take back control, something you desperately wanted. So why weren’t you smiling? Why weren’t you holding yourself high since Bucky agreed to your terms? Was the apprehension from the fact that the night was young and he hadn’t proven anything yet? The only thing he continued to prove was that he wasn’t letting you go, and he would hurt or destroy anyone who disrespected you… except for himself.

You dragged yourself from the tub after a while and checked your phone. A smile crossed your face when you saw how excited the girls were to go to the club. This night wasn’t just about you, but them, too. “The family I chose,” you whispered. The family you’d do anything to protect.

You frowned when you saw a message from Mrs. Crandle. “I know you're going through some things, so I arranged for you to have the week off. Don't worry about pay or your schedule. I have it sorted. You just let me know if you need anything.”

Your heart sank. A whole week off? You had the money, thankfully, but you wanted to do your job. You appreciated that she was looking out for you the way a good boss should. “Thank you so much. I’ll reach out if I need anything.”

Natasha’s face shimmered in your mind since you now had some unexpected time off. “Self defense lessons later this week? Please and thanks. I hope you’re doing okay.”

You wondered if you should tell her about your plans to help other women. Bucky gave you the green light and wanted to help how he could, but she would have insight and perspective that he didn’t. Would he be jealous if you sought out her opinion? Too bad if he did. This project would be yours with your rules.

“Barnes said you’d be reaching out. Send me your schedule and we’ll set up a time. And don’t worry about my well-being. I’m more concerned about you. Take care of yourself.”

You sighed, not wanting her to worry about you either. You had enough to think about. Lois, arranging the flowers for Bucky’s mom, Thor's party, the double date with Steve, the wedding, and-

“Enjoy your bath?”

You were lucky you didn't drop your phone or fall when you spun around to face Bucky. He had a smug smirk on his face as he leaned against the door. “Jesus,” you whispered, tugging the robe tighter around yourself. How long had he been standing there? “I swear you enjoy scaring me.”

“I wasn't trying to scare you. I was just watching you.”

You shivered. Bucky was always watching you in some capacity. “And you were tired of watching and wanted my attention… while I’m naked.”

His eyes flashed with lust. “You're not completely naked since you're wearing a robe.”

You felt his penetrating gaze. He wanted to see you, touch you. “Bucky, what if I never sleep with you? Would you still want me in your life?” you asked curiously. His obsession ran deep and he said he would never force you, but what if you never gave in? What then?

A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Yes, I would.”

You didn't blink. “Really?” That wasn't the answer you were expecting. 

He nodded slowly. “I haven't made it a secret that I want you physically. I dream of all the ways I’ll make you say my name and I think of how perfect you'll feel when I'm inside you. The thought of having you haunts my every waking moment in the best way,” he answered, your breath hitching when he crossed the distance to you. “But I want your heart and love. That’s what I want the most.”

He looked at your mouth only for a moment before looking into your eyes. You didn't move. Didn't speak. No matter the question, no matter the path, the man was going to choose you every time.

Because love wasn't easy or a passive feeling. It was a choice. Love was about choosing someone over and over, even when it was difficult. As he chose you, didn't he realize you had to choose him in return?

“Will you really keep your distance tonight?” you asked. 

You held your breath when his hand went to the tie of your robe, but made no move to undo it. “It’ll be very difficult, but I’m determined to prove my worth to you and that I’m a man of my word,” he replied. 

Was that his intention, or was he playing the game of luring you into a false sense of comfort? You hated it. You hated how his manipulations, his gaslighting, made you continue to question every single thing. It wasn't a way to live. 

“We both need help,” you whispered. 

“What?” he asked, but you shook your head and pulled away. The weight of everything felt heavy once again and you didn't want to face it tonight. 

“Nothing. I should get dressed,” you said. Tonight was for fun and reclaiming a part of yourself. Tomorrow you could continue to pick up the pieces of the wreckage. 

“Let me help, please,” he said, taking your hand before you could leave. “At the very least, let me put your necklace and shoes on while we talk.”

If he helped you get dressed, there was a chance he may try something. It could be another way to prove his worth and word if he behaved. “You can help with the necklace and shoes.”

He smiled and kissed the top of your hand. “You’ll be the envy of everyone at the club.”

“That’s not the point,” you said, following him to the bedroom. You wondered how far away Curtis and Ray were. “I don’t want people to envy me.” Especially when there was nothing to envy. 

He paused to gaze at you. “But they will.”

“Because I’m ‘your girl’,” you said. That made sense if people there knew you were with him.

“Because you’re you and you're beautiful,” he corrected you, staying back while you went into the closet. “I’m not looking.”

“But I know you want to,” you muttered, going through the dresses. You chose a sleek black dress, your heart weeping. A black dress was what you wore the night Bucky first spotted you in his club and led him to carving his twisted path. 

“You sure you want to be out late tonight? You have work tomorrow,” Bucky said from outside of the door. 

“Mrs. Crandle gave me the week off,” you replied. 

“That was kind of her,” he said casually, respectfully. If he had a hand in it, he covered it up well. “Would you ever consider quitting the shop?”

Your hands shook when you selected the undergarments. You had to admit they were sexy and would look good on you, which was exactly what you wanted. He’d be on his knees begging for a glimpse while you’d be lost in the world of friendship and letting loose. “You said you’d never make me give up work,” you reminded him, and you wouldn’t. 

“I only asked because if your new passion project takes off it may take a lot of your time and energy,” he said softly. 

“You’re worried that doing both will take my time away from you,” you guessed. He’d want your attention too much and wouldn’t want to share with everyone else.

He chuckled. “We’ll make time for each other. Meals together, dates, talking to each other in bed before we go to sleep,” he said. He made it sound like a dream. “Time isn't the issue. I don’t want you spread too thin.”

You almost smiled at his genuine concern. “I’ll be okay. I know my limits,” you said, stepping out once you were dressed. 

Bucky blocked your path before you could walk to the vanity. “Fuck,” he whispered, giving you a thorough look. It was the look you predicted he’d have, except hungrier when he attempted to close the difference. You felt powerful and untouchable when you held a hand up to stop him. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

“That word,” you whispered. He had you back on the pedestal. He never brought you down from it. “But thank you.”

“Will you really let me dance with you if I behave?” he asked, sounding strained. He wanted your love and heart, but it had to be pure agony having you just out of his reach. 

You shrugged and walked around him. “Maybe,” you replied, running a finger along one of the expensive bottles as you sat down. “Depends on how much fun I’m having with my friends.” 

How many of Bucky’s men would watch you tonight? At that moment you didn’t care. Let them look. Let them see that you weren’t broken. 

He groaned and went to pick out a necklace for you. “You’re going to tell Addison, aren’t you?” 

“Tell her what exactly?” you asked, taking a moment to look at your reflection. At least you didn’t look as exhausted as you previously felt.

“About your attack and the fact that you’re living with me now,” he replied.

You met his eyes in the mirror when he came up behind you and slipped the necklace on. Elegant, expensive. “Yes, I am,” you said. The second she saw you at the club, even when you’d smile, she’d sense something was off. She was your best friend and knew you too well. You owed it to her and yourself to give her at least a part of the truth of your life. “There’s already enough secrets and I don’t need to carry one more.” Even then, you couldn’t tell her what happened to your attacker since you still didn’t know. 

His lips parted, but he didn’t look too surprised. “I imagine she’ll want to speak with me,” he said, his fingers moving along your skin.

That gave you a reason to pause. How would Bucky react when faced with her? “She will,” you agreed. She wouldn’t just want to, she’d insist. “Because she cares about me.” If the roles were reversed, you’d demand to speak to Brady and make sure Addison was safe and cared for. 

“She does care about you.” He maintained eye contact when he leaned down and kissed your neck. “But no one cares about you more than I do,” he said. Sharp. Protective.

“It isn’t a contest,” you whispered. 

There was a crack in his expression. “It isn’t a contest, but I still feel like I’ve won because I have you.”

He didn’t say it like you were a prize, but you felt like a shiny trophy anyway. “You won because you rigged the system in your favor,” you said.

His jaw tightened, but his eyes remained soft. “I guess I did,” he said, turning your chair so you were no longer looking in the mirror and dropping to his knees. You remembered the reverse in your old apartment, him on his knees taking your shoes off. It seemed like so long ago. “But I haven’t really won yet since the race isn’t over.”

“What race?”

“To win your heart,” he whispered, grasping your ankle to help put your shoe on. He did so carefully like you were a work of art he was carving with his own hands. “Bookstore.”

You refused to melt under his touch. “Bookstore?” you repeated, confused. 

“In another life, I imagine us meeting in a bookstore instead of me doing what I did. I’d walk in, probably having an off day and needing something familiar and comforting, and I’d see you- smiling, beautiful, enough to make my heart stop before it started beating again,” he explained, bringing your foot up to kiss it. You shivered involuntarily. “I’d offer to buy you a book and maybe a treat to go with it. You’d say I didn’t have to do that for you, but I’d insist and you’d thank me before asking me to join you in the cafe area.”

“Us sitting and talking about our favorite books.” You didn’t want to picture it, but you could see it clearly in your mind. Bucky would’ve been dressed down instead of wearing a suit, a blue shirt to go with his eyes.  His hair would’ve been a bit of a mess and he’d offer a soft smile when he bought the book. You wouldn’t have been able to resist. 

“Yeah,” he smiled sadly, setting your foot down to grab the other. “I wouldn’t have left without getting your number and would’ve tried to wait a reasonable amount of time before reaching out.”

“I would’ve given it to you and would’ve looked forward to hearing from you,” you told him, his head lifting to gaze at you. “But that’s not what happened,” you whispered. As much as you wish things would’ve worked out that way, that wasn’t your reality. 

“Our story is… different. Unique. Messy. Because I’m a monster disguised as a king,” he said, kissing your inner ankle. “You said so yourself that I’m a monster.”

You inhaled sharply. “Bucky, I…” How could you argue with that when you had called him that? 

“A monster who has you trapped in an expensive tower, refusing to ever let you go, but hoping you’ll still flourish by my side,” he continued, kissing higher and breathing against your skin. You clenched, you ached, you couldn’t help yourself. “Maybe I can never be completely redeemed, but I can be… rewritten. Reshaped.”

You looked down at him, your eyes raw. The silence was tense as he placed another kiss on your skin, this time on your inner thigh. He touched you like he had the right, breathed your name like he owned it. “And what if you can’t?” you asked. 

There wasn’t doubt in your tone, but Bucky was surrounded by people who fed the monster within and encouraged him to be the worst version of himself. Curtis and Natasha weren’t as bad as the others as they only gave him scraps and Ray did what he could, but you were the only one who seemed to soothe the beast. Was that power or just an unhealthy reliance?

His mouth didn’t move any higher, but you put your foot to his chest anyway to push him back. “If anyone has the capacity to love a monster, it’s you.”

“You think too much of me,” you said. He asked too much of you, too. “I’m trying to heal,” you added. From Clark, from Bucky, too. All of it. 

He didn’t appear deterred. “Thinking too much of you doesn’t mean you won’t love me. And you heal as loudly or quietly as you need to. No one can tell you how to process it, especially me.”

Something in your chest twisted when he got to his feet. “I just wish you didn’t have to crawl into the cracks of my life to bring us here,” you told him. He shouldn’t have had to rearrange your world to get you.

His breath caught when he opened his mouth. “But you crawled into the cracks of my life and made me whole. How can I go back to who I was before that?”

He left, leaving something hollow in his absence. The necklace and dress suddenly felt too tight. You felt like you’d burst out of your skin. You refused because you wouldn’t let yourself shatter. He wouldn’t have control over you. 

Not tonight.

The drive to the club passed in quiet solitude. Ray and Curtis hardly spoke a word to you once you left the bedroom, but you felt their focus on you just the same. Bucky didn’t say much either, but he didn’t need to. His presence would linger long after he let you be. 

He had given you an olive branch on the way out the door- He set up a visit for you and Lois tomorrow. You hadn’t expected him to arrange it, but you shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew how much you wanted to see with your own eyes what condition she was in. You also wanted to assure her that Clark would never harm her again. Could you do that without revealing Bucky’s hand in it?

“Your friends arrived,” Bucky said, chuckling at his phone as you checked yours. Bucky had wanted you to arrive minutes after them, maybe so he could have a bit more time with you to himself. “And apparently Dana asked if Hal could be their personal bartender.”

You didn’t mean to laugh, but it came out anyway. You had a feeling Hal would eat that up. Not to mention Dana was harmless since she’d never cheat. She just appreciated a good looking man when she saw one. “Since I’m in charge tonight, I’d love for Hal to be our personal bartender.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, but that stopped the moment you ran your fingers through his hair. “Kotyonok, that’s not fair. I know the bastard will flirt with you.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” you teased, watching him close his eyes and breathe deeply. “Hal won’t flirt,” you said, not believing your own lie. “Plus I trust him to take care of my friends and me.”

Hal had defended you when John snapped at you at the bar and took his job seriously. He seemed decent. Well, as decent as anyone working for Bucky could be.

“Fine, but I’m docking his pay if he throws his shirt at you,” he said, a small smirk on his face.

You tugged the strands and received a pleased groan in response. “You will not dock his pay,” you said. Bucky said he gave Hal a raise after the John incident, but you weren’t sure what his paycheck was and you understood the struggle of budgeting and being careful with your funds.

“Fine,” he said again. You were relieved at that. “Only because you said so.” 

The bass thrummed through the car when it stopped in front of the club, a living and breathing entity. It was a bit ironic that you were willingly going there to take back control when you wanted nothing to do with the place the first time he brought you there. You had wanted to be invisible, to not be noticed. This time you painted the target on yourself for the man beside you.

“Curtis? You’ll stay close, right?” you called out when the partition rolled down. You put a hand on Bucky’s thigh when he growled and tried not to feel worried that he may fire him. Did Bucky fire people or did he make them disappear?

Curtis looked behind him and paid Bucky no mind. “I’ll keep handsy guys away if that’s what you’re asking for.”

“Jax and Ari can handle that,” Bucky said, his voice icy. 

“And so can Curtis,” you said. What was he jealous of? You were fond of Ray and the reactions were nothing like this. “He’s my bodyguard. Don’t forget that.”

Bucky forced a smile, cruel and bitter. “He may be your bodyguard and I may have been the one to suggest it, but I know he has blood on his hands that won't ever go away.”

Curtis didn’t flinch, but something passed over his eyes. You felt the need to defend him because Bucky’s hands were far from clean and it wasn’t his story to tell. “My blood isn’t on his hands and that’s what matters, so leave him alone.”

The silence that followed cut like a knife. Curtis’s exhale was audible, shaky, but he gave you a single nod. One of respect and thanks. 

Bucky’s breath out was shaky, too, but he gazed at you with respect, too, when he turned your face away from your bodyguard. “You’re right,” he whispered, kissing you softly. Not forceful, but certain. Gentle and assured. “I’m sorry I let jealousy get the better of me.”

So he admitted that he's jealous of Curtis. “It’s easier said than done, but there’s nothing to be jealous of,” you said in the space between you. It wasn’t like Curtis wanted you. Even if he did, nothing would come about with him or any other man for that matter. “Trust me.”

His mouth was on yours again, deeper but slow. “I do trust you,” he said once he pulled away. “I just… hate that he gets to be close to you tonight while I’m out of reach.”

Reverence and desire showed in Bucky’s eyes. He wanted so desperately to be in your orbit and he’d be tested once you walked through the doors. “You’ll only be out of reach until I offer my hand,” you said. 

He sighed, but nodded. “And I’ll be waiting to take it,” he said, helping you out.

As Bucky led you inside with Curtis not too far behind, the vibrant chaos of the lights, laughter, and sin washed over you. Bucky kept a hand on your lower back, his grip a bit looser than usual. It was almost respectful. Almost. 

Jax spotted you immediately and winked. You winked back and walked with purpose, carrying your invisible wounds and previous insecurities like badges of honor. Bucky held himself like a man who had everything. And he did, didn’t he?

“I still can’t meet her yet?” you asked when Bucky swept you past the coat check. Or maybe Steve’s girl had the night off. 

“Double date,” he reminded you. 

“That’s right,” you muttered. Another piece in the jagged price of his love. 

Bucky nodded and smiled at a few people, keeping you tucked in at his side. “Go to your friends,” he encouraged, his lips grazing yours when you faced him. “If they ask why I haven’t stopped by, you can tell them I have business to attend to first.”

You craned your head toward the VIP section and smiled when the girls spotted you and waved excitedly. “And you’ll only join when I say so?” You met Bucky's gaze and a silent challenge passed between you before he smiled. 

“You said ‘when’ and not ‘if’,” he said. 

You faltered. Did you mean to say that? “Don’t get cocky just yet,” you warned. Depending on how the night went, he may not have a chance. “Keep your word and watch.”

There was reluctant submission from the man who never bowed to anyone. But he nodded, a king ceding his crown and part of his kingdom for the night. “I'll be watching and waiting, Kotyonok,” he promised, his gaze and aura still overwhelming even as he reluctantly released you. “But if anyone touches you, I’ll ruin them. I swear to fucking God, I’ll-”

You cut him off with a tender kiss, like he had done to you in the car earlier that day. His hands found your hips and he moved closer like the pull of gravity, but you turned your head before it could become too heated. Your rules tonight, not his. “If someone tries to touch me, someone will stop it,” you soothed him, pulling out of his grasp.

His fingers twitched, but he didn't reach out to touch you again. “Go,” he breathed, a warning to walk away so he could keep his promise. 

There was a sway in your hips as you went to join your friends. You weren’t worried. He'd be your watchful shadow while you reigned.

But shadows had ways of wrapping around the light, and you'd be in his arms before the night was over. 

I don't want to spoil things, lovelies, but things may heat up a bit in the next chapter. What do you think will happen? And the blood on Curtis's hands, what is that story? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[fi1iat3rra3]

Love your writing for Leon, I hope it's okay to ask how Leon would be like around a reader who's very silent on their feet.

I did ballet when I was little and I learned how to walk really quietly. Most of the time I have to remember people will most likely not hear me approach so it makes me wonder how Leon would deal with the quirk!

~🦊

a/n; OH OH OH I LOVE THIS! Not only is this my first ask, but it's so cute, and I know exactly how it'd be! I've always been lighter on my feet—not because of ballet or anything, but just because it's the opposite of my family, and I consistently scare everyone with being too quiet 😭

Anywho :3 here it is!

content; no warnings—just fluff, humor and silliness

wc; 950

Leon hadn't really thought about footsteps outside of his job and his horrible past. During the Raccoon City incident, he relied heavily on footsteps to ensure his safety. Later, after becoming a government agent, his missions had him rely heavily on sound and the feel of the ground beneath his feet.

Outside of work? He hadn't given it much thought. He always subconsciously heard footsteps around him if anyone was near. His hearing was great, which was shocking considering the abnormal amounts of bombings and explosions he'd experienced.

Only a couple of weeks after moving in with his beloved partner, you, he quickly realized how much he preferred the sound of footsteps to warn him of someone's presence. Because you were quiet. Too quiet.

One early morning, Leon woke, dragging himself to the bathroom for his morning routine. He wasn't going to wake you—no reason to do so if you weren't working for the day. After his morning shower and getting dressed, he padded down the hall and into the kitchen.

It was still only 6 a.m., meaning you shouldn't be awake for another couple of hours. Why would you be? You should be resting. Enjoying the warmth of the bed. Basking in the sunlight that illuminated the skin that wasn't covered by the blankets. You should be—

He screamed when he felt something press into his back. He dropped his coffee mug. Thank God it wasn't glass. He spun around, and sure enough, you were wide awake.

"What in the hell?!" He huffed, chest heaving from the heart attack you'd given him.

You frowned, rubbing your ears and stepping back. "Jesus, you're loud." You complained vaguely.

"You just—!" He paused, exhaling sharply and bending down to grab his mug. "You're too damn quiet in the mornings." He grumbled.

He was so wrong about it being only in the mornings. So so wrong.

Weeks later, another late night for you two. Leon fell asleep on the couch, the TV on mute. He only really wanted the light to avoid keeping the big lights on.

You were supposed to shower and go to bed. Supposed to. Leon really should know not to assume by now. You had an early day tomorrow. Why would you go anywhere else but the bed—it was already past midnight and you'd barely been home for a couple hours! You needed sleep. So he felt safe enough to fall into sweet deep sleep, completely unguarded by the blanket he'd usually have cocooning himself in the bedroom. He was vulnerable, almost bare—except his boxers and tank top.

When he felt the gentle press of your fingertips against his arm, making his arm hair shift and tickle him, creating the sleepy illusion of a bug crawling on his arm, he was jolted awake, gasping and smacking his arm like there was an evil infectious bug trying to crawl inside his skin. When he laid his sleepy gaze on you, leaning above him from the back of the couch, he let out a groan.

"Need to get you a fucking cat bell." He complained, but he sat upright to let you help him up from the couch.

"Or you could just not be so jumpy." You huffed.

"You make no sound. Not even a breath. Not even your damn clothes rustling make a noise. That's a little scary when I'm still getting used to living with you." He grumbled further.

"You're such a baby." You prodded playfully.

"Whatever." He grabbed you and lifted you into his arms, carrying you down the hallway to your shared bedroom. "Gonna get you a bell eventually. Don't think I'm joking." Was all he said before he laid atop of you and snuggled into you, his face buried in your chest.

Months passed. Irregular scares and jolts. Some moments where Leon was scared when he woke up to an empty bed, only for you to suddenly appear back at the doorway, not a footstep or breath to warn him of your approach.

He never got you a bell. But he did find a solution. Heavy slippers during wintertime and cold nights, flip flops during summertime, and hot days. They'd make noise. Drag against the floor and warn him of your approach. He wondered why it took so long for him to think of such a simple solution. But nowadays, he was much less tense when you weren't in his line of sight.

It wasn't like he was afraid of you—no, not even in his wildest dreams, but he just hated being scared because his screams sounded girlish, almost cartoonish at times.

He came home one day, lucky to have gotten off so early. He found you in the kitchen. Perfect.

With a pair of slippers in one hand, and flip flips in the other, he approached. You turned, having heard the door along with his heavy footsteps.

"Indoor shoes. Try 'em on." He said, setting them sound. "Walk back and forth." He said. Paused. "Please." He added. You snickered, slipping the sandals on. You walked a lap around the kitchen. It sounded like flippers. "Good. Now the slippers." You tried the slippers next. Soft slippers drag soft against the hardwood flooring, perfectly quiet yet loud enough to announce yourself.

"This is your solution?" You giggled, stepping over to him.

"Yes. Now I can sleep on the couch without being half awake and fearing your sudden appearance." He joked lightly, leaning in to peck your lips.

"You're such a scaredy cat." You teased. He huffed.

"Whatever. Just.. please wear the damn slippers or sandals. I'm askin' nicely."

From then on, you wore some form of slipper or sandal in the apartment.

This was such a silly one to write :3 thank you, 🦊 anon!! You're my first ask, and I appreciate it so much!

I hope this was to your liking, and if not, I'm very open to critique and feedback!! 🤍

-🍊

[lucy-literates]

HI I SUPER LOVE YOUR WORK

Can you PLEASE do something like the reader and Malachi along with the rest of the ZOMBIES cast having a pool day? (It can be for whatever reason) BUT reader and Malachi are just all lovey dovey with each other like Malachi carrying reader in the pool with her legs wrapped around his waist and maybe a little make out sesh or just kisses if you’re uncomfortable(?) overall just them being all out on the physical touch

PLEASE THANK YOU🫶🙏

A/N: Ohhhh thank you so much!! I really hope you enjoy this one!! Send in anymore requests if you have them :)

You, Me & Chlorine

The ZOMBIES 4 cast didn’t get many days off, so when one finally landed mid-week with no press, no fittings, and no choreography, Milo declared a mandatory pool day. Meg found a cute AirBnB with a rooftop pool, and within the hour, everyone was piling into cars with coolers, towels, and way too much sunscreen.

Malachi arrived last, hand-in-hand with you, both in matching black swimwear that definitely wasn't planned but absolutely made a statement. Chandler noticed first.

“Did you two coordinate?” he called from the shallow end.

“No,” Malachi said innocently, “but we do look good.”

You laughed and squeezed his hand tighter.

Later, music thumped from a waterproof speaker, the cast lounged on floaties or splashed around, and the sky was that perfect shade of blue that felt like a reward.

Malachi, already soaked, swam up to where you were sitting on the ledge of the pool with your legs in the water.

“C’mon,” he said, reaching out with open arms, “get in.”

“It’s cold,” you protested.

“I’ll warm you up.”

Before you could argue, he’d tugged gently at your hands, making you slide into the pool with a shriek — and right into his arms.

You clung to him instinctively, legs wrapping around his waist, arms locking around his shoulders. He laughed, holding you easily, both of you sinking just enough for the water to rise around your chests.

“See?” he murmured. “Warm.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You did plan this.”

“Obviously.” He kissed the tip of your nose, then your cheek, then your lips. Soft, unhurried, like there wasn’t anyone else around.

Spoiler: there was.

“Oh my god,” Meg groaned from her floaty nearby. “Do we need a chaperone for these two?”

“They’re gonna break the no-PDA clause,” Milo teased.

Chandler was already narrating in a fake documentary voice. “And here we observe Malachi Barton in his natural habitat — carrying his girlfriend around like a koala.”

You giggled but didn’t move an inch. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of being a koala?” Milo shot back.

Malachi leaned in, pressing another kiss to your jaw. “They’ll get over it.”

You tucked your face into his neck, smiling against his skin as he held you tighter.

You didn’t care that everyone was watching. Because in that moment — sun on your back, his hands steady on your waist, his lips on yours — the rest of the world melted away like poolside ice cream.

------

You didn’t realize how sunburnt you were until the drive home.

The back of your thighs stung against the leather seat. Your shoulders felt tight, hot, like they were still under the sun. And when you winced trying to reach behind you for the seatbelt, Malachi glanced over with a knowing look.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “That’s the face of someone who said, ‘I don’t burn, I tan.’”

“I usually do!”

“You also skipped the second sunscreen reapply.”

You pouted. “You were distracting me.”

“I offered to do your back.”

“You got distracted too!”

He smirked, not even denying it.

Back at the apartment, you peeled off your shirt with a hiss, and Malachi, now shirtless himself, stood behind you in the bathroom mirror.

“Damn,” he whispered, genuinely sympathetic. “You’re cooked.”

You let out a groan and dropped your forehead onto his chest. “I’m gonna die.”

“You are not gonna die. But you are gonna smell like aloe for the next 48 hours.”

He disappeared for a second and returned with a cold bottle straight from the fridge.

“Okay, ready?”

“No— ow!” you yelped as the first dab of aloe hit your shoulder. “Cold cold cold—!”

He laughed, hands gentle as he rubbed it in with featherlight touches.

“Stop moving,” he said. “I can’t heal you if you’re doing the Macarena.”

You stood mostly still, grumbling, while he worked his magic — soothing touches, soft murmurs, the occasional kiss to your temple or down your spine when he passed by.

When he was done, he spun you around carefully, his hands on your hips, thumbs brushing soft circles into your skin.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’ll survive. Thanks, nurse Barton.”

He grinned. “Want your reward now?”

“What reward?”

He scooped you up bridal style without warning and carried you to the couch.

“This,” he said, dropping down with you curled in his lap. He tugged a blanket over your legs and tucked your head into his shoulder. “Cuddle treatment.”

You melted into him instantly.

“Do you think the others got burnt too?”

“Meg texted the group chat a pic of Milo’s bright red nose,” Malachi said, snorting. “You’re not alone.”

You giggled and curled deeper into him, your arms circling his waist. His fingers skimmed up and down your back, careful to avoid the sunburn, but still close enough that you could feel the tenderness in every stroke.

“You were really cute today,” he murmured.

“You were clingy.”

“You liked it.”

You smiled against his skin. “Yeah. I did.”

He tilted your chin and kissed you slowly — the kind of kiss that said you’re mine, even after the sun goes down.

You sighed contentedly and closed your eyes.

Burnt? Maybe. Blissfully in love with your overly affectionate co-star boyfriend? Absolutely.

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[hopepunk-humanity]

Hello!

I’m kind of having a crisis? I have a lot of stuff to do (not a lot a lot, but enough to make me stress because of my autism and ADHD and stuff) and I just cannot summon the energy.

I’m scared I’m a bad person, because I don’t reblog posts about charities and stuff. I want to be good and bring good and spread radical kindness but I get so so scared when I have the opportunity to help. I’m scared that it might be a scam. I’m scared that it looks like AI and spam and that I might do more harm than good with reblogging or even mentioning it. And even when I’m fairly confident that it’s a real way to help, I still freeze and get scared,

And I don’t know why. I mean, yeah in real life my parents aren’t one to donate to charities and stuff or even mention ways to help those in need, but I have the ability to do something. Why am I so scared?

I want to be like you, and help spread hope, and kindness, but I’m terrified and I don’t know how to not be.

I don’t know anymore. Am I a bad person?

Okay, hey. Do me a favor and take a nice, long, deep breath.

You are not a bad person. Whether or not you reblog certain posts has pretty much zero bearing on your morality. Unless you're a celebrity or someone else with a massive following + social influence, the things you put on your personal account are really not going to make a big difference for anyone either way. It can be helpful, sure, but you're not personally prolonging a crisis if you don't.

If I may be frank, it sounds like you are reaching a point of emotional burnout. And when people emotionally burn out, they're no longer able to help any cause effectively, at least not without harming themselves. It is okay--and necessary!--for people to step back in these situations, so they can recover. Any movement is going to sustain itself better if its people are taking care of themselves.

You don't ever need anyone's permission the rest, but if it makes you feel better, you can have mine. Please rest.

(And look, spreading hope and kindness takes practice. It might not feel natural at first, and that's okay. And it doesn't have to be a 24/7 thing. I am certainly not on this blog 24/7, or even 12/4. We all have bad days, and off days, and days where we're just too damn busy. As long as we commit to always trying again, we're not doing too bad.)

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari sniffled slightly, leaning into Inuyasha's hug. She felt safer when Inuyasha gently wrapped his arms around her. Sure it wasn't firm, but it still felt nice. "It's all so confusing." Kari muttered, voice soft and shivering. "I don't know where to start when it comes to my powers and then there's the fact that I'm kind of alone cuz there's no one else like me. I can't ask others for help with stuff that has to do with what I am... I'm here but..." She shivered looking down. "I have no idea what I'm doing..."

"None of us know what we're doing Kari." Kagome spoke up almost instantly when Kari finished speaking. "Life's complicated. It's full of ups and downs and unexpected turns and rug pulls. No one is ever fully sure of what to do, we just guess and hope for the best."

Kari's hair bristled a bit. "But! But that's stupid!" She called out. "If you make a wrong turn you could get really hurt or hurt someone you care about or--"

"That's life." Kagome interrupted Kari and shrugged, trying to keep the child from going down a mental spiral of awful thoughts. Kari puffed out her cheeks.

"This is frustrating." The child huffed and Kagome just chuckled and nodded.

"Also apart of being alive I guess." She sighed softly.

Kari huffed, relaxing a bit. "But... It's a neat thought that I could be so important... That I'm supposed to shake things up or whatever." The child hummed in thought. "But it also sounds like a lot, at least I'm not alone thought and I found a pretty cool pack to help me. Not just my own either." The child giggled a bit with a widening smile. "And it's nice to be cared about again I guess." Kari's cheeks gained a slight dusting of crimson.

"Aw, Kari's you're blushing!" Kagome cooed in glee, happy to see Kari was letting her protective walls crack a bit.

"AM NOT!" Kari snapped, her face growing more red. This only made Kagome chuckle a bit. When she composed herself she looked to Koga with a sigh, getting a bit more serious again.

"On the topic of packs. I'd like to ask you a huge favor, Koga." Kagome sighed. "If... If something happens and Kari needs to get to a safe place, could you take her in? Even if it's just to keep her safe for a bit. I doubt it'll happen, but I would like that reassurance. I know you say she's apart of your pack, but your pack isn't exactly here to know this nor can they say otherwise." She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose a bit with closed eyes.

"It's not gonna happen Kagome." Kari called out. "I promise."

"I'm just being prepared, just in case." The teen smiled softly and Kari shrugged, kind of confused but deciding to just continue eating her ramen. Kagome hummed. "If word gets out and a powerful demon or deity catches wind of Kari we need a fall back plan. Kari's still really young so having a fall plan can't hurt." She informed and Shippo looked up from his now empty bowl of ramen, slurping the last of the noodles.

"Wait, Kari doesn't know where Koga's pack is anyway." The fox boy said after swallowing his food.

"That's why, if Koga isn't here, I'll send you both. And if not I'll have a map or something drawn up for Kari. You can read maps, right?" Kagome looked to Kari, who nodded with a mouth full of the last bit of her ramen.

The child swallowed the food in her mouth then opened her mouth to speak, a bit of remen broth and some bits of noodle and vegies dotting her face around her mouth. "Yeh, I kinda know how to read a map." She shrugged and Kagome sighed softly, moving to hand Kari a napkin, which Kari used to wipe her face with a soft. "Thanks."

"That's good. I'll get to work on one later. But for now, we all deserve to rest and relax. We can talk later about our next destination and other more immediate plans." With that Kagome picked up the empty cups of instant ramen and put them in a bag, moving to ruffle Kari's hair. "Hey, everything'll be okay." The young priestess smiled and Kari nodded, her body relaxing a bit more but not fully. Kagome hummed then went to look over the supplies the group still had, now taking Koga into account while checking everything. Shippo went with Kagome, wanting to provide a light source with his fox fire.

Kari just stayed in Inuyasha's arms, not wanting to leave the comfort of his embrace yet. She needed time to fully process and the feeling of protection was helping her not lose her mind in an overthinking frenzy. She held her plushies close to her chest, moving to nuzzle her face into them and letting out a heavy sigh while recalling everyone's encouraging words. She relaxed as best as she could and just stayed there, nuzzling into Inuyasha's chest a bit while hiding her face in her plushies.

Inuyasha was quiet for a moment, slurping his ramen while watching Kari out of the corner of his eye. She was trying to stay strong, that much was obvious. The way she clutched her plushies tighter, the way her voice cracked—but she was still trying. He respected that. A lot more than he could ever say out loud.

After Kagome’s answer hit the air and things went still, Inuyasha set his cup down with a soft thud and sighed.

“Tch… Figures,” he muttered. “World’s always been afraid of stuff it doesn’t understand.” He looked down at Kari, his amber eyes more serious now.

“You’re not supposed to exist?” Inu scoffed. “Neither was I, according to a lot of people. And they treated me like it too. But screw that.” His tone wasn’t angry—just blunt. Honest. “You’re here. That’s what matters. And if anyone’s got a problem with that, they’ll have to deal with me.”

He gently nudged Kari’s head with his chin. “You’re strong. Stronger than I was at your age. So yeah, things are gonna be different—but you’re not facing ‘em alone. Got that?”

Koga had stayed quiet during most of the talk, chewing through his beef ramen with uncharacteristic patience. But when the truth about Kari’s origins was laid out—the executions, the miracle of her existence—his face darkened.

“…Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

Then louder, and more direct: “Listen. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. You’re in danger now—and probably will be for a long time. But you’ve got claws now, both figuratively and literally. You’ve got your instincts, your powers, and a pack that’s gonna stand behind you.”

He jabbed a thumb toward himself. “And yeah, I’m including my pack too. Whether you’re a runt or not.” Then, after a short pause, his voice softened just slightly—not by much, but enough to tell he was serious.

“You’re not some mistake, kid. You’re rare. Maybe even meant to shake things up a bit. People like that? They make history. And they never do it alone.”

Inuyasha crossed his arms. “Tch. I hate agreeing with wolf-boy, but…” He glanced down at Kari again. “He’s right.” He leaned back slightly against the wall of the hut, arms loosely wrapped around Kari and her bundle of plushies.

“You’ve got people who care about you now. Who’ll fight for you. Who already have. So eat your ramen, hold onto those weird plush things, and stop thinkin’ you gotta carry all this by yourself.”

Koga grinned. “And if anyone tries to come for you, they’ll find out real quick what happens when you mess with a kid who’s got two packs watching her back.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes “Hey wolf boy. Don’t lump yourself in with us like it’s a favor.”

Koga grinned even wider. “Hey, she already said I’m part of her pack. Just bein’ respectful.”

[verityasian]

hiii dad jj with this TikTok 🥺 thanks! https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8kUvbAN/

I looove this ask so much! The son is from my Legacy Series that I haven’t posted anywhere else yet 🤫

“That’s my dude.”

>>>Legacy Series™️

>>>pairing: dad!jj x son!hurley (feat. amused mommy!reader)

>>>warning: pure fluff

>>>summary: two-year-old Hurley wants to go surfing with JJ but he can’t swim

A/N: I really need to post more from my Legacy Series! Ugh. I love dad!jj and uncle!jj so much!!

The sun’s barely up when you hear the backdoor creak open.

You peek out the window and there he is; JJ, board under one arm, wax in his teeth, hair still messy from sleep. Morning light hitting the ocean just right. He’s always said he feels most like himself when the tide’s low and the world’s quiet.

But this morning?

“Papaaa!”

Tiny feet slap the deck.

Two-year-old Hurley barrels after him, wearing nothing but shark-patterned swim trunks, one Croc, and his determined little frown.

“No no no, buddy,” JJ calls over his shoulder, already dropping his board in the sand. “Not today, okay? You can watch from the beach with Mama—”

“I go, too!” Hurley yells, proudly dragging his “surfboard” behind him — a foam kitchen cutting board with stickers all over it.

JJ freezes mid-step. Turns.

“Hurley…”

“My board!” he insists, chin wobbling. “I paddle wif you. I go, Papa.”

JJ walks back up, kneels low, hands on Hurley’s bare shoulders. He’s trying so hard to be gentle. “You can’t swim yet, little man. It’s too deep out there.”

“But I got my cutting bowd!” Hurley cries. His eyes glass over. The lip starts to tremble.

JJ immediately breaks.

“Oh, don’t— buddy, don’t do the lip—”

Hurley sniffles. Wipes his nose on JJ’s bandana. “I go in da watah, papa…”

JJ pulls him into his lap, burying his face in Hurley’s wet curls. “One day, yeah? I promise. One day, you and me; riding waves like pros. But today? Today you gotta be my little beach captain. You’re on mommy protection. Super important job.” JJ pats Hurley’s back. “Can you take care of mommy for me?”

Hurley mumbles into JJ’s chest. “O’tay…”

“That’s my dude.”

JJ kisses the top of his head, then stands up and sets Hurley on a beach towel beside you. “He’s literally me,” he whispers, raking a hand through his hair. “But smaller. And louder.”

You kiss JJ’s cheek. “And cuter.”

“Okay, rude.”

Hurley sits on the sand, clutching his cutting board, sniffling but still watching JJ paddle out like it’s the most magical thing in the world.

And of course JJ keeps glancing back at the shore, just to see his boy watching.

⸻

BONUS

“Alright, lil’ dude,” JJ calls from the kitchen, grabbing his board and slipping his arms through a faded tank. “Tide’s good, wind’s soft. Perfect waves today. You comin’ with me?”

Silence.

He peeks into the living room.

Hurley, now five, is lying belly-down on the floor, surrounded by crayons and a sketchpad the size of his head. His tongue’s sticking out in concentration as he colors something in with short, furious strokes of green.

JJ steps closer.

“Buddy?”

“Can’t. I’m making grass.”

JJ blinks. “What?”

“For the hill. In the back.” Hurley doesn’t even look up.

JJ lowers his board. “You don’t wanna come surfing?”

“Not today.”

“But you used to wanna come.”

Hurley shrugs, still drawing. “That was when I was two.”

JJ pauses in the doorway, staring at the back of his son’s shaggy blond head. “Damn,” he mutters to himself. “Why didn’t I just say yes when you were two?”

You laugh softly from the couch. “Because he couldn’t swim, and he was using a cutting board as a surfboard.”

“Still.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh and turns to head out, only to stop when Hurley calls, “Wait!”

JJ turns, hopeful. “Changed your mind?”

Hurley tears a page out of his sketchbook and pads over barefoot. “No. But I made this for you.”

He hands JJ a crayon drawing.

It’s messy, bright, and perfect.

A wobbly stick-figure JJ stands on a surfboard, arms out wide, hair sticking up. Next to him, in huge purple letters:

“Dada surfing da BIGGEST WAVE!”

JJ stares at it, heart tightening in his chest.

“Dude… I love it.”

“I know,” Hurley says, already back to coloring. “I draw better than surfing the ocean anyway.”

JJ tucks the drawing gently into his bag like it’s sacred.

“Best surf sesh ever,”

I named the son Hurley since JJ is definitely the type to name his son from a surfboard brand. In my head Hurley is more artistic and quiet —opposite of JJ but they have a lot of cute moments that I can’t wait to post!

[watchmegetobsessed]

LEFT UNSAID (part 4)

A/N: well the warning is kind of a spoiler so im not gonna say anything else 👀 we have one more part of this mini series!

WARNING: sexual content

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

SERIES MASTERPOST| MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

THEN

I’ve been doing well, avoiding falling into my negative spirals lately and maybe that has something to do with Harry. Or maybe not, but the thought is nice.

But letting go of old habits is not that easy and all those triggering moments and topics still lurk, ready to sink their claws into me and pull me down. That’s what happens when, after a particularly shitty day at work when a phone call with my mother takes the wrong turn. 

I love my mother, I really do, but our values and ideology are sometimes polar opposites and can easily clash. I know she doesn’t have ill intentions, but her words cut deeper today than usual. She asks about dating and tells me I’m kind of running out of time to settle down and then comes the part where she tells me maybe I should lose some weight, dress differently, do more to look appealing to men and just like that, I’m falling into my spiral. 

I try to climb out, but I can’t. Not on my own. The thoughts just keep coming; I’m not good enough, I’m not worthy of love, I will never be, I need to change myself if I want someone to love me and so on. 

It never ends. 

I climb into bed, stare at the wall blankly as the thoughts just keep echoing in my mind, but just like a sliver of light, something breaks the pattern.

“You can call me,” Harry’s voice rings in my ears. “Whenever. If things are bad or you feel like you’re losing your mind, I’m here.. Even if it’s 3AM and you just feel off and don’t know why. Call me.”

I reach for my phone and open his contact that I’ve been using very generously ever since our Q&A date, but my thumb lingers over the number hesitantly. The doubts bubble instantly, whether he actually meant it, but I’m able to push past that. 

I’ve been here before, so many times and nothing ever changes. Why don’t I try reaching out just for once? See if it turns things around.

I start the call before I could change my mind, checking the time only after. It’s almost 11 pm and tomorrow is a workday, not ideal. I’m almost about to end the call when he picks up. 

“Sigrid?” 

Just from hearing my name, my full name from him lightens the weight in my chest. 

“Hey. I hope you weren’t sleeping.”

“No, not yet. What’s up?” he asks softly.

I stay quiet, not sure how to start or what to say, but as if he could understand my silence just as clearly as my words, he is the first one to speak up. 

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?” He is talking so gently, it feels like a warm hug. 

“I just… I’m not feeling good right now.”

“Did something happen?” I hear him shuffling around and I imagine him pacing in his apartment. 

“No. Not really. It’s… I don’t know how to talk about it.”

“Okay. Tell me what are you feeling right now.”

“Just… Not good. I don’t feel good about myself and where I am, I mean, in life.”

“What made you feel like that?”

He keeps me talking until he finally gets a picture of what’s going on. Gentle and understanding, he listens and waits and asks just the right questions. Slowly, I calm down just enough that my head is not pounding from the urge to cry. 

“Sigrid, I’m gonna ask you to do something, okay?” he asks when we’ve been on the phone for probably over half an hour. 

“Okay.”

“Can you get out of bed?”

I hesitate, but hum in response and climb out of my depression cocoon. 

“Now go to your front door.”

“Why?”

“Just do it, okay?”

I sigh, but follow his instructions, padding through my apartment, walking up to the front door.

“Now what?” I ask curiously.

“Now open it.”

I freeze, because his voice doesn’t only come from the phone but from outside as well. My hand that’s holding my phone drops as I reach for the door and open it and there he is. Standing on my doormat, phone still held to his ear, a soft smile tugging on his lips. 

I can’t stop my lips from quivering and I practically throw myself into his arms as he steps inside. 

“You shouldn’t have come here so late,” I mumble against his shoulder and exhale his scent, secretly hoping he might leave his hoodie for me, because I want to smell him even when he’s not here. 

“But I wanted to,” he simply answers. We stay like that, melted together for a while longer before we let go of each other and Harry closes the door behind him. 

He suggests sitting on the couch, but I want to be back in bed, so we move over to my bedroom. He stops by my bed as I climb back in and I know he is worrying about wearing his outside clothes.

“I don’t mind,” I tell him.

“You sure?”

I nod. He pulls his hoodie over his head, revealing a simple white t-shirt underneath, he folds the hoodie to the back of my chair by my desk and then joins me in bed. We’re not touching, just lying on our sides, facing each other. 

There’s so much I want to tell him, but nothing comes out. Instead, I’m just basking in the feeling of… being chosen. I didn’t ask him to come and he still did, he cares and listens and I feel noticed finally. 

“Do you want to talk some more?” I shake my head.

“No. I mean, yes, but about something else.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know. Something that takes my mind off of all the shitty things.”

Harry thinks to himself for a bit. He blinks slowly and I can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. 

“Alright… did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally entered a salsa competition in Barcelona?”

I blink at him, stunned and curious.

“What? No, you didn’t.” Harry grins.

“Dead serious. I thought I was signing up for a game of beerpong. My Spanish was not great or more like nonexistent and the guy just kept nodding and pointing toward this little stage.”

“Oh my God.” I feel a smile stretching across my face.

“Next thing I know, I’m paired with someone’s abuela who spun me like a damn pro. I was sweating blood in front of a crowd of at least fifty people, all cheering.”

“Please tell me there’s video footage.”

“Unfortunately for me and very fortunately for you, yes. Jeff, my friend who I was with there, has it on his phone.”

I laugh, short and sharp, like I didn’t expect it to come out. It’s the kind of laugh that surprises you because you didn’t think you still had it in you. Harry’s smile softens.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” he says. My cheeks warm and I bury my head into the pillow a little more, but I can still see him. 

He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t try to fix anything. Just stays, close but not too close. Present.

After a beat of silence, I ask: “Why did you really come?”

He meets my eyes, no hesitation. 

“Because you called. And because if something feels heavy for you, I want to help carry it. Even if I can’t fix it, I can sit in it with you.”

I blink at him, touched by his words, but my hesitance is still there.

“I don’t always know how to ask.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “You could call me in the middle of the night and say ‘I don’t feel like being alone’ and I’ll be there. No questions. You never have to be the one holding all of it by yourself.”

I nod, trying to swallow around the knot in my throat. 

“Okay.”

And we just lie there, close but not touching, like a storm passed through and we’re waiting for the quiet after. I’m tired, emotionally and physically, but I don’t want to sleep just yet. 

“We still have one last question to answer.”

“Do you want to do it now?” he offers and I nod. 

He digs into his backpocket, pulls his phone out and as if it’s the most natural thing ever, he reaches for me and pulls me closer until he is lying on his back, I’m curled by his side, head resting on his gently rising and falling chest. He holds the phone so we both can see the screen, then opens up the list of questions and scrolls to the last one.

“Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how they might handle it,” he reads it out loud and his chest vibrates under my cheek as he speaks. 

The question hovers between us, glowing faintly on the screen. His thumb lingers there, like he’s waiting for me to go first. I take a breath and exhale slowly against his t-shirt. 

“I think…” I start, and already my voice trembles a little, “my problem is that I’m falling for someone.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but I feel the shift, his chest rising just a little more deliberately, like he’s bracing himself.

“And it’s terrifying,” I continue. “Because it’s not just anyone. It’s someone who already means a lot to me. Who I’ve known in ways that I haven’t known anyone.”

My fingers find the hem of his t-shirt, just to have something to hold and I start fidgeting with the fabric. 

“I don’t know how to say it without risking what we already have. Or if I should say it at all.” I pause, pressing my lips together. “What would you do?”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s gentle and careful.

Harry shifts just slightly as I lift my head as well so he can look down at me, his voice comes low and steady, with a hint of something behind it I can’t quite name.

“The kind of connection you’re describing… it doesn’t come around often.” It sounds like his words are not only meant for me, but himself as well. I put my head back to his chest and close my eyes.

“I know. That’s why it’s so scary to face it. I think I never believed I would ever experience it.”

Another silence and I can feel myself drifting off to sleep. 

“It is scary, yeah,” I hear him and it’s the last thing that echoes in my mind before I’m knocked out. 

When I wake up in the morning, I still feel emotionally tired, but also lighter than usually after a breakdown like last night’s. I bury my face deeper into my pillow, not entirely ready to start the day, but then I remember what else happened last night, that Harry came over, that we lied in bed and I indirectly told him I’m falling for him. 

I blink my eyes open, expecting him to be right there next to me, but the mattress is empty where he laid last night. I sit up, rub my eyes and look around. His hoodie is gone from the chair as well. Walking out of the bedroom I’m still hoping to find him maybe on the couch or in the kitchen, but he is gone. 

He left without a word.

A sinking feeling spreads in my chest, like something is wrong. At first I just carry on with my morning. I’m working from home so I set up my laptop and read through my emails with a coffee, but I can’t really focus. It’s almost noon when I decide to send Harry a text.

Thanks for yesterday. When did you leave?

I get back to my work, but keep an eye on my phone, eagerly waiting for a response that comes about an hour later.

Glad I could help. I had some things to take care of so I left around six.

It’s a simple text, nothing outstanding, but it feels off. It’s not how he usually texts me. 

The thought keeps eating me away for the rest of the workday. I can barely focus during meetings, I move very slow with tasks I do everyday. When I can finally turn my laptop off I decide I need to do something.

So I head over to Harry’s place so we could talk in person. 

When I reach his block I slow my steps down, suddenly unsure if it was a good idea to come here without letting him know. I cross the street and stop by a shop that’s across his building and I pace a little, trying to convince myself to just do it. 

I’m just about to step off the curb, to cross the street and buzz his flat, when I freeze, because I spot him. 

He’s stepping out of his building, but not alone. There’s a girl beside him and from my social media deep dive I did earlier, I recognize Taylor, his ex. Her hand brushes his arm as they walk, casual, familiar, Taylor is telling him something and he listens intently, with undivided attention. I know it because he’s been listening to me like that the past two weeks. 

It’s like someone just poured a bucket of ice cold water over me. The air leaves my lungs in a rush and all I can do is stand there like an idiot, heart pounding around in my chest.

I take a step back instinctively, ducking behind a rack of postcards outside the shop. I don’t know why I hide, maybe because I don’t want him to see the look on my face. Maybe because I don’t want to find out what would happen if he saw me. 

I watch them walk down the street, opposite the direction of where I’m standing. Right before they turn on the corner, I catch as Harry places a hand to the small of her back, gently pushing her forward as they pass a couple on the pavement, a small, casual move but in this scene it feels like a knife in my heart. Then they disappear from my sight. 

I don’t know where they’re going. I don’t know why they are together. I don’t want to know. All I know is the ache in my stomach and chest, raw and sudden and stupid and so fucking furiating. Because I let myself believe that something shifted last night. That what I said meant something to him. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t. Either way, I can’t stand here like this, so I turn and walk in the opposite direction, my hands shaking as I stuff them into my pockets.

I don’t cry. Not yet. I just walk fast and try not to think about how warm he felt last night, or how he looked at me when I opened the door and found him standing there. I hold it all back until I’m home, but once the front door is closed behind me, it all bursts out of me. 

I smack my back against the door, slide down to the floor and let it all out. I cry and sob and cry some more and when I think I’m done I start again. I have no idea how much time passes by, at one point I climb onto the couch so I’m not sitting on the cold tiled floor. It’s dark outside by the time I calm down. I lie there on the couch in the dim light of my living room, surrounded by the quiet hum of nothing, and I stare at the ceiling like it might offer answers. But it doesn’t, it just stares back, blank, just how I feel. 

My phone’s on the coffee table, it’s been silent since the last text from Harry. Not a Hey, not a Can we talk, not even a goddamn meme. He is not thinking about me at all while I’m wrecking myself over him. 

I reach for my phone and stare at his name in my recents. My thumb hovers over the screen, and for a second, I hesitate, but then I end up calling.

It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. 

“Hey,” Harry answers on the fourth ring, casual and calm, like he doesn’t feel the weight of me unraveling on the other end.

“Are you back together with Taylor?” I ask, skipping the greetings. There’s a beat of silence on his end.

“What? Why?”

“I saw you with her today, coming out of your place.” 

Another pause. “Sigrid–”

“Don’t. Just don’t pretend that didn’t happen. I saw you,” I repeat. 

“We ran into each other,” he says quietly. “We were just grabbing lunch. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” I laugh bitterly. “You left my bed this morning without a word. I told you–God! I told you I was falling for you, and you disappeared!”

“I didn’t disappear,” he says, but he sounds less sure now. “I just… I needed time and space to think.”

“Right. And Taylor’s the kind of space you needed?”

There’s a long silence, way longer than what I can bear and then he sighs.

“I think we got carried away,” he says, voice tight like it hurts him to say it. “I’m not ready for this. I thought I was, but I’m not.”

That’s another bucket of ice water, right in my face. Along with a knife in my chest.

I sit up, gripping the edge of the couch cushion.

“You don’t get to tell someone they matter and then decide they don’t.”

“I never said you don’t matter–”

“You didn’t have to,” I snap, my throat burning. “You said it with every choice you made today. You said it when you walked away this morning. When you didn’t call. When you showed up beside her like last night didn’t happen.”

His breath is shallow on the other end. I hear the shift of his footsteps, maybe he is pacing.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did!”

He doesn’t respond.Not right away. Just the sound of silence stretching between us, I’m staring at the floor as if he would materialize there if I concentrate hard enough. A tear rolls down my cheek and my vision blurs.

“I care about you,” he finally says, softer now.

I press my lips together and nod, even though he can’t see me. 

“Okay.”

“Sigrid–”

“No,” I whisper. “I think that’s all I needed to hear.”

And I end the call. I sit there, the quiet louder than ever, and this time when I cry, it’s different. Not because of what could’ve been. But because I finally see what won’t be.

NOW

I wake up because I feel hot. Not my entire body, just the backside of it and my waist all around. My eyes are still closed, my dream that I woke from still lingers in my mind. I remember Harry and the pullout, that it crashed and he–

That wasn’t a dream. That’s what happened. The couch gave up and I invited him to sleep in the bed beside me. 

Suddenly, I feel like I’m in my bedroom in the morning after he came over and calmed me down. My heart starts pounding, a flashback of what it was like to find him gone sinking its claws into me. I’m shaken up, my breathing fastens and my skin burns, but then I feel something tightening around my waist and I realize what it is. An arm.

Harry’s arm.

A moment passes and another and I realize that he is lying behind me, curled up against my back, an arm hooked around my waist to keep me close. I instantly relax and melt into his hold as he shifts behind me too so I know he’s awake. 

But he doesn’t change the position and neither do I. Instead, I push further back against him. 

My lips part when I feel his erection pressing against my ass. He exhales sharply at my movement, his breath hitting my shoulder and a moment later he nuzzles his nose against it. 

Somewhere, deep down I know this is not right. I know that I shouldn’t do it, but the warning voice quickly dissolves when I feel his palm flat against my lower stomach, putting a gentle pressure on me before his fingers start inching lower. When they reach the elastic of my sleep shorts he stops, waiting, asking for permission. 

I buckle my hip, pushing myself against his erection as my answer and that’s all he needs. 

His hand slips under the fabric of my shorts and then cups me, his warm touch melting against my even more heated core. I can’t help the moan that slips out of my mouth.

“Fuck, Sigrid,” Harry groans behind me and my whole body pulses from the way he just used my full name again. 

Two of his fingers find my clit and start drawing circles, I can’t stop myself from grinding against his touch which has my ass rubbing against his cock too. I feel his lips against my shoulder, placing gentle kisses on my heated skin and I let my head roll back to his shoulder. With one hand I grab his wrist, but I don't intend to stop him, I just need something to hold onto as his fingers keep working me, my other hand reaches back and tangles into his hair, tugging on his locks whenever he hits a special spot. 

If I heard the pornographic moan that slips past my lips once he slides two fingers inside me, I would have definitely been ashamed, but I cannot care about that, not when I can feel my orgasm building and I have Harry grinding against me and he just keeps whispering my name, like he is begging. And maybe he is, begging for mercy, for relief, for more. 

His face is pressed against mine and I turn my head, our lips almost touch, but he only reaches my cheek, kissing it softly while his fingers show me no mercy.

“Harry, I’m–Uh!” I can’t even form words, my eyes shut closed, mouth hangs open.

“So perfect.” Harry whispers against my shoulder, pressing another, open-mouthed kiss to the exposed skin. “Come on, Sigrid, let it go for me.”

That’s all I need. I come, hard, gasping for air, the waves of my pleasure wash over me and I’m so gone like never before. I’m sweating and pulsing and as my orgasm slowly fades I become very aware of Harry’s hand between my legs, his fingers still lazily moving between my slick folds. He is peppering my shoulder with kisses again and once I can breathe normally, I realize that his erection is still pressed against me. 

My instinct is to do something about that, preferably something similar to what he just did to me, but right then, there’s a knock on the door and I snap back to reality.

The one where I’m finally aware of the fact that Harry just made me come and I was about to return the favor.

Fuck. Fucking fuck!

“Ziggy?” I hear Jade’s voice coming from outside. “You up?” 

I jerk up, sit on my heels, eyes wide and my heart is about to jump right out of my chest. My eyes fall to Harry, who is still lying, now on his back and his hard-on is very obvious.

“Yeah?” I call out, my voice way squeakier than I intended.

“Can you be done with breakfast in twenty? The makeup artist just arrived so we could start getting ready earlier.”

“Sure! No problem!”

“Great!” A short pause, then she speaks again. “Harry?”

“Yes, Jade?” he answers, his face seemingly blank as he stares at the ceiling but I can tell he is annoyed. Jade doesn’t answer right away.

“Nothing. Just wanted to know if you’re there.”

I hear her walk away and I’m certain she has the biggest shit-eating grin on her face, because she just got confirmation that we did in fact share the bed. She surely noticed our voices came from the same spot, this is a win for her. 

But I’m too busy panicking to worry about Jade’s master plan. I have a way bigger problem to deal with. 

Harry sits up, leans on one hand and reaches out for me with the other, but I jump out of the bed, probably looking quite dishevelled. 

“This, um… I can’t right now.”

“Sigrid–”

“No. This was… It shouldn’t have happened. Fuck.”

Before he could get another word out I rush into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, locking it. I hear him get out of bed and walk over to the door and I’m afraid he might try to talk through it, so I quickly strip and get in the shower, tuning out any voices that could come from outside. 

I stand under cold water for way longer than my body would like it, but I think I just need it. As if I could wash what just happened away. My skin is numb. Not from the cold, but from everything building inside meI don’t know if I want to cry or scream or just rewind the past twenty minutes and stop myself before I let it all get so… messy.

What the hell was I thinking?

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the tiled wall. My fingers are trembling a little, either from the temperature or the adrenaline. His touch is still fresh on my skin, I can feel his fingers on my waist, my stomach and between my legs and don’t even get me started on how I’m practically burning where his lips kissed me. 

I have no idea how long I stand there, but I turn off the water abruptly, almost violently, like I need to cut myself off before I start spiraling. I wrap myself in a towel, avoiding my reflection as I step out into the steamy room. I brace for the awkwardness, for him waiting outside, asking if I’m okay, or worse, pretending like none of it happened.

But when I open the bathroom door, the room is empty.

The bed is still unmade, a reminder of what happened there not long ago. 

I ignore the ache in my chest, after all, this just saves me the conversation I didn’t want to have. But still, there is a tiny little something that’s disappointed he disappeared. 

I swallow it down quickly, get dressed and start the day. It’s gonna be a busy one. Because we have a wedding to have and I also have to deal with the mess I made myself.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[kuronarnze]

hiii aika!!! it’s my first time requesting so i hope this is okayyy!!

could i maybe request some general headcanons for bllk boys with a gn! reader who has chronic pain? specifically for sae and shidou and i’m not too picky for the others :) feel free not to do this if you dont feel comfortable!!

a/n: HELLO ANONNN !! THANK YOU FOR REQUESTINGG omg I love this request sm, enjoy reading 🫶

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

BLLK boys with a reader who has chronic pain

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

Itoshi Sae

- SAE IS LITERALLY Observant and Reserved Support, Sae doesn’t make a big deal out of it, but he's always paying attention. You’ll never have to ask him twice — if you wince even a little, he's already adjusting your seat, handing you a heating pad, or subtly cutting plans short without drawing attention to it.

- “You look like a raisin,” he’d say while tucking you in with the warmest blanket. He doesn’t coo or fawn, but he cares. Deeply. In fact, his quiet routine of “Hey, lie down. I’ll handle it,” becomes his love language.

- He'll plans around you, If you have flare-ups, Sae doesn’t treat them like setbacks. “You’re not weak. You’re pacing yourself. There’s a difference.” He’d plan calm cafe dates or cozy movie nights over big outings without making you feel like a burden. He prefers quiet, anyway — as long as it’s with you.

- He literally have unshaken patience, You have bad days? He stays. He’s not uncomfortable with silence, or you needing space. “I’ll just sit here. You don’t have to talk. Just blink twice if you want tea or something.”

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

Itoshi Rin

- Internalizes Everything (and Worries Quietly), Rin has this intense internal storm whenever he sees you in pain, but it never comes out dramatically. Instead, he clenches his fists behind his back and googles things like “chronic pain partner support healthy ways no pity.”

- Tries to Be Practical but Ends Up So Soft

“You should stretch more.”

“...Rin, I literally can’t move.”

“...Right. Sorry. Do you want water? A blanket? The moon?”

- If he catches you pushing past your limits, he gets grumpy protective. He’d frown and tug your sleeve. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.” He’s surprisingly good at knowing your ‘tells’ — the way you shift, squint, or breathe.

- Shared Schedules, Rin might make you a gentle routine that matches his, so you can nap during his cooldowns or walk with him after practice if you feel okay. He won’t say it, but it’s his way of grounding both of you.

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

Shidou Ryusei

- Bro Is Chaotic but Fiercely Protective, At first, you think he’s not taking it seriously — he cracks jokes and calls you “a fragile little tulip” — but the moment someone else disrespects your condition, he goes full beast mode: “You got a problem with them, you got a problem with me.”

- Loyal Golden Retriever Mode: “You hurt today? No worries, I got you. Sit back, relax, and let Nurse Ryusei smother you in affection and soup!” (Doesn’t know how to make soup, but he will buy the entire supermarket’s worth of it.)

- Bro Gives You Distractions. When the pain gets rough, Shidou’s the kind of person to try and make you laugh. He’ll start dancing badly to random music or make the ugliest faces just to hear your wheezy laugh through the discomfort.

- Turns Your Condition Into a Team Effort

“Pain level 3? Okay, we can totally beat that boss today. Pain level 10? Fck it, we’re having a stay-in-bed movie marathon. Let’s gooo.”

He treats it like a game — not to minimize it, but to make you feel like you're in this together.

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

TYSM FOR REQUESTING HAVE A GOOD DAYY 🫶💗

[stlllle]

The Thanos preg fic had me in a CHOKEHOLD! I'm wrecked 😭 Reader deserves better, and I need him to SUFFER 😖 Pls a pt. 2 where Thanos realizes he fucked up bad and karma hits him HARD 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 Just… make him hurt n regret, however you want, like maybe girl leaves him/cuts him off or worse 🥹

Thanos x reader-part 2

Masterlist squid game

Main masterlist

Part 1

The door creaked open at ten in the morning.

Later than usual — but sober this time. Or close enough.

Su-bong stepped inside with his hands in his pockets, jaw clenched like always, the smell of city dust still clinging to his jacket. The apartment was quiet. Not “she’s asleep” quiet. No — empty quiet. The kind of silence that made the walls sound wider.

He dropped his keys on the counter and frowned.

No humming in the kitchen. No half-finished tea on the table.

No soft footsteps from the bedroom. No reminders of her.

He walked to the hallway, kicking something soft by accident.

The baby bag. Still packed. Still zipped. Still sitting by the door like it had been waiting for someone else to pick it up.

He stared at it.

Then slowly — almost unwillingly — turned toward the living room.

The couch was cold.

The blanket she always used was folded.

And on the coffee table, between a cracked mug and an unopened pack of diapers, was a note.

His name written on the outside. In her handwriting.

Soft, slanted, trembling at the edges.

He sat down. The weight of it — of everything — finally sinking in.

---

Su-bong,

I’m not writing this to hurt you. I’m writing because I don’t think you would listen if I said it out loud.

You broke me.

And I let you.

I waited for you to come home.

I waited while you left me alone with the fear, with the weight of growing something you refused to acknowledge.

I waited through the lies, the lipstick, the nights I pretended not to hear you come in.

And I waited through the silence — the worst part of all — the way you looked past me, through me, as if I wasn’t even there.

But I was.

I was there. Every fucking day.

And you still chose everything but me.

So I packed what I could. I left the rest. I won’t ask for anything.

I don’t want child support. I don’t want apologies.

I just want peace.

I hope, one day, you find something that makes you feel again.

And I hope, when you do, you remember what it felt like to have someone who loved you without needing to be begged for it.

Our child will be okay. I’ll make sure of that.

You don’t have to worry. You never did.

---

He stared at the paper for a long time.

Didn’t cry. Not at first.

He just folded the letter neatly. Placed it back on the table like it was made of glass.

Then leaned back into the silence — the real kind — the kind that didn’t hold her anymore.

That’s when the tears came.

Quiet. Ugly. Bitter.

For the first time in a long time, he wished he’d come home sooner.

Before there was nothing left to come home to.

It was late.

The baby had just fallen asleep. Her hands were still warm from the bottle, her eyes heavy with the kind of exhaustion that had no name anymore — just weight.

Then came the knock.

Not loud.

Just three quiet taps against the wood.

Soft, almost hesitant.

She didn’t expect anyone. No one came by this late — not unless it was urgent.

When she opened the door, her heart didn’t skip. It didn’t race.

It just… paused.

Su-bong.

Thinner. Pale. A few new scars along his jaw, dark circles under his eyes. The color had faded from his hair. No earrings, no flash.

Just a hoodie and eyes that couldn’t meet hers.

“I’m clean,” he said softly.

Like that was supposed to mean something.

She didn’t say a word.

Just looked at him — like she was seeing a ghost.

He shifted his weight, rubbed the back of his neck. Looked everywhere but her face.

“I’m not here to make a mess. I swear. I just…”

He looked up, finally.

“I just want to see him.”

The silence between them stretched, thick and still.

She could’ve screamed. Could’ve cried. Could’ve slammed the door.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she stepped aside.

He walked in like he didn’t deserve to. Because he didn’t.

The apartment was small but warm. Lived in.

Toys on the floor. A folded blanket on the couch. A bottle drying by the sink.

Everything simple. Everything soft.

She led him to the bedroom door. Didn’t go in — just pointed.

He looked through the crack.

The baby was asleep, curled up, thumb tucked near his mouth. Peaceful.

Su-bong stared. Frozen. Silent.

“That’s him,” she whispered.

“That’s your son.”

His breath caught.

He reached for the doorknob like it was glass. Like maybe it would vanish if he touched it.

“Can I… hold him?”

She shook her head, slowly.

“He’s asleep,” she said.

“And he doesn’t know you.”

He nodded. Didn’t argue.

The baby stirred lightly, sighed, then settled again.

Su-bong watched a little longer. Eyes glassy. Fingers twitching.

Then he turned back to her.

There was something desperate in his voice. Not loud — just broken.

“I want to try,” he said. “I know I fucked it all up, but I want to be part of his life. Yours too, if—”

She stopped him with a look.

“No,” she said softly.

“You can see him. You can be present, if you stay clean. If you stay calm. But not for me.”

He swallowed hard.

Pain flickered across his face. Not anger. Not disbelief.

Just acceptance. The slow, choking kind.

She walked back toward the front door. He followed.

Before he left, she turned to him one last time.

“You left us,” she said, voice steady.

“And I raised him without you. I don’t need you here now. But if you want to be his father… you can earn that.”

He opened his mouth to say something.

But nothing came out.

So he nodded.

Then left.

---

She didn’t cry after closing the door.

Just looked down the hallway and listened to her son breathing softly in the room behind her.

And for the first time in a long time…

She felt okay.

Not happy.

Not whole.

But strong enough.

Su-bong stared at the drawing taped to the fridge like it was a secret message.

There were scribbles in red crayon, a blue sun, and something that looked vaguely like a worm with eyes.

“Is that… me?” he asked.

From the other room, you answered without looking up.

“It’s a potato.”

He blinked.

“Oh. Cool. At least I’m in the picture this time.”

Your son — now two years old, full of mischief and boundless energy — came barreling into the kitchen with a spoon in one hand and half a sock on his head.

Su-bong caught him mid-run.

“Okay, champ,” he whispered dramatically, squatting to eye level. “Mission time.”

Your son blinked up at him, wide-eyed and drooling a little.

“Go tell Mommy I’m still hot and emotionally available,” he whispered. “Can you say that?”

“Bapple juice,” the toddler replied.

“Close enough.”

He patted the little one’s head and sent him off.

You watched the child march over to you, sock still flopping over one ear, spoon in hand like a sword.

“Mama.”

“Yes, baby?”

He paused. Thought hard. Then shouted:

“Dada sexy!”

You froze.

Su-bong peeked around the corner, grinning like a fool. “Technically, that’s not what I said, but I’ll take it.”

You glared at him.

“You’re using our child as a wingman now?”

He walked into the room with a dramatic sigh. “I’m running out of options. You don’t answer my texts. You pretend not to hear me when I compliment your haircut. You rejected the cake I made—”

“You gave our toddler a Red Bull and tried to bake a heart-shaped cheesecake with a blowtorch.”

He paused.

“…There was passion.”

You shook your head, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you — just a little.

He saw it.

Victory. Tiny, but precious.

He sat beside you on the couch, careful not to get too close.

Your son climbed into his lap, settled in, and started humming to himself while patting Su-bong’s nose like a button.

“I know I messed everything up,” Su-bong said softly, eyes on his son. “But I love him. And… I never stopped loving you. Even when I didn’t know how to show it.”

You looked at him — older now, still stupid, but softer. Calmer. The sharp edges dulled by time and humility.

“I believe you,” you said quietly.

“But love isn’t always enough.”

He nodded. No protest. No begging. Just that sad little smile he’d learned to wear honestly.

Your son sneezed in his face.

“Okay, that’s fair,” Su-bong muttered, wiping snot off his cheek. “Instant karma.”

You finally laughed.

Just a little. Just enough to break the weight in the room.

“I’ll see you next Thursday,” you said.

He looked up, hopeful. “Same time?”

“Same time. No Red Bull.”

“No Red Bull. Got it.”

As you walked toward the kitchen, your son yelled, “Mamaaaaa!”

You turned around.

He pointed at Su-bong with pride.

“Dada potato!”

You blinked.

Su-bong beamed. “See? I made the fridge again.”

[kbunzzi2oa]

TXT React to Changing Their Baby's Diaper.

Synopsis : txts reaction to changing there babies diaper.

Contains: dad!TXT x fem mom! reader, mentiones of bombs, fountains, fluff, humor, timers, diapers, mentiones of Simba.

Word count: 1'700k..

Nef notes: decided to do a reaction of txt I JUST DIEEEE FOR BABIES my whole insta page is full of babies and I NEEDED TO DO SMTH! hope y'all like this, comments likes or reblogs are enough!!!

___________________________________________

🐇Soobin "This isn’t poop. This is a biological crime."

You find Soobin in the nursery, standing over the changing table like he’s about to perform brain surgery.

“Okay… okay, we trained for this,” he mutters, sleeves rolled up, diaper open, staring at your baby like they’re a ticking time bomb.

He gags once—dramatically—then glances back at you in the doorway.

“Babe, how is something so small capable of this much damage?”

You’re laughing too hard to answer.

Soobin goes quiet, tongue poking out in concentration as he expertly wipes and rolls the dirty diaper like a pro. He beams with pride once it’s done.

“I’m not saying I’m dad of the year but… actually no, I am saying that.”

You watch him scoop the baby up, kissing their forehead and whispering, “Don’t ever do that to me again, please. Daddy’s trauma isn’t built for that.”

🦊Yeonjun "Y’all… I think I just unlocked a new level of parenting hell."

He screams when the baby pees mid-diaper change.

Literal, actual scream.

“IT’S A FOUNTAIN—WE’VE BEEN HIT,” he yells, covering himself with a burp cloth like a war shield. “I NEED BACKUP, WE’VE LOST THE CHANGING PAD.

You rush in to find him holding the baby up like Simba, trying not to let the fresh poop touch anything else.

He glances at you with betrayed eyes. “Why didn’t anyone tell me this was part of the job description? I was promised matching pajamas and cuddles.”

Yet somehow, he still finishes the change—with glittery stickers on the baby’s fresh diaper (because of course he has glitter stickers in his hoodie pocket)

You kiss his cheek. “You’re insane.”

“I’m hot and helpful. That’s the package deal.”

>>--------<<

🐻Beomgyu "How do I report this to HR? This is abuse."

Beomgyu stares at the diaper like it personally offended him.

He’s holding a wipe with two fingers like it’s toxic waste, goggles on (where did he even get those?), and blasting Lo-fi beats to vibe to in the background like it’s gonna calm the storm.

“Okay little homie,” he tells the baby, “no sudden moves. I’m literally so scared of you right now.”

The moment the baby toots, he gasps and yells, “I DID NOT CONSENT TO THIS SMELL.”

Eventually, he gets it done—with memes involved.

“Look,” he whispers, snapping a pic of the clean diaper job. “I’m gonna turn this into a meme. Caption: ‘me trying to hold my life together at 2AM.’”

But then he kisses the baby’s head and whispers, “You’re lucky you’re cute. But I swear, you owe me a juice box or something.”

>>--------<<

🐿️Taehyun "I’ve trained for this. I’m built for this."

Taehyun pulls out the wipes with military precision.

“Timer on. I want this done in under 90 seconds—minimal mess, zero casualties.”

You just blink at him. “...Are you speedrunning a diaper change?”

“Yes.”

And he does. In 73 seconds, he’s cleaned, wiped, powdered, and secured the diaper tighter than your skincare routine.

“Baby’s clean. Diaper’s tight. No leaks. No drama. Who’s next?” he says like he just won a competition.

You hand him a second diaper just to mess with him.

Taehyun visibly sweating “Okay. Round two. I didn’t stretch for this.”

Even with all his seriousness, you catch him doing a victory dance once the baby’s in fresh pajamas. You’re pretty sure it was a TikTok trend from two years ago.

>>--------<<

🐧Kai "I just got emotionally jump-scared by a diaper."

You come into the room and Kai is frozen mid-wipe. Baby is giggling. Kai is not.

“This was supposed to be bonding time,” he whispers, eyes wide. “Instead, I saw a side of our child I will never forget.”

You walk over and peek into the diaper.

“OH MY GOD, don’t look!” he yells, shielding it like a scandal. “This is between me and my inner strength now.”

Ten minutes later, he’s finally done—but he’s rocking the baby back and forth like he’s the one that needs calming.

“Sweet angel baby,” he coos, “let’s just… stick to cuddles for a while, yeah? Let Daddy recover from the trauma.”

Then he turns to you: “I deserve a medal. Or a cookie. Or like… a month of not doing this again.”

You pass him a juice pouch and. He accepts it with pride.

____________________________________________

[rosiestdreams]

punkrocker | bakugo katsuki (02)

—there was a time during Bakugo Katsuki's rookie years as a pro-hero, when he ran away. Far from the pressure, the memories, and the weight of the world... He disappeared. And for a while, people thought that the explosive hero Dynamight would never come back. But fate has other plans... and maybe all Bakugo needed was a little soul searching to get him back on track.

↳ pairing: bakugo katsuki x f!journalist! reader

↳ genre: fluff, angst, romance, time-skip au!, strangers to lovers au!

↳ word count: 3.3k+

↳ warnings: cursing, alcohol (reader is a very rembly and sleepy drunk), death

↳ rosie's notes: chapter 2 is here!!!!! tysm for waiting patiently, and let me know if you want to be tagged :>> i'll try to upload the story once a week!

bnha masterlist | previous | next

Bakugo had hit the jackpot. 

After trekking uphill for a solid hour, he had finally reached a park that would give the perfect view of the lake. The open area, chill breeze, and excited groups of families lounging around, waiting for the sunset to grace their presence, were exactly what he needed. 

He had walked a little bit further, hoping to find an area where he could be alone, without anyone to see him. Low and behold, after a few minutes of searching he had found the perfect spot. Nestled just a bit further from the epicenter of the park was this small opening, good for at most 2 people. 

It was just what he needed. A place where he could breathe. Enjoy his solitude and take everything in. A place that didn’t feel suffocating, like he was bound by chains that made him bleed every time he strained against them.

But of course, peace was never something he could truly have. 

He turned around to the voice that called him, blank stare laced with irritation. He had worked hard for this spot. It was unfair that he had only sat here for 15 minutes before someone just had to interrupt him. 

His eyes took you in, trying to decipher who exactly interrupted him. Disheveled hair, wrinkled clothes, a sleek sling bag draped over your frame. Your eyes looked tired, almost a reflection of his own but contained shock… like you immediately recognized who he was. Your work ID was still dangling from your neck, and he took a moment to glance at it.

A journalist. How great. Exactly what he needed. 

The bane of his existence had come to bother him on this lovely day. The sun was already beginning to set, and Bakugo couldn’t even enjoy it for one second. 

“Can you find somewhere else to stay?” You asked, annoyed, once the shock settled. Bakugo gaped at you, stunned. The audacity you had to ask him to move when he arrived first made him angry. 

“I was here first.” He was calm, but his voice was gruff with restrained anger. He didn’t want to cause a scene. Why couldn’t you just find somewhere else to stay? Don’t you know anything about finder’s keepers? Or better yet, first come, first serve?

“Hate to break it to you. But this is my spot. Has always been my spot for my entire life. So move it.” 

Bakugo swears that every word that was spilling from your lips was meant to annoy him even further. This was ridiculous. He was here first. There were no rules that stated that this small opening belonged to you. He had no patience to deal with someone so irritatingly stubborn.

“Don’t see your name written anywhere, do we?” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. Okay, maybe you were being a tad bit rude. But you were tired, frustrated, desperate for peace. The object of your stress was right in front of you, and he was blocking you from enjoying a nice cold beer and some snacks. You’d regret being snappy some other time. 

“Actually asshole, the tree beside you does have my name marked into it. So kindly fuck off while I’m being nice.”

True enough, Bakuho turned the other way to see a carving of your name, worn, messy, obviously done by a child. He blinks, not thinking that it would actually happen. It’s the kind of disbelief that comes off as absurd. 

But he stays still. He doesn’t care if he was being a bit selfish at that moment. Even if it was clear that you knew who he was. Heck, you could write about this encounter with him– how the Pro Hero Dynamight was way more ill-mannered than people thought him to be (shocking). How he was a dick. An asshole. Every other insult that existed within that same range. 

Bakugo could care less. 

“I’m not leaving.”

You groan, not having it. The sky was turning the most beautiful shade of pink and orange, the setting sun shining its soft warmth over the world below, and you were not going to let some runaway hero with anger issues get in your way any further. 

“Then scoot over.” You’re already making your way to sit beside him, much to Bakugo’s displeasure. Before he could protest, however, you were already opening a can of beer, drinking half of it in one go. You let out a satisfied sigh once you were done, leaning back on your hands, and watching the sun descend. 

Bakugo’s baffled. He can’t believe you just did that. He stared at you, trying to comprehend what could possibly be going through your head. Something in him wanted to continue the fight further, to make you leave. But he recognized that look in your eyes. Beyond fatigue, beyond annoyance. 

A simple desire. A desire to break free. To take a moment and breathe. 

A look that he knew like the back of his hand because he was 90% sure it reflected in his own as well. 

“What?” You say, taking a bite of the sandwich you had purchased amongst the many snacks in your bag. “Need a can of beer too?” 

Bakugo stares at the remaining cans in your plastic bag with a grimace. Truth be told, he’s never had a strong liking for beer. He wasn’t even supposed to drink alcohol anyway. He was a pro-hero after all.  It wasn’t proper for someone in charge of the safety of thousands to show up with a raging hangover. It would impede on his focus, his drive, his ability to save.  The only time he ever indulged in alcohol was those times where he was forced to engage in those stupid and pointless hero galas and award nights, where everything was poised with fake elegance and poisonous grandeur. 

But fuck it. He’s gone AWOL. He doesn’t have to worry about saving anyone any time soon. There’s no patrol to wake up to. No media to face. No public to please. So he grabs the can of cold beer from your hands, opens it and downs it one go. 

In a way, it was sort of liberating. 

You watch, surprised, as Bakugo chugs the entire can in one go. You never expected that to happen. You thought he would actually refuse. But the way his face frowns, obviously not used to the taste of beer, and definitely not a fan of it. It was honestly ridiculous. And it made you burst out laughing. 

“What’s so fucking funny?” Bakugo spats. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth. But strangely, it doesn’t feel that bad. His body feels warm, like the alcohol was burning the chill that had set deep within him. It made him feel a little fuzzy, but in a good way, like the burdens he was carrying wasn’t weighing as heavy as it had been the past few weeks. 

“You just had one can of beer, and you’re already red!” The laughter was unstoppable, you were clutching your stomach from how much you were laughing. “Who knew a pro-hero like you could be such a lightweight?”

Bakugo’s eyebrows furrowed, seemingly annoyed at your words. But it was half meant. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to be completely irritated. It seemed to have made you feel better, he noticed. The fatigue hadn’t completely disappeared, but it looked like it weighed less. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles. An oddly comfortable silence settled between the two of you. The twilight had just begun, and the two of you watched, drinks in hand as the day settled into the night. The stars were beginning to shine, and once the last of the sun disappeared, they twinkled brightly, illuminating the night with a silver glow. In the silvers of silence, you had passed Bakugo another can, finishing your own in the process. 

Bakugo this time around, was taking his time with his drink. How could he not? The stars were brighter here than in Tokyo. And even beyond that, he rarely had those moments where he could really appreciate the stars, no matter how few and far they were in between. He was constantly on the go, always alert when he was on night patrol or training in his home gym. 

The stars were mesmerizing. They looked so small, but felt huge. They were in their own little world, but blazed bright. It gave him a semblance of comfort that he couldn’t quite describe. He remembered learning about how stars, despite how close they seemed to each other, were incredibly far apart. Yet, they shined bright even with the distance. Would he be able to do that, he wondered? After everything he’s been through this past year?

A sudden frustrated scream breaks him out of his trance, and he looks at you, shocked. In the time he had zoned out, you had seemingly gone through another can and were opening up another one. 

He jolts from the loud volume. Your cheeks were a tad bit flushed from the alcohol in your system, and you were staring out into the distance with an annoyed look on your face. 

“You, Bakugo Katsuki,” you say accusingly, pointing an aloof finger at him. “are such a pain in the ass!” 

Bakugo blinks, caught off guard. He didn’t expect you to suddenly be accusatory towards him. But for some reason, he could tell that there was no real malice there. At most, you were just exasperated. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s confused, genuinely confused. Your eyes had gone a bit hazy from how much alcohol there was in your system. You took another swig of your beer and groaned, pointedly glaring at him. 

“All day~” You dragged, your hands exaggerating your words in big movements. “All day I was on my computer, trying to figure out what the fuck I would write about you. Do you know how… how… insistent my boss was that I write a story about you?!!!” You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it was no use. You were treading the fine line between tipsy and drunk. And in that state, you pretty much had no filter. 

“Ever since you disappeared, ran away, or whatever the fuck you want to call what you’ve been doing for the past few weeks, all everyone’s interested in is where the hell you went! Do you know how ridiculous that is? I mean maybe the first two weeks I can understand.. BUT A WHOLE MONTH???” 

It’s almost comical, Bakugo thinks to himself. You’ve stood up in the middle of your rant, downing large sips of beer as you go. The flush on your face has only deepened. Bakugo’s never seen anything like it. 

Well, that was an exaggeration. He’s definitely experienced dealing with drunk people and their rants that they would soon regret when they wake up with a raging headache multiple times. But he usually found them annoying, irritating. So much so that he would drag them to the nearest police station and just leave them there without a word. 

But your drunken ramblings were… amusing. 

“I don’t care what your problem is. I don’t care if you’re going through delayed puberty or a quarter-life crisis. Just please for the love of God… give the world an update so they’ll move on!!!” 

You're breathing heavily now. The passion radiating from your stance. The third can of beer is now empty and you lazily plop back down to the ground to place it in the bag, before grabbing a sweet snack. 

“It’s the least you could do,” you mumble softly, now calming down from your high. “You look like absolute shit. I bet everyone’s worried about you.” 

You didn’t pry. Didn’t ask him why he was here. Why he had left Tokyo. Why he had escaped from being a hero. You merely looked at him, his worn out eyes, his tired posture and you understood that his pain ran deeper than you could have ever imagined. 

Maybe that’s why you didn’t put up more of a fight. Maybe you saw yourself in him. Wounded and scarred. In need of refuge. And maybe, just maybe, the only source of comfort you could truly give was to allow him to bask in a place you had called your own. 

“You don’t need to tell me all that,” is all he says. He feels a bit lighter. Like maybe the world wasn’t so bad. Maybe there was hope. In the silence that surrounds you, you had picked up on the pieces that were obviously shattered and offered him refuge. A kindness he had yet to receive. Wrapped in sharp edges, and piercing words. But soft on the inside. 

Already, he was feeling better. Already, Bakugo was thinking that maybe his mom was right and coming here was the right decision. 

Because even if it didn’t diminish the hurt and pain he was feeling, at the very least, it had gotten a bit more bearable. 

In his trance he doesn’t notice how you were swaying on your seat, eyes drooping. Before he could stop you, you had fallen head first into his lap, dozing off without a care in the world, effectively startling him. 

“The hell?” He exclaimed, surprised. “Get off me, woman!”

You didn’t budge, only turning to face his stomach in your sleep, a dumb smile on your lips. Bakugo blinks. He can’t believe it. 

You did not just fall asleep on his lap. 

“Hey,” he says, shaking you gently, trying to nudge you awake. The only response he got was you groaning from the movement before falling back into dreamland. 

Bakugo can feel the annoyance rise up in him. “Hey,” he tries again, the cadence of his voice up just a tad bit, he’s shaking you a bit more vigorously. But still, to no avail. 

This can’t be happening. Do you have any sense of stranger danger? What if he was someone else? You were leaving yourself vulnerable to a man you just met, almost as if it was nothing. It was unbelievable, and frankly, it pissed him off. He was not about to babysit a random stranger, who also happened to be a journalist, who also happened to go on a rambunctious tangent about how you were mad at him. 

You had to wake up. 

“Woman, wake the fuck up!” 

.

.

.

The swift echoes of a wooden katana swinging in rapid fire strikes permeates the silent air. 

In a dojo at the upper west side of town, a lone girl practices her sword swings.  Each one more erratic than the last. Her swings are powerful, but full of frustration. Her grip on the katana is tight to the point where her knuckles have gone white. 

The more she swings, the more she is consumed by her anger, and after a few more, she ends up dropping the weapon, falling on her back. Her breathless pants are heavy, tired from exertion. Her black-gray hair, wrapped in a tight bun, was beginning to loosen. Haggard strands falling in waves. 

She stays there, letting the silence creep up and surround her, enveloping her psyche in poison-laced comfort. 

“You still lack delicacy, Anko,” A stern, gruff voice echoes through the halls. The girl named Anko looks up, eyes squinting from the bright light. But she knew that voice anywhere.

Anko groans, hair framing her face as she sits up. “Welcome back,” she mutters. “How was your patrol?” 

“Good.” Curt, short, uptight. As usual, her father was a man of few words. He was cold, harsh. Ever since she had begun training under him, he had been harder on her. Within and beyond the four walls of their family dojo. 

“You will have to practice harder. You will be patrolling alone tomorrow.”

He leaves before hearing her response. 

Anko bites her lips, trying to restrain the flurry of feelings coursing through her. Her relationship with her father had gotten a lot more complicated as she grew up. 

He had become the city’s hero straight after her mom died six years ago. Her mom had been the city’s hero back then. A bright young lady with a water-related quirk. 

But six years ago, when an unexplainable turbulence in the water forced a group of kids on a yacht party to go overboard, she saved them. Only to drown in the process. 

They never found her body. 

Her father, Kuroyami Domei, had become the town’s beacon of light in her stead. Had followed in his wife’s footsteps, donned the mask of a hero and protected the city day in and day out. 

And he expected her to do the same. Even if she really didn’t want to be a hero. Even if she didn’t want to follow in her mother’s footsteps. 

But no matter how hard Anko trains, no matter how good she’s gotten at the sword, her father still wouldn’t look at her like he used to. 

“Excuse me,” a deep voice calls. Anko sat up, katana clasped firmly in her hands, as she looked towards the sound of the voice. 

She turns to see a tall man. Slender, but ominous. Clad in a formal suit, a trenchcoat draped over his shoulders. A fedora covered his spiky, black-gray hair. But what creeped Anko out the most was the mask he wore. 

White as snow, but with raven black X marks instead of eyes, and a sinister smile plastered at the bottom of the mask. Those X marks bore into her like they were staring deep into her soul. 

“Who are you?” She asks, voice taut and alert. She stands up right away, katana clenched tightly in her hand. “How did you get in here?”

The man chuckles lazily. His hands held up in faux surrender, but he still walked towards her. Slowly. Menancingly. 

“Don’t come any closer.” She warns threateningly. He doesn’t listen, and she moves to strike. But as she’s about to go for the blow, she stops. Eyes widening in shock, she loses all feeling in her arms. She remains in position, not able to move any part of her body. Almost as if it were held up by strings she could not control. 

“Now don’t be like that, Anko-Chan” The man whines softly, tracing her arms. Anko’s glare deepens… She wants to move. She wants to run away. She wants to scream. Maybe her father would hear her? Maybe he would run to her and see her predicament 

Anko wanted to cry. 

“All I want to do is talk,” the mysterious man continues, circling her like a vulture about to attack. “Poor, Sweet, Anko. You don’t want to be a hero like your father, do you?” 

Unable to say anything, or move anywhere, Anko stays still, listening to the man who seemed to know her deepest desires like a vice. Her stomach curbed, bile wanting to come out of her mouth but unable to. 

“What if I told you there was a way?” He whispered seductively. Like Anko was his own little play thing. “A way to run from it all?” Shivers ran down Anko’s spine. No way in hell was she going to answer to the whims of some mysterious stranger–

“--Master,” a sharp voice calls out as Anko’s thoughts halt from the whirlwind of thoughts circling through her mind. The tone was a lot more dull. It cut through the air with a certain chill that was unfamiliar. But she recognized that voice like the back of her hand. 

“We have to get going soon.” A tall woman in a suit appears from behind the masked man. Black-gray hair like hers in a tight bun. Familiar blue eyes that had lost their shine. When she was younger, the townsfolk would always gush about how they looked like a spitting image of each other. 

It was unmistakable who the woman in front of her was. But how? How could this be possible? How could she be right in front of her, breathing, talking, existing…

When she was supposed to be dead?

“Mom?”

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